#lake worth roofing

[lubdubology]

When Things Turn Green Again

SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.

PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader

WC: 11k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v

A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.

The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down. 

Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both. 

The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago. 

A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage. 

You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.

“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.

Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.

You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.

You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair��a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.

+++

You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store. 

The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”

“Logan?”

He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”

“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse. 

George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”

“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter. 

“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.” 

You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.

Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.

You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.

He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”

He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you. 

“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”

You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness. 

God, this was embarrassing. 

It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.

He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.

Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble. 

+++

You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him. 

You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit. 

And that attraction terrifies you. 

Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through. 

Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding. 

Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart. 

But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.

Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?

His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.

Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.

“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.

“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch. 

Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”

At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.

“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.

You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that. 

You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.

You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.

+++

It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him. 

And you don’t know why. 

He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.

There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him. 

A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too. 

You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain. 

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”

You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp. 

“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face. 

He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”

His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable. 

You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”

“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”

His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say. 

His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies. 

“Well, I am.”

Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave. 

He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag. 

You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. 

Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body. 

“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. 

You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.” 

Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. 

Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer. 

Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps. 

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face. 

He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”

And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble. 

+++

Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.

It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.

But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore. 

As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber. 

The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”

He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”

You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”

He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello. 

“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face. 

Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust. 

Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you. 

“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks. 

You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board. 

You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose. 

He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him. 

“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.” 

Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit. 

His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze. 

“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex. 

Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought. 

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.

You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable. 

It’s enough to drive you mad.

“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.” 

Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”

He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.

“You belong here,” you say softly. 

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”

He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further. 

You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind. 

As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”

A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin. 

“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”

“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”

Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”

+++

You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling  and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into. 

You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee. 

Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart. 

Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do. 

God, you hope he does. 

You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine. 

While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders.  You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more. 

Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead. 

It’s just Logan, you remind yourself. 

Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower. 

“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter. 

Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”

His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine. 

You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice. 

Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees. 

He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass. 

Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.

Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”

“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”

“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.

Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.

“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate. 

He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”

You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”

“I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft. 

Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”

Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades. 

As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity. 

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles. 

You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”

Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.

“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.

You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through. 

An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.

“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”

Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.

You grin. “You should give it a try.”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”

You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape. 

Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”

He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.

Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.

“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps. 

As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze. 

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin. 

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric. 

“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch. 

Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away. 

Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours. 

It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer. 

You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth. 

Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.

You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.

+++

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle. 

You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him. 

You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth. 

You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months. 

Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth. 

But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole. 

Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.

You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.

Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.

From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.

“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”

“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.

He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest. 

Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.

Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”

Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady. 

His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.

The pieces he wants you to see.

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up. 

Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say. 

After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”

You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one. 

“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”

He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles. 

“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”

+++

It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.

Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken. 

So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…

You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.

Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence. 

Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.

He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”

“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”

Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection. 

“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.

You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.

+++

The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses. 

“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness. 

You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face. 

Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper. 

Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw. 

“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.

Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.

“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.

You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours. 

Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”

“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin. 

Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head. 

Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts. 

Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.

A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.

His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.

You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips. 

Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with. 

Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.

Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you. 

He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties. 

“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs. 

“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver. 

Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod. 

“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly. 

Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”

“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin. 

Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.

You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.

“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”

A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.

“That’s not possible.”

“Other men have—“

Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”

The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.

“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth. 

He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.

“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.

His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.

Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth. 

“Do you trust me?”

Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip. 

“Turn over,” he commands lowly. 

A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips. 

“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt. 

You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before. 

His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”

Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.

“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”

Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear. 

You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit. 

Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast. 

A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him. 

Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”

And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release. 

“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”

With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs. 

You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can. 

Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. 

You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.

“Logan?”

His hum vibrates through his chest.

“I think we’re healing each other.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”

[flpowerclean-blog]

Power Clean Pressure Cleaning is your premiere pressure washing and  roof cleaning company in South Florida. Contact us today for more  information.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Sadly, the lady who was building her dream hobbit house right on Lake Michigan in Rapid City, Michigan, died suddenly and the house needs a buyer who will finish it. She spared no expense using the finest materials and the home is for sale for $5M. 3bds, 3.5ba. Take a look.

This is how it's supposed to look finished- stone facade, round door, elliptical windows and copper edging to make the roof stand out.

Look at the shapes on the back, facing the lake.

The rolls of copper are already here for the roof and waiting to be installed.

Look at the swoops in the roof.

Hope a new owner comes along and finishes it.

Look at how beautifully the interior architectural features curve.

Not liking the rail, maybe it's just temporary.

Closeup of the rounded front entrance.

I bet this home will be worth a lot when it's done. It's going to be unique and right on the lake.

Nice big patio right on the beach. The property measures .75 acre.

[spiderwcd]

siren lake c.b.

pairing: colby brock x mermaid/siren ! f ! reader

summary: they come to explore the haunted lake, but maybe it wasn't just haunted.

warning(s): mentions of deaths, near drowning, profanity, near-death experiences mystical creatures, etc.

w.c.: 3.3k

a/n: guys, please don't hate me!! i've been away so long, ive been having writer's block and then i've been so busy with my life and having the worst luck ever (they weren't wrong about that fanfic writer curse) but trust me! i have a lot of works saved, slowly plowing through them.

images from pinterest !

“Dude,” Sam abruptly jumped from his seat on the couch, carrying his laptop over to Colby. “Look at this.” He pointed the screen towards him, revealing his discovery.

Colby curiously averted his gaze over to the screen, reading the article that was pulled up. “W-What am I looking at here, Sam?” he inquired, raising a brow towards him.

“Well, someone sent me this article about this supposedly haunted lake,” Sam began, plopping himself next to Colby on the couch. “They say that these entities are haunting it, causing a bunch of disappearances.” He finally added.

Taking a moment, Colby glanced at the article, contemplating. “I mean, it’s worth a shot,” Colby muttered, facing towards his best friend.

In due time, they arrived in Michigan, the Land of the Lakes. Colby had been studying about this mysterious lake, finding holes in different stories. It was something unknown to him, unable to find an obvious answer here.

“Okay, so as we know,” Sam began, looking over at Colby from the driver’s seat. “This lake is in the middle of the forest, near some campsites.” Sam clarified.

Colby nodded, understanding his statement, “Don’t forget to mention the disappearances, also about the spirit that drowns first in the 80s.” He pointed out.

Sam nodded in return, pursing his lips as he attempted to dig further into his thoughts. “Oh, what about the mermaid theory?” Sam suddenly blurted out.

Colby scoffed, looking over at Sam with a slight grimace. “Seriously? Mermaids?” Colby murmured, flipping through his notebook. “I mean, sure, it’s a fun idea to entertain, but we both know that’s not real.”

“Oh hey, come on,” Sam nudged Colby, still steering the wheel of the car. “It’s nice to have an imagination here, Colby.” Sam chuckled, patting him on the shoulder before placing both hands on the wheel.

Colby shook his head, smiling as he studied the pages of research. He examined the illustration on the page, deep into toying with the idea. He shook his head once more, closing the page as he thought about the ridiculous idea.

The car came to a halt, prompting Colby to face upward to the scene. His jaw flew open in amazement, admiring the large forest surrounding them. The middle showcased a lake larger than he had envisioned.

“Woah,” Colby muttered, exiting the car to get a better view. “Did not expect it to be so gorgeous out here.”

“Even if this comes to a dead end, at least we’ll have a good time in the middle of the forest.” Sam joked.

“You must be Sam and Colby,” they had suddenly heard, causing them to avert their gaze over to the voice. “Hi, I’m Ben.” The man waved over towards the two.

The duo made their way towards their host, introducing each other.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ben had asked them.

“Oh yes,” Sam nodded, glancing around once again. “Very nice, exceeded our expectations.”

“That’s great,” Ben chuckled, leading the two towards the cabin that peered over the ominous lake. “Cause the two of you will be staying here, so get used to it.”

Sam and Colby glance at each other for a moment, following Ben towards the door. As they entered, they studied the room. It wasn’t one of their Airbnbs, but it was still nice, grateful for a roof and not a tent. 

Colby’s eyes slowly averted towards the window, as if an irresistible force was pulling him towards the lake. But swiftly pulled away at the pat on his shoulder, facing towards the grasp.

“Isn’t that right, Colby?” Sam asked him, confusing Colby. 

“Huh? Oh yeah, for sure.” Colby randomly replied, going along with Sam’s story. 

“Alright, I’ll let ya get to it then,” Ben sighed, making his way toward the entrance. “I’ll come back in the morning to check on y’all. Remember to check the list I left every night.” He pointed out. 

Once Ben had exited the campground, leaving the duo alone in the woods. Colby let out a breath as he planted himself onto one bed, rubbing his eyes slightly. 

“Well, what did you want to start with?” Sam asked, plopping next to him. “Did you want to do the intro or do more research?” 

Colby peaked from his hands, looking towards Sam. “Uh, let’s just figure out our intro and record that, followed by more research,” he answered. 

They didn’t waste any time, every minute counted for them. Considering the way the sun crept through the blinds and curtains, the time was very limited. Colby’s fingers started to cramp from the various writing and typing, along with the migraine sneaking in.

“That’s it,” Colby blurted, tossing the pencil down. “I think it’s time to throw the towel. I need a break.”

“Me too,” Sam sighed. “If I have to write one more thing, my head might explode.”

Colby dryly chuckled, planting himself onto his feet. “I’m just gonna go out onto the pier. I need some time alone.” 

He opened the door, letting the cool wind hit his face. He quickly closed the door, walking towards the wooden structure. Colby let out a groan as he crossed his legs, overlooking the large body of water. He ran his hand through his hair, attempting to relax as he listened to the soft music of the forest. 

But he lost his train of thought, a splash ringing out. Colby curiously raised his brow, searching for the source of the ripple of water. He focused in on one area, unable to take his eyes off. 

Colby soon got interrupted by a ringing from his pocket, pulling his eyes away from the lake. He picked himself off the wobbling planks, retrieving his phone. 

“Hello?” he answered, still glancing over towards the ominous lake. 

“Colby, get in here,” Sam waved over from the window, still on the line. “I found something.” 

Colby hung up the phone call, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. As he entered the cabin, Sam quickly dashed his way and shoved his laptop into Colby’s face. 

“Look.” Sam smugly grinned. 

Colby looked at his best friend before looking back towards the screen. 

‘Sirens in Michigan?’ 

“Sam,” Colby tried to protest, but Sam was persistent. 

“Listen, we hunt ghosts. How much different can this be?” Sam scoffed, attempting to change Colby’s mind. “Can you at least be open to the idea?” 

Colby looked at Sam with a blank look, crossing his arms. “Fine, we can be open to the idea, but I’m still skeptical about it all.”

The next day arrived, prompting the boys to prepare their video at last. Colby stood at the edge of the lake, awaiting Sam to finish setting up the camera. Sam gave Colby a thumbs up, signaling everything was ready. 

“Hey, what’s up guys!” Sam greeted. “It’s Sam and Colby, and we’re here at the Siren Lake in Michigan!” he panned the camera towards the lake and treeline. 

“We’re here to investigate the various spirits that might be roaming the lake,” Colby began explaining. “But also, as the name suggests, there might be more than just spirits here.” 

“That’s right guys,” Sam chimed in. “There are supposedly sirens, aka mermaids, in this very lake.” 

“If you ask me, I don’t think there’s such a thing,” Colby raised his hands in defense, causing Sam to shake his head. “Listen, ghosts and demons have a lot of proof and we’ve seen them, but mermaids?” Colby scoffed. 

“I think you’ll say differently later,” Sam smirked. “Cause one of us is gonna have to go onto the pier and talk to the said spirits or whatever roams that lake.” 

The two continued to talk, making their way around the lake for a bit. 

“Okay, so the history of this lake begins with a family, as most do,” Sam began. “The Bradson family had owned this lake from generations ago until the 80s.” 

“The only reason they had sold it off is because they used to run a camp here until odd drownings had appeared,” Colby added. “And all of them were all men.” 

“That doesn’t give us a lot of comfort, does it now?” Sam joked, nervously laughing into the camera. 

“Our guide and the owner of the campgrounds will be here in a moment to explain more in-depth,” Colby explained. “He knows more than we do.”

Just in time, a car pulled back onto the dirt road. Ben exited his car, greeting the boys once more. 

“Perfect timing,” Sam laughed. “We just began introducing you.” 

Ben chuckled, making his way towards the two, “Almost as if I was summoned here.” He joked. 

Sam turned on his camera, recording once more, “So actually, as we closed our camera, our guide just pulled in.” He chuckled, pointing it towards Ben. “Say hello to Ben.” He introduced

“Alright, Ben, we just want to know what you know,” Colby started, crossing his arms slightly. “Tell us your secrets.” 

“As you must already know, this used to be a campground until the 80s,” Ben began. “Do you know why they call it Siren Lake?” He asked the two.

Sam glanced over to Colby with a grin, causing Colby to roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, we might have an idea,” Sam answered. 

“Well, people started talking about how the victims were all men,” Ben pointed out. “A rumor started that they were ‘seduced’ over to the water and murdered by a siren.” 

“Really? Sirens?” Colby scoffed, laughing a bit. 

“Yep, since the lake connects to a river that leads to the ocean, they assumed that something supernatural might cause of this.” Ben chuckled at Colby’s reaction. 

“Can you tell Colby is a skeptic about mermaids?” Sam teased. 

“Oh, that’s alright, he won’t be by the end of the trip,” Ben replied. 

While heading to the pier, Ben entertained the group with tales of the profound history and personal experiences of different individuals.

“So tell us, have you seen the siren?” Sam asked curiously. 

Ben thought about it for a moment. “You know, I have,” he nodded. “I was letting a group of guys stay here for the night. I went to check on them and they were freaking out about their friend seeing something. So I went to check out the lake because I figured they saw something and freaked out. But when I stopped at the edge of the pier, I saw something peeking at me through the water.” 

“Woah, that’s so weird,” Sam muttered. “What did you do?” 

“Well, I thought it was someone playing some joke, so I yelled at them to get out of the water and it was private property.” Ben shrugged. “But they just stared at me for a second so I pointed my flashlight over, which made them go underwater and splash away, and I saw bluish silver scales on the biggest fish's tail I’ve ever seen.” 

Sam looked over to Colby, a smug look on his face as if he was saying ‘told you so’. 

“I’d be careful, boys,” Ben warned. “Even you, Colby, sirens are no joke. They will lure you and drown you. Just be careful.” 

“Thank you, Ben.” Sam thanked him, shaking his hand before letting him return to his daily work. 

Sam turned over to Colby, “I told you, what happened to having an open mind?” 

“I’m trying, but mermaids? It’s hard to wrap my head around.” Colby responded. “I already have enough of ghosts and demons.” 

Sam rolled his eyes at his best friend. “Okay, let’s just talk about the spirits. Surely you’ll keep an open mind about that.” He patted Colby on the back, pulling out the various equipment. 

Sam turned on the rem pod, placing it down onto the pier, followed by the Alice box.

“Alright guys, so we’re now gonna talk about the spirits,” Sam sighed. “There were about 3 guys that drowned. They weren’t even able to recover any of their bodies because of how deep this lake is.” 

“Yeah, so their bodies could still be down there,” Colby added, shivering at the thought of it. 

“There’ are a lot of theories about how these guys died, most of them saying they were drunk or under the influence. There’s also speculation that they died from how cold the water was, causing hypothermia, but of course, there’s the siren theory,” Sam stated. “Sirens, though, tend to just kill to kill. It’s said that it killed them because they were terrible guys.” 

“They were awful, apparently having a reputation of being sleazy and gross,” Colby added, having a grimace grow on his face at the idea. “But we’ll try to find out through the spirit box and maybe the Estes method.” 

“I think since I’m more open-minded, unlike my colleague,” Sam teased, pointing the camera towards Colby who shook his head. “I’m gonna be doing the Estes method.” 

They quickly turned on the devices in hand, thinking of questions. 

“Alright, Uh, is there anyone here?” Sam asked to the open, listening carefully as the crickets chirped and the night wind blew past them. 

“...you…”

“Who are you referring to?” Sam responded. 

“...water…” 

“Yep, there’s water here. Is this where you passed away?” Colby nodded, shifting his weight. 

“...rocks… drown…” 

Sam snapped his head towards Colby, a confused look painted on his face. “Woah,” he muttered. Colby agreed, looking back at the Alice box.

“Who are you? Are you one of three men that drowned here?” Sam added, biting his lip as he rubbed his chin with his finger. 

“...Mike…” 

Colby’s jaw dropped, facing the camera. "They're not gonna believe that, but one of the men who passed away was named Micheal Anderson," Colby said, his jaw dropping as he faced the camera.

“...unknown…cold…” 

Sam’s face contorted to one of confusion, looking at Colby for answers. “Maybe they’re saying they don’t remember how they died? I mean, the water gets freezing.”

Colby nodded, attempting to decipher the various words and their meanings. “Can you tell us what happened? Did you guys just die from the cold water or drown from drinking too much?”

“...none…strange…” 

“Huh, maybe the siren theory was right?” Sam nudged Colby. 

“Yeah right,” Colby sneered. “Maybe they died from something else.” 

“...careful…” 

“Look, it’s even trying to warn us,” Sam pointed out, but soon the familiar red light and blaring sound appeared from the rem pod, alerting the two. “Oh my god, that scared the fuck out of me,” Sam murmured, pointing the camera towards the flashing device. 

“Is that you Micheal? Or is someone else making that flash?” Colby asked, stepping away from the rem pod as the light continued to circle. 

“...pussy…” 

Colby blurted out in laughter, followed by Sam. “Wow, maybe they were jerks.” 

“I think maybe the Estes Method will give us a simple answer then,” Sam said, calming down from the fit of laughter. 

Colby turned off the spirit box, handing Sam the bandana followed by the headphones. Once he had put them on, Colby showed the camera that Sam couldn’t respond.

“Okay, so let’s begin,” Colby sighed. “Okay, can you give us a straightforward answer to what happened here? You guys are being very hush-hush about the answer.” 

“Pier,” Sam blurted out. “Something dangerous.” 

“Yeah, some can say drinking and swimming are dangerous,” Colby joked. “Can you clarify more?” 

“Beware of the woman,” Sam answered. 

Colby felt his heart drop, unable to comprehend what that could mean. “Uh, what woman?” 

“She calls for you,” Sam responded, confusion in his voice. “Watching you.” 

A shiver ran down Colby’s spine, goosebumps covering his skin. “W-Wha… Watching me?” Colby repeated, hearing the familiar splashing near the pier. 

Colby snapped his head up, his eyes attempting to adjust to the dark as the moonlight hit the ripples. Colby pointed his flashlight over to the deep gray water, searching for the source, just as he had done earlier in the day. 

Sam continued to speak, unknowing of his best friend’s search. Colby’s feet stopped at the edge of the pier, ignoring all the sounds in the background. He let out a sigh of relief, unable to find any evidence of anything going on. 

But as soon as Colby put down his flashlight, he felt large hands pressed up against his back. Colby, unable to retain his balance, fell into the deep cold waters, which had created a large splash that traveled to Sam. 

Sam tore the headphones and blindfold off his head, turning around to look at Colby as he floated to the top. 

“Woah, you alright, man?” Sam hurried to the edge, squatting down as he offered a hand to him. 

Colby let out a laugh, swimming towards the pier. “Someone fucking pushed me in.” He muttered, reaching for Sam’s grasp. 

He was about to grab Sam’s palm, but felt a tug at the end of his legs. “What the fuck, something grabbed-” 

Colby’s sentence soon cut off as he got pulled under the water. He kicked the unknown entity, gasping for air as he heard Sam’s voice muffle as he called out for him. 

Colby thrashed, adrenaline kicking in as he attempted to free himself. Colby looked down at the void of the lake, unable to find the source. Water filled his mouth, oxygen slowly escaping his body. His body sank, and the energy to fight slowed. 

Colby had accepted there wasn’t a way out of this doom, looking up as he slowly descended into the seemingly never-ending waters. His vision slowly distorted as he examined the murky waters above him. 

“Wow, I never realized it was a full moon tonight,” was all he could think about 

Just as he thought it was the end, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. A figure slowly circled him as it made its way past the moonlit waters, a glow of bluish silver reflecting as its hair sprawled around it. 

Well, it wasn’t rather it; it was a woman. Colby wanted to react, but his body slowly shut down as his vision darkened. She was beautiful, her skin flawless and her long hair engulfing them as she touched his face as if she examined his features. 

Colby’s vision became dark, becoming unconscious. She doesn’t remember men being this flawless, gliding her fingers across his skin. His tattoos caught her eye, something odd about painting skin to her. A frown grew on her face, looking back up at the land above as blue and red lights danced around the surface of the water. 

She looked back at Colby, knowing the minutes were passing by. She quickly grabbed his arm, carrying his limp body up. Peeking over the water, she glanced around at the various people walking around. She bit her lip, brainstorming ideas. 

The mermaid decided it was best to leave him by the shore, where Sam was pacing and freaking out. She knows if she does this, who knows if her identity will be safe? But something against her nature knew this one thing: she did not want the beautiful man to perish. 

She drew him above the water, grunting as she pulled his seemingly lifeless body towards the wet rocks. She looked back at him, her brows furrowing as she fought within herself whether she did the right thing. Under the water once more, she dove, splashing as she vanished, making her way under the pier to observe the scene. 

It wasn’t long until many flashlights lit up the shore, revealing Colby’s drenched and pale body. Sam let out a cry, watching as his best friend coughed and gasped for air as the water exited his lungs. Sam embraced him, relief washing over him as he recovered from his accident. 

Colby sat at the edge of the patient compartment of the ambulance, wrapped in a towel, drowning out as the EMTs and various cops talked to Sam as he stared towards the lake. Something inside him was fighting whether he had made up the mysterious creature or, by some miracle, it was all true. 

Colby jumped as Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Dude, what the hell happened? I thought you were gone. The cops said you were lucky to even make it out of that lake.” 

Colby looked up at Sam before glancing back at the body of water. “I think a mermaid just saved me.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

thank you guys for reading!

I'm sorry if it's short, Its just something I put together in one day. I do value your opinion, so please do tell me what you think!!

expect more stories soon!

[upsidedownwithsteve]

what ifffff you showed us more of what steve + hawkins got up to during eddie’s summer? :) <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

A WHAT IF? - SHE DRIVES ME CRAZY/I WANT YOU TO WANT ME 🌲

“This feels wrong.” You scrunched your nose as you admitted it, eyes still closed, skin warmed by the sun above.

Beside you, your boyfriend snorted, his bare leg pressed against your own, his old lifeguard shorts cut high on his thighs and cherry red against his tanned skin.

“Wrong?” Steve questioned, his shoulder bumping your own before he rolled over, the roof of the gym creaking a little under your shared weight. He groaned at the effort, shifting onto his stomach until he could lean in and press a kiss to your shoulder, nosing at the skin along your chest that was left bare between your bikini straps. “You’re making this seem way more scandalous than it is, babe.”

You laughed, eyes opening to view the green canopy above, the trees swaying slightly in the breeze so that pieces of blue peeked through. The sky was cloudless, the camp almost quiet. The kids were by the lake, supervised by the other councillors on shift and on the rare occasion you had a day off that matched with Steve’s, the two of you had ensured you wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

The clumsy climb onto the gym roof was almost comical and it was always borderline dangerous the way you had to stand on Steve’s shoulders to reach the hidden spot but it was worth it. T-shirts shed and skin bared to the sun and each other’s lips, it was easy to take a nap and curl in on each other.

“You know what I mean,” you mumbled sleepily, face tilted up for Steve to dote on. You smiled at kisses he dropped there, nose smushed to your cheek, the smell of sunscreen you made him wear clinging to his skin. “The kids are probably trying to drown each other and your best friend is going through a crisis somewhere.”

Steve’s hand skated over the soft of your stomach, fingers catching on the open button of your shorts, the smooth fabric of your bikini bottoms that peeked out from the zipper. He was curling in on you, elbows braced on the blanket you’d laid down, hovering over your lazy frame as he nosed at your neck.

“Eddie’s not my best friend,” he muttered, sulking.

“He’ll be heartbroken,” you told him, smiling at the sky, at the feeling of Steve’s lips on your jaw. “Who’s your best friend?”

“You are,” Steve told you in a tone that made you think it was supposed to be a very obvious answer. “Dummy.”

You snorted, wriggling until you could face Steve and love on him too, meeting his lips in a kiss that you broke away from before it could turn heated. You could feel Steve’s pout against your cheek.

“Has he said anything? Y’know, about the whole situation?”

“Hmm?” Steve was barely listening, his fingers toying with the straps of your bikini instead. “Who?”

You huffed, toes digging into the meat of his calf in annoyance. “Eddie, duh. Has he spoken to her? Have they talked about what happened the other night? I really think she likes him, you know, she’s just struggling to admit it right now.”

Steve grunted, nodding without really listening and he dropped another kiss on your shoulder, working his way back to your jawline.

You paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “Steve, are you even listening to me?”

The boy huffed and pulled you into him by the waist, his fingers tucked into your belt loops and his brow furrowed as he leaned in for another kiss. He kept his pout long after you relented to his affection, your smile keeping him from licking into you the way he wanted to.

“Can’t lie to you babe, Eddie and his womanly troubles are the last thing on my mind right now.”

You rolled your eyes but let Steve work his thigh between yours regardless, the stubble of his jaw scratching nicely on the sensitive skin of your neck as he sucked a hickey there. Tilting your head back so he had more room to work, you pretended to sigh, long suffering and tired.

“What’s on your mind if you’re not even considering helping your best friend?”

“He’s not my best friend.”

“Whatever.”

Steve blocked the trees and the sky as he pulled back, grinning down at you with summer flushed cheeks and freckles on his nose. He looked too pretty, hair mussed from air drying after swimming in the lake, his bare chest more tanned than it had been at the beginning of the month.

“If you let me get you out of this bikini,” Steve bartered, “we can go play matchmaker later, alright?”

[beenbaanbuun]

stars w/ song mingi

i’m bringing back country boy mingi bc he’s evil and twisted and gave us THIS!!!!! photo…

this is kind of all over the place and not at all what i wanted it to be but it’s cute so… here!!

the other part is here

it’s dark out, the only light coming from the moon and the stars that twinkle high above your heads like a canopy. you’ve never seen them so clear before, the lights from the nearby town always seeming to get in the way of your attempts to stargaze on top of the barn roof. if it weren’t for the peace and quiet up there, you’d hardly deem it worth it; sneaking out of your room is easy enough but finding your way up to the top of the barn? that’s a different issue all together. there’s a ladder in the barn you usually use, but going in so late often startles the hens. they cluck and flutter, making a ruckus that you’re sure is bound to wake your daddy one of these days. you can only imagine the look on his face if he were to see you up there, tucked into the side of the stable boy he’d warned you to stay far away from.

but mingi is a difficult man to escape. once you’re in his web, any attempt at escape is futile. there’s something about his wonky grin and smooth way of speaking that draws you to him like a moth to a flame. it’s enchanting, and, well, you’re more than willing to let yourself be put under that spell. after all, why would you ever wish to escape the affections of the one and only song mingi.

it was him that suggested bringing you to this place, mentioning it passing a couple of nights ago when the stars were once again refusing to show themselves to you. “i know a spot not too far from here,” he hummed tiredly into the top of your skull. you don’t even have to spare him a glance to know that his eyes are scrunched shut as though already in the sandman’s grasp, sleep being something the man truly adores, second only to you. “it’s about a half-hour out, doll; sky’s so clear you can just about see the whole universe.”

you giggle at the hyperbole and the rumble of mingi’s chest let’s you know that that’s exactly what he wanted; to make you smile. he’s sweet like that, putting your joy at the forefront of anything he does. a smile from you is worth a thousand sunrises—his words, not yours—and he’s determined to see those sunrises at every single opportunity he gets.

“can you take me?” you whisper, not wanting your voice to interrupt the chorus of crickets that sing into the night, “i’d love to see the sky properly. it must look just like diamonds, twinkling all the way up there.”

“just like your mommy’s diamond necklace, hm?” his lips pucker until they press a wet kiss to your crown. it’s full of so much love that you think it would sustain you until the end of time—until the sun explodes and takes the earth with it. if it happened right now, you think you’d die with a smile, tucked in your true love’s embrace with your heart engorged from everything you feel for him. you tilt your head back, just enough for you to be able to see his almost-sleeping face. “it’d be my pleasure to take you, doll,” he murmurs, “name a day, and we’ll go there.”

tuesday.

that was the day you named. not for any particular reason other than you know that that’s the day mingi works his hardest and you thought stargazing might be a nice way to relax after a long day of manual labour. it’s also your favourite day to watch him from your window. the fitted black tank top he always wears hugs his muscles in a way that has you drooling, and you can’t help but fixate on the bulge of his biceps as he shovels manure into an oversized wheelbarrow. you can’t see the sweat that rolls over his honey skin from the comfort of your bedroom, but you’re more than happy to imagine it; the way it slicks up his skin, making it glimmer in the sun like waves atop a lake, the way it rolls down his face, catching on his knife of a jawline before dripping to floor and soaking into the dry earth. it’s enough to have you craving a glass of ice cold water, and yet you daren’t leave your front row seat for even a second to go and collect one. it’s almost painful to have to sit and watch him from so far away, and yet you always know that the moment the day is over—and mingi is showered clean—you’ll be in his arms, able to appreciate his body like he deserves.

and holy hell, are you appreciating it.

the squishy muscle of his bicep acts as a perfect pillow as you lay your skull against it. he showered after his long shift, yet beneath the mind scented body wash, you can still smell his natural musk poking through. it’s warm and earthy, filling your senses as you push your nose into the soft denim of his jacket to get more. he fills your head, making it spin, and in your dizzy state, you can’t help but wrap your fingers around the jersey of the wife-beater he wears. it’s a mystery whether you’re trying to tug him closer or merely trying to stop any—unlikely as it may be—attempts he makes to slip away. as he rests his hand reassuringly atop your own, it twigs that it’s more than likely the former; you need him close. impossibly so.

“i thought you wanted to stargaze, doll,” mingi purrs into your ear, the low cadence of his voice thrumming with amusement as you shimmy yourself towards him. you don’t stop until you have a leg slung over his hip, your chest pressed so hard against his side that he can’t help but wonder if you’re trying to merge yourself with him.

“i want to be close to you,” is what you say in response, even if it is an understatement. close will never be enough for you; you need to coincide with him like two meteors hurtling together. you need your spirit to intertwine with him so tightly that the knot formed will never slip free. you need to crawl inside his rib cage and carve a home out of his flesh and bone. perhaps in that moment it gets a little easier to understand mingi’s incessant need to be inside of you. his wandering hands and lingering kisses make so much more sense when right now, all you want is him.

all of him, all the time, everywhere…

“kiss me?” you whisper into the still air of the evening, the music of the cicadas doing nothing to mask the neediness in your voice. it’s as clear as the stars that hang above your head and mingi would be cruel if he were to ignore that. with a hand on your chin, he tilts your face just enough for him to press his chapped lips to yours. they’re sharp against your own, flakes of dry skin digging into your own, far softer petals. you don’t mind; it just serves as a reminder that it’s him, his chapped lips just as mingi as his fingerprints.

[steveshairychest]

"Don't fall in love with me." Steve laughed in a self-deprecating way. His eyes were unfocused and glassy as he stared out at the darkness of lovers lake, his hands fiddled with the nearly empty beer he'd been sipping for the past hour.

Eddie furrowed his brow, mind a little slow from the alcohol as he leaned in closer to the other boy and said, "What if I already have?" They were sitting on the roof of Steve's car, their thighs pressed close and shoulders bumping as they simply just existed together. "It's a little hard for me not to do something I've already done."

Steve exhaled shakily and tipped his head up to the stars. His hands now gripped the glass bottle tightly. "You'll only get hurt. I have a reputation for being a pretty shitty boyfriend." He said it so softly, so weakly, that Eddie had to lean further into his space to hear.

Eddie scoffed once the words registered in his alcohol riddled mind. "That's bullshit." He didn't see Steve flinch. "I think I'd like to decide for myself whether or not you're a shit boyfriend." They've never explicitly talked about their feelings for one another, but it's been implied multiple times. For example, Eddie didn't think they made out as friends in the car before climbing out onto the hood.

He was thankful for the added confidence from the alcohol because he didn't think he'd have the bravery to be this straightforward about how he felt without it.

"Steve, go out with me. Be my boyfriend."

Steve blinked, looked him up and down, and laughed. "You're drunk. You don't want that."

Eddie shoved him lightly. "Fuck you. You don't know what I want. What I want is to call you my boyfriend. Hell, I'll even double that and propose to you right now! That's how serious I am!" He was so fucking scared. He didn't know how far this little game between them went. Was he crossing a line? He'd thought he'd read the signals right but the shock on Steve's face was telling him that maybe he didn't. Maybe he needed to start walking home right now.

"You're serious?" Steve whispered. "You actually want to date me?" Eddie wanted to strangle everyone that had made Steve hate and doubt his own self worth this much. He looked so vulnerable in that moment. His eyes were so wide, so bright under the stars, and his lips were parted ever so slightly in shock as he tried to find any sort of indication that Eddie was lying. He wasn't. He's never wanted anything more than this.

"I'm serious. I think I've wanted to date you since like 8th grade." They both laughed at that. Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off Steve's smile, it was a shy thing that he tried to hide with a sip from his beer.

When the laughter died down, Eddie twirled a piece of hair in front of his face and, without looking at Steve, said, "You can say no. I promise not to cry."

"You're a pretty crier, I wouldn't mind too much." He said it so nonchalantly, his eyes crinkled in a smile as he glanced over at a scared shitless Eddie. "Can I give you my answer tomorrow? I...need time to think when my head isn't all fuzzy with booze."

Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Of course. I understand." They sat in a comfortable silence for the rest of the night, both of them caught up in their own heads as they watched the lake lap at the shore.

Eddie hoped the sun stayed away for a little longer. He wasn't ready for the morning light to wash away this moment, he wasn't ready for Steve's answer.

But he knew that no matter what Steve decided, he'd love Steve regardless.

Steve Harrington was so hard not to love.

[r-f-m-writes]

Pretty, Dead Animals Chapter Two

The backs of Linette’s thighs stuck flush to the linoleum floor of her apartment as she twisted left and right, razor in hand, carefully shaving away a week worth of hair on her legs and arms.

Her aircon was still broken, its absence magnifying the stifling heat that rose slow and smothering through the space. No amount of persistent hinting would compel Mrs. Weller to have it mended.

Linette knew it was negligence on her landlord’s part, that she would be within her rights to lodge a formal complaint, make threats of breaking lease - but she wouldn’t.

Linette didn’t like making a nuisance of herself. She knew full well that she couldn’t afford rent anywhere else in town, and she didn’t have anyone to stay with if Mrs. Weller gave her the boot for being a pest over broken appliances.

Working up a lather on her skin with cheap moisturizing body wash, the girl sighed through her nose.

The weekend was running long, the sun seeming to drag its feet as it crawled slow and cumbersome through the bright blue, cloudless sky.

Rinsing her razor off in the bowl of soapy water, Linette started on the backs of her knees while she glanced around the apartment, thinking of what else there was to do.

The floors were spotless from her sweeping and mopping them yesterday. The kitchenette was tidy as could be. All her clothes were washed, folded and put away - not as much of a feat as it seemed when Lin liked to keep her wardrobe small. The only thing she hadn’t done was make her bed.

Passing a wet washcloth over her legs, Linette wrung it out over the second, smaller bowl of dirty water before hanging it on the handle of the stove, knowing it would dry out in minutes flat thanks to the heat.

Pumping the last of her unscented moisturizer into her palm, Linette layered the soothing balm over her legs quickly before she stood.

A slow, hot wind pushed through her apartment window, making cream checkered curtains billow inward and fluster around Linette as she stepped forward, feeling the soft touch of the heady breeze dust over her skin, cooling and warming all at the same time.

Outside stretched miles and miles and miles of red sand. Shrubs scattered over the scorched earth like round green dice thrown by the hand of a giant. Far away, almost further than Lin could see, there were trees. Tall, swaying, hardy. No lakes stretched far enough inland to supply the flora with water, so their salvation came as rain.

She could feel the promise of a downpour in the air. It sat heavy on the roof of her mouth, soothing and clean on the wind. There would be a cool change before the world was bathed. Linette would leave her windows open, let the glory of the storm roll through her apartment until the air held a pleasant snap of its chill and all her pillows smelled of rain.

Pushing away from where she had been leaned against the painted sill, she folded back the dressing screen that stood like a makeshift wall between her bed and the rest of the apartment, careful not to scratch the floor as she moved the wooden legs. Linette was getting her security deposit back if it was the last thing she did.

A disarray of pillows and sheets kicked around on top of her mattress greeted her with the screen pushed back.

Bun Bun lay on the ground looking up at her soulfully with his scratched glass eyes.

Linette’s stomach dropped. She swept him into her arms in a second, hugging him against her in apology as her throat went tight.

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you fell.”

It was stupid. Embarrassin. Her attachment to the stuffed toy as an adult, as someone who should have grown up and then grown out of ‘childish’ things, but she couldn’t help it.

Bun Bun was all she had that was really hers as a child. Hers to keep. Hers to love. Hers to depend on as she was pedaled from one group home to the next, passed on like a burden no one wanted.

He wasn’t even given to her by her real parents. Some of the other kids had things like that. Baby blankets. Quilts made for them by mothers who were too young or too deststue to shoulder the responsibility. Little, hopeless gifts given in lue of real love, real apologies, real accountability.

Linette was abandoned with nothing.

Bun Bun was given to her by Mrs. Lee, the nicest foster mother she ever loved and lost. Her house had been big and clean and safe. There was always food in the fridge, and Lin was always allowed to eat when she was hungry. Mrs. Lee gave her hugs and didn’t punish her for anything, ever.

Linette didn’t realize she was crying until her tears began to wet the top of Bun Bun’s head, his floppy brown ears draped over her wrists as she held him up to her face, chest constricted and empty and horrible.

Wind picked up at her back. Curtains whipped, clicking on their rod.

The smell of rain rolled over her with a familiarity that was as soothing and unconditional as one of Mrs. Lee’s hugs.

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 48

You, Joel and Ellie make a home for yourselves in Jackson. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-47 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 4.2K

Summer, 2024 

“You swear I’m not going to sink,” Ellie looked skeptical, waist deep in the lake. 

“I promise you’re not gonna sink,” Joel said, smiling a little. “I’ll be right here, not gonna let you drown, Kiddo.” 

“So I just, what, fall and the water catches me or what?” She asked. “Because that sounds like bullshit.” 

“Come out a little deeper,” Joel stepped back a bit and Ellie hesitated before she obeyed. He arranged himself beside her, one arm behind her back and the other low in the water to help bring her legs up. “Alright, stick one leg straight out and lean back….” She winced as she did it. “Right, now the other one, too. Don’t worry, not gonna let you drown.” 

You watched as she rose to floating on her back, her face scrunched tight for a moment before she smiled, eyes opening. 

“I’m doing it!” She yelled. “Doc, look!” 

“I’m looking!” You shaded your eyes with the book you’d been reading, watching from the shore. “You’re doing great!” 

“See?” Joel smiled, standing up straight again, hands on his hips. “Don’t need me out here at all.” 

You watched as he showed her how to move her arms and legs while on her back, then helped her move to her front, sweeping her arms forward and pulling herself through the water. 

“I can swim!” She called to you. “I can fucking swim!” 

You smiled at Joel and he smiled back at you, both of you loving the chance to have Ellie be a child for a change. 

Jackson had been good for her. You were all still settling into it in a way. It was strange to think that, a year ago, Ellie hadn’t met Joel and you and Joel were avoiding each other like the plague. Now, you all lived under one roof, together as a family.  

You’d overhauled Ellie’s room first. It was girlie, far too girlie for a girl like Ellie. She thought about what she wanted and sheepishly came into the living room one afternoon with a notebook in her hands when you were reading, your head on Joel’s lap. 

“Is this dumb?” She asked, holding the notebook out. 

“Almost definitely not but let me look,” you said, setting your book on your stomach and taking the notebook from her. It was a mural of the stars, an astronaut floating in space with the Earth a swirl behind them and the long neck of a giraffe reaching into the stars. “In what universe is this dumb? This is awesome!” 

“Yeah?” She smiled, leaning over the notebook. “See, I did the astronaut with the kind of space suit that Sally Ride used…” 

“Brilliant,” you said. “Let’s do it!” 

“Fuck yeah,” she smiled. 

Joel made it a point to look for paint when out on patrol and it didn’t take long before you had everything you needed to make it happen. You showed Ellie how to work with the larger space, sketching out the mural in quadrants at first and then starting to paint. It took a few days to finish, the two of you working together on it. She painted the last star, you holding the step stool so she could reach high enough. She came back down and looked up at it, proud, before yelling through the house. 

“Joel!” She called. “It’s done! You gotta come see!” 

He came in, a dish towel over his shoulder, soap suds still on his wrists. 

“Well this is damn impressive,” he said. 

“Right?” Ellie said. “It’s like I’m a real artist!” 

“You are a real artist,” you smiled at her. “You made something. It’s art. You’re an artist, kid.” 

“Hell yeah I am,” she smiled up at the mural. Joel pressed a kiss into your forehead and smiled. When your eyes met his, you knew you were thinking the same thing: Any sacrifice was worth this. 

She was a little prickly about school at first. You waited more than a week to start her there, spending most of the time with the three of you piled together on the couch, either watching movies on the TV and VCR in the living room that - miraculously - still worked or playing board games. The family who lived in this house before had a decent stash in the basement - Clue, Monopoly, Scrabble, even something called Settlers of Catan that neither you or Joel had ever heard of but quickly became Ellie’s favorite. 

The three of you seemed to do best when you were close together. It reminded you, again, of what it was like coming to the QZ with Andrew. You’d thought you were better prepared for it this time - and maybe you were - but it did little to ease the worry that rose in you when Joel left the house to pick up food or Ellie went to shower and was out of your sight for more than a few minutes. The nauseating, hot ball of anxiety seemed constantly primed and ready to fill your stomach. You saw it in them, too. In the tension of Ellie’s jaw when Joel left the house, the relief on both of their faces when you came back into the room after taking a shower. 

But you needed to integrate yourselves into life here. Your leg was already doing better, Joel’s side was healing well. The two of you needed to start contributing and Ellie needed to start school again. The teacher in you was vaguely horrified at the kind of learning loss she must have had over the past few months on the road. And she needed to spend time with kids her own age, not the two middle-aged adults who had been her only real human contact for months. 

“But you’re a teacher!” Ellie protested when you sat her down to talk about it. “If I really need to learn shit that bad, why can’t you just teach me?” 

“Because I’m not the person who should teach you things like English or history,” you replied. “And you need to spend time with kids your own age.” 

“Fuck kids my own age!” She crossed her arms and flopped herself back in her chair at the kitchen table, staring daggers out the window panes in the back door. 

“Ellie,” Joel scolded lightly. “C’mon. You know she’s right. You need to have a life…” 

“I do,” she said. ���There’s plenty of shit to do in the house and if I run out of shit in here, I can go in the yard.” 

“We can ease into it,” you ignored her protests. “Tomorrow, we can go to the mess hall for meals, talk a bit with some other people…” 

“I don’t trust other people,” Ellie’s eyes darted to you and Joel before looking back outside. 

“Baby girl,” Joel said gently, leaning onto the table. “You really think we’d send you somewhere that was bad for you? Somewhere you’d get hurt?” 

She glared at you both for a second before she sighed. 

“No.” 

“We’re here for a reason,” he said. “You can have a normal life here. School here ain’t like what it is in the QZ. Give it a shot.” 

“Besides,” you said when she was quiet for a moment. “We’re going to start working soon and you’ll just be in here, by yourself all day. That’s not good for you.” 

She looked at both of you for a moment, her jaw set firm. 

“Fine,” she muttered eventually. “But if it’s stupid as fuck I’m blaming you.” 

It only took her a week and a half to admit she liked school. She’d made friends, including a girl named Dina she seemed particularly excited about. She liked her teachers (“Way better than in the fuckin’ QZ - no offense, Doc.”) and seemed to be excited about what she was learning. 

“Thank fuck we got a kid who’s excited about school,” Joel sighed one morning after Ellie all but ran out the front door with barely a “good morning” on the way past. “Really wasn’t lookin’ forward to her fightin’ us on it every step of the way.” 

“She’ll find something else to fight us on, I’m sure,” you smiled at him over your cup of tea. He smiled a little back and kissed your temple before going to get dressed for the day. You savored it for a moment, the small signs of a quiet, domestic life. You hadn’t realized just how badly you wanted that life. It was like you’d been afraid of wishing for anything quite that much because, in the QZ, when you thought Joel hated you, it was so far out of reach it would only bring you pain to want it. 

You had it here. 

After a few weeks of working at the clinic, your leg was healed but you were feeling restless. You’d never been able to get a call out to Andrew to tell him that you made it here. Every little kid you saw in town reminded you of Elizabeth and Jonah and how much you wished they could grow up in a place like this. There wasn’t a day that went by in the clinic where you almost talked to Andrew out of sheer force of habit. You were providing medical care, Andrew should be there. That’s how it worked. 

“I need to make a trip to the radio tower.” 

You said it simply one evening, when Tommy and Maria were over for dinner. 

“Absolutely not,” Joel said immediately. 

“For a change, I agree with Joel,” Maria said. “We have a strict policy here for a reason…” 

“Why d’you need to go?” Tommy frowned. You smiled a little at him. Of course he’d be the only one here who was maybe on your side. 

“I just need to make one call,” you said. “To Andrew, let him know we made it OK.” 

“It’s too dangerous,” Maria shook her head. “We can’t afford giving away our location…” 

“I won’t say anything about where we are,” you said. “He knew we were heading out west, anyway. And it’s Andrew, he’d never say anything to anybody about where we were. He’s completely trustworthy, ask Tommy.” 

Maria looked to her husband. He shrugged. 

“She’s right,” he said. “Knew the guy for years, I’d trust him with my life. And I know damn well he wouldn’t do a damn thing to hurt her.” 

Maria sighed. 

“Just the one call,” she said. “That’s all?” 

“That’s all,” you said. “I swear.” 

“Fine,” she said. “But that’s it. You can’t share where we are, nothing like that.” 

“Of course,” you said. 

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Joel snapped. 

“Nope,” you smiled. “It’s cute that you think you do, though.” 

He quirked his jaw and glared at you but was quiet until the two of you went to bed that night. 

“I ain’t takin’ you out there,” his accent was thick. He was pissed. “After everythin’ we did to get this far and you wanna risk it to call back to fuckin’ Boston…” 

“I’m not asking you to take me,” you shrugged as you climbed into bed. “You need to stay here  with Ellie, we can’t both leave her and we’re not taking her back outside right now.” 

He stared at you for a moment. 

“Who the fuck is takin’ you then?” He demanded. “I know you ain’t stupid enough try to go out there on your own…” 

“Tommy will,” you said. “He already said he would…” 

He got into bed next to you. 

“Am I supposed to be happy ‘bout that?” He asked. 

“No,” you said. “But you should feel good about Tommy taking me since you know he’ll get us there and back in one piece.” 

“Can’t say I’m thrilled about the prospect of you traipsin’ through the wilderness with your ex-boyfriend,” he muttered. 

“So you don’t trust me because I was fucking him eight years ago?” You asked, brows raised. 

“Course I trust you…” He frowned. “Wait, eight years ago?” 

“Yeah?” You said. “That’s when he left, right? So, eight years.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you split up…” 

“Well yeah,” you laughed a little. “But then we kept… well, you know. Did you really not know about this?” 

He was deathly silent for a moment. You could practically feel the rage building in him.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ‘im.” 

Joel threw back the blankets and started getting dressed. 

“You can’t be serious!” You got up, too, putting yourself between him and the bedroom door. “You are not going to pick a fight with your brother over ancient history…” 

“It ain’t ancient history if he was fuckin’ my goddamn wife for four years longer’n I thought,” he was seething. “Fuckin’ hid it from me for years!” 

“OK let’s take a breath,” you said, putting your hands gently on his bare chest. “One, you’re going to freak out Ellie. Two, if you go storming over there, you’re going to get us kicked out of town. I had to convince Maria that I wasn’t a succubus who had come to town to steal her husband, she actually likes me now, please don’t ruin that because you’re pissed off over something that happened almost a decade ago.” 

“He lied to me,” Joel snapped. “For years. Goddamn years because he knew, he fuckin’ knew he was doin’ something shitty…” 

“Joel,” you cut him off. “You hated me then…” 

“No,” he shook his head. “Never hated you…” 

“You were acting like you hated me which, for anyone watching, is the same damn thing,” you said, crossing your arms. “Did you expect me to sit at home, never sleeping with anyone, waiting for you to come around?” 

“No,” his jaw tensed. “I expect my brother to keep his hands off my girl, especially if he’s just gonna be fucking her and not treatin’ her right…” 

“We broke up because I couldn’t get over you, you idiot!” You had to try to keep your voice down, which was rare for you. You weren’t much of a yeller. “Not that I’m some kind of prize but you’d already won that one! So no, you’re not going to beat up your damn brother because he was sleeping with me when you wanted nothing to do with me. That’s bullshit. You know that’s bullshit.” 

He looked at you, his brown eyes a bit softer. 

“You really break up because of me?” He asked, hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

“See, I guess Tommy didn’t tell you that either,” you rolled your eyes. “But yeah. I warned him when we got together that I didn’t think I could love anyone who wasn’t you. And I was right. So we split up.” 

“Well…” he cupped the back of his neck awkwardly. “That… makes it a bit better…” 

You rolled your eyes. Men.

“So can we go to bed instead of having you mess up our entire life because you’re trying to be an asshole?” You asked, brows raised. “Because I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed.” 

“Let’s go to bed,” he sighed, pulling you against his broad chest and kissing your forehead.

The two of you got back under the covers and you burrowed into him once he turned out the lights. 

“Feeling better?” You asked, your nose buried in his throat. 

“Still pissed my brother thought he could get away with fuckin’ my wife for years,” he muttered. 

“I’m not your wife,” you said, teasing a little. 

“Hm?” He pulled back to look at what he could see of you in the dark. 

“I’m not your wife,” you said again. “You keep calling me that but, last time I checked, we weren’t married.” 

“Right,” he pulled you back against him. “Just… feel like my wife…” 

“Well you feel like my husband,” you yawned into him and pressed closer. “But ball’s in your court on that one, Miller.” 

It took him less than two weeks. You’d just finished getting Ellie out the door for school, Joel coming in from an overnight patrol at the same time she was leaving. 

“Hey Hon,” you called out to him, taking a sip of tea before starting to wash the pan you’d made hashbrowns in. “I can make you eggs or something if you want, I’m not due at the clinic for another two hours…” 

You turned around and there he was, down on one knee. It surprised you so much you jumped. He smiled a little at that. 

“I had different plans for this 20 years ago,” he said. “Something involving you’n me at that coffee shop where I first saw you and you ordered one of those lavender lattes you like so much. Then I’d take you to a hotel room with a real big tub we could take full advantage of.”

You had to lean back against the counter to keep from falling over, happy tears already catching on your lashes. 

“This ain’t that,” he said. “But it is what you’n me have made and you make it everything, Baby. You do. Wouldn’t be here without you - wouldn’t want to be here without you. Seems like everything good I’ve got I can trace back to you, you’re the best of all of it.” 

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a necklace, a purple gemstone with a small diamond above it where the pendant met the delicate gold chain. 

“It ain’t a ring,” he said. “But I figure a ring’d be in the way at the clinic, anyway…” 

You damn near tackled him, almost falling over in your rush to throw your arms around his neck. 

“Didn’t even ask you yet,” you could hear him smiling as you buried your face in his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” you said voice thick, still holding onto him. “Ask, I’m listening!” 

He laughed. 

“Baby, I love you more than I knew it was possible to love another person,” his breath was warm against your neck as he spoke. “Will you marry me?” 

“Yes!” You were still clinging to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and let himself fall backwards so he was sitting on the kitchen floor instead of kneeling. He pulled back from you enough to kiss you. 

“Good,” he smiled a little. “Because I’m too old to be on my knees that damn long…” 

You got married a few weeks later. It was a small affair, just you and Joel with Ellie and Tommy. Maria officiated and you exchanged matching rings Joel made out of scrap metal that he’d polished to shining. You’d never been happier. 

You toyed with the pendant, watching your husband and daughter swim, smiling a little. This was all you wanted in Jackson. All you’d ever wanted, really. A life with Joel, one that was quiet and happy, one where there was no specter of death and pain. You sometimes couldn’t believe that you’d found it, in the face of everything, you’d finally gotten here. 

“Y’all headin’ back soon?” You turned to see Tommy on horseback, heading back toward Jackson. 

“Time is it?” Joel yelled. 

“Pushin’ four.” 

“Oh shit,” Ellie clumsily maneuvered herself to standing. “I’m supposed to be going to the mess hall with my friends at like 5:30…” 

“Mind taking Ellie back?” You asked. 

“Course not,” he said, waiting patiently as Ellie dried off and pulled on her sneakers. 

“I’ll probably be home late!” She called over her shoulder as she climbed on the back of Tommy’s horse. 

“Have fun!” You watched the two of them ride off back toward town, so distracted you didn’t even notice your husband coming out of the lake until he dripped water on your bare leg. 

“Should put that book down, Baby,” he said, a look that almost dared you disobey. 

“No,” you shook your head, trying not to smile. “Absolutely not, that water has got to be fucking freezing…” 

“I’ll keep you warm,” he said, scooping you up off the blanket you were laying on. You shrieked and dropped your book before it got wet, Joel carrying you into the cold water. 

“See?” You said, teeth nearly chattering as you wrapped your arms around your waist. “Fucking freezing!” 

He tugged you against him and you could feel his hard length through his swim trunks. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his went around your waist. 

“I’ll keep you warm,” he said again, voice low and wanting this time. You smiled a little at that. 

“Oh will you, Mr. Miller?” You asked, the teasing edge to your voice picking up the the needy ache that was rapidly building in you. 

“I will, Mrs. Miller,” he traced his fingers along your arm before he kissed you, his wet curls dripping on your wrists. 

His kiss deepened, his tongue slipping into your mouth, curving around your own. He moved his hands lower until they were cupping your ass and he lifted you so you could wrap your legs around him. Once you were secure, he brought a hand around to your front, running his fingers over your aching slit through your swimsuit, pressing the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit. 

You moaned and he reached down, freeing his cock and nudging your suit to the side, his thick head against your entrance. He pressed into you and you clung to him as he stretched you open, the feel of him easing the painful neediness that burned inside you. 

“Fuck Baby,” he kissed the top of your shoulder. “Somethin’ about havin’ you in the water…” 

You dug your nails into his skin, not able to help yourself, your breasts pressed flush against him. 

“Probably because that’s how you first had me,” you panted, holding him deep inside yourself. “Really wasn’t fair, you making me lose my virginity to the best sex I’d ever have… Ruined me for anyone else, never had a shot.” 

“Good,” he said, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your ass and leveraging you up his cock before bringing you back down on him with a satisfied grunt. “Like you ruined for me…” 

He moved you up and down his thick length, starting easy and shifting to hard and fast, each thrust forcing your aching walls apart as he made room for himself inside you, his head meeting the place inside you he’d marked as his own that day in the pool almost 25 years before. Your body was clinging to him, your core so tight that it was bordering on pain and you couldn’t stand to have him pull away from you again. You tightened your legs around his waist when he thrust into you, forcing him to stay deep inside as you started to cum around him. 

“Shit, Baby…” he moved his hands from your ass to your lower back, pressing your hips closer so he could push somehow deeper inside you. “Going to…” 

You were too lost in your own orgasm to fully understand the implications of what he said. You’d run out of your birth control stash about two months earlier. The two of you had been practicing the pull out method and keeping your fingers crossed. Now, he was emptying himself into you, his cock throbbing as he filled you with his thick, hot spend. 

You groaned, savoring the feeling of him coming apart inside you. You’d missed it, missed how close to him you felt when he lost control while part of him was a part of you. It took until both of your orgasms had faded for you to realize what just happened. 

“Shit,” you breathed, pulling back from him enough to see his face, his cock still sheathed within you. “Joel, you didn’t pull out…” 

“I know,” he was still catching his breath. “Fuck, I didn’t even think about it…” 

You pressed your forehead to his, acutely aware of where your bodies were joined. You could feel his spend inside of you, his head right at the mouth of your womb when he came. 

“I guess we just keep our fingers crossed,” you sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have held onto you like that…” 

“Never apologize for doin’ that,” he said, giving you a squeeze. “Felt fuckin’ amazing.” 

You laughed once. He was quiet for a minute. 

“But would it be that bad if I got you pregnant?” He asked softly. 

“Joel,” you almost laughed before you realized he wasn’t joking. 

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to have kids with,” he said. “Life is good here, people have babies here and they’re happy’n healthy. They have a life. It’d be worth it, here.” 

“I’m turning 46 in a few months,” you said. “You’re going to be sixty in a few years…” 

“Yeah,” he said. “But our kid - your kid - would be worth it.” 

You kissed him, soft and gentle, your heart full. 

“Yeah,” you said, your lips brushing his. “Yeah, they would be…” 

He trailed his mouth along your jaw as he brought a hand back around to your front, pressing two fingers to your sensitive clit, his softening cock still inside you. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted. “What…” 

“Tryin’ to make you cum again,” he said, voice thick. “Think it takes better if you cum after I leave myself inside you…” 

You moaned and pressed your face into his neck, rocking your hips against him, falling apart in the water at your husband’s touch. 

A/N: One chapter left to tie up a few more loose ends. I hope everyone is enjoying some lovely Miller family time!

Thank you all so much for being here. I truly can't believe this fic is almost done. It's going to kill me a little to end it (I'm still going to, I don't think I can keep writing without a story to serve) and it feels like I just started writing it a few days ago.

For anyone who enjoys my work in general and not just the characters of Joel and Doc, I did start a new TLOU fic today. It's called Yearling and can be found here. I hope you can find something about it to love!

Thank you for spending your time with me and with Doc and Joel. I can't imagine sharing this story without you all. Love you, truly!

Taglist: @paleidiot@ayamenimthiriel@ginger-swag-rapunzel@drewharrisonwriter@flugazi @pedropascalsbbg@taoyuji@starstruckmusiciansartghost@splendsay@bigboiseason123@jpbplvr @ashleyandring @mrsyixingunicorn10@sloanexx@ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn @hufflepuffriver @sarap-77 @storyarcscribe @mellymbee @jasminedragoon @lemonmeli @reds-ramblings@arizonadaydreamer@mumma-moonchild@blackroseguzzi@candypeaches16@kittenlittle24@wrappedinfiction@oatmeaiboy@pedritosdarling@winchestergypsy90@imnotdatboii @lalalalemonade11 @maknimuk1@mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes@pedrosaidsheispunk@commanderawkward@n7cje@elliesgirlll@tsunamistorm123@spookyxsam@leeeesahhh @anoverwhelmingdin @untamedheart81 @pedropascalfan221 @pedr0swh0r3 @pedrobae@fifia-writes@fatima-marisa @acf2023 @1soff@encephalitiskat @ashleymsnodgrass @karlinspace

[mariacallous]

A new UC Riverside study on California agriculture and climate proposes a plan for new water capture, storage, and distribution systems throughout California that will sustain agriculture and keep up with climate trajectories.

Available water for consumption is disappearing because of climate change and failing storage systems, leaving one of its top consumers—the agricultural industry—scrambling, the study concludes.

California’s agriculture sector uses about 40 percent of all the state’s water, or 80 percent of its consumed water. With less water available, agriculture must adjust. The study provides a pathway for the sector to do so.

The study, published last month in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, finds that groundwater aquifers have more storage potential than surface water reservoirs. So, instead of devoting decades to build more dams and reservoirs that are subject to evaporation and overflow, water should be diverted into these depleted aquifers below the Central Valley and the coastal plains.

Over the past 40 years, aquifers have been overpumped, meaning more water has been taken out than put back in. When aquifers become too depleted, the land can subside. “In some parts of the Central Valley, it’s been sinking a foot or two a year,” said Kurt Schwabe, a public policy professor at UC Riverside and coauthor of the study. Land subsidence can cause infrastructure like buildings and highways to crack and degrade. It also harms the aquifer’s capacity to hold water and the health of the surrounding ecosystems.

Not only can replenishing groundwater aquifers limit these negative environmental impacts, but it can also bolster a water “savings account” during times of drought. When California lacks surface water, water usage shifts to groundwater stores.

But the big problem isn’t simply a quantity issue: “When I moved to California over 20 years ago, someone told me, ‘Don’t let people tell you there isn’t a lot of water in California, because there is. The problem is that it’s just managed really poorly,” said Schwabe.

The drought-plagued state was just drenched by two wet seasons and atmospheric rivers, but its infrastructure failed to adequately store that excess water.

Think of it like a leaky roof. In the past, you could have stored rainwater seeping through your roof in a gallon bucket for five separate rain events. Now, you would need a 5-gallon bucket for just one rain event.

Although the amount of precipitation hasn’t changed much compared to historical rates, “climate change has typically reduced the number of rainfall events but has made them much more intense,” said Schwabe.

Additionally, the climate crisis has led to high temperatures that evaporate surface waters before they can replenish and prevent rainfall from accumulating as snowpack, which has traditionally refilled reservoirs throughout the spring.

Like the gallon bucket, California’s storage facilities are too small. That, together with slow landscape absorption, is leading to flash floods and potentially useful water flowing back to the ocean.

For example, two winters’ worth of snow followed by intense heat created a flood risk in 2023. State officials decided to release water from Lake Oroville and other reservoirs across Southern California and the Central Valley. Although this helped prevent flooding and sent water downstream, many Californians were upset that the fresh water was being wasted. In attempts to reduce overflow releases, water agencies and irrigation districts made recharge basins to capture precipitation. But it wasn’t enough. Constant overpumping and a changing climate leave aquifers depleted to this day.

Their natural recharge process—precipitation accumulating as surface water that percolates through the soil to recharge groundwater aquifers—can also be disrupted by urbanization or impervious covers like pavement, said Bruk Berhanu, a senior researcher in water efficiency and reuse at the Pacific Institute.

The study suggests more managed aquifer recharge (MAR) infrastructure is needed to adequately catch large amounts of water in short time periods and avoid similar water-loss situations.

MAR is an intentional method of recharging aquifers, especially those at low levels. Already commonly implemented in California, MAR infrastructure includes conveyance structures that redistribute water to dehydrated locations, and injection—spraying water on land or, the more costly option, directly infusing water in wells.

Yet, to ensure an effective recharge of the aquifers, more monitoring and measurement is required. “Through 2014, growers were not required to monitor or report any withdrawals or injections to aquifers,” said Schwabe.

Regardless, California has more monitoring practices than other states mainly because water availability is not as big a concern elsewhere, said Berhanu. Monitoring standards vary by state and region. Regulations for urban areas differ from agricultural or industrial areas. Based on Berhanu’s work assessing the country’s volumetric potential for water use efficiency at the municipal level, he found that “there is no federal regulatory framework for monitoring or reporting. In a lot of cases, water supplies aren’t even metered.”

Even in areas that did have regulations, the reports were often infrequent or incomplete; the UC Riverside researchers are working on expanding the few accurate monitoring systems put in place in Southern California by proactive growers.

Additionally, the study proposes voluntary water markets where farmers with a surplus of water can trade it to another farmer in need. It’s a win-win process: The selling farmer makes extra profit and the other gets much-needed water. “With prices based on scarcity plus delivery costs, such a marketplace would have incentives for storage and efficient use,” Schwabe said in a press release.

Berhanu added that water-trading markets can work in some areas but not in others. “It needs a very strong governance framework to make sure all of the players are playing according to the rules.” The process will need to have improved monitoring practices, transparent data, and clear external costs, he said. “The more decentralized you get with how these transactions are being made, it becomes very difficult to coordinate the overall watershed-scale system benefits.”

The study also mentions the value of reusing wastewater. Historically, wastewater has been treated to an environmental safety standard then released into the ocean or groundwater system. Over time, natural processes will clean it. Instead of waiting for the environment to purify it, water treatment facilities can repurpose the wastewater for irrigation, commercial use, or recharging purposes.

As of 2023, water treatment plants can purify wastewater so well that people can drink it. “At some point, the water that we use will become someone else’s water for drinking or irrigation,” said Berhanu. Whether wastewater is for drinking or recharging aquifers, California plants are expanding their operations to include recycling methods so they can produce a sufficient supply.

“The overall volume of water in the world doesn’t really change. We need to shift our thinking from looking at how much water is available at one point of time to trying to better integrate our practices with the entire water cycle,” said Berhanu.

The study goes on to mention numerous efficiency-based and management solutions, like sustainable farming practices, land repurposing, and desalination to help the agriculture industry adjust.

“Now is the time to think about possibilities and opportunities for collaboration across agriculture, municipalities, and the environment to invest in smart investments that capture more water and put it in the ground,” said Schwabe.

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May

Spring 2023 Prompt List!

It's May, everyone!! Due to personal and technical difficulties, we're getting the list to you DAY ONE. WOW!

So sorry for the delay, but we have every confidence that despite this short notice, you'll all be able to put out some amazing work this year!

Without further ado, welcome to The Merry Whump of May!

Text ID:

Merry Whump of May

Spring 2023

A month-long whump writing event by @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion.

Extemporaneous style this year-!!

Write, draw, or otherwise create content based on the daily prompts! Participants and completionists will receive badges of honor for their work at the end of the month.

Create original content or fanfiction, all is welcome!

Rules

Tag each day's post with #themerrywhumpofmay, any necessary content warning (eg: #knife), and the day in the following format: #mwmday1)

Adult topics are allowed, but must be well tagged. Send a message to @themerrywhumpofmay if you'd like a second opinion.

Be kind, have fun!

Prompts:

Day One - “No pain, no gain.”

Compass

Haphephobia

Kitchen

Day Two - “Need a ride?

Wrench          

Paranoia         

Club   

Day Three - “You're not looking so hot.”

Lightbulb

Tension

Alleyway

Day Four - “Two birds, one bullet.”

Chess Pieces

Stubborn

Tower 

Day Five - “Do unto others as you would bla bla bla...”

Bow and Arrow

Stalking

Cavern

Day Six - “It's a long story.”

Knife Handle

Gagged

Under the table

Day Seven - “Write what you know.”

Box

Magic

Cell

Day Eight - “Did you read the fine print?”

Circle 

Blinded

Field

Day Nine - “We'll burn that bridge when we get there.”

Collar

Lost

Roof

Day Ten - “Hit the hay.”

Key

Forgetting

Warehouse     

Day Eleven - “Ready set go!”

Plastic bag

Overheating

Restaurant

Day Twelve - “Tabled for Later.”

Thumbtack

Panic attack

Ballroom        

Day Thirteen - “You've made your bed, now bleed in it.”

Sander

Found

Safe Place

Day Fourteen - “Well, well, well...”

Barbed Wire   

Starvation

Drain

Day Fifteen - “The power of god and anime”

Hammer

Over-Exhaustion

Hammer

Day Sixteen - “Take a break.”

Branding Iron

Moonlight

Cemetery       

Day Seventeen - “Going down in flames.”

Pole

Regret

Fireplace

Day Eighteen - “No use crying over spilled blood.”

Cage

Claustrophobia

Ship

Day Nineteen - “Apples and oranges.”

Chainsaw

Surprise

Home Base

Day Twenty - “A taste of your own medicine.”

Zip ties           

Bleeding out  

Office

Day Twenty-one - “Devil's advocate.”

Tome

Desperation

Hiking trail.

Day Twenty-two - “You can lead a bitch to water, but you can't make them drink.”

Origami

Amnesia

Attic   

Day Twenty-three - “Good things come to those who wait.”

Nine-inch-nails

Isolation

Creepy basement

Day Twenty-four - “Bent out of shape.”

Tent Spike

Dragged

Wrong place, wrong time

Day Twenty-five - “It takes two to tango.”

Hot coffee

Doubt

In line

Day Twenty-six - “Hammer time.”

Pocket watch  

Itchy

Waiting room

Day Twenty-seven - “Second mouse get the cheese.”

Knife

Rug burn

Skyscraper

Day Twenty-eight - “A picture's worth a thousand words.”

Chair

Paranoia

Backseat         

Day Twenty-nine - “Lost and Found

Blowtortch

Frostbite

Lake

Day Thirty - “Rain check.”

High heels

Strained

The backroom

Day Thirty-one - “Thin ice.”

Lighter

Chronic pain

Dead end

Alternative Prompt List

Titles  

“Questions? Comments? Concerns? Complaints?”

“Time dies when you're having fun.”

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

“Can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.”

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.”

Items                                      

Wine Glass

Hydrochloric acid

Magnet

Teacup

Wire

Conditions

Sensory deprivation

Blindfolded

Acrophobia

Failed escape

Distress

Locations

The Middle of Nowhere

Forest

Void

Sidewalk

Shortcut

[new-tella-us]

Shard wrong Mika does to surprise each of the boys? How do they react to the surprise?

Not sure what "shard wrong" means but if Mika were to surprise the boys, it would be dependent on the reason for the surprise. So lets say a birthday surprise. Demons don't really have birthday but they do seem to know the season that they were born in so Mika would ask them to choose a random day from their season and not tell them that it's gunna function as their "birthday".

First off the general surprise for any of the boys would have presents, balloons, food (a lot of food honestly), and just a LOT. The more custom responses would come from the place that Mika would take each boy to.

For James- Since it would be some time in Fall, I can see Mika taking James out for a nice walk, away from all of their responsibilities. The autumn leaves and cool air would bring a nice atmosphere. Then maybe they can get a hotel in a different town, dinner, exploring the town. Yknow a mini vacation. James wouldn't really know how to process all this attention and consideration, he's used to being the person that would plan this sort of event. Though after he gets over the initial shock, he would really appreciate the effort and genuinely have fun.

For Erik- His is in winter so ice skating! The lake that Mika mentions in a Seduce Me Episode would be frozen over so it could be perfect for skating. Then some shopping for some fabric to supply Erik's budding interest in fashion (assuming this is Pre-Demon War) and then finally they go to the skyscraper I talked about from my dream. That could be the day Erik revealed what happened to his eye. Erik would be really happy over this gesture. It's not every day he gets spoiled so rotten. He'll return the favor for her birthday.

For Sam- His is also winter so snowball fight! They go to the park, now covered in a blanket of snow and Mika gets the devious idea to launch a snowball at Sam, unaware of the war she would start in that park. Then they could go to the roof of the Anderson estate like they did in game and watch the sunset. Sam would be too busy having fun to question why Mika would spend time to make him happy... at least until the end of the day, then that's all he can think about. Maybe his mother's teachings about kindness had truth to them.

For Matthew- Our only spring birthday is enjoying his birthday in the butterfly garden! Full of flowers and of course, butterflies of different kinds. Maybe they can even go to the zoo for more animal research. Of course Simon Tabby will cause some mischief to make the day harder but they'll find a way to enjoy it and it ends with some karaoke. Matthew would be elated all day, the garden would remind him of his mother, a little bittersweet but it's pleasant memories. He's got a big smile on his face while also planning his counterattack one day. In his eyes, someone willing to do so much for really no reason is a person worth protecting.

For Damien- He's another fall baby and it would be hard to keep this a surprise from him because mind reading so which Mika concedes to the knowledge that Damien will know about the birthday party, where she puts her focus is in making sure he doesn't find out the big surprise. The day would be walking around the city, window shopping, simple stuff that Damien would like to do just to feed his curiosity about the world. And then, at the end of the day, Mika takes Damien into the woods nearby the house and reveals an overgrown grotto. The lush greenery and the sunset light make it look almost otherworldly. And this place is just for them, the others don't know about it. Damien would be very close to crying. The kindness shown by this girl who has no real reason to be so nice is overwhelming. Plus he's being included in an exclusively human event so it makes him feel more human. Mika is getting a big bear hug after this!

[townofcrosshollow]

This project is currently unnamed and very early, so I'm not sure about sharing it anywhere more official until I've written more and gotten a better handle on it. But I'm happy with it so far. Synopsis: A suicidally depressed man discovers a dying fallen angel in the woods. In nursing it back to health, he not only finds a reason to keep living, but discovers a darkness in his heart he'd never even imagined. Massive CW for suicide, depression, alcoholism, religious imagery, and a little gore.

Every day when the early morning sun was hovering just below the horizon (on the days he wasn't blackout drunk), Samson would put the noose around his neck. He'd originally tied it what, a month ago? It could have been two or three by now, as a cocktail of SSRIs and vodka had started to turn time into a haze of half-remembered days. The calendar on the wall was two years out of date, the clock on the stove blinked all zeroes after a power outage (he didn't have the manual to figure out how to reset it), and his cell phone was at the bottom of the lake out front.

Samson learned how to tie a noose in Scouts. Or more accurately, he figured it out himself fucking around with ropes while the other kids were following instructions. It had been a poor approximation of the real thing as used for generations of cruelty, but he'd tied it secure and gotten it to tighten around another boy's neck. It was a joke, obviously, but they didn't see it that way. That was the last time he went to Scouts, but only the first of many nooses he'd tie over two decades. This one felt nice and strong, secured to a beam in the roof of the old cottage's attic with a stiff hitch knot. It was an old polypropylene rope his daddy used to use to keep the boat in place by the docks. Maybe the reason he hadn't kicked out that stepladder yet was the image of this stupid fucking blue-and-yellow striped rope around his rotting corpse-neck when they found him, bloated and maggot-ridden and leaking fluids all over the attic floorboards. "What a pathetic bastard," they'd say, and they'd be spot on. But the walk to the hardware store was long, and he sold the truck to stock up on liquor, so he was caught between laziness and his last remaining shreds of dignity.

Today that shred went out the window. Samson found her number on the side of the fridge where daddy used to keep all his contacts (daddy always had a shit memory even before he got old, and he passed it on). He tried dialing it into the old landline and only realized he was still paying for that shit when the call connected and her voice came through loud and clear. "This is Cynthia Dawn, I'm not at the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll get back to you." Her voice was soft like downy feathers and blindingly bright. The voicemail Samson left was probably worth a restraining order. So that noose was looking nicer than ever, and that stepladder was looking flimsier than ever.

Samson would never find out if he was really gonna do it that day, cause in that split second before, as he stared out at the sun rising over the lake, the room went ablaze with a light more effulgent than any he'd seen. In an instant his vision went white, only pierced by soft little pins of red and green and blue, like when you press down on your eyelids with your fingertips. No matter how tight he squeezed his lids closed, hoping to banish the flash, it was like he was staring straight into the sun. Tears started streaming down his cheeks and drenching his beard.

And then it was over. The light retreated out through the attic window, leaving Samson's world dancing with colours like an impressionist painting. He stood there a long moment, heart heating in his neck, mouth dry, wondering if he'd just seen God or if a stun grenade had been silently lobbed through his window. With shaking hands, he slipped the noose off his neck and climbed down off the ladder. He took a few tentative steps towards the window, pressed his hands against the glass, craned his neck to look out. The lake was so placid it was like time stood still, stained golden by the sun's rays spilling out over the horizon. Out to the left side of the cottage, the shed where daddy kept all his fishing shit back in the day. It was untouched, both by him and by whatever caused that light. But off to the right, where the woods sprung up around the old slipway, there was a dying remnant of that glow that bleached the leaves and filled the sky with an odd haze.

He grabbed one of daddy's rifles from the safe and slipped a hunting knife in his jeans pocket before setting off out the back door. The lawn that spread out from the cottage to the road was overgrown, dotted with those little white wildflowers. It would've looked picturesque, if it weren't for the rusting lawnmower, the dying garden twisted with weeds, the dilapidated guest house that hadn't been used in a decade. Actually, come to think of it, this might have been Samson's first outing beyond the cottage walls in weeks- he'd been subsisting on canned food, liquor, and over-prescribed Zoloft for god knows how long.

So for the first time in weeks, he walked down that old paved road until the sign for Fire Route 41 came up on his left, just past the slipway. The gravel road seemed to wind on for eternity through those woods, dotted with the occasional cabin that lay vacant- it was just coming up to the end of the off-season, and soon eager tourists would swarm the lake looking for a fantasy of the life Samson grew up hating. For now, though, the woods sat still apart from the glow that beckoned him.

The light faded as the determined man grew ever closer, threatening to be extinguished any moment and leave him at a loss. A few times, he wondered what he was hoping to find at the source of that divine glimmer. The face of God? Salvation? Some kind of science-fiction portal that could whisk him away from this existence into a more prosperous one? He clutched the rifle against his chest as he stood there on the edge of the woods, the epicenter of the glow just a few dozen feet away. It was waning dangerously low now, no longer capable of blinding Samson, leaving the spot looking like a sun-bleached photograph. Whatever he was looking for, he trudged ever closer to his prize.

And through the trees, in the underbrush, a thing unlike any that Samson had seen revealed itself. At first he wondered if an egret had been shot down, as a layer of downy white feathers was scattered about the trees like berries in spring. Just past the treeline, a pair of massive white wings spread across the ground, broken and twitching like a thing about to die. They glittered like fresh snow as he got closer, rifle raised to put the poor thing out of its misery. And then the wing shifted like a bolt of pain had rushed through it, and he heard a cry of anguish unlike anything bird or beast could produce. Something soft and melodic, like a piano screaming in pain but trapped by the beautiful temperament of its keys. And when those feathers moved away, beneath them, Samson saw a writhing, contorted body of nude flesh punctuated by cuts and scrapes that oozed a thick golden fluid. The bird-thing turned, craning its neck, looking up at the man that towered over it. Its lips were parted as if in prayer, its eyes staring down the barrel of daddy's gun.

Samson lowered the rifle as he looked into the face of God.

Next part

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 9: "Déshonorez-moi, M. Bridgerton"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: In spite of the inconveniences, you joined the Sharmas, Lady Danbury and the Bridgertons at Aubrey Hall for the ball, but not without setting a date with Benedict Bridgerton at midnight.

(this chapter contains adult content: smut, virginity loss, unprotected sex, consent is hot, minors dni)

Word count: 6.2K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

"Mr. Bridgerton, welcome!" Lord Carrington exclaimed. "Lady Y/N is finishing getting ready."

"Of course, Lord Carrington, I will wait for her."

He nodded. "I hope everything goes very well on your ball. We, unfortunately, might not be able to attend as my wife has fallen sick."

"Oh, that's a shame," Benedict empathized. "I wish for her to recover very soon, and as for the ball, do not worry. I will tell my Mother."

"Thank you, son."

Benedict smiled at Lord Carrington's words.

"Antoinette, dépêche-toi !" your yells could be heard from the sitting room, making Benedict smile fondly. "We will be late!"

"My Lady, this dress is not very easy to put on!"

Lord Carrington laughed. "One could never fathom a lady and her maid treating each other like sisters, but Y/N certainly treats Antoinette like one."

"She proves to us every day that she is another kind of lady," Benedict noted. "That is probably why she and my sister Eloise tally as well as they do. These two were cut from the same cloth."

"It would be unbearable to have two of those under the same roof," He smiled. "Thankfully, my wife is not the defiant kind, she would be similar enough to Y/N otherwise."

"I am certain Lady Y/N is not that bad."

"Not at all," Lord Carrington rushed. "You will never have one boring day beside that woman. She is quite the artist, any would be surprised by her talents; and her particular ability to spend an entire day at the modiste. She returns with at least a dress each time she goes, and is argumentative enough to contradict the jeweler," he added. "I promise you will have the perfect wife by your side if you keep her."

"Well, I intend to."

He curved his lips. "My wife and I have known her since before she was born… She holds a very special place in our hearts, and we wish for nothing but the best for her. Louisa and I, we are glad it is you."

"Thank you, Lord Carrington."

"You know, Mr. Bridgerton?" He began, looking at Benedict right in the eye. "The environment that she grew up in made her the woman she is today. It took her father a while to… take a look at her, he wanted a son but ended up with the living image of his wife. When he realized that she was going to be the one to take care of everything when he passed, that's when he decided to be the father she needed... And he used to spend hours teaching her how to ride a horse and then he would talk about their home while she painted the sunset. They traveled the world together and were everything to one another, so… take care of her."

Benedict frowned at certain words of his but nodded nevertheless.

"I am here!" you exclaimed running downstairs. "Good morning, Mr. Bridgerton!"

"Good morning, Lady Y/N," Benedict grinned at the use of names while in front of Lord Carrington. "Shall we?"

"Yes, we shall," You accepted his arm. "I am starving and excited for this trip."

He laughed. "Goodbye, Lord Carrington."

"Bye, my Lord!" You smiled. "Take good care of Lady Carrington for me, will you?"

Lord Carrington laughed. "I will."

Once you were finally inside your carriage, you looked at Antoinette.

"Did you tell Théo and Laurent that we will have a long trip today?" you asked and Antoinette nodded. "So, are they rested and are the horses alright?"

"They are, my Lady. There is nothing for you to worry about."

You smiled and looked at Benedict in front of you.

"You look most ravishing in that teal blue dress." he commented.

"I believed my color was apricot orange."

"In all honesty, apricot was the same color you wore the day we met," he reminded you. "Therefore, it holds a very special spot in my brain."

"I didn't remember that," you confessed, feeling warmth rushed into your cheeks. "Thank you for saying that, I am glad that both teal and apricot are my colors."

Benedict grinned. "To be fair, every color is your color. You look equally dazzling in all of them."

"That is, perhaps, because you have not seen me in red just yet. That would be your favorite."

"Very well, you have me looking forward to it."

"Your wishes will be satisfied during the ball." you replied with a suggestive smile.

"I cannot wait, then."

Soon, you arrived at the Bridgerton House, being received by all the siblings and Lady Bridgerton.

"Y/N!" Eloise called you before you joined the rest of the family for breakfast. "I need to talk to you about something."

You frowned. "Of course, Eloise. Can it wait until we are in Aubrey Hall or at least until after breaking the fast?"

She sighed. "Yes. Okay."

You and Eloise went to the dining room and sat next to each other.

"Uh, I hear you are to return to France soon, are you not?" Anthony questioned.

"Yes, I must go back. There are issues at home only I can resolve," you replied. "There is also a visit from the Americas waiting for me."

Anthony looked at Benedict. "You are coming back to London, I assume."

"I am not sure," you said, catching his telepathic conversation with Benedict that was surely about you. "Unless I am given a reason to, I will not. At least, not anytime soon."

"That is unfortunate," Anthony added. "Just know you will always be welcomed by us."

"Thank you," you replied. "Likewise."

Lady Bridgerton sighed. "And this visit from the Americas… Can we know who it is?"

"Oh, my Grandfather," you answered. "He was shocked by my absence and wishes to see me."

"He should come here," Lady Bridgerton proposed. "I have never met him before, I would be delighted to."

"I know, but he just survived a weeks-long trip, so I do not think it is proper for him to travel more," You wrinkled your nose. "You could always join me and spend a few weeks in Versailles until I leave for the Americas with him."

Benedict almost choked on his food. "Are you traveling overseas?!"

You hummed. "I will unless I have a reason not to. Or a companion, too, would be very appreciated."

Eloise looked at you with her eyes wide open, while Daphne and Francesca looked at each other hiding a smirk at your suggestion. Gregory and Hyacinth pretended not to be aware of the conversation but gave each other funny glances. Lady Bridgerton hid her laugh as Benedict, Anthony, and Colin shared surprised stares.

The eldest Bridgerton was well aware that his brother was flirting with you. It seemed very innocent and even encouraged by him at the beginning, but once he heard his Mother talk so highly of you and after having met you, Anthony knew it was time for a serious conversation: Benedict had only met you a couple of weeks previous and already decided to court you? What were his intentions? Did he not think it was an awful idea to marry someone he did not know well enough? Was he aware of the responsibility that would fall on his shoulders once he married you?

The answer to his question was found in that glint of doubt that shone in Benedict's blue eyes, and Anthony knew he had to make his brother give up on marrying you.

Since, of course, Anthony believed it was his responsibility to dictate the future of each of his siblings.

What he did not know was that the reason behind Benedict's doubt was way worse than whatever his fate marrying you and destroying an entire region would be. The remedy was worse than the illness in this case because it involved his brother having some sort of relationship with another man. Particularly his future fiancée's —fictional— brother. And Benedict, clearly, did not want Anthony or anybody else to ever know about it.

"I could always go with you! An adventure would be quite enriching." Eloise intervened.

"I think that is a wond-" Lady Bridgerton began but was interrupted by her eldest son.

"Do not even mention it, Sister," Anthony threatened. "You cannot travel abroad with a stranger."

The dining room fell silent, and Lady Bridgerton was about to interfere and scold his son for treating you that way when you replied.

You raised your eyebrow. "Did I miss something, Lord Bridgerton? Or what have I done to cause the sudden change of attitude toward me?"

"Brother…" Benedict gave him a pointed look.

"Not at all, I just cannot help but realize that you are very insistent on marrying my brother."

"Anthony, stop."

"Mr. Bridgerton, I do not need you to defend me," you told Benedict, then looking at Anthony in an attempt to hide how offended you were. "I have never, not even once, approached your brother myself, Lord Bridgerton. As you should be aware, a woman is not allowed to. I am not desperate, it is just that I must return to France, I do not need anything from you. In case you haven't considered the possibility of me loving your brother, I could easily point it out for you: marriages based on a love match do exist and I was hoping to have one of those for myself. I believe I could find that with Benedict, I did not know you were the one to make decisions for him," You stood up, dedicating him the deadliest glance your eyes could make. "Bon appétit."

You did not hesitate nor looked back, and made your way out of the dining room with the purpose of returning to the Carrington Mansion.

However, Benedict stopped you in the middle of your way to the front door.

"Y/N, wait!"

You stopped with a sigh, trying to regain composure. "What can I do for you, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"Don't call me that, please," he pleaded, taking you by your arm and leading the way to the bureau. "And pay my brother no mind, I beg you, he… Marriage is a very sensitive topic of conversation lately, especially for him. He did not mean to say any of that or to offend you."

"You do not have to apologize in the name of your brother and I do not care for him or his personal issues, Benedict," you answered. "I love you, alright? I do. And I can think of at least ten respectable gentlemen in London, forty more across Europe, and a hundred all around the world who wish to marry me and about whom I couldn't care less when you are the one that I want. I do not want to settle for any of them, I do not care if it is a prince, a king, a duke, a count, a viscount, a lord, whatever, I only want you. If you love me, too, tell me at once or I will go back to France with no reason to return to London."

"I love you, too."

"Think it through, then," you demanded. "If you marry me, you must live in France with me, Benedict. You will have to leave your life here behind for me and while I love you so, I cannot ask you that."

"Y/N, I would follow you to the ends of the Earth, you hear me? I love you like I never thought possible," he whispered. "Don't leave, come to Aubrey Hall with us. Anthony will make it up to you, of that I am sure."

You looked around, noticing you were alone.

His eyes met yours so passionately that it hurt to even break the contact, so you just cupped his face, caressing his features fondly.

And you kissed him as if the world was crumbling down around you.

"I do not care about Anthony, Benedict," you muttered. "He could disown you and still you would have four palaces at your disposal if you stand by me, you would lack nothing, nor would our children or the children of our children or their great-grandchildren. I will be by your side until my very last breath and I will love you through Heaven and Hell. This is your choice."

He kissed you again, this time more urgently and lovingly.

You observed him as he pulled away, looking perfect as ever in his Prussian blue suit with a steel and burgundy waistcoat and a matching cravat of the latter color.

"You are the most enchanting man I have met in my life," you confessed. "And I have met many princes."

Benedict laughed. "You mean to tell me that I am more enchanting than a prince?"

You clicked your tongue. "I meant that you are more enchanting than all those rich, handsome princes and the nobles and the explorers and every man I have known altogether."

He kissed you again, smiling throughout the dance of your yearning lips.

"You are the most endearing, interesting, and ravishing woman I have ever encountered," he complimented you. "You are the only woman who has called him out in front of a crowd apart from Miss Sharma."

"Ah, he must hate me now," you noted. "I will get over it."

"But he will be my best man!"

You shook your head. "No ring, no wedding innuendos."

"Well, no wedding, no kissing," Benedict added. "Two can play that game."

"That is actually very sensible from you, Mr. Bridgerton. Can you imagine what would happen if someone was to catch us with our hands in the bag?!"

He chortled. "What does that even mean?"

"It means if someone sees us in this compromising situation: with rouge all over our faces, hair a mess, and… your cheeks are turning the color of the wine!"

"Then, meet me tonight in the garden, my Lady," he proposed. "When everyone is fast asleep."

"I never said I would still go to Aubrey Hall."

"My dear Mother would be devastated if you rejected her invitation. Not to mention Eloise, who was arguing with me about how I should not keep you to myself the whole time as she needed her friend."

"Meet me at midnight, then, Mr. Bridgerton."

You did not exchange a single word with Anthony for the rest of the day. Not when you arrived at Aubrey Hall, not when you declined their invitation to play Pall Mall, and the siblings —minus Anthony— and Miss Sharma, insisted on you to. Not during tea or dinner. Not ever.

It was now an hour until midnight, and you were on your way to Eloise's room.

"Finally!" she exclaimed in a whisper when you were in front of her door. "I thought you had forgotten."

You shook your head and entered her room. "No, I just had to wait for Antoinette to fall asleep so I could come."

"Alright, that does not matter," she replied, making space for you to sit on her bed. "I have a problem I do not know how to solve."

"If there is any way I can help you, do not doubt I will."

"I know," she muttered. "That is why I am asking you this, I cannot appeal to anybody else."

"Of course, Eloise, tell me."

"The Queen believes I am Lady Whistledown."

You gasped. "What?!"

"I know!"

"Are you?"

Eloise shook her head with a frown. "No!"

"Alright," you replied. "What should we do?"

"She threatened me. My family. I do not know what to do."

"We must find out who Lady Whistledown is and expose her."

"How?! That is what I have tried to do for so long, and-"

"Shh… It is alright, everything will be alright, Eloise," you tried to calm her down. "What if you tell her who Lady Whistledown is, except that it is someone who does not exist?"

"She will find out and it will be worse!"

You nodded. "Tomorrow night, at the ball, we will spread different rumors to every possible Lady Whistledown and see which got printed and tell the Queen it was her."

"The rumors will be spread, how will we even know?"

"Because she would want to spread the one no one else told her about in order to have one novelty! We will find out who it is, then, and tell the Queen."

Eloise sighed. "And what will happen to the real Lady Whistledown?"

"That is not your problem, Eloise… The Queen threatened your family, and they are the ones you must worry about."

"Y/N, could you… not tell anyone?"

Your expression softened. "It will be our secret, El."

"Thank you."

"Always," You smiled and stood up to look at the window. "You know? You should ignore Anthony and come to France with me and Benedict, I hope. It will help you clear your mind… we could tell your Mama that you will find a French husband there; instead, I could take you everywhere!"

"Benedict, you said?" she mocked you.

"Yes. All proofs lead me to believe he will propose before I leave," you answered. "He said that I should not be indifferent to Anthony's hate because he would be his best man. That should be enough."

She made an annoyed grin. "You will marry my brother?"

"A lady can only hope," you said, noticing how Benedict was already waiting for you in the garden. "I should head back to my room, Eloise… We can talk specifics tomorrow."

"Of course. Good night."

"Sleep well."

You practically ran to the garden until you met him standing there, waiting for you with that grin of his. "Ready, my Lady?"

"For what?" you asked, taking the hand he was offering.

"Ready to be mine for a night?"

"Always."

Benedict took your hand in his and drove you to the backyard. "Would you like to fence? I could teach you."

"Oh, Benedict, darling… I have been fencing since I was seven!"

"Yes, of course," he said sarcastically. "Me as well, and allow me to remind you that I am way more experienced than you since I am older."

"Moi, j'adore un rêveur !" you exclaimed.

He gasped, faking offense. "Are you calling me dreamy?!"

"I am indeed, dearest."

"Tu es la femme de mes rêves," Benedict said with a grin. "See? It is not that difficult to compliment others!"

"Ooh, la la, Monsieur Bridgerton… si romantique !" you teased him, getting closer to him. "I will destroy you."

"That sounds most tempting…" he whispered, turning around to get the pair of fencing swords he had left there earlier that day. "This one is for you."

You took it and gave him a look. "The dress might make it difficult for me to unleash my prime level."

He laughed. "I will go easy on you."

"No, do it as if I were one of your brothers."

"Are you sure about that? We are very competitive."

You clicked your tongue, taking a defensive position. "En garde, dearest."

"I will destroy you!" Benedict exclaimed and you chuckled as he hit his sword against yours.

And you started fencing.

You could admit you were having the time of your life, all laughter and you winning more than half of the rounds.

"It is because I have been going easy on you."

You scoffed. "I told you not to!"

"One more, all or nothing at all."

"Only if you wish to lose."

"Confident much?" he questioned. "Alright, how about… a bet?"

"A bet?" You frowned. "What could you possibly bet?"

"I win… you dance with the man of my choice at the ball," Benedict stated. "And I shall not be gentle."

You hummed, then. "Very well, Benedict. I win, you come to France with me despite Anthony's objections"

"Oh, you are serious."

"I always am, dearest," you replied. "En garde !"

You began the final round, and it was, probably, the most competitive you have been a part of.

Benedict started running as he saw you close to winning, and you had no choice but to raise your skirt and chase him down. "That is against the rules!"

"We never said anything about rules!"

"You said fencing, so we must follow the rules of fencing!"

"Once you catch me we can begin to talk about rules!"

You got closer to him, taking advantage of how Benedict lowered his speed to give you a much more fair chance to reach him. "You run too fastly and this dress is making it impossible for me to-"

Benedict, who had turned around to see you complain, felt you fall harshly on top of him as you stumbled.

Both laughed at the situation, the fencing swords long forgotten.

"You look precious under the moonlight," he noted, seeing how the light illuminated your face slightly, and how your short hair fell messy, covering both your faces like a curtain with how close you were to one another. "You certainly do."

You could feel the way your stomach fluttered at his compliments and how flushed your face was. "Shall we call this a tie?"

His hands put your hair behind your ear and then fell on your neck, driving you impossibly closer until your lips met.

"I believe you mentioned something about no kisses, Mr. Bridgerton," you mentioned once your lips parted. "Not that I am complaining."

Benedict kissed you again, this time more urgently. You could taste the craving in his lips and feel the need in his touch.

"You will not believe half the things I see inside my head," he confessed, standing up and helping you stand up, too. "Your lips are my addiction, Lady Y/N, and I long for you every second that we are apart."

"I wish to never be apart from you," you whispered, taking his hand in yours. "I wish to grow older with your hand holding mine and to watch you sleep every night."

He smiled and kissed you once more. "I love you."

The next kiss was better. Benedict pushed you against the nearest tree and you felt as if your soul would leave your body any second at how… unearthly the experience was.

An unfamiliar warmth took over your entire being, and the need for more would not leave you breathing in peace. More, more, more… your body chanted, but more of what?

"I feel…" you breathed out when he left your mouth and went to your neck, his hands holding your waist tightly against him. "What is this that I am feeling?"

He grinned. "Have you never been taught about this?"

"About what?" you asked with a whimper.

"My, my, Lady Y/N, anyone would think that with that know-it-all attitude of yours, you were aware of all the ways two people can make the other feel when they are alone." Benedict smirked.

"What does that mean?" You sighed, feeling his hand go to the bare part of your back and caress you there.

"Do you trust me?"

You nodded eagerly. "I do."

"Alright," He kissed you tenderly on your cheek. "This is something important, so you must be sure about it before we proceed."

"How so?"

"Because it is something that a lady like you only does once she marries."

You made a confused grin. "Like kissing?"

He chuckled. "It is… more than that. However, it is related to kissing. You kiss the other person when you do it."

"So it is like… advanced kissing?"

"Yes, you could say that," Benedict laughed. "It requires us both to be nude."

Your heart started beating faster and you felt your cheeks warm. "Nude? Like in the paintings?"

"Just like that," he replied. "And we would touch each other. I promise you that I will make it the most enjoyable experience if you allow me."

"Would you enjoy it as well?"

"You have no idea," Benedict smiled, kissing your forehead. "But this is not something you should take lightly, so you must be certain you want to do it."

"Why do people do this?"

Benedict pursed his lips. "Two reasons, actually."

"Two?" you questioned.

"Firstly, and that is why ladies like you only do it after they are married, so the woman can be with child."

Your eyes widened. "I do not want to be with child yet!"

"I know," he conceded. "That is why we will be careful..."

"Could there- could there be consequences?"

He nodded, stroking your hair. "Only if someone sees us."

"Then we must hide somewhere to make sure we are not to be seen." you answered surely.

"Are you completely sure you want to do this, then?"

"I am. I want to do it."

"Shall we go to my bedchambers?"

"Yes."

You kissed again, this time shortly. "You cannot tell a soul about this."

"You know I will never tell." you said, taking his hand.

Benedict drove you silently through the hallways of Aubrey Hall until you arrived at his bedchambers.

He opened the door and invited you in. "Are you completely sure, then, my dear?"

"I am," you answered. "Could you call me something other than dear? Everyone calls me dear: the Carringtons, your Mother…"

"Mmm… does my heart sound good?" he wondered between laughter.

"It is perfect, mon cœur." you confirmed, taking a look around his room.

[My heart]

"Shall we?"

You nodded in front of him and waited for him to do the first move.

So Benedict kissed you softly on the lips and then pulled apart. He spun you so your back was facing his front, and started kissing your neck while playing with the buttons of your dress. "May I?"

"Yes…"

He unbuttoned the dress and soon it was discarded on the cold floor. Your bare skin got goosebumps under his burning, delicate touch. Then, he undid your corset and put it away, driving his hands to your now-uncovered breasts.

You shook under his touch, resting your head on his chest as his hands did wonders on your breasts. "It is cold, why do I feel so warm… there?"

"Do you like this?"

You nodded.

"That is why, my heart… Now, do you like what we are doing?"

"I do," you answered truthfully. More, more, more… you heard again the chants of your body and decided to indulge. "Is there any way you could give me more?"

"More of what?"

"I do not know, I just… I want more." you hurried to say.

"Anything you please," Benedict left your breasts unattended to put his hands on the sides of your undergarments. "May I?"

You nodded, and he complied.

The cold air meeting your warmth was the first feeling you met with, and the way you shuddered wasn't familiar in the slightest.

"Is this normal?" you wondered while raising each leg from the floor so he could take off your undergarments while kissing your bare back.

"Is what normal, my heart?"

"It is too hot and I feel something… Can I touch it there?"

He breathed out with eagerness. "Yes, you can. Come here, spin around, my love."

You did as he told you and with the most flushed expression, you put your right hand between your thighs, meeting with an unusual, heated moisture there. A loud sigh left your lips. "Why is it wet?" you asked, feeling embarrassed without knowing why.

"It is normal, you mustn't worry," he answered, taking your hand in his and sliding your wet fingers into his mouth. He released them, kissing your knuckles before letting go, fighting the ache that hardened between his thighs. "That means that you are enjoying yourself, just like I am."

You cleared your throat. The sight, though unfamiliar, awakened many inexplicable feelings of intimacy you couldn't quite decipher. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Very much." Benedict said, kissing your cleavage.

"But I have not touched you yet and you are still clothed."

"But I am seeing you, touching you, and kissing you," he lowered his kisses to the valley between your breasts. "I enjoy that. I enjoy sharing this with you."

A shaky breath escaped from your lips as your hands went to his shoulders for support. "Really?"

Benedict hummed. "It is most pleasant, as I have been told, when you do it with someone you love."

You let out a soft chuckle at his words. Looking down, you met with his blue eyes and sweet smile, and when you saw his burgundy tie, you were more conscious of the fact that he was still fully clothed.

"I wish to see you." you demanded, untying his cravat delicately.

He shuddered at your command. "Anything."

He stood up now and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. His white linen blouse, with the sleeves already rolled up, came next; his black trousers followed, and soon, it was the two of you wearing as much as you did when you were brought to this tempting world.

Your finger went to his torso, focusing on his beauty marks and connecting them like constellations. Benedict exhaled with difficulty, long gone the ease one must have for having breathed their whole life, his hands resting restlessly on your hips.

"I have never seen a man quite like you," You left a soft kiss on his chest. His forehead met yours and his eyes remained closed. "Dishonor me, Mr. Bridgerton."

That seemed to be his cue, a trigger for his wildest desires because when you least expected it, he pushed you against the wall and kissed you as if he fed off of it.

Lust, just like time, turned the daylight heavens in his eyes into the dark midnight sky you loved under.

He carried you, making your legs wrap around his body and your skin merge with his, never not kissing you, not even for the briefest second.

"I am desperately in need, Benedict. Please, do something!" you begged, holding onto his arms, feeling his smirk against your neck like a kiss. "Something, anything."

Suddenly, the tip of his fingers met your core. You flinched at the intrusion but did nothing other than moan his name. "Something like this?"

He started drawing circular shapes on you: slow like torture, steady like a heartbeat, sweet like honey.

"Oh," you moaned. "What are you doing to me? Why do I… feel like this? Oh, God…"

Benedict grinned. "Are you enjoying it, my heart?"

"Yes." you replied, breathing quickly and closing your eyes. Instinctively, you spread your legs further to give him better access.

"Look at me," he told you. "Every second, you shall be looking at me."

You nodded, opening your eyes, squirming under his touch. He explored you, he loved you, he made you feel so good.

"Benedict, what is…" you whined, moving your hips at the same rhythm as his fingers. "I need more."

He kissed your forehead and increased the speed of his movements, putting one of his fingers inside you.

It was a sensation you could have never imagined, it was better than what you expected when Benedict promised you would enjoy this. You felt the need to scream his name, but knowing Colin's bedchambers were just next door, you decided to cover your mouth with your hands.

His forehead was pressed to yours and your eyes locked to each other's while your body exploded in a wave of delight, his hands didn't leave you unattended until he was certain you were done.

"What was that?" you asked him, tone a little tired.

Benedict kissed you. "That was a little bit of me dishonoring you."

"Clearly," You laughed. "Does it feel similar for you?"

"Well, it works a little differently for men."

"How come?" You frowned, getting closer to him and feeling something hard pressed against your thigh. "Wait, is that you?"

Benedict shuddered. "Can I show you?"

"Yes, please."

He nodded. "Alright, this might hurt a little, so I will need you to say no if you are not certain. You must be comfortable at all times and should not feel obliged to do something you do not want to, alright?"

"Will it hurt for long?"

"Only at the beginning, my heart, though I promise I will do my best to make sure it does not hurt," he promised. "Then, it will feel good."

"I would like to try."

"Remember to stop me if you wish to stop."

"I will," You kissed him gently. "I want you to feel good. Please, teach me how."

Benedict smiled. "You could touch me like I touched you."

"Okay," you agreed. You kissed him, and your body got closer to his. Your hands traveled his arms softly, then his chest, then going lower. Once your fingertips reached under his belly button, he flinched. "Did I hurt you?"

"On the contrary," you whispered. "Continue if you wish."

Your fingers went lower until you stumbled upon his cock, and Benedict's breath hitched. "Can I… touch you there?"

"Only if you are comfortable."

You looked down and focused on him. Under the dim moonlight, you could not see much, but you could distinguish its length, so you traced his silhouette. He moaned loudly at your touch, and you smiled proudly. "Guide me, please."

Benedict covered your hand with his and made your hand hug him, then guided you up and down slowly. Some moisture joined your movements, making it easier for you.

"Come here," He stopped you, then making you straddle him but not getting your bodies to meet yet. "I shall get inside you now. Are you still sure you want to do this?"

"Is this the part that hurts?"

"Yes."

You nodded. "Alright, I am ready."

He looked you right in the eyes and used his right hand to drive you closer to him until you were kissing softly. Then, Benedict put his hands on your hips and lowered you until your bodies met.

The pained sigh was muffled by the kiss you and Benedict shared, the ache was tarnished by the growing bliss, and you couldn't contain the voices imploring for more.

"More," you begged. "I need-"

"Let me know if you want me to stop." he said, switching positions.

"I will." You nodded, looking at him in the eyes.

And then, it began.

If you thought nothing could be better than what you had just experienced, you were definitely wrong.

It was all soft at the beginning, but then it grew desperate and needy for the both of you. Your hands were intertwined and your eyes locked as he fulfilled his promise of making you feel good.

The kiss was never-ending, and it got to the point in which you did not know where you were, you just knew you were together and nothing else mattered.

Suddenly, Benedict pulled away, but you were in such a state of bliss after you felt your body shattering and coming back you were not all that aware as to why. Not that you cared with the way you felt right now.

"I will be back in a second." he promised as he stood up, kissing your forehead before leaving the bed. You looked at the window from the bed, admiring the night sky.

Benedict returned and started cleaning you up delicately, not saying a word. You didn't need to as the silence was peaceful and comforting.

Before he could lie next to you again, you wrapped a blanket around yourself and went to the window sill, where you sat and Benedict soon joined you. He was supported on the wall and you on his chest, both admiring the stars and the moon.

"I love summer nights," you commented. "And the good company makes it even better."

He chuckled. "Am I a good company, my Lady?"

"There is no one I would rather be with right now."

"I sure hope so," He smiled, giving you a short kiss on your temple. "I do not think Lord Weber would have done any of this."

"He wouldn't have dishonored me, you are correct," you joked. "I am glad it was you who dishonored me."

Benedict chortled, caressing your arm with his fingertips. "I cannot just dishonor you and get away with it, can I?"

"You cannot! What would happen to us if someone opened that door and saw us in a position as compromising as this one?"

"We would be forced to marry!"

"What a tragedy, Mr. Bridgerton!" You dramatized, turning around to kiss him on the lips.

"Marry me." he asked, an enamored sigh leaving his lips.

You looked at him with a small smile. "That sounds incredibly impersonal and not worthy of a yes from a lady like me."

Benedict trapped your lips into a last kiss for the night, doing nothing to hide that huge and adoring smile of his. "You have absolutely captivated me, my heart, and I am afraid I am irredeemably in love with you. For you, I would run from London to Versailles, swim from France to the Americas and back; I would give away everything that I have and renounce all that I am. You are my inspiration, my muse, and I am here to swear to you that I will love you, cherish you, and honor you until my very last breath. I have been trapped under your spell since the first time my eyes met yours, and I shall remain bewitched until I am on my deathbed. Will you marry me, my heart, my Lady, my love?"

"I will marry you, Benedict Bridgerton," you answered with an ecstatic smile. "And you better put a ring on my finger before you dare tell a soul."

"Cross my heart."

[the-hinky-panda]

The Drowning Kind: Part II

Title: The Drowning Kind

Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You heard of the Portland Grimm and leave your fundamentalist group of naiads in Vancouver. You just wanted a safe fresh start; you didn't expect to fall in love with a royal hybrid police captain.

There are two things that naiads are experts in: swimming and secrets. 

When you first met Sean Renard, you immediately recognized a fellow secret keeper. Words were used sparsely and with the craft of saying enough but providing no actual information. It was a language that you spoke fluently and his presence soon became the closest thing you ever felt to being home. You didn’t think he felt the same way until you saw the red kayak on the river at ten o’clock at night two days after the close of the case you had offered assistance. 

The late night rendezvous continued for the next two weeks, you floating alongside the boat while conversation flowed, still guarded but slowly unfurling tiny bits of information. You moved from Vancouver for a fresh start. His ancestry was old, traced back hundreds of years from Europe. You were living in a broken down house along the river because that was all you could afford. He was living in a penthouse in Portland. You had taught yourself how to read and write, your village not strong believers in their women being educated. He spoke five languages and had the best education money could buy. 

Slowly, more valuable pieces started to become revealed. His hybrid heritage. Your disfigured hands and feet. His tiring game of playing both ends against the middle to protect the Portland Grimm. Your deep scars of a betrayal from someone you had trusted. He was searching for balance between the two worlds he represented. You were searching for the girl who had dreams and once believed that love was real. 

So you found each other. 

Due to the situation he found himself in, along with a diabolical brother who searched for leverage in every aspect of his life, you understood why this needed to stay a secret. For your protection and everyone else around you, no one could know that you had regained that tiny spark of hope that maybe love wasn’t a myth. You still weren’t convinced of what this was between you two but it was precious enough to protect. And you did, for the first time in a long time, feel truly protected. So you kept the secret. 

“Where are we going?” 

You glance over your shoulder. “What’s the matter, Sean? Don’t you trust me?” 

The smile he gives you is sly, a subtle twist to the side of his mouth. “All I asked is what did you do today. Now you have me on one of the uninhabited islands in the middle of the river. I’m sure you can understand my unease.” 

“I do,” you respond. Trust is hard for both of you after the lives you’ve lived. “It’s worth it, I promise.” 

You found the abandoned fishing shack the same way you find everything, by accident. Growing up along riverbanks and on the edges of lakes in Vancouver, you had more of a need to know the flow of the water and the islands that got in the way of it. You were spending much of your free time learning the same thing here in Portland. That knowledge is what crossed your path with Detectives Burkhart and Griffin. 

A group of college kids who had too much to drink had gone missing after an afternoon of tubing on the river. They unknowingly became prey for some rowdy wendigo and needed to be found ASAP. Burkhart had reached out to the naiad community in the harbor and you had wanted to show your worth to your new community. You didn’t expect to be the one to find them but you did, only one out of the group of seven fell victim to the wendigo. Now, you were the riverway consultant for the Portland PD. 

After your maiming, you were still able to be useful. 

The shack was falling down, abandoned for years. It didn’t take much to patch the small roof or replace the broken board walls. It was meant to be a shelter from the elements, nothing longstanding. There’s no electricity that runs into it so you have to get creative in how to fix it up. Abel and his daughters helped you out by using their fishing boat to bring a futon, small armchair, and a desk. You brought some of your books and candles. You pitched it to them as your retreat but your true intention is to share it with only one other person. 

He takes in the ramshackle little hut with cautious curiosity. “Did you build this?” 

“No, I’m not that talented.” 

You push the door open hesitantly. You had already lit some of the candles, the soft glow flickering off the wooden walls and furniture. It actually looked more inviting than you thought it would. But then you remember the one time you visited his apartment in Portland. The large windows overlooking the city and river. The polished granite counters in the kitchen, the artwork that hung on the walls, and the bottle of wine he was there to pick up. All of it was worth more than anything you had ever seen before in your life. What were you thinking trying to pass this off as something special? 

“I think it’s lovely.” 

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. He’s patronizing you. Making the simple, little naiad believe she had done something magnificent when really he was laughing at you. Words are failing you and you silently stare at your feet until he nudges your shoulder playfully. 

“You going to let me in? Because I really want to investigate something in there.” 

You look around the space wondering what he could be talking about when he picks you up, your arms looping around his neck and your legs wrapping around his waist. You start to ask what it was he wanted to investigate when he takes the opportunity to kiss you. After a long day of not seeing each other, you easily give in to the familiar press of his lips against yours. You hear the door being kicked shut and feel yourself in freefall, stopped when you land on the futon. 

“So,” you ask him from your sprawled position on the blankets, “what exactly did you want to investigate?” 

He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. “I want to see if that futon can hold the both of us.” 

You reach behind your back and untie the crocheted bikini top, tossing it on top of his discarded shirt. His eyes darken at the sight of your bare breasts and suddenly this rehabbed fishing hut doesn’t seem like such a silly secret after all. 

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Climate neglect is destroying entire cities in Brazil

The bleak scenario in a state devastated by extreme rains brings a reminder to the world: acting now will be much easier and cheaper than when the worst impacts of the climate crisis arrive

May was a month of sadness and dismay in Brazil. Extreme rainfall left two-thirds of the state of Rio Grande do Sul, which has a territory larger than that of the United Kingdom, underwater.

To date, 161 people have died and 81 are missing due to flooding caused by the unprecedented flooding of rivers and lakes in this state in southern Brazil, bordering Argentina and Uruguay. Almost 600,000 people lost their homes and more than 80,000 had to be rescued from rooftops, on boats or in security force helicopters.

Besides, more than 12,000 pets had to be saved from death by rescue teams, including a horse that was left stranded on a roof and became a symbol of the surreal impact that a tragedy like this represents.

The images and testimonies of those affected are heartbreaking. At 350.org, we also had employees and partners personally affected by the disasters. An indigenous leader who, two years ago, played a fundamental role in the fight to end a coal mine project in the region and thus helped prevent the environmental degradation of a huge area, lost her home and saw her neighborhood destroyed. A freelance colleague in the Communications area had to hurriedly leave her apartment, on the first floor of a building in the state capital, because the water level accumulated in the street rose so quickly that it reached the height of her doors and windows. Fortunately, both of our friends are safe, but the scare and damage caused to them – and the hundreds of thousands of people affected – will last a long time.

The individual effects of the tragedy are also reflected on a collective scale, and the economic impacts will be felt not just at the state level but nationally. One of the country’s main financial analysis companies, MB Associados, estimates that the disaster will reduce Brazilian GDP growth by up to 0.5 percentage points in 2024, due to the massive destruction of infrastructure and the loss of goods and services in Rio Grande do Sul. Company analysts say a climate event has never caused so much economic damage in Brazil.

And it is worth remembering that, as often happens in times of great collective loss, poor communities and families made up of black and indigenous people were disproportionately harmed. Environmental racism and climate injustice have once again become clear.

Continue reading.