#i've been staring at this too long take this from me

[vmpireslut]

♡.ྀི₊thinking about mean!overworked and underfucked nanami:3

it’s utterly cruel as he forces your fucked out face against the penthouse window. any other time, you'd be gushing over the breathtaking view of the city lights, but the way kento's fat tip gnaws at your cervix has your eyes rolling back in your skull.

a sinewy hand grips your throat, tightening to the point where you feel lightheaded. the other hand is firmly placed on your hip, anchoring your ass against his pelvis. you've been in this position for what feels like an eternity, pressed against the glass like an animal as he fucked you like a mutt in heat. the chill of the glass contrasts with the warmth radiating from him, each thrust causing the surface to shudder beneath you.

“such a slut, letting me use you like this—ha! bet it turns you on fucking your boss like this—god,” he snarls, voice thick with lust. the wet squelch of your slick pussy is audible in the room, only adding to your embarrassment. the shame has your eyes brimming with tears, the sting of them mixing with the ache between your legs.

he chuckles darkly. "that's right, sweetheart. i know how much of a fucking whore you are." he's relentless, driving his cock deep into your cunt as he uses your throat to keep you upright. “m’not a whore!” you try to argue, but it's incoherent due to the cock shoved in your cunt. he doesn't respond, but the grip on your hip tightens. his pace is brutal, each snap of his hips causing your ass to jiggle. your pussy flutters around his girth, sucking him in as he plows into you. the pressure building in your abdomen too much.

“don’t make me laugh.” he hisses, bending his knees slightly so that he can hit a new angle, the new position knocking a series of whines from your throat. you’re pretty sure he’s in your womb, molding your gummy walls around his length.

"always prancing around in those slutty skirts and shirts—i see the way you stare at me when you think i'm not looking. so needy. you wanted this from the beginning, didn't you?” he pauses, letting out a guttural moan.

“i knew all along. how could i not? you were practically throwing yourself at me. batting your fucking eyelashes, and now i've got you exactly where i want you. i bet it was all just a ploy to get my dick. i'm right, aren't i?"

even as he’s degrading you, you can't help but moan. kento’s hand moves to your ass, giving your cheek a sharp smack. the stinging sensation forces a cry from you, and you clench around his member, causing him to let out a string of curses.

“my point proven—ha! s’fuckin sad.”

the hand gripping your throat moves to the back of your head, pushing your face further against the cool glass.

"i'm not gonna last long," he groans, his hips beginning to falter. he's going harder, faster, and the way he splits you makes you scream. tears begin to stream down your cheeks as you come undone, the sensation of being full, so fucking full, causing you to go limp in his grasp. he doesn't stop, and the way he fucks you through your orgasm makes your vision go spotty.

he draws your hair into his hands, creating a makeshift ponytail for his fingers to weave into. then, he yanks hard, the sudden action forcing you to arch your back. “why do sluts always have the best pussy? no fair.” he sneers, he's fucking into you with such fervor that you're afraid the window might splinter.

“s-slow down, nanami-san, you're gonna b-break me," you stammer, voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn't.

the only thing you can do is take it. the way his head slams against your hilt has your body shaking, the pressure building up in your core once more. you can't hold on much longer, not with him fucking you like this.

“slow down? you wanted this! running your fuckin’ leg up my thigh at a work dinner, touching me under the table like a desperate bitch—you want this, don't you? i bet you would've let me fuck you there. i could've bent you over that table and pounded your little cunt till you were screaming my name. and now, look at you—fucking pathetic. such a pretty face, such a nice little pussy” he moans loudly, "wrecked. all ruined. and all because of me."

he pulls your hair once more, forcing a strangled sob from your throat. the sound makes him chuckle. kento uses you as a ragdoll, pulling your hair, grabbing your waist, manhandling you like some cheap sex toy. it's fucking disgusting. he spanks you when you go limp, pulling your hair whenever you go quiet. and all you can do is take it. the pain is so delicious that you're not even thinking straight. you just want to be good for him.

he's mean. but you've never been this wet in your entire life. your body is writhing, begging for another release, and when kento’s fingers find your swollen clit, you nearly fall apart. his fingers rub tight circles against the bundle of nerves, sending a surge of pleasure up your calves. his hips stutter, and he's moaning louder.

your knees buckle, another slap. “stay up i won’t tell you again.”

he's so fucking close. the tip of his cock is battering the entrance to your womb, and the way his balls are slapping against your cunt is making you sob. he nearly blows his load in you when he presses a hand below your belly button, feeling his cock through your stomach. he curses, grabbing your hand and pressing it to the small bump.

"can you feel me, sweetheart? can you feel how deep i am? can you feel the bulge?" you can't respond, too fucked out to process the words. he lets go of your hair, instead using both hands to pin your arms above your head. his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin. “can’t even speak, sad.” he grunts, pressing sloppy wet kisses behind your ear.

you're his, all his. “mine, mine, mine.”

the way his teeth graze the skin of your neck has your eyes fluttering shut, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. you're a fucking mess, and kento nanami loves it. he can't help himself, not when your cunt is sucking him in like this. he's so close, so fucking close.

the pressure building in his abdomen becomes unbearable, and he lets out a strangled groan as his hips snap forward, his seed spilling into you. he doesn't slow down, not even as his cum overflows from your pussy, dribbling down your thighs.

"oh my god—oh my fucking god," he pants, his thrusts erratic. he's so deep inside of you, and the feeling of him painting your insides white has you on the verge of blacking out. he's filling you, stretching you, breeding you. it's too much.

his grip on your wrists going lax, you're completely boneless. the only thing keeping you from crumpling onto the floor is kento’s firm grip on your wrists. he lets go, and you fall to the ground. the only sounds that fill the air are the soft whimpers that escape your lips, and his heavy breathing.

he runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. he looks down at you, and the sight has his dick twitching.

you're a mess, his cum seeping from your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and dribbling down your thigh. the tear streaks running down your cheeks only make the scene more obscene. you're absolutely wrecked, and he's the one who did it. the thought has him grinning, and he crouches down to your level.

"you took me so well, baby girl," he purrs, tipping your chin upwards. his tone is surprisingly gentle, and you can't help but flush. his voice is a bit hoarse, a result of the noises he'd been making earlier. he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, admiring how fucked out you look. he can't wait to get his hands on you again.

[wooataes]

Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part 11)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Hanahaki!AU, angst, all hurt no comfort, swearing, tears, the usual 🙂‍↕️

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: It has been WAY too long since I've updated this story and I apologise for that 🙂‍↕️ I finally feel like I've gotten my life back on track to finally be able to post a long awaited update!! Thank you to everyone who still reads and enjoys my fics, it means a lot ! 🥹 - Tae 💜🌸✨

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“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“His girlfriend left him, genius. What do you think is wrong with him?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. His housemates have as much subtlety as an earthquake. Their naturally loud voices seep through the closed door of his bedroom as he stares at his ceiling, a sigh leaving his lungs in the darkness as the outside voices drone on.

“Hyung,” Mingyu sighs. “It’s been over a week now… Should we call someone?”

“Who would we call?” Junhui retorts. “His soulmate? Because up until last week, I thought his soulmate was Ji-ah.”

The mention of her name creates another pit in Jihoon’s stomach. He hates it. He wishes he could just get over the stupid emotions that run through his veins at the mere thought of his not-soulmate, now also not-girlfriend.

“His parents are hours away and he has no siblings that we can contact.” Junhui continues, frustration laced in his voice. “I don’t know who we could call.”

“Doesn’t hyung have a cousin who-”

“I can hear everything you guys are saying. You know that, right?” 

Jihoon’s hard voice carries through the door, his housemates falling silent on the other end.

“Jihoon-ah.” A deep voice mutters, causing him to tense up. He knows that Wonwoo knows how to get through to him. “Can we talk?”

After a long pause, Jihoon’s bedroom door slightly creaks open. “Wonwoo, I told you yesterday,” he stares at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the older man. “I am fine-”

“You are not, Jihoon-ah. And we both know it.” 

“How do you know?” He snips.

“You haven’t left your bedroom since Ji-ah left you last week.” Jihoon sucks his teeth at her name.

“I never left my bedroom before she left me.” He hisses back.

“Yes, you did.” Wonwoo retorts back. 

“When? To go on dates with her?” he barks. “To take her out? To go visit her family? Well, guess what? She is gone, Wonwoo, so I have a whole lot more free time and I choose to spend that time at home.” his voice cracks slightly, bottom lip shaking as he moves to close the door once more, his frown deepening as Mingyu grabs a hold of the door before it closes.

“Hyung, we’re sorry.” Mingyu’s voice is softer now as he looks at him with sad eyes. “We’re so fucking sorry that you’re going through this but we are here for you and want to be there for you.”

“I don’t need-”

“Please don’t push us away.” Wonwoo frowns, his hand resting over Jihoons. “Jihoon-ah…”

Jihoon shakes his head quietly, a small hiccup leaving his lips. “Wonwoo, I promise, I’m fine.” He gently lets his hand fall from Wonwoo’s as he moves to shut the door to his bedroom once more, wiping the stray tears that threaten to spill from his eyes.

“I truly don’t know what to do, guys.” Jihoon winces at the defeated tone of his older housemate’s voice as he climbs back into the comfort of his bed once more, hoping to forget about the world around him for a little bit longer.

Jihoon heaves a loud sigh as he steps into his first Film Studies class in nearly two weeks, slumping down in his chair, rubbing at his temples slightly as Professor Park begins his usual droning on. He really should be listening to the lecture at hand, but he can’t bring himself to. Not when he can feel the eyes of multiple people in the class lingering on him. He’s sure that word has gotten around now about his very public dumping and the fact that Ji-ah was obviously never his soulmate. He hates that he can feel the sympathy radiating off of his peers, and even off of you, his real soulmate, sitting directly beside him with your stupid perfect hair and stupidly neat notes that you wordlessly offered him to help catch him up on the classes he missed. He accepts them graciously, spending most of the lesson copying your notes into his notebook.

“Professor,” a deep voice from the back of the room calls out near the end of the lesson, drawing Jihoon from his thoughts. 

“Yes, Jaebeom?” 

Your soulmate glances at you at the sight of your body tensing up at the mention of the newcomer’s name. He tilts his head slightly as he feels nerves begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach from you, causing him to raise a brow. You take a slow breath before scribbling idly on your page again, indifference on your face, but Jihoon knows it’s a front. 

Why are you so tense?

“About the extension on our group project?” Jaebeom’s voice lulls out in a drawl, a clear cockiness hidden in his tone. 

“Ah yes,” Professor Park hums, nodding his head. “I know some of you have gone ahead and already submitted your essays and presentations to me, and I’m thankful for you guys for getting these to me on time and even earlier. For the remainder of you all who have yet to submit your projects, I’ve extended the deadline by two weeks, due to an unavoidable event I must attend.”

Jihoon hears his classmate’s sighs of relief, and in turn, he breathes out as well. He knew he had neglected his end of his project with you for the last week, and he feels grateful that he can make up for it.

“I do hope the rest of you,” Professor Park sends a look to the back of the room, “get this done in due time. Class dismissed.”

Jihoon wordlessly offers your notebook back to you, a frown forming on his face when he sees you duck your head, letting your hair fall over your face. He glances to see a taller man wearing low jeans and a beat up baseball cap on his head march- no, strut down the stairs to reach the door, sauntering out with what Jihoon can only describe as a sleazy grin on his face. Once he steps out of the room, you immediately collect your things, bow your head to Jihoon with a little smile, and jump up to leave the classroom.

“Professor,” your soulmate approaches the teacher. “I appreciate you extending the deadline-”

“Oh, Jihoon-ssi!” Professor Park smiled. “Are you feeling better? Miss Choi told me that you were unwell when she submitted your project to me last week.”

“Oh.. Yeah, I’m feeling alri- Wait. Submitted?” Jihoon blinked.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Both of your arguments had wonderful points to pit against each other. Well done! I will be posting your grades in a few weeks!”

You finished off the project for him? Why are you so… nice?

“Uh… Thank you, Professor.” Jihoon bows his head in thanks before slowly stepping out of the classroom, starting to walk in the direction of home, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance.

Jihoon takes a deep sigh as he finds himself sitting down at the park bench that is so familiar to him now, letting the raindrops land on his clothes and face as he tilts his head back.

“Jihoon-ssi?” your voice is quiet over the sound of the loud rain, but Jihoon could hear you. He always does. He blinks as he feels the heavy raindrops that land on his hoodie abruptly stop, looking up to see a pastel umbrella being held over his now drenched body. “What are you doing out here?”

Jihoon shrugs quietly for a moment. “I… don’t know.” He glances down at the wet sleeves of his hoodie. “Just.. Thinking.”

“Well, I think you should think away from a torrential downpour next time,” you quip with a little smile, hoping the joke makes him crack a smile.

“Nah,” he hums. “It’s comforting, the rain..” 

“Comforting?” You echo, tilting your head innocently as he hums a confirmation.

“Mm. Rain doesn’t have colour.” He glances at you for a moment, slightly amused by the cluelessness on your face as you just blink at him. “Ah, it’s silly, really,” he continues. “The sky doesn’t have colour when it rains, it reminds me of what the world looked like before everything changed. Everything is so different now.”

“You’re right.” You agree quietly. “Everything is different.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon mumbles after a brief silence. “For helping finish off the project while I was… y’know.”

“Oh, that?” You shrug. “That was nothing. You had all the arguments, I just articulated them for you. Figured that you already had enough on your plate so I thought you wouldn’t mind if I submitted a little early to get it out of the way for the both of us.”

“How do you do it?”

“Huh? Do what?”

“... Live.” Jihoon’s voice is barely above a whisper as you settle down on the park bench beside Jihoon, still holding the umbrella over his head. “How do you just live life so damn happily while you feel like absolute shit all the time? And don’t deny that you don’t, I have felt every single emotion you have felt for weeks now.”

You pause for a moment, looking up at the sky before humming. “I suppose I just got used to it.” You shrug. “It kind of just became like a background noise for me. It’s just always there.” 

“Even when the pain is doubled now? Because of me?”

You shrug once more. “It’s not something I haven’t dealt with before. I can feel the pain for both of us, Jihoon-ssi. It’s okay.” You give him a little smile. “I have had a lot more practice at loss than you have.”

Jihoon feels the irritation bubbling up inside him slowly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You blink in confusion as you glance at him. “Huh?”

“I have experienced loss too, you know.”

“I know that, I just-”

“I am more than capable of feeling these emotions too.” He frowns.

“I know,” you emphasize, “I just wanted you to know you don’t have to face them on your own.”

Jihoon scoffs quietly. Who does she think she is, giving him advice on how to deal with his emotions? “I know that too. You don’t need to point out the obvious, Choi.”

“Do you know that?” You retort, raising an eyebrow. “Because from what Mingyu told me, you’ve barely left your room until this week.”

“Ugh,” Jihoon groans, leaning his head back. “Am I not allowed to have time to myself?”

“Of course you are,” you sigh. “But you’re also-”

“You know, you should think about facing your emotions on your own instead of relying on everyone else around you.” Jihoon hisses at you with a glare as you freeze with wide eyes. 

“H-huh?” He can feel your doubt seeping into his veins.

“Your brother, his soulmate, Soonyoung, Seokmin,” he rambles. “They’re always at your beck and call when they could be living their own lives with each other and not have to worry about you every five fucking minutes like you’re their child.”

“I…” You balk, Jihoon wincing at the feeling of your stomach twisting inside him. But he doesn't care, he wants you to hurt as much as he does. It’s your fault he doesn’t have Ji-ah anymore, afterall.

“Just go away!” He barks. “When will you realize that your help isn’t needed?! You’re not needed! I lost the one girl I truly fucking loved because of YOU! Why would I want you around?! Leave me alone already!”

After a long silence, Jihoon finally turns his head to look at you, staring at him for what seems like hours with the same look that you had on the day you brushed hands for the first time. That isn’t what frightens your soulmate, though. What frightens him is the fact that he can’t feel anything inside him anymore, besides his own pain.

“... sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” You mumble robotically, delicately placing the umbrella beside him before rising and walking through the heavy rain in the direction of your house, letting the rain run down your clothes.

“Fuck.” Jihoon sighs heavily and buries his face into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he hears your footsteps move further and further away.

He needs to apologize. He knows he does. He knows he said those words out of anger and hurt, and he knows you definitely didn’t deserve it. 

But why can’t he find it in himself to go to you and do it? You’re literally two tables away from him right now.

Jihoon, he scolds himself, it’s been days. You need to man up and tell her you’re sorry. 

Could he be worrying a little now because since he confronted you, he has felt no emotions whatsoever from you? Has he finally lost the tether from you?

“Hello you!!” A loud, cheery voice snaps him into reality. He blinks as he stares at his cup of ramen in his hand, fidgeting on the hard steel of the cafeteria chair underneath him, trying to figure out where the loud voice had come from.

Seungkwan makes his way over to where you’re sitting, draping himself over your back. Before he can ask how you are, you jolt up quickly, scooting away from him like you’ve been burned.

“Hey.” You give him a little smile, pressing yourself up against the wall. “Where’s Hansol? You should be with Hansol.”

Seungkwan’s face contorts slightly as he sticks his lips out in almost a pout. “He had to run to make his next class… Bug, what’s wrong-”

“I actually have to run too, Kwan.” You stammer out quickly, grabbing your backpack and stepping out from behind the table. “Talk later?”

“But, you haven’t even touched your lunch…” his voice fades out as he watches you rush quickly out of the cafeteria, surprise etched on his face.

Jihoon watches on, just as surprised as Seungkwan as he reaches the table with him, Soonyoung and Seokmin.

“Okay, what the hell was that? What happened to Bug?” Seungkwan immediately questions Soonyoung, who upon further inspection, looks just as out of it as you are.

“We don’t know,” Seokmin speaks for his soulmate. “Every time she’s at home, she stays locked up in her room and only leaves to cook dinner for us and clean up. She didn’t even come down for movie night the other night.”

Your soulmate’s eyes widened slightly as Soonyoung took a deep breath. “Something has happened and she won’t tell us what. She doesn’t even speak when she’s at home anymore.”

“We’ve tried to talk to her, get her to come out of her room, do anything, but she doesn’t budge. I’m getting worried.” Seokmin bites his lip.

“I don’t know what the hell has happened to our Bug. She is literally just doing fucking chores and whenver one of us tries to hang out..” your best friend rubs at his temples. “She keeps insisting we hang out with our soulmates. With each other. I don’t know why the fuck that doesn’t mean she can’t hang out with us too.”

Jihoon feels sick as your housemate’s words sink in to him.

When will you realize your help isn’t needed? You’re not needed!

Fuck.

“Jesus Christ, Jihoon-ah.” Wonwoo breathes out when Jihoon finally steps through the door. “You were supposed to be back four hours ago. What the hell were you- Jihoon-ah?” 

His eyes widened at the sight of his housemate stepping under the lights of the hallway, lip trembling and hair sticking in six different directions. Jihoon truly didn’t mean to take so long making it home. He supposes he lost track of time wandering campus with his racing mind.

He knew his words had gotten to you. At the moment it felt good, for you to feel the pain he did. But now? Seeing his friends, your family agonizing over how detached you are? 

What has he done?

“Jihoon…” Junhui looks on worriedly, reaching forward to slip the backpack off his housemate’s shoulders.

“I… I knew what I was getting into when I chose to date her, Wonwoo.” His voice quivers as he stares at the ground. “I knew that she already had a soulmate, but… I-I didn’t think…” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Wonwoo agrees.

“She told me that he had moved countries years ago… There was no chance he’d come back…” a small tear slides down his cheek as his housemate hums in acknowledgement. “And when I… when I found my soulmate and I-” Jihoon chokes back a sob. “And I rejected them to keep a hold of Ji-ah…” His soft cries echo into the quiet hallway. “I… I felt their heart break inside of me, I’ve felt their pain for weeks a-and now I feel their pain on top of my own and… fuck, I broke her, man.”

“Oh, Jihoon…” Junhui sighs sympathetically as Wonwoo pulls Jihoon towards him, bringing his head into his shoulder as his arms wrap around his back in a warm embrace. 

Jihoon pauses for a moment. He blinks once, twice, and a third time before he lets out a soft sob, his hands gripping onto Wonwoo’s shoulders desperately as he buries his face into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Hyung,” he chokes out. “I r-really fucked up.”

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[kennothythebard]

So I've been obsessed with @deepblueink2d's Deep Space Discounts (which you should watch here! It's like half an hour and it's so good) and last night I wrote a song about it. It's from Immy's perspective just kind of recapping s1 and also a little bit her relation with her coworkers (esp Vee). I recorded this so quickly, I was just so excited to share it. I hope yall like it!

Huge props to DeepBlueInk for making something so incredible, I can't wait to see where it goes next! Lyrics under the cut.

Stressed and not sure how I got here Closing eyes, taking a breath Could it be I’ve made the right choice? Or is this a fate worse than death?

I think I’m getting the picture Everyone here has their place You can be found planted firm in the ground While I’m floating off into space

Can you hear me? Will my screams ever get through to you? I’m stuck staring Far off into this deep blue And I’m left to wonder If you might be staring out too

Every day brings new surprises Every day brings new complaints Other folks get through much harder than this But they have the patience of saints

Slowing down isn’t an option (Come on, take a break) That can’t be part of my plan (Just five minutes with me) If I’m doing time then it must fit my crime So I’ll make up however I can

Can you hear me? Will my messages ever get through? (Will I ever get through?) Out this window We can see so deep into the blue (Stare with me into the blue) And looking out’s fine So long as I’m looking with you

Am I the first one of many? Am I the last of my kind? I’m still alive, and I’m here with you five So I guess I don’t really mind

Can you hear me? Will I die someone you hardly knew? (I could die here with you) I’m still floating Further into this deep blue (Please let me float here with you) So please don’t let go ‘Cause I’m holding on tightly to you

[penvisions]

services requested {chapter four}

Pairing: Kept Man! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of your explosive interaction with Joel, you decide to get some space. He finds out in the middle of helping Ellie with something by the way of your mother bringing by a set of keys for him. Will he make it to the airport in time to tell you how sorry he is?

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, power dynamics, sexual undertones, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, light angst, mentions of infinitely (not joel or reader, mentions of past trauma, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, reader is depicted to have a manic anxiety attack, reader is terrified of flying, use of prescription drugs to sooth anxiety, airport rush scene bc come oooooon lol, masturbation (male), i think that's it!

A/N: so i'm moving forward with stuff to prepare for a hip surgery. it's been a long journey of just managing the pain and finally finding an answer to eradicating it. unfortunately, my insurance will not be covering the testing that determines if i'm a good candidate, so that will require me to pick up a few extra shifts. i've linked my kofi if anyone is feeling generous but there is no pressure or need to. dropping this and running to get back to school work, love y'all!

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The first deposit approval is staring you in the face. The payroll website that you use for your assistant and will be using for your own business once it’s all finalized and ready to operate is the only window open on your laptop.

Joel Miller – pending approval

It’s in bold since you haven’t pressed any buttons, any options. Because honestly? You’re at a loss as to what to do. You haven’t heard from the man since he all but berated you nearly a week ago. And the truth is that he had scared you when he did it. The way the whites of his eyes were visible in the faint light coming off of the streetlamps, the way he had raised his voice in almost a growl of frustration, the sheer size of him as he stalked into the house behind you.

Even if you knew, deep down in your very soul- he wouldn’t do anything to physically hurt you.

With a puff of your cheeks, you press a finger pad to the keyboard and press process deposit.

Sighing out your held breath, you move away from the laptop settled atop the desk and continue packing. Joel isn’t the only one going out of town, you reached out to a friend in California to go and work a guest spot at the independent shop they were opening. A break, a little breather to get out of a house all to yourself that you needed work done on to truly make the space yours.

You were too…everything right now to reach out to the man who you just paid to be in your services.

But you didn’t want to bother him, to agitate him, to make him feel any pressure about deciding what to do. Giving him the space and chance to make up his mind was both the polite and professional thing to do in this situation. That’s the comfort you told yourself in regards to your decision on how to handle the circumstances you found yourself in.

You’ve already taken his words and dissected them, going over them with your therapist. And she was right, he was reacting to the combination of outdated information and something from his own life. You want to forgive him, to move past it but it was going to take time, you know that. So you give him the space you know he needs, that you need to. As long as he apologizes, you know your heart will soften through the residual hurt and anger that you’ve already begun to work through.

Joel is staring at the dark screen of the new phone you sent. He’s plugged it in, the little charging symbol flashing at him before it disappears. He’s waiting now, for it to turn on. The code to synch up your schedule onto his calendar on a post it note alongside the password and username combination for him to long into the bank app to see the available funds on the work card you gave him with the contract. He hadn’t used it yet, feeling like he wasn’t worthy of the dollars and cents.

It hits him like a punch to the gut, when he see’s the bold words that spell out a phone call you’ve blocked off an entire hour for:

Case Attorney, parameters of protection. 2pm-3pm.

It’s nestled neatly among consultations and appointments that range from two hours to six hours, reminders to call and check supply orders and the status of the permits he’s already called after to secure timely dates. There are no dates blocked off, even if all there is listed on some appointments for nails, for hair, for everything and anything.

Busy. Always filling your time with something. And it all makes so much sense, if you’ve made a name for yourself, have the funds that you do.

He looks over at the blueprints for the house you finalized on, something you never mentioned until it was all set and done- inferring that this would be one the things he can handle for you in that initial meeting regarding the contract.

You were lonely, must be, he realizes it at the same time he feels it himself. He got so used to the daily conversations and interactions with you, the mundane tasks that didn’t feel so monotonous with you popping in and out of the house while they worked. Even just those first few days after the job was completed, you both continued to see each other. But now…

It’s been nearly a week since he’s seen you, more time since he’s interacted with you- like really, truly interacted with you. Since he yelled at you in your new home, demanded where your husband was and what role he would have in this agreement the two of you made. Joel likes to believe he’s got a level head atop his shoulders, but the truth is that he feels so all encompassing sometimes.

With Sarah, with Elle, with his brother- all three of them pull his heartstrings, strike the match of annoyance and anger, fuel his fierce protective side.

With a sigh, he pulls up your name in his messages. There is no previous thread, nothing transferred from his older phone due to the incapabilities of the new software. He isn’t sure how to reach out so he falls back on being professional. He settles with a summary of the good bones of your house, the suggested work being something he can more than aptly make a reality and then ends the message with a question for the best start date.

But you don’t respond, either busy or sleeping- he realizes the early hour and scolds himself. Of course you’re asleep, it’s only five in the morning. He sighs and looks out the window that his dresser is pushed up against. The sun is barely beginning to peak over the horizon, the sky a deep blue that a few stars shine in.

He startles when his phone beeps where he discarded it on the comforter.

A date, where the samples of what tile and paint you want will be left on the island in the kitchen for him. You’ll be busy with work most days, will probably miss him completely and he doesn’t think anything of it.

Until later that day when Ellie brings you up.

“Hey, I think I saw something about Grey going on a trip online.”

“What?” Joel does an amazing job of keeping his cool at the sudden news, the screwdriver in his hand drops and falls to the floor. Landing in the carpet with a dull thud before bouncing and hitting the top of his bare foot where he’s crouched down and fixing a loose shelf in one of Ellie’s bookcases. He hisses as it thunks, pain shooting across the muscles there and swelling immediately.

“It looks like she’s going to be a guest artist at a new place opening in LA.” Ellie says from where she’s cross legged in her desk chair, laptop open and displaying the piece of art she’s using as a reference for a project that’s due later in the week. She’s in one course this summer, going back to full time in the fall when that time of the year rolls around.

“She would’ve told me if she was going out of town.” At least he thinks you would, how else would he be able to begin working on the renovation of your home?

“I mean…are you sure about that with how things…?” Ellie hesitantly says, her brow furrowed in much the same way that Joel’s does, despite no direct blood relation.

“I…I would hope she would tell me, considering I have the blueprints for her house and the details of the renovation with a start date.” He picks the screwdriver back up and makes sure that his task is complete.

“Have you reached out?”

“…no.” He doesn’t turn to her, despite feeling her eyes on him from across the room.

“Well, there you go.”

“We leave in four days, there’s…”

A knock at the door has him whipping his head in that direction, completely blindsided by the direction of the conversation and someone calling upon him in the middle of the afternoon.

When he swings it open, your mother is standing there with a soft smile. She greets him, dangling a ring with three keys securely looped on it and announces that they’re for him.

“Grey left these for ya, said you’d need them to start on the job when you get back from Philly?” She pins him with a smirk, knowing she’s caught in the middle of something between the two of you. The higher pitch of your voice at the end of her sentence telling him that she’s looking for confirmation.

“Doin’ the reservations on her house.” He entertains her, though she probably already knows if she has the keys in her grip.

“Oh! That’s so lovely, you’ll do an amazing job just like you did with our house, I just know it.” She winks at him, offering the ring to him and plopping it in his palm when he holds it up. “Just make sure to lock the door back behind you and I’m sure she’s left a note of which lamp to leave on so the house doesn’t look empty at night.”

“Noticed she has a lot of late nights, I can definitely do that.” Joel feels his smile begin to melt the longer he realizes that your mother is talking so casually about the way he interacts with her daughter. How he’s watched you enough to notice certain mannerisms and routines.

Lydia stares at him over the threshold. Her sharp eyes finding the cracks in his demeanor, the effects of his harsh words, sleepless nights, and nose to the grind days. Joel’s heart beats steadily as she regards him, racketing up the longer the look lasts but especially when she gasps in the middle of her next sentence.

“She does normally, but- oh dear, she didn’t tell you?” The woman blinks and concerned wrinkles form in her brow and around her nose as she scrunches it in much the same way you do when you laugh.

“Tell me what?” Joel croaks, unable to dispel the anxiety and fear that bubbles up to fill his chest painfully. His breathing shallows as his mind works through all of the worst-case scenarios of you being in the hospital or something happening to you at the shop. His fingers tighten around the keys in his hand, the metal bites into the calluses from wielding tools his entire adult life.

“She’s gone to do a guest spot at a friend’s shop in LA for a few weeks. Manny is dropping her off right now, her flight leaves in a few hours.” Her announcement freezes time completely, Ellie was right. You were leaving without telling him. Running because he gave you a reason to.

“Shit.” He pockets the keys and shoves his feet into a pair of worn cowboy boots. Lydia moves aside quickly, avoiding him as he rushes past. His heart is pounding as he pictures you alone in the airport, swathed in one of the big, chunky cardigans that you favor. Shoving the keys into the ignition, the truck roars to life. Words from a past conversation echoing in his mind.

‘You look over at him and Joel feels his chest tighten as you smile sadly at him, lips barely lifting up.

“My parents are boarding.” He sees in the way you fiddle with your phone, fingers tapping long nails against the case, the way you focus completely on the screen. You’re nervous.

“Long flight, huh?” He set the roller in his grip down into the pan he’s poured a bit of paint in, making sure it’s not going to tip over before he wipes his hands on his stained jeans and gently pulls the phone from your grip. “Ain’t no use hyperfixatin’ on it. How long is the flight?”

“Something insane like fourteen hours. God, I couldn’t.”

“Not a fan of flyin?”

“Honestly? No, it turns me into a nervous wreck, I’d rather drive for three days to get somewhere than take a five hour flight.” You don’t meet his eyes, almost bashful at the admittance. But he watches you, sees the truth behind your words and he wants to pull you into a hug. But that would be a line, so he just reached out a hand to cup your shoulder as he moves around you, squeezing it in a quiet comfort.’

“Her flight takes off at gate 42A!” He waves a hand up through the open window to signal that he hears her shout, and his truck takes off down the street. “It’s a Delta flight!”

Ellie sidles up to Lydia with her arms crossed and a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, he’s got it baaaad.” Your mom says with a sweet laugh. Watching the way his taillights disappear around the street that runs perpendicular to the cul-de-sac.

“You have no idea.” Ellie shoves at her with an elbow, cackling at the way the woman scoffs in mock hurt and places a hand over her heart.

“Oh shut up, I didn’t even get you that hard.” She defends, shaking her head at the antics of her neighbor.

“Ellie, you little shit, I swear I shouldn’t invite you over for dinner. But I have a feeling your lovesick papa is gonna go as far as boarding a plane to fix whatever he did.” She tosses an arm over Ellie’s shoulders and tugs her close.

“Fuck, you’re right. He didn’t leave any money for food.” Her face falls and the words settle in.

“Alright, c’mon- I’ve got enchiladas comin’ out of the oven any minute now. Manny should be back soon too, she never lets us stay with her at the gate. She’s a tough cookie, that girl.”

“She really is,” Ellie makes sure to lock the door behind her and follows you mom across the street. “So what kinda enchiladas?”

Brakes screech as Joel comes to a harsh start in front of the valet stand. The logo for your airline hanging above the designated spot for pull overs and pickups. He jerks the gear shift into park, grabs a flannel from the back and shrugs it on as he rounds the front of the truck. He tosses the keys to the guy who looks up from his phone at the stand.

“Hello, sir, would you like long- or short-term parking today?” Joel pulls his wallet out from his back pocket and hands over his personal bank card. He’ll gladly pay anything out of pocket to mend the damage he’s done. He just wants to get to you before boarding begins. He got stuck in traffic, of course, making his little drive into an hour long deal that had his sighing heavily and hitting his fists to the steering wheel more times than he could count.

“Uh, whatever works. Short term shifts to longer after what- 24 hours?”

“That’s correct, sir.” The attendant tears off a receipt from a small printer, it’s got Joel’s name on it and the type of car he has. He’s ushering a quick thank you before rushing inside and going straight to the boards that show the departures. He whips his head back and forth, sweeping the area for arrows to direct him to the correct terminal that hosts your gate.

He’s just stepped onto the escalator to go up two floors when he spots a flash of sun glinting off of a watch. His chest tightens as he sees you standing out on the balcony for the floor he’s about to reach, putting out the butt of one cigarette and immediately move to light another. He can practically smell the smoke from it mixed with your perfume, and he takes a deep breath before an announcement calling for preboarding for your flight along with two others.

“Shit,” He mutters to himself as he gets to the top of the escalator. There’s a short line to go through security and they’re asking for boarding passes. He mentally steels himself, getting his wallet out and gritting his teeth as he approaches at the motion of the woman at the podium. He’s not the biggest fan of flying either, it’s always too cramped, too stuffy, it makes his anxiety bubble up. But you need him, more than he dislikes the very same thing as you do.

“Hi, I’d like to book a seat on the Los Angeles flight departing from gate 42A, ma’am.”

It’s been a shitty day, your morning client didn’t show up and the person who took the spot for a walk in wanted something too complicated for the time slot you had available. So you settled on a consultation instead. Anxiety steadily builds in your entire body, humming through you more efficiently than caffeine or the nutrient packed meal you had for lunch at your parents to keep you awake and moving. The bag you packed that morning sits beside you as you father drives you to the airport.

“No need to check the car in, when you’ve got me to help ya!”

“Dad, I really wouldn’t have minded. What if my return flight comes in super late or like really early?”

“Well, we ain’t workin’ too much these days, so shut up and drink your smoothie.”

“Well then.” You huff out a nervous laugh, the taste of peaches and passion fruit souring on your tongue as you take a big sip through the plastic straw.

“So,” He glances over at you as he signals to take the exit for the airport coming up in two miles. The highway is busy, right in the middle of the city. The word is drawn out, something riding the undercurrent of it and you look over at him with a raised brow.

“So?”

“Joel’s been a little distant since the remodel.”

“He’s busy, dad, running his own company and all.” You look back out the window, fingers trailing through the condensation on your plastic cup.

“Seems like he’s avoidin’ you, should you be over at ours.” And damn if your dad didn’t hit the nail on the head. You were both avoiding each other, too much brimming and needing to be dealt with but neither of you knowing how to begin to.

“No, we just…had a little miscommunication about the work he’s doing on my place.” A sliver of the truth is all you can offer, a little white lie.

“Hmm, okay. But don’t be too hard on him, he don’t have many people in his life ‘n he seems to have taken a liking to you.” Mulling over his words, you recall the way Joel once said that since his brother became so unreliable, he forfeited his only night out a week to go to the bar and decompress.

“Everything is okay, dad. I promise I’m not getting between you two. Invite him over if you wanna hang out with him.” Regret and guilt bubbles up, you truly didn’t mean to affect the way your parents and Joel interact. They were friends, all of them. You were simply the person who hired him as a handy man, the term kept man a little too close to the truth. But it lingers in the back of your mind. Joel is more than just a handy man, he’s someone who you talked to in the quiet moments and want to take care of.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if you did get between the two of us, never seem him look so…down. Maybe you could take him out to a nice dinner, don’t know when the last time anyone did something’ like that for him. He let’s your mom and me cook for him, sure, but it’s not the same. So stubborn on that front, but I’m sure you could convince him.”

You don’t exchange any more words as he pulls up to the drop off zone. With a kiss to your forehead and a crushing hug, he shoves you toward the entrance with a ‘now get outta here and go do your thing!’.

The nicotine was doing little to calm your nerves, you hated flying with passion.  It was one of the things you didn’t have the guts to handle, even if it was a normal part of life.

You put out the cigarette you just lit when you notice the tremors of your hand shaking it so much the ash rains down onto the concrete of the balcony. You walk as quickly as you can through the main throughfare you know your gate is off of. You’ve got the last boarding group, which gives you enough time to collect yourself. Your intensions of splashing water on your face and taking a few deep breaths completely derails when you see that the bathroom is empty and a sob lurches out of your chest. With shaking hands, you plop your duffel bag onto the wall that backs up to the entrance and lean back against it.

Your head is raised as you try to keep the tears at bay, but they leak out anyway, in hot streaks down your cheeks as you slide down the slick tile and thud heavily on your butt.

With a pounding heart, a heavy weight in your stomach and twitching nerves, you sit there in the bathroom and succumb to the tears. Public setting or not be damned.

The last time you were on a plane had been one of the clearest recollections of what hinted you toward what was going on with your now ex-husband. Someone who normally comforted you and got you through the few flights that had to be taken. The last time though…

‘Micah is staring at his phone as they call for boarding, your group the first due to first class. He said he wanted to treat you, make the ordeal a little easier since your nerves got the best of you. Letting out a deep breath, you go to reach for the strap of your duffel bag and sling it over a shoulder. The tickets are loaded individually on your phones, something that you didn’t think much about.

He’s so wrapped up in whatever is on the screen that he startles when you walk behind him and wrap your arms around his neck to whisper in his ear that they’re calling for your group.

“Jesus, Grey! Don’t be doing shit like that, seriously!” He’s up like a rocket, his phone screen locking. An apology falls from you, claiming you didn’t know he would react so badly. “It’s bad enough you turn into a literal child when it comes to flying, but it doesn’t mean you have to be all clingy and invade my personal space.”

All you can do is nod once, to let him know you hear him and acknowledge what he’s saying. Even if it hurts, even if it does nothing but rachet up the feeling of a balloon inflating impossibly large inside your chest, too big to fill into the small space and making the air in your lungs feel like a monumental task to breath in and out. He doesn’t reach for your hand or usher you ahead of him with a guiding hand on the small of your back. He almost makes it look as if the two of you aren’t even traveling together as he gets into the line, not bothering to wait for you while your boarding pass gets scanned and verified.

He's already seated in the row that will house you two for the next seven hours, a trip out to Philly for the next month. A bottle of water in his grip while he scrolls on his phone with that same concentration as before. And you hate the way that your heart mends a little when the plane begins to glide across the tarmac and Michah reaches over to tangle his fingers in your own.’

You’re so lost in your feelings and memories that you ignore the loud rush of stomping steps that burst into the bathroom. It’s probably just someone who got off of a flight or someone rushing before they board.  

“There you are,” You hear the sudden timbre of Joel’s southern drawl laced voice. Your head whips up to reveal your tear stained face slack in complete surprise.

“J-Joel? What- what are you doing here?” You roughly wipe the sleeve of your cardigan underneath an eye to dispel the wetness from your tears. His face softens from panicked to a sad smile as he kneels down in front of you and runs a hand over your mussed hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“You don’t like flyin’.” He cups the side of your face, thumb wiping the wetness there you didn’t manage to get yourself. You don’t flinch away from him as his eyes meet yours, even if a knot lodges itself in your throat.

“Well, yes, that’s correct but-“ You begin to shake your head, the last words he spoke to you hanging heavy in the air.

“Look, I know, okay? I know things are all out of sorts with us, but you…you needed someone and I’m here.” He’s unprepared for you to launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and your face burying into his chest. He lets out a little ‘oof’ as his butt makes contact with the tile but wraps his arms around your back all the same. The cherry of your perfume and the smoke from the cigarette fills his lungs and he feels like it’s the first full breath he’s taken since the past confrontation. His scent, spicy and woodsy overwhelms you as you embrace, doing much the same to you.

“You’re so stupid.” You whisper, lips brushing against the soft skin of his neck. The urge to bite into the tan expanse overtakes you and your lips purse at keeping the action securely in your mind.

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He’s completely serious, his voice barely a whisper in imitation of yours- not wanting to break the fragile moment. You can feel the guilt he carries in the firm way he holds you, in his very breath as you lean against him and move his chest as it rises and falls.

“You bought a flight to get through the line and into the terminal.”

“Guess that means we’re going to LA.”

“You leave for Philly in a few days.”

“Ellie is perfectly capable of flying out from here and I can always fly out from LA. I ain’t worried about that, I’m worried about you.” His confidence in the girl he raised obvious, pride in his tone as he realizes himself that she’s nearly grown as much as she will be.

“Shut up, you’re not real.”

“Real as you are, have a hard time believing it when you’re not around.”

“You can’t possibly be this flirty all the time, it’s not fair.”

“I’m gonna let you get away with sayin’ anything you want right now, cause you’re going through it.” He chuckles, his body shaking yours as he loses his composure at the things you have no filter for.

He’s pulling back slightly, his nose brushing your forehead and down your temple. Your breath hitches as you feel the jump in his heart beating in his chest, your eyes flashing up to meet his. Tension fills the bright room, bouncing off the tile and coursing through the air that almost sizzles between the very little space that separates your bodies. His hands are firm and wide on the whole of your back, fingers flexing as you glance down at his plus lips so- dizzyingly close.

The sound of someone entering the space and a shocked gasp as you jerking away from him suddenly, hands detangling from him as he moves slower to mirror your actions.

“Apologies, ma’am. Little pre-trip jitters is all.” Joel offers you a steady hand to stand, remaining on the floor until you’re back up on your feet, eyes trained on your boots. With a small grunt, he’s standing too and reaching for your bag as the woman scurries to one of the stalls and the lock clicks into place. The light music playing over the speakers pauses to announce the boarding for your flight and you two move together to exit the bathroom.

“It’s gonna be okay, I swear to you.” He’s pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, tickling you as his scruff brushes there. “Now let’s catch our flight.”

Joel watches quietly as you down two of the little shot bottles you purchased from the flight attendant the second she came around with the drink cart. He felt you reach for his hand the moment the plane began to taxi along the tarmac, your grip vice like as the aircraft built speed to take off. He tried not to clamp his hand around yours to give way his own discomfort at flying, wanting to ensure that you were tended to over himself. You were so tense still, your entire body rigid beside him.

He let you get him a bottle of water, though he had yet to crack the seal on it.

The window was closed, his body shieling you on the other side from the aisle, business class only holding two larger seats to a row. You had upgraded his seat and covered the cost so you two could be beside each other and he’s grateful, not even thinking of the original seat he may have gotten.

It’s well into the flight and he sees you bend down to dig into the duffel you insisted at having stored by your feet. The rattle of a pills in a translucent orange bottle draws his eyes from where he focused on cleaning the lenses of his thick framed glasses.

“These might make me a little sleepy, but, um, the rental car is through enterprise and the hotel is through a local place downtown.” He opens the water for you to down two pills, taking a sip before he twists the cap back on, shoulder warming as you lean against him, arm wrapped around his bicep and fingers tangling with his. It’s close, it’s contact, and he hopes you can’t hear the way his heart thuds in his chest as he pictures you doing so under less extreme circumstances. He worries he’s truly messed everything up, but you’re letting him be the support you need and that’s a big step in the right direction to mending what he almost burned down.

“I’ll make sure we get there safely, just worry about keeping calm. I got it, sweetheart.” The soft rumble of his voice sooths you, he knows as soon as your eyes drift shut and your breathing evens out.

Hours later, you begin to stir and feel marginally better. Everything is foggy through your sluggish mind, but you trust Joel to help you unbuckle from the seat as the plane finally comes to a stop after landing.

He does just as he promises, holding you securely to his side as you sleepily follow his guiding movements. The rental desk asks for the card on file and he’s leaning down and murmuring if he can dig it out of your bag slung over his shoulder. Your little hum of approval has him unzipping the side pocket before your voice reminds him that he needs to add himself down as a driver.

“Thank you, you and your wife enjoy your visit!”

The word slaps him in the face even as he tries to smile politely at the woman, turning away from the desk and guiding you over to the car. He secures you in the passenger seat before carefully placing your bag in the backseat.

“Sweetheart, what hotel did you book?” He watches as you pat yourself down, searching for something and then it clicks. Your phone. That’s in his own pocket, you pushed it into his hands back on the plane.

“I’ve got your phone here, Grey. I turned it on after we landed,” Joel hands it over and you blearily look down at the screen, little groans slipping past your lips as you sift through all the notifications to find what you were looking for. You turn it toward him and he sees the reservation, typing in the address listed in his own phone. He’ll text Ellie once everything is settled, more than the ‘landed safe’ he did as soon as the pilot turned off the fastened seatbelt sign.

As he turns the engine and maneuvers out of the parking lot and into the glittering city, he hears your phone ringing as it calls out.

“Hey momma, we made it.”

“Oh good! I assumed Joel managed to catch you, he rushed off so quickly.” Lydia’s voice chimes like tin through the line. “I’ve got Ellie over here, we’re playing monopoly and-“

“It’s late, let her go to bed.” You admonish and Joel smiles to himself at the concern you hold for his daughter thought you’ve yet to meet her.

“I’m fine! Glad you and dad are safe! Tell him he didn’t leave any food money!” Ellie’s loud voice causes you to pull the phone away from your ear and Joel smirks at the sight out of the corner of his eye.

“I think he heard ya, kid.” Your own sleepy smile softens the scene, making it more intimate in the close quarters of the cab. The rest of the call is at an appropriate volume and you assure her that you’ll make sure money gets sent over. As Joel signals to turn into the hotel entrance, you motion to the valet for him to stop at.

“Jus’ wanna sleep.” You mumble as you begin to disrobe, unaware of him freezing by the door as you do so. The skin you expose to him not even a thought as you hang your cardigan on the back of the chair at the desk and move to place your leggings there too. Your baggy shirt and underwear allowing for your legs to be on display, the ink that decorates them catching the low lights left on for those like you with late check ins. The snap of elastic as you unhook your bra is the last thing preventing you from laying down and you move toward the big bed to peel back the covers.

Slipping inside, you don’t even manage to get them over your body before you’re gone from the world and snoring softly.

Letting out the breath caught in his throat, Joel puts down the duffel bag and steps out of his cowboy boots before going into the bathroom. He hangs his head as his hands grip tight to the edge of the vanity in the large bathroom, a bathtub and glass panel shower filling the space. He dims the lights so they don’t sneak underneath the door, though he doubts you would stir at much right now.

He’s hard.

Arousal striking hot like a hook around his navel the second you began to take your clothes off and he feels like an old creep for the way his body chose to respond. You’re vulnerable, someone who trusts him to keep you safe. He wonders if he should go back down to the lobby and book himself a room, but…he doesn’t want to.

The shower doesn’t sputter to life as he turns the nob, it gently rains down instantly hot water and he groans as it runs over his exhausted muscles. He takes his time washing with the supplies already in the stall on a small alcove shelf. The same scent he recognizes from time spent with you, the hotel must’ve stocked your choice of products and he breaths in the comforting mix of lemon, cherry, and rose.

A hand drifts down to where he’s still hard between his legs, soap suds trailing down his body to envelop him completely in your scent and his breath sucks in the moment he wraps a wide palm around himself.

“Fuck.” He whispers, he’s really about to do this with you only one wall away. Fuck, he really is and it only takes him a few strokes before his orgasm blinds him, glittering stars of white clouding his vision as it buckles his knees and pulses out to paint the tiles. He’s panting heavily, the sensation almost too much as he pictures the way your legs looked, completely bare underneath your shirt. The little hint of your ass he got a good view of as you leaned over to pull the covers away from the bed.

The words of that particular clause in his contract float in his mind’s eye and he sucks in a deep breath. A decision on how to traverse that particular aspect of your relationship completely up to him. And god, does he want to keep up the casual and comforting touches, to feel the soft brush of your fingers against his own skin. But it’s okay, there’s time.

Damp and completely relaxed, Joel busies himself setting up the couch for him to sleep on with the extra blankets folded in the closet. He’s about to turn the light own by the side of the bed you aren’t occupying when he hears the hush of the sheets. Looking up, he sees you reaching out to him blindly.

“Come to bed, Joel.”

And damn, if he can’t argue with the soft timbre of your sleep voice and the pout of your lips as you lay in the big bed all alone. He looks over to where his shirt rests on the desk and walks over to shrug it back on before he slides underneath the covers beside you. The small huff of your breath as you doze back off and the gentle smile on your pretty lips eases him into a peaceful sleep.

You wake up to the sound of loud snoring, startling you where you’re curled up in the covers pulled up to your chin. Your eyes snap open as you take in a deep breath, the waking world shocking you as you spy tousled hair on the pillow beside you. Steaked with dark and light greys, but he’s the source of the sound that woke you.

Despite that, you bite down on your bottom lip as you take in the way he kept to his side of the large bed and slide out to go to the bathroom. The shower is amazing, the hot water rinsing away the last of the sleep that clings to you, a combination of the way you worked yourself up and the medication. You’re reaching to wash the conditioner from your hair when a soft knock sounds on the closed door.

“Hey, uh, I don’t mean to intrude, but nature calls.” Joel’s voice calls over the rush of water and you freeze.

“Oh, um, okay. The shower is clear, but it’s fogged up enough-“

“Ain’t gonna look, I promise.” And then the door is opening and Joel’s blurry figure can be seen through the mist. But you do. His hand is secure over his crotch and you realize he’s trying to cover the way his morning wood is tucked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. You quickly look away, arousal zinging through you as you do your best to ignore the sounds of him relieving himself.

He’s careful with flushing and washing his hands, not wanting to affect the temperature of your shower but it doesn’t even register as you do your best to avoid the weight his quick glance puts on your skin before he’s gone- just as quick as he appeared.

The rest of the morning is spent getting breakfast down in the restaurant, the conversation flowing easily as you both go over switching his flight for Philly to leave from LA instead of Austin. Money is sent over to Ellie and as you load up into the rental to hit up some shops for supplies you need to live out of the hotel room, Joel reaches for your hands and holds them gently.

“Hey,” He catches your eyes, the nerves he feels swelling up mirrored in your eyes.

“Joel, it’s okay, really. You- you didn’t know.” You try to pull your hands back and he lets you, curling them back to himself as he watches you switch your weight from one foot to the other.

“No, I didn’t. But I should’ve have come at you like that, it was…it was mighty unprofessional of me to do that. I was in the wrong and you didn’t deserve to catch the weight of how I responded to thinking you were married.” His words are genuine, carrying the guilt he feels over the way things unraveled and you exhale heavily.

“It…it wasn’t good, to hear those words come from you. Those accusations, but I understand how it might have looked, really. I just- Joel, I only ever wanted to help you, please trust me. My- the reason I moved my entire life is huge, and I was going to share it with you when I could find the courage.”

“You don’t have to, even now. I swear to you, your business and past is your own. I just want you to be okay, to be safe. That’s the most important thing.” You step up to him to carefully wrap your arms around his middle and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek despite the flutter in your chest and the slight shake to your hands.

“I’m okay, for the most part. But you’re…Joel, you’re amazing. You really didn’t have to alter your own plans to travel with me and to do everything you have since we left yesterday. I appreciate it, I appreciate you.” His own hands come up around your back to return the embrace, the causal touch lighting you up just as much as seeing him through the fogged up glass paneling of the shower this morning. He’s just so…handsome that it’s a little hard to reconcile that he’s here with you, that he’s feeling more like a friend and less like the man who you initially hired to help you out. The lines blurring the more time you spend with him, the attraction blooming and gaining a heated weight that’s harder and harder to shake from your body.

“I appreciate you too, sweetheart. It’s…it’s okay that I’ve been callin’ you that, right?” He suddenly looks bashful as you step back. And hope swells, that he might possibly feel the same effects as you do being in each other’s space. He’s asking more if everything is okay, you realize, not just the nickname he’s given you and you pause. He’s done so much the last few days, literally coming to your rescue as you fell apart in the very public bathroom of an airport terminal. He’s done more than enough to show how sorry he is and you don’t feel like his words were anything but an immediate reaction to something stemming from his own past. But you don’t push on that, just like he’s not pushing you now.

“Yes, of course.” You assure him, smiling softly as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s go get you some clothes for the next two days, yeah?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” The smile he gives you in return is disarming and you feel your stomach swoop.

“Okay, so I got the shuttle times for you, since you insisted. It’ll be here at-“ Your words trail off as you see him sitting on the large bed, his hands are in his lap though you note the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists atop his thighs. He looks a little startled at your sudden entrance, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

“Wanted to get you something, spent my own money on it. I hope you like it.” The scent of the bouquet on the desk that he approaches now fills the room in a pleasant way, mingling with the cologne he favors and your own perfume. A wonderful mixture of you both in the space you’ll be occupying for the next few weeks. Sadness flairs up when you realize it will fade as soon as he’s gone. “Tried to keep it a secret until I could surprise you with it.”

“What other secrets are you hiding, hmm, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is raspy, the display of the petals over the bed where a new cardigan in a fancy box sits partially open for you to see the soft muted green of the fabric. A gift, to make up for the things you’ve already decided to move past.

“Jus’ Joel, how many times do I gotta-“

“But I respect you, Mr. Miller. Don't you want me to show how highly I regard you?” The air in the room shifts as does the pitch of your voice.

“Just a workin' man, always have been, ain't nothin' special.” He’s not looking at you, pink tinging his ears and the base of his neck as he looks down at the jeans he’s originally rushed out of the house in.  

“Joel,” The sound of his name releases on a breathy sigh as you begin to saunter up to where he's leaning his backside on the desk, errant petals surround him, covers him in places he hadn't patted them away from. The rugged, worn denim hugging his frame, his plain, paint spotted t-shirt displaying the muscles he's built over the years of his life. He didn’t want to fly in the things purchased earlier that day, opting to keep them in the new bag he’s got to take with him on his trip. He's a tasty looking man, and no one else is around. You can't help the pulse of desire that lances underneath your skin, lighting you up in a way you hadn't felt in ages. the piercing gaze he pins you with even as you see the bob of a harsh swallow in his throat, the pursing of his lips as he tries to keep his calm the closer you get to him.

The air is thick, heady, tension crackling and making every other sound soft as you finally step into his space. Right in front of him, you have to look up slightly because of his height, his curls so soft underneath your exploring fingers as you reach out and pet them away from his face, the longer ones having fallen to frame his gorgeous face. You can see the moment his eyes dilate, darken as your tongue peeks out to lick over your bottom lip, the way your teeth sink into the plush give of it as you tangle fingers into his curls and the scratch of your nails on his scalp. A groan sounds deep in his chest, his own lips parting as it sits in the air between you. the sound spurring you on as you rest your other hand delicately on his chest, feeling the hardness of muscle there hidden beneath the thin fabric.

“I shouldn’t want to, I really shouldn’t with how things are and who your parents are.”

“Shouldn’t want to what?” Your heart thunders in your chest, his eyes trained on you with such intensity.

Hope swells, filling your chest where you can’t seem to get enough of the heavy air into your lungs.

“Shouldn’t wanna do this.” And then his hands are cradling the back of your head and the curve of your jaw as he leans down to press his lips firmly to yours.

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[jinxvex]

PLEASSSSEEEE SOME MEL APPRECIATION!! I WANT SOME SMUTTY SWEATY SMUT WITH AFTERCARE PLSOSL

♱ insatiable. ♱

omg I LOVE THIS REQ!! TY!! + i am still alive, i promise! i've been lazy w/ writing but i'm getting back on the grind, TRUST!! 😏🤭...

(ALSO! i'm not ignoring your asks (i swear!!) i'm still trying to get to them all lol)

syp. messy tribbing with mel....

cw: nsfw content!!, tribbing/scissoring, dirty talk, sub-ish!mel, dom-ish!reader, praising/sweet sex, lil bit of teasing, lil bit nasty, vulgar language, AFTERCARE!!!

mel medarda is insatiable when it comes to you—completely, utterly, and truly insatiable.

mel is usually one to be perfectly put together. you marvel at how perfect she is; not a hair out of place, no stains on her designer clothing, and not a single piece of gold jewelry twisted or mismatched in any way. she takes pride in her appearance and how people view her as a spectacle; someone to admire and strive to be.

oh! what the people would think if they saw her now…

mel is perched comfortably above you, having found the perfect position to pin you down and grind her sloppy wet pussy against yours. her hands grip your shoulders while yours dig into her hips so she can't run. she’s propped one of your legs up on her shoulder to get as close as possible, mouth open wide in the shape of an O. she’s dripping wet, cunt sensitive, and stretched out from the various ways in which you fingered her, fucked her with the strap, and then some.

she still can’t get enough.

“god! f-fuck, you feel incredible. s-so good,” she’s repeating herself over and over, brain blurry and filled with only images of you and the way you make her fully feel. the way your pussy, which is almost as wet as hers, feels against her has her mind reeling.

your shared wetness is leaking down onto the bed, creating a large, cold wet spot below you. you're groaning at how her pussy kisses yours, a short string of cum gathering between you two each time you meet. her pace is slow, and calculated. like everything she does.

you laugh, enthralled at her desire, “yeah, baby? you fuckin’ like grinding your needy little cunt on me? after all the times you came? you’re all stretched out ‘n you’re still begging for more, ‘s cute.”

the tone in which she responds is nothing short of pleading.

“hmph. mhm! fuck yes, babe. i need you. need you to let me come all over you. wanna make a mess f’you."

“p-please…”

her need—her longing ignites a new sense of urgency in you. you need to make her gush, make her pussy cream over yours, and create something so fucking messy but still beautiful nevertheless.

you want to paint her in you.

you quicken your hips that hastily move upwards to meet hers and find your head lifting off of the bed to stare deeper into her eyes. your grip on her hips grows slightly painful. mel lets out an abrupt yelp, resembling a scream, signifying her surprise.

“keep goin’, melly. wanna feel that pussy cum. you’re gonna fucking make a mess all over me, princess.”

you continue.

“make yourself cum. gimme that shit, babe. yeeeah, gimme that pretty fuckin' pussy.”

she stills, hips stuttering and eyes rolling to the back of her skull.

“f-fuhh- oh my god! m’ cumming!”

“me too, baby, fuck! can feel you throbbing.”

and with those words alone, she’s gushing against you, clutching your leg in her hands in a silent scream and mouth wide open. she rides out her high, broken moans and cries falling from her lips, breaking her pleasure-induced silence.

“that’s it, melly, f-fuuuck. give it to me."

miraculously, her pussy is drenching your lower half in her cum—mixing with yours and it’s beautiful.

white clouds her vision, droplets of sweat dripping down her brows as she collapses on top of you. she quickly wraps her arms around you and she’s breathing heavily.

she’s definitely done for the night.

as she buries her head into your shoulder, your arms cage her in and wrap around her back. you break your own silence to praise her, worship her like she deserves.

“mm, good girl. you did so good for me, gorgeous.”

“you came so hard, didn’t you, baby?”

she nods, unable to speak.

“yeah, babe. you deserve it.”

mel then looks up, eyebrows furrowed and capturing your eyes with her fucked-out gaze. her lips part.

she inches closer to your lips, “kiss, please.”

“of course, c’mere.”

when you kiss her, you do it softly by cupping her smooth face in your hands and gently guiding her lips along yours. she can still taste herself on your tongue and that makes her close in even deeper, appreciating the closeness and intimacy of truly feeling herself within you.

you break the kiss to look at her, you smile and stifle a laugh at her disheveled state although you still see her as the most beautiful, magnificent gift the world could ever offer you.

“wha-what’s so funny!” she jokingly accuses you of nothing and everything all at once.

“nothing, you just- you’re beautiful, melly. i love you.”

“and, i love you, sweetheart.”

your smile deepens, “good. now let’s go shower.”

…

lmk if y'all want more aftercare for future writings... i need to practice with it!!

[setmeatopthepyre]

WIP wednesday enabled/tagged-ish by @peapodbond & @geddyqueer <3 really felt like sharing this slice of antarct-fic. enjoy!

-

Katie slides the bottle towards him. “Drink up, kid. The rations don't carry over.”

Buck happily obliges. They drink in companionable quiet for a while, Katie occasionally providing commentary on the people coming and going or doing the rounds, telling Buck who they are, how long they've been coming to the Ice, pointing out the winterovers and the ones with interesting stories.

They're watching two pilots (“That's Hisham, helo pilot, third timer. Girlfriend's a kiwi, she's at Scott base. Other fella's one of the Canadians with Ken-Borek. Loïc, think it was. Fixed wing pilot. They tend not to get along.”) get into an argument that both men seem too tired to actually escalate, when Buck speaks up.

“Katie, have you ever been in love?”

She dangles her bottle from between her finger tips, eyes still on the argument unfolding. “Sure.”

He props his head up on his hand to look at her. “What happened?”

Katie levels her steely gaze at him but something she sees makes her soften a little. Shrugs. “She ran off to go study insular dwarfism in Madagascan chameleons. Left me behind.”

Buck's eyebrows raise along with the corners of his mouth. “Oh. S-so you're--”

She nods, taps her bottle against his. Leans in and mock-whispers, “There's more of us than y'think, kid. Even out here.” Considers it. “Perhaps especially out here. The Ice tends to attracts people like us.”

Buck watches her take a swig of her drink and lets the words sink in. “Wait, what do you mean, 'people like us?'”

Her pale eyebrows inch towards the edge of her bandana. “What do you think I mean, Buckley?” She gestures at herself. “The gays, the dykes, the-- whatever you are. You know. The queers.”

“Oh.” Something uncomfortable twists in his gut. “I-I'm not--”

Katie leans back, genuine surprise written across her face. “Well I'm sorry, kid. I could'a sworn last night you spent all of three beers waxing poetic about your helo guy.”

Buck makes a face. “W-well. He-- he's not my... but--”

“You're in love with this man, yeah?”

And he can't help the lovestruck smile that's tugging at the corners of his mouth, dips his head. “Yeah.”

“And you're a guy.”

“Uh, o-obviously.”

“So you're...” she gestures and Buck realizes he's supposed to finish the sentence. He shifts in his seat, discomfort gnawing at him.

“Yeah, I, uh. Yes, I-I guess that would make me...��� he trails off, looks at her pleadingly, not sure if he wants her to give him all the answers or just drop the subject entirely.

“So, what, are you homophobic?”

Katie's raspy voice still carries, and Buck casts a panicked glance around the bar. Thankfully, no one seems to have heard her. Or they're really good at hiding it. “No! No. No, of-- of course not. I-I'm... I've always been an ally.”

She raises her eyebrows. “An ally who's in love with a man but can't even say out loud that he's... what? Gay? Bi?”

He gives her a desperate look from where he has his face practically pressed against the tabletop. “Right? I-I should know, shouldn't I? How-- How can I-I not know?”

He's whining. That was definitely a whine.

As if by some miracle, Katie looks less unimpressed with him than she usually does, which doesn't say a whole lot, especially considering the fact that she's not even looking at him right now. She's staring off into space as she takes a long swig from her bottle. When she speaks, her voice is uncharacteristically gentle.

“You came all the way out here to follow the guy you're in love with,” she says, slowly, as if trying to explain something to a particularly dense but, arguably, loved child. Then she sighs, puts a calloused hand on his. “Look, kid, you don't need to choose from a whole bunch of labels. Hell, the only labels I knew 'til well into my thirties was dykes and fags.” And Buck tries not to flinch, but she clocks him anyway if the roll of her eyes is anything to go by.

She pats his hand. “You don't need any labels at all if y'don't want them. God knows they probably never think about it.” She gestures at the other bar patrons with her bottle. “But there's not needing a label, and there's bein' ashamed of what that label means, and a lot of us older folk used the former as an excuse for the latter for a long time. Claiming that label means something to us. It doesn't have to, for you, but if your guy spent any time in the closet, it might mean a whole lot to him.”

Buck takes a moment for the words to sink in. “What, so he thinks I'm... ashamed of my feelings for him?”

She pats his hand twice more before removing hers and leaning back. “Hell if I know, I'm not a mind reader.”

-

no pressure tagging @ambernotember @sugarpenchant @geddyqueer @beanarie @epiphainie @leashybebes @iphyslitterator @rcmclachlan @trombonechurchill

[satoruswifeyyyy]

lover, you should've come over (r. zoro x fem! reader)

chapter one: how to disappear completely

official playlist

masterlist

synopsis: reader and zoro are dating but it's not the same as before- something has changed.

the thousand sunny rocked gently on the waves, the sound of the ocean filling the gaps where laughter and teasing once thrived. the once lively and electric energy between zoro and you had faded into something quieter, heavier.

you sat on the deck, absentmindedly flipping through a book she had read a dozen times. you weren't really reading—your (your eye colour) eyes flickered towards the moss-headed swordsman at the other end of the deck, sharpening his swords like always. he hadn't spoken to you all day.

again.

it wasn't like you both were fighting. no. you both still kissed, still shared the same bed, still sat beside each other during meals. but something was… off. your banter had dulled, your playful arguments had disappeared. it was like they were just… there. existing beside each other instead of with each other.

and you hated it.

you sighed and shut your book.

"okay, spill," nami’s voice interrupted your thoughts as she sat down beside you.

you blinked at the navigator. "spill what?"

"oh, don't give me that," nami scoffed, crossing her arms. "you and zoro look like two ghosts haunting this ship. even luffy noticed, and you know that means something."

you bit your lip, hesitating. "it's just…" you sighed. "i don't know. things don’t feel the same anymore. it’s like he doesn’t look at me the same way."

"you sure?" robin suddenly joined in the conversation. "because from what i've seen, he still looks at you like a lost puppy when you're not looking."

nami nodded to that and you let out a small laugh, but it was hollow. "i just… i don’t know if he loves me the same way he used to."

"talk to him," nami said. "before you drive yourself crazy."

you nodded, but deep down, fear rooted you in place.

on the other side of the ship, zoro was sharpening his swords, pretending he wasn’t listening.

he knew something was wrong. he felt it in the way you hesitated before holding his hand, in the way you avoided his eyes when you laughed.

have you gotten tired of him?

zoro clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on wado ichimonji. the thought made his chest ache.

"oi, marimo," sanji’s voice broke through his thoughts. "what’s with that stormy look? thinking too hard? that’s dangerous for someone like you."

zoro glared at him. "shut it, curly-brow."

sanji smirked but then studied zoro’s face. the cocky grin faltered slightly.

"you know," he said, lighting a cigarette, "if you’re this lost in thought, it’s probably about a certain (your hair colour) bookworm."

zoro stiffened.

sanji scoffed. "tch. Idiot. just talk to her before you screw it up."

zoro growled. "i don’t need your advice."

sanji shrugged. "fine. then keep moping around like a lovesick fool." he turned to walk away, then stopped. "just don’t take too long, marimo. you might regret it."

zoro clicked his tongue, annoyed, but the words stayed with him.

that night, zoro found you sitting at the bow of the ship, staring at the horizon. the moonlight made her your hair glow, but your (your eye colour) eyes looked duller than usual.

"y/n" zoro spoke first, voice gruff but hesitant.

you turned to him, surprised. "yeah?"

zoro took a deep breath, scratching the back of his head. "is there something wrong between us?"

her eyes widened slightly. you hadn't expected him to ask first.

your heart pounded. this was it. this was the moment you had been dreading.

"…yeah," you finally admitted, voice softer than usual. "i think there is."

silence.

you both stared at each other, the weight of your words sinking in.

a/n: i know i don't really write anything other than jjk but i couldn't stop myself from writing this mini series 😭 this is my first time writing something like this idk, this series will probably have less than even 10 chapters lmao :) hope you guys like it!!

[h50europe]

BUCK/TOMMY - so it was Buck's truck at the cemetery. Still miss the cute scene in the truck, Lou mentioned in one of his final interviews for 9-1-1. Will it be used in a flashback?

Buck watched Eddie drive off until his eyes burned, and the taillights long vanished. The number of friends abandoning him grew rapidly, like the body count in a brutal shooter game. Shoulders hunched, Buck trudged back to his truck and slid behind the wheel. As he reached for the seatbelt, his mind flashed back to the day he and Tommy went to the cemetery to bid Billy Boils farewell.

Both had dressed in suits for the occasion. God, Tommy had been so supportive that day. In the truck, just before they were about to drive home, Tommy had a moment where he went completely still, just staring at Evan. Buck wasn't even sure his boyfriend was breathing.

"What?" Buck asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Tommy blinked and shook his head, "Nothing. It's nothing. I just... zoned out."

Buck gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah, I thought so. Staring at me when I sleep is creepy enough. And now, with all these boils on my face, it feels even weirder. Your vision in a cone turned into a horror show covered in boils." Buck slid the key into the ignition, but before he could start the engine, he noticed Tommy's eyes glassing over.

"Tommy, what's wrong?" he was genuinely worried.

Tommy swallowed, "It's what you said at the grave... I can't imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing. Going through death alone. Your days of bouncing around, unknown and forgotten, are over. 'Cause I'm in your posse now," Tommy recited.

Buck frowned, his mind racing to process Tommy's words.

"Your words hit close to home, Evan. Before I met you, I was Billy. I walked through life alone and it was, indeed, painful."

Buck didn't know what to say. Tommy's confession hit him like a wrecking ball. A lump formed in his throat, and emotions swirled inside him. Before he could react, Tommy grabbed Buck's neck and pulled him in for a kiss, ignoring the boils. The kiss was soft and gentle. When they finally came up for air, Buck found himself staring at Tommy.

"What was that for?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if in a trance.

Tommy smiled softly. "You said you look like a leper, and even your boyfriend doesn't want to kiss you. I proved you wrong, but that wasn't the main reason. The main reason is that you're still a vision, boils or no boils. You're the kindest and cutest guy I've ever met. I often felt like an outsider, but your words made me feel seen and cherished. I'm glad I'm in your posse now and forever."

Buck's thoughts returned to the present. The drizzle continued a cold, persistent reminder of his loneliness. The rhythmic patter of raindrops on the windshield was almost hypnotic. His gaze fell on the now empty passenger seat, and a chill ran down his spine. Once warm from Tommy's presence, the leather seat seemed cold and uninviting. Who was next? Who would walk out on him? His posse was falling apart, piece by piece. Maybe he was destined to go through life alone and death, too.

Buck blinked away the tears, feeling a wave of self-pity wash over him. God, he was being overly dramatic. He should have kept at least one or two cookies for himself instead of giving them all to Eddie. The thought was almost laughable in its simplicity, yet it stung with the truth of his constant self-sacrifice.

He fired up the engine, the rumble of the truck a small comfort in the silence. The vibrations from the engine reverberated through his body, grounding him in the moment. As he put the truck into gear, a new resolve formed in his mind. Maybe it was time to call Tommy. It may be time to take matters into his own hands and not just wait for life to throw him another curveball. He couldn't keep letting people walk out on him without a fight. It was time to reclaim his life, one step at a time. Gripping the steering wheel tighter gave him a sense of control, however fleeting.

[481mclarg]

Scared to love you | AL65

★ I've never been good at telling people how I feel, but you make me want to try.

STLY      •       FANFIC + SMAU

          • Arthur Leclerc x Male!Oc Driver

« K » They aren't in Bariloche, but Bariloche is the only snowy place I have as a reference. It never snows in my province😿 (El gordo paisaje nacional, en esta y la sig. parte uso varias fotos de Bariloche).

Warning: Suggestive content – sexual jokes. Possibly worse English than usual (I'm so sorry).

★          introduction. | one. | two. | three. | four. | five. | six. | seven. | eight. | nine. | ten. | eleven. | twelve. |

.          .          . October .          .          .

matteolombardi

♡ Liked by charlesleclerc, zhouguanyu24, arthurleclerc, maxverstappen1, giancarlogirotti, olliebearman and others...

matteolombardi: I think she hates me for being out too long :(

⇲ Comments

user1: VAL, I MISSED YOU

user2: Oh, she looks PISSED

matteolombardi: 😔

charlesleclerc: he's mad because you spend more time with Leo than with her

matteolombardi: Well, it's not my fault if she also hates being with people. I can't take her to the races😿

user3: PSSSSST PSSSSST VAL VAL PSSST PSSSST

user4: How do you manage to leave your house, leaving that baby alone😭😭

matteolombardi: someone has to work to buy her expensive threats, and she's not going... (+ I always leave a trusted neighbor in charge. She's never alone at all)

user5: she's so cute😭♥️

matteolombardi

♡ Liked by olliebearman, arthurleclerc, maxverstappen1, landonorris, dennishauger, alex_albon and others...

matteolombardi: Oh, nevermind. I think she just hates ME

⇲ Comments

user6: OMG this cat is plotting your downfall

user7: SHE LOOKS SO MAD😭

dinobeganovic: She's EVIL

maxverstappen1: Oh- I don't think she wants to come play to Jimmy & Sassy

matteolombardi: I can try to ask her if you want😥

maxverstappen1: I'm not sure that I want😰

user8: Val il gatto = hello demon

arthurleclerc: I'm a little scared now

matteolombardi: I swear to God she's nicer in person

matteolombardi: Guys, I have to take her to the vet next week😰 Wish me luck

dinobeganovic: 🫡 we'll never forget you

dennishauger: 🫡🫡🫡 Rest easy

arthurleclerc: 🫡🫡 it was a pleasure to meet you in this life

olliebearman: My baby will be named in your honor 🫡🫡🫡

paularon: It was nice while it lasted🫡🫡

matteolombardi: GUYS?? 😭

arthurleclerc

♡ Liked by matteolombardi, olliebearman, giancarlogirotti, dennishauger, pierregasly, dinobeganovic and others...

arthurleclerc: 🫡

⇲ Comments

charlesleclerc: YOU made that gift ?

arthurleclerc: the shock ???? I made gifts all the time. But no, this time it is a gift for me, u hater🥱

user9: GIANCARLO LIKED THIS POST ???

user10: SO, THIS IS OFFICIAL ?ARE THEY DATING???

user11: bro thinks he's softlaunching

user12: Is it casual when your former manager liked my post?

dinobeganovic: 🤧

user13: DINO SPEAK NOW

dinobeganovic: NO😙

user14: he's definitely dating Matteo

user15: we need to act shocked when Arthur and Matteo confirm that they are dating

dinobeganovic

♡ Liked by matteolombardi, arthurleclerc, olliebearman, dennishauger, paularon and others...

dinobeganovic: BARCELONA TEAM IS BACK. Limited edition, now in the snow.

⇲ Comments

matteolombardi: Hope you're happy now

dinobeganovic: Very😁😁😁

            Arthur fell onto the bed, sighing. He was tired from the trip, but happy.

            Getting back together with the same group that had accompanied him on his birthday, seeing that they were all still friends, and that the only thing that had changed was that this time Matteo was going to stay by his side only made him happier.

            The Italian sat down next to him.

            —It's nice. —he commented, staring out the bedroom window. The open curtains left a spectacular view of the snow-covered city and its mountains.

            —The city? —he asked, sitting up.

            —Everything. —he replied. —The city. That we're all here... that we're together. —He looked at the brunette next to him.

            —Yes... it's very nice. —He put an arm around the Italian's waist, letting him rest his head against his shoulder, both admiring the views they had from their room.

            They couldn't tell if a couple of seconds, minutes, or hours had passed like that. They felt an embracing calm, which invited them to stay in that comfortable silence.

            —Did you talk to Giancarlo again? —he asked when he remembered that the man had been making a presence on social media, attracting not only his attention but that of the fans as well.

            —Yes... We are thinking about him returning to his job as manager. —he mentioned. He already knew that they had spoken a couple of months after he had canceled his contracts. Giancarlo explained that he did not feel the same contempt for him that his father had, and he regretted that his actions were perceived that way.

            Arthur found it funny how Giancarlo seemed to be an older version of Matteo. An extraordinary ability in his work, but a gigantic fear of personal relationships. Talk being their biggest enemy.

            Having developed so much affection for his pupil had scared him. Realizing that his annoyance went beyond marketing or public image, but that he was hurt by the lack of trust and that the boy began to act in a rebellious manner instead of talking to him.

            He had also tried to distance himself, to understand that Matteo was just another client, another of the many boys he had worked with throughout his life; while Matteo did the same with the replacement provided by Ferrari.

            Sooner rather than later, they realized that theirs was almost a paternal relationship, giving in to the logical thought of dialogue.

        ��   That Giancarlo hugged him after having told him how afraid he was that he would hate him in the same way that his father did only make him cry.

            The first time in years that Giancarlo had seen him cry.

            —In the end, you both are so soft inside. Just very complicated. —Arthur laughed.

            —I don't hear anything strange, so I'm letting you know that we're deciding where we're going to eat! —They heard shouts from outside the room, along with a couple of knocks. Dennis. —Come downstairs or at least look at the group chat! —

481MCLARG | 05 . 01 . 2025 | SIN CORREGIR

[altaiiriss]

Repost from Trans Chuuya week 2024

Day 3 — Gender euphoria

(This is a sequel to day 1; it can be read as a standalone but I suggest reading that one first!)

"Oh my—"

Dazai almost freezes as he steps into the kitchen.

The first thing he sees in the morning—

"Why is Chuuya wearing my shirt?" he asks, utterly dumbfounded.

Chuuya smirks. "Like what you see?"

"You didn't answer my question." Dazai chastises, taking a few steps towards the redhead as if he can't escape his magnetic pull.

"Nothing serious. Helps with the dysphoria."

A barely audible 'oh' escapes Dazai's lips as his eyes stare at his partner.

It's quite impossible to make out his silhouette through the shirt, for it is ridiculously bigger than Chuuya's regular clothes. He looks completely relaxed—a sharp contrast to the previous day where he could barely stare at his reflection in the mirror.

He looks—

"Handsome." Dazai mumbles before he can even form a coherent thought, his mouth clearly acting faster than his reasoning.

Chuuya's face suddenly heats up, cheeks flushing a lovely shade of red. Will he ever stop blushing at simple compliments?

"Shut up." he protests, heart pounding in his chest at the speed of light. "Go grab some clothes. We're going to that French bakery."

Dazai swallows. Chuuya declined the same offer less than 24 hours ago, terror settling in his stomach at the thought of being perceived the wrong way.

Today's different—Chuuya looks so confident and at ease that Dazai wishes he could freeze this moment and let Chuuya experience this happiness in eternal.

Damn, he would model Chuuya's body with his own hands like a sculptor if he could, if it meant the redhead wouldn't be at war with himself anymore.

When they enter the bakery a hour later, Dazai's brain is still processing the fact that Chuuya found a way to style his button up shirt into an actual outfit, despite the obvious wrong size.

A stylish slug, dare he say.

"A café au lait," the waitress repeats Dazai's order as she writes it down, then she glances at Chuuya. "What can I get you, sir?"

"A black coffee with extra ice, thanks." he replies, offering the lady a warm smile.

"Someone's in a good mood today, uh?" Dazai points out as soon as the waitress leaves, smiling in return.

"Shut up." Chuuya retorts, as if he's ashamed of his own happiness.

He's so silly, Dazai thinks.

"I can hear the slug thinking." Dazai observes. Reading Chuuya like a book is a familiar language that has been carved into his bones long ago. "Feeling good won't kill you, you know."

Someone suddenly approaches them before Chuuya is given the chance to reply.

"Uhm, sorry to interrupt," a young teenager mutters, unsure, and their gaze promptly lands on Chuuya, "May I ask you how to dress like this?"

"Like this?" Chuuya echoes back, brows furrowed.

"Like an elegant man."

"This elegant man is taken." Dazai chimes in, grabbing Chuuya's hand in a rather possessive manner.

"Oh god Dazai, why do you feel threatened by a literal kid," Chuuya groans, then smiles back at them. "What do you want to know exactly?"

The young kid, who is most likely around 16 years old, nervously plays with their hair. Both Dazai and Chuuya struggle to understand why they are so tense.

"I want to look like a boy too," they mumble quietly, as if they're afraid to admit it out loud, "I don't feel like a girl."

"Oh." Chuuya gasps, positively surprised. "You're like me."

"I'm like you?"

"I wanted to look like a boy too—I am a boy because I've never felt like I was girl."

The young boy nods, eyes shining with newfound joy. "I finally found someone like me."

Chuuya's breath gets stuck in his throat. It's like speaking to a younger version of himself, a teenager Chuuya who never shared his feelings with anyone until the Flags took him with them.

'The Flags got two trans boys now!' Albatross had said, and Chuuya had finally found a word that described that feeling he had been experiencing since forever.

"Yeah, we're alike, kiddo." Chuuya agrees, a warm feeling blooming in his chest.

"You two go have a chat now," Dazai, ever the mastermind, states cheerfully as he gets up, his seat now empty. "I'll be waiting outside."

Chuuya only comes out of the bakery one hour later.

"Well, it's time for us to head ho—" Dazai stops as he notices Chuuya's cheeks getting wetter. "Oh no, the slug is producing slug juices." Dazai sighs with faux annoyance and grabs Chuuya until he's burying him in his chest.

"I'm going to stain your shirt with my makeup." Chuuya mutters, heaving a shaky breath.

"It's going to be our washing machine's business."

"I'm not sad by the way," Chuuya clarifies, sniffing quietly. "Just overwhelmed."

"Chuuya stood up for himself inside that café as well, didn't he?"

"Yeah. It felt good. To be able to help someone just by being myself, I mean."

"Chuuya is always himself, on both good and bad days." Dazai murmurs, carding his fingers through red curls. "He doesn't stop being Chuuya when he struggles with himself. It's still you, always."

Chuuya tries to clean his face with the palm of his hands and Dazai does the same, brushing his thumb across Chuuya's reddened cheeks.

It takes some hugs and unfunny jokes for Chuuya to properly calm down, but in the end his heartbeat slows down and his mind is clearer.

"You know, he also asked me how to find a partner. Because of all the prejudice and stuff." Chuuya begins, breaking the comforting silence that previously settled between them.

"And what did you say?"

"That my partner is so pathetic and down bad that he never cared about it." he grins, and now Dazai knows Chuuya is back to his usual self. "And that while relationships with other trans people surely are more fulfilling, cis people can be respectful as well."

"What I'm hearing is Chuuya thinks our relationship is fulfilling ~"

"There are some exceptions to that rule. You are one of them."

Chuuya holds him close, his actions definitely not matching his words, and Dazai smirks like the annoying devil he is.

"You like me anyway."

"Sure grandma, let's take you to bed."

Dazai slides his arm around Chuuya's waist, keeping him close until they're basically glued to each other. While yesterday it felt wrong for Chuuya to be held—as if Dazai was touching something that should not exist—living in his skin is fine today.

He is able to look at himself confidently, fully aware that his body does not define him and that soft curves and a smaller body don't take away his identity.

Regardless of gender, he's still Chuuya and that's what matters the most.

[grymm-gardens]

Rook x Neve WIP

I haven't written in a decade but Veilguard has me itching for more content, so I am back at it with some scene rewrites as practice.

Enjoy Rook being a bit of an awkward freak post waking up from stopping solas's ritual and Neve being amused by it.

Rook contemplated how long she could evade her new reality. Perhaps she could just keep her eyes closed. Maybe then she could will the ancient Elvhen god in her head into being just a preposterous dream. As nearly settles further into sleep, the throbbing pain in her head cut through any hope of avoiding the looming threats ahead of her.

She opens her eyes slowly, the soft candlelight nearly blinding her as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Every movement she makes to orient herself seems to reveal a new blinding pain. Hoisting herself up with all of her remaining strength, she settles herself against the bed frame to find some grasp on reality.

Where the fuck am I? The room itself was unlike anywhere she had ever been before. It was elvhen, and ancient, but nothing like the ruins she had visited in the past. The near pristine conditions seemed impossible. It seemed to be an infirmary. Across the room her eyes settled on a dwarf's sleeping silhouette.

Varric, He's alive. Solas will pay for this. Rook makes a doomed attempted to heave herself from the bed, but her body has other plans. The resounding pain makes her acutely aware of the injuries she recieved from the Dread wolf and his ritual. Quickly falling back towards the bed, she relents, hoping it's not just her and the half-dead rogue here. Wherever here is. Almost as is answering a prayer, the door is quickly thrust open, more light filling the room.

"Rook! Look who's awake." Turning towards the voice, she believes maybe for once her prayers have been answered. Neve. Rook had feared the worst when they were seperated bringing down the staues. Seeing her alive and seemingly well was a relief. Her presence was a welcome gift, and how remarkably beautiful the detective managed to still look was not lost on the young Watcher. "I've been searching the place for lyrium potions, I didn't mean to intrude." Neve searches a table near the doorway to no avail. She turns to greet Rook with a warm smile despite her fruitless search. She cannot help but admire the detective's nearly statuesque form against the dim lighting.

"You could never." Rook firmly states as she meets the other womans gaze. " Besides I'm thrilled to see another friendly face around here, especially yours." Neve chuckles and takes a few small steps toward her, before the Watcher is forced to look away. "Speaking of where is here exactly? It feels... Odd?"

"Yeah, be careful when you go outside, it's a long way down." She stops walking before another crate to search before continuing. "The Eluvian led us into something. And it's in the fade.Because thats where we need to be right now - the dream world."

"Oh, of course," Trying to shift her weight to look out the door, the mage winces in pain indicating she's moved too far. Resigning to needing a bit of help, she laughs painfully "I need a healing potion so I can get looking around. Happen to find any in your search?"

"Not a one, somehow." Neve sighs as she walks closer before settling at her side, and dropping her scavenged items on the side table. "However there was no shortage of lyrium." She reaches out a hand toward Rook before hesitating. "May I?"

"May you what?" Rook says uneasily as she stares at Neve's beautifully lithe hands. Her heart quickens at the thought of being at the mercy of the woman before her.

"Heal you, what else?" She chuckles.

"Strangle me," The watcher says with unwavering certainty.

"I would never ask so politely. Now relax so i can see what I'm doing please. Lean forward." Neve rests her hand on the other womans shoulder and gently guides her closer, as Rook angles her head to give her access. As she inspects the leftover bruising, Rook begins to feel a heat creeping onto her face from the closeness. Neve brings her second hand up and brushes the womans long curls out of her view. The feeling of her cold finger tips grazing her neck forces a gasp from the womans lips, letting a quiet whimper follow.

"My apologies, I'll be softer" Neve croons as her hand begins to glow. Rook doesn't correct her about the cause of the sound. The cool crackle of her magic and sensation of her fingertips ar. She allows herself to relax fully into her touch, as the mage moves her hand along the lacerations going down her back. Rook feels the other woman slide her free hand further up her shoulder, and cannot stop herself from leaning in until its nearly around her neck.

Neve lets a small laugh fall from her lips, "I said I wouldn't strangle you Rook. Not unless you ask nicely."

"I've never been a fan of being polite," Rook sighs dramatically, trying her best to regain some sense of composure as she moves away from the mage. "Oh," She mutters, as she reaches a hand to touch her newly healed body. "Well now, I think you fixed a knot that had been there since the War of Banners."

"What can I say? I'm a woman of many talents," Neve says while continuing her scavenging in the side table. Rook continues to admire her, watching the hands who's phantom touch she can still feel dancing on the back of her neck

"Well, Thank you. I look forward to seeing exactly how talented you are. I ought to get looking around," She says while confidently pulling herself to her feet. She slowly makes her way towards to door while her focus remains fixed on the woman before her.

"Well, it can't hurt now. In theory." Neve turns toward Rook once again before leaning effortlessly against the table, a crooked grin flashing across her face. "We should talk about our next move soon. Find harding when your ready. There's a table in the central area out here, I'll meet you both there"

"See you soon then," It took everything Rook had to turn around and walk away. All she could hope was that Neve was watching her leave with that gorgeous crooked smile.

[boba-pearl-writes]

1/17 - vision - word count: 677 - @rosekillermicrofic

It wasn’t a secret that Pandora was a gifted seer. She was a favorite in their divination class and loved to scare people by ‘predicting’ random things. 

Then, there were the dreams. 

Pandora would wake up, breathing quickly, the frazzled look on her face unfamiliar on her usually calm face. She would run, almost trip on the stairs. The day after, she’d be distant, almost drowsy, like she was still living in a vision, a nightmare. 

Today, she was looking a bit like that, all over the place and aloof. Barty was scared, because now, as they sat spread across his, Evan’s and Reg’s beds, she still looked like that. 

Lily had come up to their table this morning at breakfast and Pandora had shooed her off, then pulled her back by the elbow, taken her face in her hands and looked into her eyes. 

“His eyes,” she’d whispered in a strange, almost sad, tone. “They looked dead. There was blood in his hair. White and red, Lily.” Then she shivered, like what she’d seen was too terrible to bear reminiscing about for too long. Lily sat down next to her and gathered her in her arms. 

“It’s okay, Dora, it’s okay.” There were silent tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her eyes still almost unseeingly watching. “You’re okay.”

Barty had listened in on the thing. It wasn’t really that quiet, but he didn’t think anyone else had heard it, given the ruckus there always was at breakfast. He locked eyes with Evan, who was looking at him worriedly. 

After that, everything moved too fast to think about what she’d said, though it was at the back of his mind. His classes, lunch, homework, and all of that, but now they were here. Together. 

He racked his brain, trying to piece together her words and what they may mean. It probably wasn’t anything good, which scared him all the more. 

‘His eyes. They looked dead,’ Pandora had said. ‘White and red.’

Something clicked in his brain. 

Oh. 

White hair. Red blood. 

Oh, fuck. 

“Pan,” he started, before he realized his mouth was moving. She started and looked at him. “Pan, that’s not funny. That’s- white and red. Fuck, Pan, that’s-“

“It’s true,” she said. “I- I saw it.” Her lower lip was wobbling, and her eyes glazed over. 

Regulus, Dorcas and Evan were all looking at both of them in confusion. Barty couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

Pandora locked eyes with Evan, a haunted look in her eyes, and it seemed he understood. He let out a small oh and turned to Barty. 

“I mean,” Evan started, his voice surprisingly light. “We’re all going to die someday.”

“No,” he said, more a breath than a word. Evan looked slightly amused, then fond. “No, Evs, you can’t just- just leave me. I’d go mad.” He finished the sentence as sincerely as he’d said anything, ever. 

If Evan, his Ev, his rosie, died, he- he didn’t know what he’d do. 

He hoped he wasn’t around to see it. 

Pandora had predicted scary things before, things to do with dark clouds, drowning, a high, cruel laugh, and green light that all of them knew the meaning of. It was clear that they weren’t heading for anything good. 

Barty was fine with that, as long as they were together. As long as he still had Evan, and the rest of them, he’d be fine. 

But now-

“We’re all going to die someday,” Evan repeated solemnly. His hand came up to brush the unshed tears off of Barty’s face, and cradle his face so lovingly in his hands. Barty let out a sharp exhale, like a pained breath. “And when I die - after - you- you can’t do anything stupid, or reckless. Just- Barty,” he finished, like his name held all the meaning in the world. 

They meet in the middle in a slow, soft kiss, and, for that moment, it’s fine. 

They’re all going to die someday, but they haven’t yet. Evan’s still with him, and that’s all Barty’s ever wanted. 

[xdeerlybelovedx]

I'm sorry, I can't find the old me The one you met all those years ago I'm sorry, I can't be steady I've been changing after all Those nights alone Now you keep me around Just so you don't feel lonely And if I think freely I wonder if you're ever really gonna know me Stop trying to hold on forever (ever) Stop trying to belong together Stop thinking you can make it better Stop thinking you can make me better

Something I've been working on for a little bit inspired from some very specific lyrics from this song ♡ Still image versions under the cut!

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

i kind of want to set my computer on fire and move to the woods but i can't really find any specific fault with this chapter other than a general dissatisfaction with just sort of everything generally, so.

[flockrest]

thoughts on... / always accepting / @sentinaels

thoughts on rauru and/or sonia, from dineli? 👀

     "So! Our new allies!"

     The rush of the Windlines dims. His pulse fades out of focus. He sighs, breath forming a cloud of condensed exasperation. Of course. Leave it to Taki to pursue a line of thought like this — even now, when it has nothing to do with anything.

     No — especially now, Dineli corrects, when the matter of the newfangled kingdom and its newfangled sovereigns is the last thing he wants finding him after he's left their stone walls and festooned pillars behind. When it's the last thing he wants following him back into these peaks he's truly missed in his time away like some incessant buzzard — or an opponent vying for the first sliver of an opening.

     "What," he begins, banking and dipping to avoid Taki's spear-tip. It's a twirling swoop that brings them talons-to-talons as they shoot further past him than intended without a solid target to brace against: he wastes nary a beat in catching them before they can rise out of his grasp, heavier weight stalling his flight for a second — then he's hauling them into a loop that ends with them flung aside and out of proper form, "about them?"

     They laugh as they right themself, a smooth recovery as always. "Come now, Elder. Your thoughts, your judgement, your verdict!"

     Again, the last thing he wants to discuss right now. He's petty enough to conspicuously nock an arrow and let them curve right around it when it's released, only to swiftly guide two more straight into their side. Padded though both his bolts and Taki may be, they still cough out a squawk that has mirth lining even his voice. "You know these."

     "That was before you nested with King Rauru and Queen Sonia," they counter, weaving between progressively straying shots and fighting against his touched Windlines in earnest now. The accent overlaying the Hylian words sounds how thickened snow feels — refreshing, if slightly odd after days of its absence. "Surely, you have something better to say about them now?"

     A mess of conflicting emotions sprouts within him. Anticipatory thrill for the coming attack, chagrin at the utter crassness of describing his sojourn as nesting ( of all things! ), a prickle of discomfort for the fresh set of memories he's been carefully leaving at the edges of his mind ever since carrying them home — now slipping to the forefront at Taki's insistence.

     He has something new to say about them, perhaps.

     Something better? Hardly.

     Taki dives at him, spear poised to wrench the gap they've no doubt spotted in his guard wide open. It's a good attempt, if one made in vain — Dineli casts away his preoccupations in the same second it takes to register this and ascends to meet them directly.

     The Windlines lead their aim leftwards. Just a feather's breadth more of it, but enough for him to follow through and knock the shaft of their spear clean aside as he spirals up, riding along that favoured-favouring current. They're too slow to react beyond spinning with the momentum to drift rather than outright fall: it's the perfect opportunity.

     —A perfectly crafted opportunity. Taki is never too slow to react to his winds unless they want to be.

     By the stars and skytrails. It wasn't just an attempt at distraction? Are they really so eager to hear him speak on this that they'd end their spar prematurely? Dineli backs off, a refusal in more ways than one.

     "Aw, Dineli!" Taki calls after him, in a pitch and tones better suited to one who hasn't gone through as many winters.

     He sought their company to smooth down ruffled feathers, not to get more inanely vexed. If they truly want his thoughts, they'll have to compromise. "Either leave it or fight."

     "...You're insufferable," the most insufferable Rito on this side of the Hebra Mountains tells him. But they rise to chase after him, clearly making the right choice, so Dineli indulges them — the way they're indulging him.

     "Strange," he discloses when they're locked by the talons once more.

     "You really don't have anything better or new to say about them?" they ask, incredulous, the split second before they're both wheeling a path downwards.

     "Accommodating," he tries again after they've taken off from an impromptu landing.

     Taki laughs, rolling to let an arrow soar past them. "You truly still don't like them!"

     Well...what point would there be in denying it?

     "I still don't like them," Dineli affirms.

     How can you like someone you don't honestly know? He knows of the king and queen — has admittedly gotten to know more of them in his recent stay, but through the same insignificant things that informed his first impression. Little glimpses from afar that might've meant something if he deigned to care, twittering from the rest of their court that he found sycophantic at best and disturbing at worst.

     Added together, here is how the queen is: she is kind, she is powerful, and she has something divine in her blood.

     Here is how the king is: he is kind, he is powerful, and he is either a god's descendant or a god descended.

     Perhaps if Dineli were anyone else, none of that would be unsettling. Yet as Elder, what else is he to think? When he doesn't know where this kindness begins and ends, or where this power leaves Peaks Among the Ripples in the scope of Hyrule's ambitions, or why divinity should have anything to do with leading — "ruling" — when all it does is place them another unnecessary height above the capacity for understanding their people?

     "Shame you can't just spar your way into liking them, huh?!" Taki jests, arcing high before swooping after his trail.

     He turns to meet them there too, a clash between a swung bow and a thrust spear. "Don't tempt me."