#neon slippers

[mekyrdesign]

Step into style with our Neon 1980s Slippers for Women, a perfect blend of comfort and bold fashion. These vibrant slippers capture the essence of the iconic 80s era, featuring eye-catching neon colors that will brighten up any outfit. The soft materials ensure a cozy fit, making them ideal for lounging at home or a casual outing. Embrace a retro vibe and make a statement with the Neon 1980s Slippers for Women, where nostalgia meets modern comfort.

[smileshighway]

Rainbow Checkered Smiley Face Slippers

[oldshowbiz]

[muu-kun]

Muu Masterpost: Fashion & Aesthetic mini blurb

I'm not going to get into heavy specifics over his preferences for style across the years in this post, but instead will only being honing in on the most recent development. One built strictly on the strategy of appearing taller, therefore older and more desirable in his mind.

Being scraping by the barrel allowing him to be considered 5ft4 (though if we are going into specifics, he falls at 5ft3 and 3/4 quarters), he's not really one to stand out as the largest man in the room by any means. A trait not at aided by his almost left in time youthful appearance directly caused by the only just recently diagnosed Kallmann Syndrome.

As of yet, he has no desire whatsoever to utilize testosterone as a means of assisting him in appearing more like his age appropriate peers, and is instead opting more for the aesthetic of appearing larger since he's not anticipated to grow on hormone treatments as is anyways. That and he so greatly admires his jovial androgyny regardless of how well it fares amongst those around him.

The method of choice to achieve such a resemblance has been none other than to begin predominantly wearing three specific pieces alongside each other for the time being, and to elevate it from there over time. Those pieces are none other than very specific shirts with long, oversized bell sleeves at their ends to hide his hands, making indiscernible where his hand ends, and where the remainder of the sleeve begins; as well as high waisted, preferably slim legged pants, and vegan only platform boots. Namely those marketed by Doc Martens due to being very uneducated on what other options are out there for him to utilize. Examples of what all of those appear when paired entirely with one another is illustrated below.

[pseudoirony]

i also ordered A BUNCH OF STUFF 🥰 bc im actually healed and i deserve all of them bc ive been wanting them for so long! this is definitely not a case of justified impulsive behavior due to illness denial

[vintagelasvegas]

Las Vegas, 1988. Day in March, night in May. Photos by Hank DeLespinasse.

Three signs went to the Neon Museum: Frontier sign (Branding Iron Steak House) lower left, Silver Slipper, and Stardust. In the distance, visible between the Stardust sign and Circus Circus big top, is Enchanted Village on W Sahara Ave

[artslovergirl]

red wine supernova

recently divorced!tashi duncan x reader

notes: cw: age gap of 9 years! reader is a girlfailure loser who would sell her soul for one chance with tashi duncan, tashi being a twilight fan mention (tashi duncan weird girl agenda), reader is the biggest tashi apologist ever she does not gaf, artashi caught a stray in this im sorry i promise i love them, commas are just fun accessories to me, if you read all of this i will give kiss ur heart and soul, i love u chappell roan thank u for this song, tashi duncan a girlfriend WILL save you in this

wordcount: 9.6k (omfg)

she was a playboy, brigitte bardot

she showed me things, i didn't know

you met tashi duncan by complete accident. like actually.

you didn't meet her in the stands at a match for any of the new players she's coaching or some fundraiser or gala that only rich people would attend. you met her at the grocery store. you remember it pretty specifically because the memory makes you crumple up in embarrassment every time. 

you turned your shopping cart around the corner, your mind being laser focused on getting green tea because you forgot it last week and you were almost out and you also forgot your grocery list at home which means you’ll inevitably buy everything BUT the stuff that you need and- 

is that tashi donaldson? you stopped in your tracks, it felt like your whole system had been reset. holy shit. that IS her.

she was wearing a tight black top, designer pants with three golden necklaces (that you were sure cost more than your laptop) and her bob was thrown into a short low ponytail.

you felt like a deer in headlights considering that you’d never really met a celebrity before. i mean, you had only gotten into watching tennis a couple of years ago ( at first only because of your stupid ex boyfriend, but now you enjoyed it genuinely…and you enjoyed it as a way to spite him a little too.) but still she counted as a celebrity to you. 

a celebrity you find crazy hot. oh god and of course you looked severely terrible right now. you had just thrown on the first outfit you saw and threw your unwashed hair up with a claw clip. also you had not cared enough to put on shoes and were just wearing slippers.

great. not as if you wearing a cocktail dress and having a blowout would have really changed anything but maybe you did have the fantasy that if you looked hot enough you could seduce this powerful gorgeous rich woman. not that it matters now since that wasn't what was happening at all.

should you say something? no, right? you'd imagine that no one would really want to be disturbed by a fan while shopping for groceries of all things. then again, she didn't even have a shopping cart. or a basket. so maybe it would be fine? what was she even doing here? you highly doubted that you and tashi fucking donaldson were in the same tax bracket.

she should be at erewhon or whatever that store for rich people that get off on paying 30 dollars for bread is called. fuck it, you were gonna say something. you gingerly walked up to her, noting that the closer you got the more intimidating her presence felt. 

“hey, i'm so sorry to bother you but are you tashi d-” before you could get out the rest of your sentence your gaze fell onto the tabloids that were propped up on the shelf behind her. on the covers stood in big fat neon yellow letters “DONALDSONS DIVORCE? Is this it for the Tennis-IT couple?”

oh, right. divorce. fuck. what is it now…duncan or donaldson? fuck. tashi obviously noticed the sudden break in your sentence and the way your eyes were glued to something behind her. she turned around, saw the unmissable headline, huffed and turned back to you. “just duncan is fine.” she said, staring down at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

you felt your stomach drop in shame and suddenly really prayed that the floor would open up and just swallow you whole so you wouldn't have to continue embarrassing yourself in front of one of the hottest women you had ever seen.

“right, i'm so sorry, i didn't want to be rude but uh.. that just now made me seem very rude.” you awkwardly stammered, drumming your fingers against the warm plastic handle of your shopping cart. your hands were sweating. 

to your relief she just gave you a small smile and shook her head, “don't worry about it, this isn't the first time this has happened.” you were honestly surprised at her nonchalance. in your mind she could have pulled out a gun and shot you point blank for that and you would've probably forgiven her. 

“ah..yeah..still. sorry. um, i just came over to say that im um..a big fan. i mean, ever since you started coaching hayden and torres, their game totally changed, its insane.” you felt like you were forgetting to breathe because your entire focus was on making a somewhat good impression and hopefully making her forget what just happened.

tashi seemed a little amused by your nervous energy, that's something at least. “thank you, they were already great players just needed some refinement.” she looked you up and down. you felt a shiver run up your body as if her gaze had physically touched you.

“ah, well, yeah, i just mean if you compare this season to last season..um..anyway..” you shifted from foot to foot anxiously. she was so hot. a faint smirk tugged at her lips.

“do you play?” 

“hm?” 

“tennis?”

 “oh!”

you shook your head quickly. “no, no, i'm far too unathletic for that.” you chuckled to divert from the fact that you had been so caught up in mentally drooling over her that you made her specify tennis.

“uh, plus the barrier to entry is a bit too expensive for me. i mean rackets and lessons and all that..” you fiddled with the hem of your worn down sweater. you're pretty sure you've had this sweater since middle school and now you were wearing it while meeting the hottest woman alive. tashi duncans gaze felt like the sun, and for some reason she insisted on making very intense eye contact with you. 

“right. well maybe you can give it a try one day, i think it would suit you.”

does this make you now legally obligated to play tennis? it really feels like it. you feel heat crawl up your neck.

“ha…really?” you sound like you're gasping for air. 

she looked you up and down again. jesus christ. “mhm.” 

okay, well, you were on the verge of passing out and she really wasnt giving you a lot to work here conversation wise so you just squeaked out, “um…do you mind signing something?” she seemed a little surprised for a second like she had forgotten the reason you had come up to her in the first place, but after a short moment she nodded. “sure.” 

you rummaged through your messy bag, trying to find anything signable (yeah, you hadn't really thought asking for a signature through) but luckily you quickly found your daily planner and a random hello kitty pen you genuinely didn't remember buying.

you began thumbing through your planner until you found a blank page and quickly handed the two items to her for her to sign.

you felt awkward just watching her sign so you pretended to browse the aisles with your gaze until the handed the small book and pen back to you.

“thank you so much!” you eagerly took it and stuffed it back in your bag. “sorry for taking up your time.” you chuckled sheepishly.

“its really not a problem. it was nice meeting you.” you were genuinely about to melt into the floor. “u-um..oh! yeah, it was really really nice meeting you too!” you nodded a little too intensely.

you exchanged small waves before you watched her disappear down an aisle. as soon as she was out of earshot you exhaled sharply and you draped your torso over your shopping cart like a ragdoll.

oh my god.

put her canine teeth

in the side of my neck

later that evening (after unpacking your groceries and realizing that you had indeed forgotten to buy green tea) you read through every article written on the donaldson's relationship and recent divorce.

you even paid for the ones hidden behind paywalls.

you felt a little ashamed of it, since you knew a lot of these journalists loved to exaggerate for the sake of drama but you just..wanted to know everything.

and you stumbled across a particular article that left you...gob-smacked for a lack of a better term. it was titled:

‘what really happened at the phil’s tire town challenger?’

you remember vaguely hearing about that a couple months ago...maybe a year ago? but you didn't think much of it at the time. but this? this article revealed everything that was truly beneath the surface of that match.

it revealed relationship entanglements between tashi her (now ex) husband and her ex-boyfriend that led all the way back to 2006. you were honestly a little concerned how they even got this much information.

you should probably be scandalized or shocked or whatever but honestly all you could think was: what a woman. she made two guys play a fucking tennis match not to win the us open juniors singles title but to win her number? what a fucking woman.. 

the next day you opened up your planner to write down an appointment you had just booked when you were greeted by tashi’s signature. before you could swoon and admire her pretty handwriting you noticed something you hadn't seen when haphazardly throwing the planner into your bag earlier. a string of neatly written numbers under her autograph. holy shit. she gave you her number.

i'm in the hallway waitin' for ya

mini skirt and my go-go boots

“is this too short? or like…just short enough?”

you did a small twirl for your roommate, aubrey, who you had been subjecting to a fashion show of different skirts for the past ten minutes.

“show me the back again?” she was half paying attention to you, half scrolling twitter. you turned around. “you cant see my ass right? i don't want to flash her. leave a little mystery y'know.”

she looked up for a second and then nodded, “no, you're good. just pick that one.” you huffed at her lack of taking this seriously. to be fair you hadn't told her that the “recently divorced slightly older woman” you’d be seeing was tashi duncan but still! where’s the support!

you looked back in the mirror…hm…this one did look cute while not showing off too much. also you only had an hour left until the meeting and you still had to put on the rest of the outfit and style your hair, so this one would have to do.

“okay, thanks, love you, bye.” you hurriedly skipped to your room. “hey! you left all your shit all over the floor!” aubrey yelled after you pointing towards the mountain of clothes you had discarded after mixing and matching outfits.

“i'll pick it up later!” you yelled back as you slammed the door behind you and you could faintly hear her responded with a groan. whatever! this was literally the opportunity of a lifetime! you were going on a FUCKING DATE with the hottest woman to ever live who just also happened to be insanely rich and one of the most iconic figures in the tennis world.

you must've been a nurse or a doctor or something equally charitable in a past life to deserve this.

okay, well, to be fair…you weren't 100 percent sure if this was…actually a date? but you also didn't know what else she could possibly mean by meeting. what actual business would she have to discuss with a 24-year old college dropout who doesn't even play tennis?

you had texted a little bit with tashi since that fateful day, three weeks ago, when you discovered her number in your planner. you still had no clue why she gave it to you but you weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

the many drafts you had crafted for the first message to her were still in your notes app and looking back on it, each one seemed more pathetic than the last.

the one you ended up sending was okay, not great, but you quickly realized that tashi preferred calling to texting anyway. which suited you just fine because her style of texting was far more formal than you were used to (i.e. she capitalized the appropriate words and used periods at the end of her sentences.)

and it always made you just a tad nervous she was mad at you or something. for about two weeks now, it had almost become routine to receive a call from tashi at exactly 10 pm, which was when she always did her nightly routine.

you knew that because you could always faintly hear her changing into a night robe and applying various lotions and cleansers. it made your heart beat three times faster thinking about the fact that even with how busy she was, she worked to somehow fit you in.

the first calls were..a little clunky and awkward mostly due to the fact that you could barely hear anything she said over the booming sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

but as soon as you made her laugh for the first time all that anxiety seemed to just dissipate. it made you realize she wasn't asking you to perform for her, and she seemingly enjoyed you the way you are.

after that, each conversation flowed much easier and even though you seemingly didn't have much in common on the surface, you found yourselves talking for an hour every night.

the topics didn't matter, because every topic was exciting and made you giggle and kick your feet as long as you were talking about it with her. 

you sat down at your desk and examined yourself in the small vanity mirror that stood on it. you huffed and quickly began messing around with your hair and touching up your makeup until you were finally satisfied with the results.

and then right on time your phone started buzzing aggressively on your small desk, effectively scaring the shit out of you, with a reminder that you had to leave like right now to catch the subway.

you checked yourself out in the mirror one last time. you took a deep breath. okay..okay..you looked good. hot. super hot definitely. hot enough to go on a date with tashi duncan? well, no, no one would ever achieve such a thing but you got close enough.

you grabbed your small purse and rushed out of your room to quickly strap on your heels in the hallway. as you shut the front door behind you, you heard aubrey shout after you “good luck, hope you get fingered!”

a girl can dream.

okay, really, you didn't need to be running.

you had left with like 20 minutes buffer time to get to her place just in case something went wrong but..you somehow needed to get that pent up anxiety out lest you end up vomiting it all out later.

but as you began booking it down your street towards the subway station a loud honking violently stopped you in your tracks.

you automatically whipped your head around to look for the origin of the noise. there was a sleek black car parked right in front of your shitty but overpriced new york apartment complex. there's no way that belonged to anyone living here. you were a little tempted to keep running since this seemed sketchy as hell.

the car honked again and the driver leaned out the window, he was dressed in some kind of uniform? “i’m here to pick you up for miss duncan?” he raised a brow like he wasn't sure if you were really the one he was here for.

maybe because you were staring at him like you’d never seen a chauffeur before. huh. now that you think about it, you actually had never seen a chauffeur before.

“oh..um..tashi duncan?” you almost whispered like it was a secret that needed to be kept. he gave you a look. rude.

“yes. tashi duncan.” he replied. “um..i don't mean to be rude but is there like..confirmation for that? because..i don't just want to get in some guy's car.”

the driver already seemed fed up with you. at that moment your phone buzzed again but this time with a text message from none other than the woman of your dreams. 

“I sent you a ride. I think the subway is far too dangerous for you to take this late.” 

talk about timing. you looked up from your phone and shot the driver an apologetic smile as you quickly clambered into the backseat.

wow, this is a fancy ass car. and it had that weird new car smell. you knew that most people liked it but it just made you dizzy for some reason.

now that you didn't have to worry about arriving on time, you could stop freaking out about that and instead freak out about the fact that..

holy shit, she sent a car for you! you weren't quite sure if this was like a for real chauffeur or just a very fancy uber but you didn't care because it just made you so giddy. like this was definitely confirmation that this was a date, right? right? yes, totally…possibly! 

it was also a little exciting to receive this kind of treatment, especially from a woman like her. 

shortly before you arrived you checked your reflection in the car's tinted window. you pulled out your shimmery cherry scented lip gloss and applied it generously until you could see your lips shine. perfect!

breathe in, breathe out, this will go fine. this will go perfectly. you gave yourself an encouraging nod (and immediately cringed at yourself for it.) 

you mumbled a quick thanks to the driver and quickly got out as soon as the car slowed to a stop. your 2 inch heeled boots could be heard clacking against the pavement as you walked towards probably the most luxurious apartment complex you had ever seen.

it was very much “insanely wealthy recent divorcee” chique.

then you noticed the door man who was already looking at you a little weirdly, probably because you had stumbled towards the apartment like a newborn fawn.

“um, hello.” you gave a polite smile. “i’m um..here to visit tashi duncan?” you didn't know why you phrased it like a question, you should really be more assertive, this was all just so unusual for you.

“right. youre miss y/ln?” your heart fluttered..because this meant she had informed him prior to your visit and that this was all real and happening. “yes.” you nodded quickly and even showed your ID even though he insisted it really wasn't necessary. 

on the elevator ride up you could feel anxiety in the form of nausea burrow itself through your stomach lining. oh, god. this would be fine. ding. the doors opened. 

you were immediately enveloped by the warm scent of cinnamon mixed with fresh laundry and expensive perfume. that scent seemed to go through your nose and slowly invade each part of your body until it softly curled up in your heart, making you yearn to never smell anything but this ever again. you took a cautious step out of the elevator and took in your surroundings. 

it wasn't a surprise that this apartment was maybe…5 times the size of yours? maybe 6? it seemed huge from just the size of the entryway. the color scheme was quite neutral, with a lot of white and earthy tones which you could appreciate.

it gave everything a sense of calm and comfort. it was well-decorated too, which you had already expected but evidence of her having good taste only made you even more attracted to her. 

you must've spaced out because all of a sudden the woman herself stood in front of you. and she was an absolute vision. the soft warm lights of the apartment bathed her in its glow making her dainty golden jewelry glimmer, her short gently curled locks fell around her defined face like a silk curtain, her skin shimmered like fresh morning dew and the pearl colored dress she wore accentuated her chest and wrapped around her hips like honey. 

“hey.” she smiled softly as she took a step closer. you were NOT gods strongest soldier in this moment. or any moment. but especially this one.

all the nerves you had gotten over during the phone calls returned full force now that she actually stood in front of you, looking like a muse. you weren't sure if you could handle all that to be perfectly frank.

“h..hi. thank you for..sending the ride.” you stammered out in a low breath. “i wasn't really looking forward to having to endure the smell of urine for an hour on the subway..” you continued just because the silence made you nervous. 

“it’s no problem. i figured as much. plus i couldn't possibly make you take the subway to our first date, hm?” she said it like that sentence alone didn't put you at serious risk for spontaneous combustion.

so this was a date! you didn't even notice but you were absolutely beaming at her. “oh..well..yeah, um..thank you, anyway.” your front teeth caught your bottom lip in their grasp. you could feel her slender fingers wrap around your wrist and she gently led you through her apartment, you weren't sure where to.

but you didn't care, wherever she wanted you to be that's where you would go. “you have really good taste..like..decorating wise and stuff” your voice was still shaky but you were feeling a bit more at ease now that she had confirmed that this was in fact a date. 

she looked back at you over her shoulder. “you like it?” she smiled. “yeah!” you nodded a little too eagerly, “it's very..hm..calming. i think. and very chique.” she let out a bemused exhale through her nose at your use of the word ‘chique’. “i appreciate it.” she assured you with a small glimmer of something in her eyes.

i just want you to make a move

so slow down, sit down, it's new

in the center of her spacious dining room stood a circular glass table which was set up beautifully with candles flickering gently while they illuminated the two plates that you could now see carried your favorite dinner. (huh, so that's why she asked you about that yesterday.) the plates were accompanied by two wine glasses and a small dish of creme brulee set to the side. 

you were honest to god speechless. i mean… i mean , what do you even say in this situation. the fact that this woman was evidently just as enamored with you as you were with her was something you still had difficulty comprehending.

everything moved so quickly and yet at the same time these past two weeks felt like they stretched over months.

she gently led you towards the chair, you could feel the gentle pressure of her hand against the small of your back. you tried to remember to breathe.

you took a seat and she headed over to the counter that connected her dining room and kitchen. she grabbed the two wine bottles that you hadn't even noticed until that very moment.

she held them up and asked, “red wine or white?” to be truthful, you had never really drunk wine before. you vaguely remember having it once on your 20th birthday, but not ever since. that made you feel a little immature, so instead of admitting this you just blurted out, “white?” out of sheer panic.

she nodded and carried both bottles over to the table and poured white wine in your glass and red wine in hers. looking at the glasses you secretly wondered if this meant kissing her later would now taste like rosé. 

as she took her seat across from you the candlelight highlighted her face in the most flattering way, defining her sharp features while somehow softening them at the same time as she sat before you.

one thing that was the exact same in real life as it was on tv and photos, was tashi's intense gaze. at first it made you anxious but now it simply excited you. you almost reveled in it. you wanted her gaze to be on you. to pin you down. 

“i have one rule for tonight.” she spoke up after taking a sip of her wine. your eyes widened a little, like a curious fox you tilted your head to prompt her to continue. “no tennis talk.” she said with a certain seriousness. oh. phew. that you could certainly handle. and it wasn't very surprising either. most people didn't enjoy shop-talk during dates.

“that is gonna be no problem for me.” you chuckled with slight relief. “i mean, not that i would really have that much to say about it anyway. i'm more of a casual fan anyway.” you shot her a quick sheepish grin, quietly fidgeting with the hem of your miniskirt under the table. 

you could see a faint smile play on her lips in response. silence could only fill the room for a mere second before you spoke again, “i kind of have to admit um..i’m a little nervous.”

to say that you were stating the obvious was an understatement.

“i could tell. you don't have to be.” she reached over and gently ran a finger over the back of your hand, tracing your veins. you shivered.

“i know, it’s just…i don't know. i want this to go well.” you nervously looked up to meet her gaze. “it will.” she hummed.

“we’ll just talk, like on the phone.” her voice was like a soothing balm to your pounding heart. “yeah, but it's different. like..being here. a..and..i..”

should you admit it? you were almost sure she wouldn't care, yet you were riling yourself up about it. she raised a brow. “i've never really..like i don't have any experience with women.”

she intertwined your hand with hers. “that's okay, i mean, the last time i was with a girl was like..college.” she chuckled wryly.

she continued, “really, that doesn't matter to me. i just wanna get to know you.” she reassured you as she squeezed your hand. in that moment she made you feel so seen and so safe with such ease that you wanted to cry a little.

but obviously, you wouldn't, because that would be supremely lame to do on a first date..okay, tearing up did not count! (thankfully she did you the kindness of not pointing it out.)

i like, i like, what you like, what you like

long hair, no bra, that's my type, that's right

after her reassurance, your nervousness started to slowly ebb away and your conversation started to flow more naturally again.

the dinner was long done by this point and you now sat next to her on the couch with your legs almost touching hers. you were already feeling a small buzz in your system that led to you feeling very giggly as you sipped on your second glass of white wine.

tashi was currently recounting the story of her first and last frat party she went to at stanford, to be honest, you were only paying half attention. you tried very hard (really, you did) to not stare at her lips but it was getting harder and harder the more tipsy you got and you were definitely laughing way too much at her story to overcompensate.

you knew she noticed because she leaned a little closer, her arm leaning on the backrest of the couch, “you are not listening to me at all right now.” she huffed playfully, a smirk dancing over the very soft-looking lips.

“what?” you giggled and subtly shifted so her thighs were fully touching yours now. “no, i'm listening.” you tried so hard not to grin but the way she was looking at you just made you want to smile and giggle and kick your feet.

“what did i just say then?” she raised a brow and leaned even closer. you could smell her perfume and it made you dizzy. “uh…umm..” you scrunched up your nose in thought. “some guy..did..something?”

she rolled her eyes but you could tell she was only teasing, “good guess.”

“what, so youre gonna tell me i'm wrong?” you challenged playfully. “i’m saying you're not paying attention.” she hummed, her hand reaching out to gently play with your hair which made you feel the urge to curl up in her lap like a cat.

ooh, okay, you were gonna go for it now because you were justttt tipsy enough to not cringe at yourself flirting. you leaned forward, you could feel her breath on your cheek, “can you blame me?” you muttered, now unabashedly staring at her lips.

she seemed caught off guard by your sudden forwardness but she certainly didn't seem to mind it. her head tilted down a little until her nose brushed yours, “i guess not.” she grinned like she knew she had you in the palm of her hand. and she was right.

you wanted to kiss her so bad in this moment that if she asked for it, you were certainly not above getting on your knees and begging. your fingertips trailed over her thigh and you were looking up at her with the most pathetic ‘please kiss me’ eyes you could manage.

apparently that worked on her because before you could form another thought you felt her lips brush yours and everything in your mind screeched to a halt. your breath hitched and you eagerly reciprocated, the hand resting on her thigh tensing slightly.

you could feel her ringer-clad fingers travel down to your waist and squeeze gently which elicited the most embarrassing whimper out of you.

you could feel her smile into the kiss in response. subconsciously almost, you leaned even closer to press against her like you were trying to mold yourself to fit against her body like a puzzle piece.

one of your hands tentatively traced over her chest. you already knew she wasn't wearing a bra, since her dress had very thin straps but exposed no bra straps. but to actually somewhat feel it through the silky fabric clinging to her curves felt life-altering.

her other hand began to reach up to gently caress the back of your head, tangling her fingers in your hair, to draw you closer into the kiss. 

you weren't sure if it was because she was older and more experienced or if it was because you'd never kissed a woman before or maybe everyone you've ever made out with before her sucked but if you were honestly not sure if you could ever kiss anyone but her again after this.

it was like she had been given a manual on you and your body and she knew every single button she had to press to make you gasp and yearn for more. it could also be because she could probably do anything and you’d find it hot.

the kiss turned messier and deeper, your noses were bumping and smushing against each other and you were pretty sure some of her hair was caught in the kiss at one point but neither of you realized nor cared.

all you could think of, all you could feel, all you could smell, all you could hear was tashi. she was everything and everywhere. it was like anything outside of this moment suddenly didn't exist anymore.

until she pulled back. without even realizing it, your lips chased after hers for one last kiss before allowing it to end. it was only then that you noticed how out of breath you truly were. you inhaled shakily. her hand rested on your neck, rubbing gentle circles with her fingers. you couldn't meet her gaze without giggling.

but at least you weren't alone, as she couldn't stop grinning either. you leaned your forehead against her shoulder, tilting your head slightly so you could look up at her.

your entire body felt like it was radiating warmth, but it felt nice. you let out another bashful chuckle, “is the first date too early to say that i really like you?”

tashi’s heart jumped at your words. ha, like? she couldnt remember the last time she had heard someone say they ‘really liked’ her. maybe college? but after a near decade of a marriage that fizzled out as pathetically as a candle in the rain, she found herself excited at the prospect. she found herself excited in general actually, which had almost become a foreign feeling to her these past few years.

all the heart-pounding, late-night calls, first kisses, she hadn't realized until this moment how much she had truly yearned for this feeling again. the feeling of something fresh, of a beginning, of something exciting, of you.

you made her feel a sudden spark of connection to a part of herself she had thought died back on the court at stanford along with her career.

you made her feel like tashi duncan. and after 8 years of being tashi donaldson, she fucking craved that.

“i dont think there's a rule for that.” as she looked down at you, her smile was still as present as ever. “but i really like you too.”

by the time you left her apartment complex it was already midnight. you two had spent the time mostly talking, making out some more, finally checking the time, being walked out by her, getting distracted and making out some more in her entryway, and then actually leaving with two new lovebites on your neck.

the doorman from earlier gave you a knowing look as you stumbled out of the elevator which you did not appreciate. tashi paid for some fancy uber to drive you home again and as soon as you got home you let yourself collapse onto your bed basking in the lingering buzz of tashi's touch spreading through each and every cell in your body. you squeaked and giggled into your pillow.

“so. did it happen?” you sat up in surprise as your roommate suddenly appeared in your doorway. it was like she faded into rooms sometimes with how quiet she was. “i told you to knock.” you complained. “also did what happen?” you raised a brow.

“did you..” she made a crude gesture with her hand. “man, get out!” you threw a plushie at her as she quickly retreated back into the living room, snickering to herself. 

well, back at my house

i got a california king

okay, maybe it's a twin bed

and some roommates, don't worry we're cool!

“no, she’s out for the night.” you mumbled in answer tashi’s question about your roommates whereabouts while continuing to jiggle your keys as you struggled with unlocking the door.

you’d called your landlord 6 times already on this piece of shit lock and how it was near impossible to open without brute force, he promised to fix it…take a wild guess if he ever did.

so now said lock was embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend (well, you had started calling her that in your head but were too cowardly to actually ask) because it was kind of making it look like you had lied about having an apartment and were now trying to break into some other persons place.

“this stupid thing never works..” you grumble. you shot her an apologetic look, “sorry, the locks kinda finicky.”

with one more brutal tug (one that really hurt your hand a lot but you were going to pretend like it didn't because for some reason you still wanted to impress her) the lock finally clicked and the door opened. you sighed in relief.

“its a pretty small place.” you said as you let her into your apartment and shut the door behind her. you knew she wouldn't care and she had assured you that so many times. plus you couldnt meet up at her place like you had the last few months because apparently her ex-husband was there currently for whatever reason.

you werent really keen on meeting him, nor was tashi it seems. as you walked down the narrow hallway, leading her to your room you suddenly shrieked and jumped back into tashi’s chest in shock. she instinctively caught you and put her arms around you which would have made your heart flutter under normal circumstances but right now your heart was preoccupied trying to regain its normal rhythm.

“what the hell!” you groaned, holding your chest recovering from the jumpscare of your roommate sitting on the couch. she looked up. “oh, whats up.” she nodded to you and then nodded to tashi, “hey, im aubrey.”

before tashi could greet her back you interrupted, “aubrey! what the hell are you doing home, you said you’d be out for the night!” you said in a tone mixed between anger and whining. “felix got food poisoning.” she shrugged, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “what? is he okay?” your eyes furrowed in concern. “yeah, he’s cool. he got dared to eat gas station sushi.” “what? that's-” you looked back at tashi realizing that this conversation made your friends seem a little childish.

“whatever just…do you have to be here right now?” you huffed. “chill, im not gonna cockblock you.” usually you loved your roommate but right now you wanted to strangle her.

“oh-kay.” you gave up, covered your face in embarrassment and quickly dragged tashi to your room before aubrey could make things even worse with her crudeness and her propensity for embarrassing you in front of guests.

you slammed the door shut with your foot. “sorry, that's..uh my roommate..she’s…yeah.” tashi chuckled, rubbing her thumb over your wrist in the way that always soothed you. “relax, okay? i'm not gonna start clutching my pearls.”

you exhaled through your noise and nodded, “right, yeah, i was just caught off guard. i wanted us to be alone.” you sighed, leaning your head on her shoulder.

she was a bit taller than you, especially in heels, which you really liked. “we are alone.” she pressed a kiss to you earlobe. “you know what i mean!” you groaned.

once again she seemed amused by your tendency for dramatics when in distress. “also the walls are thin.” you pouted. “well, we don't always have to-” “yeah but i wanted to!” she looked over her shoulder at your bed, “you have a twin bed” she snorted.

“so? we could've made it work.”

“i'm sorry baby but as soon as i left college i vowed to never have sex in a twin bed again” she laughed lowly.

“youre mean.” you whined into the crook of her neck. “mhm..” she gave your back a small pat, “now c'mon, you promised a room tour remember?”

you raised your head to give her a look, reaching out your arm to gesture at the small space. “what's there to give a tour of? this thing is a shoebox.”

“don't be like that. cmonnn~” she nudged you with her elbow. ugh, you were nothing if not weak for her. “fine.” you cleared your throat to get into your best ‘real estate agent voice’.

“over here is the “walk-in closet”-” you made air quotes with your fingers. “-but you can really only stand in it. also the door hinge is broken so the door doesn't close.” you demonstrated by pushing the door which wouldn't budge. “this-” you pointed to the woven hamper-like chest that stood at the foot of your bed, “is where i keep like..everything i couldn't fit anywhere else. not interesting.” you shrug.

“i dont know, sounds interesting to me..” you looked back at tashi, she was leaning against your creaky wooden desk and was looking at you in that way that always made your legs shaky.

she looked at you like you were the most interesting, entertaining thing in the world, with her gaze warm and her lips quirked up in a soft smile.

“what?” you said as you narrowed your eyes at her, “stop that.” you forced yourself to look away from her.

“stop what?” she leaned her torso forward with a teasing smirk.

“the look.”

“what look?”

“tashi.” you stepped in between her legs and glared. her slightly crooked front tooth showed as she grinned, “what i cant look at my girlfriend?”

FULL STOP. full. stop. did she just call you her girlfriend? oh, how the heavens have smiled upon you this day, truly. from the woman herself, you were officially tashi duncan's fucking GIRLFRIEND.

the shock must've been extremely visible on your face because she tilted her head in confusion a little, “what?” you snap out of the celebration you had been holding in your brain and stumble over yourself a little, “huh? no, nothing-”

your voices overlap as tashi says, “are we not?-” “no, we are!” “because i thought-” “no, no, we are, we are!”

no way in hell you were gonna let tashi think you didnt want to be her girlfriend, actually no fucking way!

there's a short moment of silence. “we just never talked about it. so i wasn't sure. but i really want it. like want you. like i really want to be your girlfriend,” you couldn't get the words out fast enough.

tashi chuckled softly as she shook her head, “i thought we made it official on the fifth date?” you giggled in surprise, “what? i would've remembered that!” “we were talking about exes-” “mhm..” “and then you asked if i felt ready for a new relationship already and i said yes.”

you blinked, “okay but thats not making it official.” she huffed out a small laugh, “what did you need me to spell it out?” “...yes?” she pulled you in closer by your waist, “mh, fine, then..” she paused for dramatic effect, “...will you be my girlfriend?”

you snickered, “do you feel very high-school right now?” she let out a dry laugh, “i feel super high-school but i'm willing to do that for you.”

you wrapped your arms around her neck, “and i'm very appreciative. i would love to be your girlfriend.” you smiled into the kiss. yeah, you’d also agree to marry her this very second if she asked but obviously you weren't gonna tell her that. that seemed more like a tenth date conversation.

after almost convincing tashi to break her rule about having sex in a twin bed but ultimately having your roommate ruin the mood by blasting some horror movie in the living room you decided to just put a movie on yourself.

the bed was a little cramped but eventually you managed to find a comfy position with half of your body draped over her chest, your head resting on her shoulder and her head leaning against yours.

the laptop rested on your thighs as you scrolled through netflix trying to find anything interesting to watch with her. you felt her body shift a little bit when you hovered over a specific movie.

you chuckled looking up at her, “twilight?” “oh, i mean, if you want.” she shrugged trying to feign nonchalance. “do you want?” you raised your brows teasingly.

"i don't care.”

“mhhh..i think you do.” you sat up with a shiteating grin.

“i think somebody had a twilight phase…”

she snorted and glanced to the side, knowing she had been caught red-handed. “i was like 20 when the movie came out, thats silly.”

“mhm. did you read the book?”

silence.

“knew it. caught you!  i caught you. give it up.” you nudged her shoulder. she rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her amusement, “yeah, fine, i had a twilight phase, whatever.”

you bounced up and down a little in excitement, pretty much beaming. you didn't know why it pleased you so much. maybe it was the fact that you felt this bonded you both in some way. it wasn't only because you too, had a twilight phase, no, it was more the fact that it hinted at something you had been secretly suspecting.

that natasha “tashi” duncan was in fact a massive dork. just like you. although she was admittedly far better at hiding it. 

you certainly had this image when you first met her that tashi was akin to a statue. like you could look at her from every angle but you would not be able to find even the smallest crack in the marble. not the slightest hair out of place. not a single imperfection to be found. but the more you got to know her, the more the marble chipped away. but instead of leaving an empty hole behind, it revealed something better. it revealed her. with every imperfection she had, with every bad thing she’s ever done, with every odd habit or quirk, with everything that made her real.

“we’re watching twilight then.” you said with finality and laid back down next to her. “we really don't have to.” “oh, yes, we really do.” 

one more fun-fact you learned about her that night was that she was an extremely heavy sleeper. like. like it was crazy.

she had fallen asleep against you about halfway through the movie which you thought was extremely cute and you took like 20 pictures all while trying not to move so as to not wake her.

which apparently was not necessary at all because when you accidentally sneezed so hard it shook the mattress you instantly looked at her with worry expecting her to wake up. but no. nothing. not even an eye twitch. so. obviously. you needed to conduct an experiment.

you paused the movie and untangled yourself from her embrace. you lightly shook her shoulder. “tashi…tashiiii..” you mumbled. once again nothing.

“tashi!” nope.

and..well, youre not proud of how you got here but after a row of attempts to wake her you were standing in front of your bed holding two pots in either hand about to bang them together.

but before that could happen tashi slowly stirred and opened her eyes. she furrowed her brows at the sight that greeted her “what the hell are you doing?” you hid the pots behind your back as if she hadn't already seen them.

“nothing.”

“were you trying to wake me. by banging pots together?” she sounded genuinely offended by how stupid that idea was.

“no?”

silence.

“you're a really heavy sleeper.”

“if you wanted to wake me you could've just set an alarm.”

“you'll wake up from alarm but not from someone shaking you?”

“you were shaking me?”

“no?” … “yes, okay, i'm sorry, i love you. it was done out of at least 50 percent concern i promise.”

she groaned and placed her hands over her face. you placed the pots on the ground and crawled back in bed with her.

“don't be mad?” you pouted, peppering kisses over her neck until she broke with a small laugh, “okay, okay, stop, i forgive you.”

she gently pushed you off. you sat up.

“i promise to never do it again. i was just..very surprised how heavy of a sleeper you are.” you began playing with her fingers. “you seem really tired, though. do you wanna sleep over?” you mumbled softly.

she took a moment to think about her schedule for tomorrow. “if you promise to not wake me with anything but an alarm clock.” “pinky promise.” you linked your pinkies and she smiled. 

you felt your heart ache for domesticity as you felt tashi softly breathing next to you, her warm body pressed up against every part of you due to the lack of space in your bed. she was wearing your pyjamas and her skin smelled faintly of your lotion. 

and weirdly enough, in the morning, tashi was the one to wake you up.

baby, why don't you come over?

red wine supernova

“are you sure you're ready?” tashi asked for the ten thousandth time as she clipped in her cartier earrings. “yes! what can i do to convince you that i am?” you pouted her, wrapping your finger around her wrist and swaying her arm gently.

“it's not that I'm not convinced, it's just that i'm worried about how cool you’re being.” she glanced at you from her peripheral. “are you saying i'm not normally cool? you really know how to hurt a girls feelings.” you dramatically placed the back of your hand against your forehead.

“hey, im being serious.” she suddenly said.

you dropped your hand. “i know, sorry. i promise i'm ready, and plus i don't think people will care that much anyway..right? i mean it's been like almost a year and a half since the divorce.”

you brushed some hair out of her face. it was longer now than it was when you first met her and darker too ever since she decided to let her natural brunette roots grow out.

“yes, but still, for whatever reason people were very invested in that whole thing and i don't want you to get dragged into a repeat.“ genuine concern shimmered in her cinnamon colored eyes.

“i want people to know about us. even if it'll lead to weird gossip articles. i don't care about that. i've met art, i've met lily, and their opinions mattered far more than the publics.” you tried to reassure her gently, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“i know, but-”

“we don't have to if you're not ready.” you interrupt her. you have been with tashi for almost a year now. 10 months, 2 weeks and 5 days. not that you were counting.

but because of that, you and her have decided to finally make your relationship public. not with an announcement or anything obviously, you would just be accompanying her to a fundraiser thrown by the donaldson foundation.

but this was still a big deal because ever since the challenger in new rochelle, journalists have been far too invested in tashi’s personal affairs, and that only worsened with the divorce.

you hugged her from behind and gently kissed up her neck until you felt the tension in her shoulders dissolve.

“but i feel like keeping it secret is stressing you out.” you glanced at her furrowed brow through the mirror.

“it is. i don't want it to be out of my control. i mean, i don't want people to be in my business at all but if they are going to be anyway i at least want to be in control of the story.” she said firmly, you hummed empathetically. “so, then..let’s go?”

she nodded, “yeah, lets go.” 

you nervously wrung your hands together the closer the car got to the venue were the fundraiser was held. tashi gave you a questioning look.

“now that you're not freaking out, i think it transferred to me," you chuckle shakily.

“you want to go back home?”

“no, no, its not that bad. just jitters.” you quickly shook your head. “are you sure?”

“i’m sure!”

“okay, well, tell me if that changes, okay?”

oh, and in that moment you were once again reminded of how much she cared for you that you felt the space you had carved out in your heart for her glow.

you smiled and pressed a short kiss to her lips, “yes, promise.”

the venue was extremely fancy that even though tashi had bought a dress for you just for this event you still felt underdressed.

it wasn't very flashy or anything but you don't think you've ever been in a room with this many rich people at once and that alone sent an itch of discomfort through your skin.

you felt a little bit like everyone could tell you didn't belong here and usually you wouldn't care because its true. this was not your scene.

but you cared now, because this was tashi’s  life. these kinds of events were a part of her in some way. and you wanted to be able to fit into that part of her. but now that you were here…what if you couldn't? what if you just couldn't do it? what if she realized you weren't fit for her life and she found someone that was? what if-

you felt tashi’s warm hand rest on your waist with a familiar pressure and your doubts were quickly muffled. you were sure they would come back full-force later, leading to you spending hours tossing and turning in bed before giving up at around 2 am and just binging your comfort shows all night long.

but right now, they were quiet, and you had tashi to thank for that.

“well, that was..” you tried to look for something nice to say. “boring.” tashi finished your sentence. “oh my god, yes! so boring!” you groaned, feeling instant relief that you didn't have to put up a front of genuinely enjoying the event.

tashi chuckled, pulling you in closer by your hip as you walked back out to the car. “i was expecting more drama.” you hummed. “at a fundraiser for new courts?” she raised a brow with the corners of her lips quirked up.

“no, well, yes, i mean because of us.”

“oh, well, that'll come. just not tonight. they would never say shit like that to my face.”

tashi had introduced you as her partner if the question came up, which you had thought would have been more exciting for you than it turned out to be.

yes, you were happy people would now know you as 'tashi duncan’s girlfriend'. thrilled, honestly, you would have shouted it from the rooftops after your first date if you could've.

but you realized that to the tennis world..that's really all you wanted to be. you didn't want people to know you, or your name, or get to know you through small-talk at boring galas and events.

because truthfully, none of this was you. you didn't know enough about tennis or the donaldson foundation to hold a proper conversation with any of these people.

and unlike earlier, you were content with that realization now because of what tashi had said to you earlier in the evening, when you managed to get away from the constant barrage of small talk and questions to step outside for just a moment. 

you sighed in relief as the cool night air filled your lungs, replacing the stuffy polished floor air from the venue. “you're too worried about impressing those people.” tashi started.

you turned your head towards her. “i want to leave a good impression.” you defend. you didn't want to embarrass her.

“i know. but it's..hard. watching you force yourself like that.” yikes. that one felt like a swift kick in the stomach.

you had never been very good at keeping a poker face so she quickly followed up, “i just meant…i don't want you to do that. you don't need to do that.” you absent-mindedly fiddled with your necklace, “what do you mean?” 

“all my relationships this far have been connected to tennis. and i thought that was good..or at least made sense. tennis has been the focal point of my life since i was 5 so, of course, it would find its place in my relationships too.” she leaned her hands against the railing,

“but it was like this..all-consuming thing. my identity was tied to not only tennis but also my relationships that had been forged through it.” she paused trying to think of how to best articulate herself.

“i think i lost a part of myself through that.” she murmured. “and i'm just about finding it again, and you have been so helpful in that, you dont even know.”

she looked at you with a weight of sincerity you felt sink into your heart.

“so i don't want you to change, or us to change. i don't need you to be art. i don't need you to be anyone you're not.” you were honestly speechless and you feared that you would burst into tears right now if you tried to muster up a response.

so you just quietly nodded (eyes getting misty despite your best efforts), took her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist before pulling her into a gentle embrace. 

you knew who you wanted to be to the public, and you knew who you wanted to be to her colleagues. you just wanted to be her pretty (perhaps controversially young?) girlfriend who really had only the most basic understanding of tennis and nothing else.

her thumb rubbed gently over the tennis bracelet that adorned your wrist which snapped you out of your thoughts.

she had given it to you as a present for your 6 month anniversary and you had immediately burst into tears babbling about how much you loved it and her and the universe for bringing you two together. (you were a little drunk)

god, what she wouldn't do to have a video of that night. by her expression you could already tell she was preparing to tease you about it.

“hey, do you remember-”

you let out an exasperated sigh, “yes, i do. stop reminding me.”

you could hear her snicker a little bit and you glared, “stop laughing.”

“i’m not!” she lied while actively laughing. unfortunately her laughter was pretty infectious so you soon joined with your own cacophony of giggles. 

your joined duet of laughter could be heard by guests leaving the fundraiser as it echoed through the quiet parking lot.

fall right into me.

“hey, look, i'm your rebound.” you grinned happily as you held up a tabloid that had a picture that was taken by some pap last week of you and tashi after your date with the headline:

“TASHI DUNCAN’S ON A REBOUND?”

tashi just rolled her eyes with an amused smile. “good for you, baby.” she gave you a small pat on the ass. “i know, i'm really moving up in the world.” you joked as you threw the magazine in the shopping cart. she gave you a look. “what? i wanna see what it says!” 

[eowynstwin]

a wake-up call

previous - neighbors - next

You deal with the aftermath of the previous night. cw: masturbation reference

Three knocks on your front door wake you up.

The sound feels at first like the thump of your own throbbing brain against the inside of your skull. Awareness comes back to you slowly, in gradiated shades of stiff joints and greasy skin. You shift, and find you’re still on your couch, still in your clothes from last night. Your eyes are filmy, sticky with dehydration—you blink several times to clear them, to little effect.

The knocking, a three-beat staccato, comes again.

“One second,” you croak irritably, cupping your forehead with your hand. Your skull might come apart, you think, if you move too much.

Your entire body feels like it is suspended from loose, tangled marionette strings as you struggle to sit up on the couch, and you wobble to that effect as you stand. Somehow, your flat has tilted at thirty degree angle, likely sometime in your sleep. You make it to the door at an oblique, having to lean on the jamb as you open it, and to add insult to injury John is standing on your doorstep like a clean, shining beacon of sobriety.

He’s in a dark shirt and jeans. His hair is casually neat, as if he’d styled it with his fingers. He looks fresh-faced, as if he’s been awake for hours already.

“That’s not fair,” you groan. 

His brows draw together over cool blue eyes. “Jesus, love,” he says, looking you up and down.

You think you should say something back. But your head is too full of ache and interrupted sleep—and the bright shock of his presence—to produce anything intelligent.

“John,” is all you say, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

“Was gonna accuse you of standing me up,” he says ruefully, “but I see that’s not the case.”

“No,” you say dumbly. The fact that he’s come to seek you out gets tangled up in the strings. “Um.”

It is so far out of the ordinary as to be dreamlike. John’s knocking belongs on the other side of your wall, not your door. His boots belong on his own doorstep, making room for your house slippers at the time of your choosing, not his.

“Am I still drunk?” you wonder aloud.

John gives that little huff-laugh of his. “I doubt it.”

You rub your face. “Have I overslept?”

“Just a bit,” he replies. “I’ll admit, when I didn’t hear you move around this morning, I got worried.”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” you confess. You put a hand to your forehead as your brain throbs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Love,” says John, gentle and soft, “why don’t you let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

You blink, and you’re sure now that you’re still drunk. 

John. In your flat. Cooking?

“I’m not fancy in the kitchen, but I manage alright,” he suggests further. His gaze is warm on yours, brows lifted encouragingly.

“…Sure,” you say, and shuffle to the side to let him in. If this morning is determined to be strange, you might as well not get in its way.

He gives you a small smile and crosses the threshold. 

Your flat shifts again; as he enters your living room, it seems to shrink, or maybe it’s just that John fills your home in a way no one ever has. His body, his presence, casts new light on the interior that throws its existence into unfamiliar repose. Details—the softness of your furniture, the cozy clutter of books and knickknacks spread across every available flat surface—offer unmeasured insight into who you are, more than you might ever have intended to reveal to John.

It’s only when he’s halfway to your kitchen that you realize one detail—the bright fucking pink of your vibrator, still on your coffee table—is glowing like a neon sign.

And your previous night’s activities come flooding back. 

Your body, draped over his. The scrape of his beard on your hand, your face. 

The furious grind of your mons against that toy as you pictured him taking you, drenched in hot shower water and pressed bare to the tile wall.

You are fully, painfully awake now. You stare, frozen in shocked terror, waiting for him to catch sight of it, but his head does not turn in its direction. He passes by it with no indication that he even noticed.

You dart over and snatch it behind his back, shoving it deep into your dress pocket, and grab up the empty water glass for an excuse. Then you have to put a hand to your head as your vision swims from the sudden movement.

“Have eggs?” John asks over his shoulder. He enters your kitchen. “I can make ‘em any way you like. Fried, over easy, sunny side…”

“Um,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, “scrambled.”

You follow after him, and lean against the wall to watch as he opens your fridge. His hand engulfs more of its handle than yours ever has; the musculature of his powerful body visibly shifts beneath his clothes as he has to bend down to root around the shelves.

He is broad in your kitchen. As broad as he’d been between your legs, in memory and in fantasy.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he straightens and puts the eggs, butter, and milk on the counter. Your breath hangs suspended in the shallows of your lungs when he catches your gaze.

His brows crease again. “You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

“Um,” you say, again, because it’s the only sound your brain will reliably supply.

To your horror, he comes to you, and—oh, god—takes your face in both hands.

“You’re warm,” he says. “Do you feel sick, love?”

Your brain supplies nothing now. It is so unfair, how good he looks the morning after drinking nearly half a bottle of scotch. His features are velvet-soft, so easy and wonderful to look at that you stop feeling your headache entirely.

“I really think I might still be drunk,” you admit, sounding pathetic.

His thumbs rub into your temples as he smiles at you. “Hell of a hangover, then.”

The pressure of his fingers is an incredible relief, and you close your eyes as you give into it. You feel, if your knees suddenly gave out, that he would easily be able to hold you up like this, as if you weighed nothing. His hands are a little cool from rooting around in your fridge, and the rest of him is warm, standing close enough that his body heat reaches out to you with the freshness of a recent shower. You want to fall into that warmth, bury your face in his chest…

Your eyes fly open. You hear your own voice again—I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to hold me. You feel, again, the echo of his body between your thighs. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest as embarrassment, hot and acidic, pumps through you.

“I think I need to sit down,” you whisper.

He strokes your temples, and surveys your face with a gentle gaze. “Sure, love. Go ahead.”

And then he releases you, and you try to remember how to walk as you return to your living room. There is no relief to be found as you sit down on your couch, which is indented by the dissatisfied night.

“How’d you sleep?” John asks from the counter. You hear him crack a few eggs into a bowl. This is the first time cooking has happened in your kitchen with you outside of it, and the cognitive dissonance of it does not help to steady you.

“Like the dead,” you say, rubbing your sore neck. Then, you decide to lie to him. “I—I think I passed out before the door even closed last night.”

John looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles. The vibrator sits cold in your pocket. Are you imagining that glimmer in his eyes? “Wouldn’t be surprised. You were pretty out of it.”

“I didn’t end up drinking the whole bottle, did I?”

A chuckle. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t you drink as much as me?” You try to recall, and think you can remember him matching you glass for glass. “Why aren’t you out of commission?”

“The army never cares if you’re hungover, I’ve found,” says John. “Guess I learned to stop caring too.”

You hear the sizzle of whisked eggs spreading over a hot pan, and for a while there’s only the sound of John moving a spatula around.

You watch him in your kitchen, his back to you as he stands at the stove. His long-sleeved shirt clings to the breadth of his shoulders, planes of shifting muscle underneath casting shadows through the soft cotton. The collar hangs a little low down his neck, leaving enough room for the dark hair at his nape to curl as it dries.

It makes something in your stomach twist, twinning your nervous hunger with unstable desire. It’s something that wants to walk back into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his trim waist, press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Want anything else?” John asks. “Could make some toast.”

“Eggs are fine!” you say too quickly.

The spatula scrapes softly against the pan again. As he turns to open your fridge, you swear you see him grinning. 

Heat blooms across your face. SAS. Of course he could feel you looking at him.

It does not take him very long to finish cooking. Space bends once again as he leaves your kitchen, as he comes to you with a plate balanced on one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. You feel smaller than you ever have as he approaches, and sets the meal in front of you on the coffee table. 

“Hope it tastes alright,” he says, sitting down beside you. He sinks into your couch cushions, far more dense than you are, and looks quite comfortable doing so. “I made ‘em how I like ‘em, but no guarantee you’ll feel the same.”

You look from him to the eggs, which are golden yellow and steaming pleasantly. “You didn’t make yourself anything?”

There is a softness in his eyes when you look back to him. You’ve seen it before—it’s there every time you hand him a new book. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just eat.”

You can’t protest when he’s looking at you like that, so you obey, suddenly ravenous once a forkful is between your teeth. The eggs are whipped to a wonderfully soft fluff, salted perfectly, and you think you can taste the barest hint of butter. You can’t help shutting your eyes to savor the taste.

“Good?” John asks. “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a cook, but I think I’m all right at eggs.”

Usually you like to add things when you make the same dish—potato chips, broken up into little crumbs, or a dollop of sour cream and salsa. For once though, right now you’d be disappointed by all that. 

They wouldn’t be the eggs John made for you.

The thought makes your stomach twist again. “Delicious,” you say. “Thank you.”

He watches you eat, and you try not to feel self-conscious. He seems almost—satisfied by this, by feeding you, more than you would expect him to be. But then, this has always been the case with John. You have never understood why the smallest of things you do have such an impact on him, but they do nonetheless.

“John,” you say. “About last night…I wanted to apologize.”

Dark brows crease as you set the empty plate down. “What for?”

“I got so drunk,” you say. You won’t look at him, face heating, strangling your own fingers in your lap. “You—you had to carry me home, and I’m so embarrassed by the things I said, I was so inconsiderate.”

“That’s not—”

“You must have felt so uncomfortable,” you continue, “you were so nice to take me out, and there I was acting like a lush with no self-control—”

“Darling, it’s fine—”

“And then after, the way I—I pawed at you—”

He says your name—fully and clearly, firmly—and it catches you so off guard that your words halt in your throat. You finally meet his gaze.

John’s eyes have always been windows. Portals into the truth of him, freely offered, without hesitance or fear. You think John knows himself in ways few men do—knows every corner, every crack and crevice, and refuses to hide any of it from himself or anyone else. As if he is not afraid of being seen for what and who he is; as if he has seen it all already, and cannot be daunted by it.

What you see now is undisguised. Untempered. John Price wants you. And he has no fear that you can see it.

“Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest.

The question catches you off guard, throwing you with its directness. The only thing keeping you upright is his gaze, the steady certainty of its own intention. Strong even under the weight of suspense. 

You swallow, and take a shaky breath. “John,” you say, “I was so drunk...”

His eyes flash. John moves, leans forward, and you are speared, held in place much the same way you had been at dinner, by his presence alone. “I know. But did you mean it?”

The breath trapped in your lungs calcifies, solidifies into hard, pressing nodules of catalyzed fear and desire that trap the seeds of any response in your chest. You tear your gaze away from him, finally, stare at the empty plate on your table. He does not touch you, but you feel the phantom weight of his hand on your knee. The warmth of his body against yours.

“We hardly know each other,” you whisper shakily. It is a flimsy scrap of an excuse, even to you. “We—we barely know each other at all.”

“Love,” John says, low and soft. You turn to look at him again. His lips part—

Your phone rings.

You exhale hard, strings suddenly cut. John closes his eyes, breathes out, and then leans back again.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d flung your purse last night, off the couch and to the opposite wall where it lays on the floor. When you see the caller ID, you want to throw the phone back across the room, but you take a deep breath and answer anyway.

“Ben,” you sigh, and to your furious embarrassment it comes out as a croak.

“Hey, sweets, Liv is—wait. You sound awful,” comes your coworker—and ex-boyfriend’s—voice through the earpiece.

“Rough night,” you say, closing your eyes against sweets. You then look at John. His gaze is fixed on you.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says. “Anything I can do?”

He could have not called. “Tell me about Liv,” you prompt him.

“Right! She’s out. Flu.”

“Oh.” You blink, and watch John retrieve your plate and glass. He takes them to the kitchen and runs the faucet low, so the sound won’t interfere with your call. 

You’re not sure how you know that that’s his intention, but you do. 

“That’s awful.”

“And inconvenient. We need another instructor for the trip.”

Can John hear what Ben is saying? He looks up from the sink, lifts one brow when you meet his eyes. There’s humor there, a kind of rueful empathy for dealing with the nonsense of coworkers.

You want to hang up. You want to answer his question right then and there. 

“When?” you ask.

“Two hours. I know! I know it’s short notice,” he says, animatedly contrite. “Sorry. But we’d love to have you, it’ll be fun! I can even pick you up, if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” you sigh. “But okay, I’ll start packing. Just send me the details, yeah?”

“Sure, sweets,” Ben replies, “can’t wait to see you! I’ve missed hanging out, you know? Even after…everything.”

The gravitational force of John’s presence—the shift and bend of your flat around him—snaps in half. Reality asserts itself like a recurring headache. 

Suddenly you’re in your flat, phone to your ear, unshowered from last night and coated in a layer of grease. The vibrator is a useless weight in your pocket. You are a useless girl hungover in day-old clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say noncommittally, and hang up.

John gazes at you expectantly from over the sink.

“Work trip,” you say, and you wonder if you sound as dazed as you feel. “Last minute, I…I need to get ready.”

John blinks, and then grins, amused. Crow’s feet gather in the corners of his eyes. “You know, I’m usually the one in that situation.”

Suddenly he is too much to look at. You tear your gaze away, look at your phone in your hands. You feel very exposed, ashamed somehow. “I’m sorry,” you say.

You hear the easy drum of John’s boots out of your kitchen, across the room, and then he’s in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, arms slung loose at his sides. “What for?”

“For…”

He steps closer to you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you have to look up at him, unable to resist the pull he has on you.

The line of his mouth is gentle, and you stare too long at the divot of his Cupid’s bow. Beneath the soft lines of his brows, his gaze is soft, fond. More so than you deserve.

“I don’t really know.”

The long muscle in his neck shifts as he tilts his head. You swallow, unconsciously mirroring the gesture.

“John…I…”

His gaze drops—rests on your lips, and returns to yours.

“Love,” he murmurs, low and humming. “Did you mean it?”

His voice slides across you like physical touch, and every hair feels like it’s standing on end.

Yes. Yes, of course you meant it, every word. It feels so obvious to you, so blatant, and the shame of it holds you by the throat. You are not important enough to inflict upon John Price. You are trembling, meek, afraid of stepping outside your own door sometimes. What is that in comparison to him? Him, who comes home shaking off the dust of places you’ve only ever heard of. Him, who you’ve learned can swear in six different languages. Him, who has stuffed more life than you thought possible into only a handful more years of living than yours.

Of course you want him. Moths are always drawn toward flame. How could you not?

“John,” you say in your smallest voice. You hate the way it sounds—like an admission of guilt. “What if I did?”

He doesn’t move, but you see the shift in him anyway. A coiling, almost,  energy banking as he studies you, searches your face. His hands remain in his pockets. He watches you for a long moment, and you can’t possibly imagine what he might like in what he sees.

“Ball’s in your court, then,” he finally says, soft and low in his chest. “Whatever you want from me, love, you can have.”

You want too much. You can’t give enough back.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say on a shallow breath. “Our—us. What we already have.”

He steps closer to you. Close enough that his shirt brushes the front of your dress. Close enough that his clean, soft warmth near-envelops you, the exact same way you’d been wishing for earlier. He does not reach out, like he did when he thought you were sick. You cannot decide if this disappoints you or not. You feel shaky without his hands on you, feverish and embarrassed, and you fear desperately that he can see that as he holds your gaze, that you are completely open to him in a way that leaves no space for the truth to hide. 

“You won’t,” he says, steady and solid.  

You take a trembling breath, swallow to clear your throat. “I…”

He withdraws one hand from his pocket, slowly, and brings it upward. Feather-light, he curls his index finger under your chin, caressing his thumb so terribly gently beneath your bottom lip. You cannot help flinching, anticipatory want recoiling from the very thing it was aching for in surprise, and for a split second you are newly scared that he’ll take his touch away.

But he doesn’t. The windows of John’s eyes stay open, and there is nothing but intent behind them. You realize he knows. He knows that you’re reluctant, that you’re unsure, that you are pulled to him like a falling star to earth and also terrified of burning up in the process. 

He understands.

“I’m a patient man, love,” he purrs, and you realize too that he is excited by this, by you. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

[mekyrdesign]

Step into vibrant style with our stunning Neon 90s Slippers for Women. Perfect for lounging at home or making a fashion statement, these slippers blend nostalgic design with modern comfort. The eye-catching neon colors will brighten up your day while providing ultimate support to your feet. Grab your pair of Neon 90s Slippers for Women and embrace the retro vibe with every step you take!

[tokkiwrites]

𖧷 Dirty Diana 🍷

in which you want to surprise your dad with his favorite band tickets. you're really lucky when you stumble upon the lead guitarist, Joel Miller, at your local grocery store. things escalate- but you do get those tickets.

★ ͘rockstar!joel miller, fem!reader, dom joel, sub reader, afab reader, p in v sex unprotected, rough joel, age gap, dumbification of reader, hair pulling, slapping, head m and f receiving, creampie, kind of size kink if u tilt your head, joel has tattoos and a piercings (yummy), sir kink, almost pet play, lots of pet names. drinking, mentions of cheating. lmk if i missed any!!!! ( The pic in the banner doesn't describe the readers body!! there for the aesthetics) not proofread

you've never been a rock fan. sure, you'd enjoy listening to the songs your dad played on your 3 hour long car rides, the ones he always sets as his ring-tone...

but you were in a dilemma nowㅡ there's a giveaway of sorts with tickets to your dad's most favorite band from the early 90's, and to even have a chance at those tickets you need to submit a video of yourself singing one of their songs.

now you would ask your dad, but the first thing that made you this set on getting those tickets was surprising him with them on his upcoming birthday. you'd buy them, but they're either sold out or 200 bucks on shady sitesㅡ and you're a broke college student on winter break.

you sigh, closing your laptop and throwing it on the other side of the bed. you stare up at the ceiling, counting the little neon stars you've had there since you were 10. they always calmed youㅡ made your brain less foggy, even for just a few seconds.

groaning, you throw your legs around, frustrated and disappointed in yourself. this would've really made his worries slip away, for a bit, after what happened with your mom. you still can't wrap your head around why your mom chose her exceeding in nothing, 2 palms of receding hairline co-worker. i mean, he was richㅡ super fucking rich, but was it worth it? your dad didn't deserve it.

you wipe the tears you've just now realized were dripping down your face. "i need something to drink." sniffling, you put on your plush jacket, get some slippers , and spray on some perfume. "at least need to smell presentable if i look likeㅡ" you stare into the mirror, laughing to yourself, "that."

you stroll out of your house and down the street. you were lucky for the grocery store just about 7 minutes away, give or take. it wasn't that small but it wasn't big either, at least not big enough so that you learned form a young age where all of your favorite iles were.

"Hi, Miss Sammy!" you greet the cashier, an old friend of the family and sort of an aunt to youㅡ you remember when she'd let you stay after school in the back of the store up until 5 pm, when your dad came to pick you up. "Hi, honey! How's winter break treating you?"

"'s fine... I'm glad to be back home with dad." you smile and her gaze softened. "Well if you ever need anythin', you let me know sugar, mkay?" you nod, walking to the furthest part of the store, where all of the drinks were. you look around, trying to find the cheapest thing that can get you dizzy the fastest. really deep in your mind you failed to notice someone coming up to your side, breaking the silence.

"Rough day?" you jump, taking one step back before you turn around to see who it was.

"Yeah, you could say thaㅡ wait." you pause. holy shit. you couldn't believe your eyes. "I know you! You're thㅡ" he presses his fingers agains your lips, and oh, it sends a shiver down your back. "quiet down, darlin'."

you nod, whispers-yelling, "You're Joel Miller, right?" he sighs, smiling at your question, and your eyes light up. this is perfect, so, so perfect. "My dad loves you guysㅡ you and your band."

"that so?" your arms flare up, smiling so big. "you've no idea! 's why i was so excited to hear about you coming to town. Wanted to surprise him."

"wanted?" Joel quirks his eyebrows up, his voice dropping an octave. "Yeah, well, i found out pretty late about it and - well, tickets, they're super expensive now, as you'd imagine.." You sigh, turning back to look at the bottles catching the white light of the room. "jus' wanted to give him something to be happy about, you know?" You reach out to grab a 16$ bottle of wine you know is too sweet, but it'll do. trying to lift the mood, you try your hand at a joke. "guess my only option is to fuck somebody who has those tickets." you look at him and his brows are furrowed. stupid, stupid, stupid joke, stupid you.

"so-rry, didn't mean toㅡ"

"that so, pretty girl?" Those words go straight to your core, causing you to nip at your bottom lip, stiff like a stone. "Now, you can't just say somethin' like thatㅡ" Joel leans in closer "'n not answer me."

you look up at him, and you finally get a better look. there aren't many pictures of him close up on the internet, mostly grainy ones where you can barely make out his tattoos. you gulp, eyes traveling across his face: a brow piercing, a full beard with patches of gray, a neck tattoo with a ravenㅡ he looked surreal.

"y'gonna answer me, angel-face? or do i need to pull out those words myself?" god, you were practically dripping on the linoleum of the store, cheeks ablaze and words tangled in your throat.

"I'm ㅡ" he traces his inked fingers across the exposed part of your neck, chuckling at your demeanor. "I live 5 minutes away." you blurt out, causing his eyes to widen. "maybeㅡ come over?" god, what were you doing? you sure hope not to regret your words later. but right now, two things you knew for certain: you were way too turned on, and he was way too hot for his age.

Joel smirks, his fingers lingering on your skin. "Well, darlin', seems like fate's on your side today." He grabs the bottle of wine you were holding, examining it. "I ain't lettin' you drink that, girl." he scoffs, picking up a bottle of Giulio Ferrari from 1992, not even looking at the price. "Let me spoil you a bit, yeah." you can't even say a word, you pathetically whine, as your knees wobble like jelly.

Joel puts the hoodie over his head and looks down at you, his firey stare making your cheeks burn up all over again. "y'know the lady?" he asks, motioning his head towards Sammy who was busy playing Rummy on her phone. "I do, old familyㅡ well, like family." He nods, patting your shoulder, "you go ahead, wait f'me in front of the store by that coffee machine. I'mma pay real quick, yeah?" you nod so fast, way too excited with those butterflies tying knots in your stomach, you head to the door.

"Bye, Miss Sammy!" you wave, and she just hums and gives half of a wave back "buh-bye, sugar." too fixed on her phone. As Joel pays for the bottle of wine, he glances back at you exiting the store.

"Lead the way, darlin'. Let's see if we can work something out." and oh, the way those words make you drip in anticipation. the way you were so eager to have his hands all over your body- those tickets were the last thing on your mind right now. You both head towards your house, the cold air adding a sense of urgency to the situation. You couldn't believe how needy he made you with just a few words. Small talk fills the short journey, with Joel sharing stories from the road and you nervously responding.

Once inside your home, Joel looks around appreciatively. "Cozy place you got here." you nod, leading him to the kitchen. "your daddy home?"

"no.." you fumble your steps as you hurriedly put two glasses on the counter for Joel to fill up with wine. Joel smirks, sensing the tension in the air. "Just us, then," he says, pouring the wine into the glasses. The rich aroma of the aged wine fills the room as he hands you a glass. "Cheers to unexpected encounters," he toasts, clinking glasses with you. The wine is exquisite, but the real intoxication is the electrifying presence of Joel. Tattoos adorned his body, his fluffy hair laid perfectly, strands of gray standing out; the way his muscles bulged through his shirtㅡ you could see it all better now.

"feels like you're about to eat me, baby. way you're starin' me down." joel chuckles. "sorry I'mㅡ sorry." you nervously sip from you glass trying to put out the fire in your core, his voice making it ten times harder for you. "now, how you gonna get what you want if you get so shy on me, hm?"

joel steps closer to you, and your chest burns, heaving up and down as his arms snake around your waist and settle onto your tummy. "ain't you a big girl? thought you were- how you so eagerly invited a stranger ㅡsuch an old man into your home when your daddy ain't around." he rubs through you, a squeaky whimper slipping past your lips as you felt his bulge against you. "oh, she likes that, don't she?" you breathe out "god.."

"not god, baby..jus' me." he chuckles murkily.

"please..." you plead, palms now on top of his as you slowly turn your head to expose your neck further. "please what, babygirl?"

"please, sir..t-touch me." you back your body further, prompting joel to groan and tighten his grasp on you. "jesus, girl." he laughs "dirty little thing." his rough hands make their way under your lace trimmed long-sleeve, grasping at you breasts.

"no bra, baby?" he asks, swirling his thumbs across your sprung up nipples, and you moan a quiet 'no'. "what if your daddy walks through that door right now, huh?"

"dont care..." you lean more into his touch, intoxicated from it and his scent, a hint of smoky wood, and a touch of muskㅡ he smelled delicious. you couldn't wait to have him on your tongue.

"'course you don't. needy little whore wants an old man to fuck her senselessㅡ need me to fill ya up with this cock til you're dumb and can't think no more." you moan, so eagerly shaking your head as you press your ass onto his hard-on, getting joel to wrap his thick fingers around your throat and spin you around to face him. "not so fast, girl. wanna see ya beg, can you do that f'me angel?" his graps grow rougher, and you mewl out a string of yes, yes, yes, whilst dropping to your knees, as he instructs

"eyes up, babyㅡ there she is." joel strokes your face before delivering a harsh slap onto your already red cheek. moaning, you rub your thighs together as to evade just a bit of pressure in your cunt. "pretty little slut. so pretty like this." he growls, taking a handful of your hair "go on now. beg. tell sir how bad you need his cock."

and you do. you beg and plead, press your face against his thigh like a little puppy. you don't take you eyes off of his, prompting yourself with his boot under your clothed cunt. "please, sir.. v'been so good..." and you start moving slowly, cheek now flush against his crotch. you moan and rut against him, heat washing over your whole body. you wanted to make him proud, you dont know what came over youㅡ you were so drunken and you didn't know if it was because of the wine or because of joel.

the way he stared down at you, his pupils almost like an eclipse to his hazel eyes, lips half hidden behind his mustache. The way his piercing gaze holds yours, unwavering and commanding; he was rough and enticing, mean in just the right wayㅡ his voice dripped like honey and you couldn't hold but lick it up and let it poison you through and through.

"atta girl." you looked so vulnerable. so innocent. so raw and ready for him to taint and infect you with his all. he unbuckled his pants, leaving them a bit open at the top, perfectly for you to see the strain his thick cock put onto his briefs. "c'mon. don't make me wait, baby..." you didn't need to hear more, eagerly pulling out his erect length, letting it slap onto his clothed belly. you could drool at the sight, all though you're pretty sure you already were. he was bigㅡ huge even, the biggest you've ever seen. it was girthy and had veins running down it, tip red, dripping with precum. "too b-big-" you manage to let out. "you'll make it fit, puppy. for me, yeah? c'mon, let me fuck that pretty mouth." and you softly reply with 'yes, sir' before he yanks at your hair and directs his dick right between your lips. "open. widee openㅡ there you go." he encourages you as you try your best to fit that monster into your mouth. it hurts and your chin stings as joel slowly stars to thrust his length into you mouth- or at list what fits of it.

"pretty slut. look so good with her mouth full of cock." joel hums as you whine around him. "like this cock, baby?" he knows you can't answer, mouth too full and brain to fuzzy. "so cock stupid, can't even speak." he laughs. you've never felt like this, god, not even imagined something like this. yet there you were with someone who's twice your age fucking your mouth. "what would your daddy say?" you whine and squeeze around nothing, nails digging into the back of his knees. joel can only laugh as he puls out, rubbing his tip over your lips to collect the drool that mixed with his precum, and smear it all over your rosy cheeks.

you felt so dirty. but it felt rightㅡ for a good cause, right?

he slaps your face with his length before pulling you up by your hair, bending you over the kitchen counter. "gonna let me fuck you, babygirl?"

"yes-" you wriggle into his hold. "yes, what?" hes prying "yes, sir." you obediently reply. "good fuckin' pup." he doesn't even haltㅡ joel pulls down your pants at once with your panties. he delivers a harsh slap before trailing his digits right between your legs. "poor lil' cunt. look at 'er." he coos. "crying for this cock."

"please, sirㅡ mmhg.." whining, you try to rub yourself onto his fingers, but he quickly slaps you again, this time on the side of your thigh. "don't be a greedy bitch. you take what i give you, understand?"

"y-yes, sir, pleaseㅡ" he clicks his tongue before kneeling, spreading your pussy lips as he does, leaning in and blowing onto your sensitive clit. you jump and moan in frustration. "i know, baby, i know." he spreads your legs further, finally landing a soft and teasing lick between your folds. it doesn't take long for joel to go at it, sucking and licking at your cunt like theres no tomorrow, your desperate pleads to come only fueling him. "not yet, angel-baby." he gorans, picking himself up. "want you to come 'round my cock. want you to come while i stuff you up nice 'n good." you nod, not even half sure what you heard, you were too dizzy and the sudden lack of stimulation drove you mad.

joel positions himself behind you, lifting your leg up so one of your knees rests onto the counter. he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, wanting to pull more from you, to get you even needful. you couldn't barely muster to hold yourself up, letting all of your weight on Joel, deprived pleads rolling of your tongue.

when he's content with the teasing, he starts to ease into you. it's like you're awakened from a trance, fully aware of everything, and every fiber of your body. it all vibrates as a sting spreads through your body, and you squeeze around Joel. "fuckkㅡ so fuckin' tight, baby- I'd think were a virgin if i didn't know what a cock slut you actually are." he laughs somberly before plunging straight into you. your tongue luls out, tears on the brink of your eyes as you cand only squeal out pathetic moans and incoherent blathers. "shitㅡ ! squeezing me so good, baby"

and he goes at you, diving deeper and deeper with each hit of his hips, one palm holding your leg up and one pressing you face flush on the cold surface of the counter. "like that? like it when an old man has his way with ya, huh?" you can't hear him, you barely make out his words; your eyes roll back and spine arched as he plummets into your cunt. "fucked you stupid, huh? dirty girl." joel snickers, feeling your walls squeeze around him as he takes one of your palms and places it right on top of your belly. "feel." and, fuck, you feel. his cock reaches so far into you it bulges through your pelvis; you feel it and you're jelly all over again.

he takes both his arms and hold you by your shoulders, hit after hit after hit sending you deeper into oblivionㅡ and you can only moan and cry as you feel your orgasm approaching. desperately, you clench around his cock, sending joel into a frenzy. "wanna come, pup? tell me." he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." you don't know if you're crying because you feel too good or because of how desperately you need to come.

"come then, make me proud, baby." you writhe as the knots in your core begin to untie, shaking under joel whilst it hits you like a wave of warmth and frost at once. it doesn't take long for him to reach his limit, digging his nails through your thighs, gritting his teeth as he leaves bruises onto you, you wish would never go away.

"need'a come babyㅡ shit! where, tell me where baby." you feel him so deep, you're drunk on him, vision blurry and mind fogged up. you usually don't say this. "in-side- inside, sir, please.." you beg, and you don't wait more than two more seconds as joel spills his warm seed into you, causing you to lick your lips as if you could taste it. Joel holds himself over you, panting as he trails soft kisses onto your back. "did so good, babygirl." you smile stupidly, rolling your hips against his.

"soㅡ" he makes a pause. "you still want those tickets?"

⏜⃞♡⠀⠀🐰 hoohououiuoooio hi guys im kind of pretty obsessed with joel rn so i gotta quench my thirst. this has 3.1k words. hope u like it!! muahhhh thank u again for 150!!!! if u see any grammatical errors no u didn't.

[pileofmush]

blue raspberry, red sun ୧ ‧₊˚

ft. monkey d. luffy

hello! this is an entry for the lovely @threadbaresweater's summertime (and the livin' is easy) event! haven't written for luffy in a while but i missed him, so.

details ➸ tags: modern au, tooth-rotting fluff, no plot just vibes // cw: gn!reader, mc is implied to have cleavage // wc: 1.3k // ao3

“how can you fuck up eating a popsicle that bad?” you ask, eyes wide at the straight-up murder scene before you. your own ice cream cone sits pristine in your hands—vanilla with a waffle cone. cute, contained, simple. 

you’re sitting on a curb in the middle of who knows where. the sun is particularly vengeful today: bright, hot, loud. it chases away all the shadows and beams down on you like you called it’s mother a whore. sweat pools between your thighs; concrete digs into your ass. you’re afraid that when you stand up there’ll be a sweat-stained print on the sidewalk, free for everyone to see.

your boyfriend shrugs, messy raven hair falling over his tan, toned shoulders. “dunno,” luffy says blandly. he licks his hand in one long stripe like a heathen and hums. “it’s good—wanna taste?”

you balk at the suggestion. “no, don’t—!”

too late.

🍓 .・゜-: ✧ :-

you can catalogue the days spent with luffy during a week by the amount of damage done to your closet. 

the pretty pale pink blouse you thrifted a few months ago—the one with the lace trim that shows off the perfect amount of cleavage—tossed in the hamper with thoughts and prayers thanks to the gigantic-ass stain luffy blessed you with last wednesday. 

(you should’ve seen it coming, really, neon blue sludge dripping from his sun-speckled fingers with reckless abandon near moments before he grabbed you by the waist to bring you in for a sloppy, tart kiss. it was quick and bright, an explosion of blue raspberry, before he pulled away as quickly as he initiated the kiss. he wiped his mouth with a lazy flick of his hand, then grinned a proud, dopey grin, teeth glinting in the sunlight. 

you remember feeling dizzy and warm, baked in the sun and your love and the sheer aura your boyfriend possessed.

“tastes good, right?” he asked. 

your eyes caught his flash of tongue as he spoke, tongue stained blue. 

“yeah,” you agreed quietly, reverently. “tastes good.”)

then there was the trip to the beach a few days ago that luffy suggested, which… alright, maybe you can’t blame him for getting sand all over you at the beach.

(and really, it was a nice trip. you and the straw-hats all packed into franky’s van like a baby soccer team getting driven to their first game. windows down, luffy happily chewing on a sandwich you packed him, nami rattling off directions like it’s her day job, brook belting 2000’s pop. and then, the lot of you spilling out and ambling to the beach. sunscreen slathered on every inch of your skin. the feel of hot wind and sand in between your toes, the salty tang of the sea on your tongue, and your hand in luffy’s, always, as he drags you across the beach with glee.) 

but still. luffy brought home a slimy strand of seaweed to prank you with, and it somehow found its way into your underwear drawer. 'no, he did not put it there', let him tell it. you had to resist beating him with a slipper. gosh, he’s such a dork.

so, yeah. dating luffy definitely means more frequent loads of laundry, but it’s fine. it really is. s’not like you didn’t know what you were getting into. s’not like you mind any traces of luffy you can get. 

luffy seems the type to be born in the summer.

he’s not- he wasn’t. a spring baby through and through, to your initial surprise. and sure, there’s probably something poetic you could say about blossoms and rebirth and fresh starts, but really, luffy reminds you of the hot, everlasting summer. he’s practically the sun incarnate. could’ve been a sun god in another life, for all you know, because his touch is so hot, hot, hot, and his laugh is crude and bright, and he is the only person you know to not wilt under the full force of the sun. instead, he feeds off of it. it gives him life, vigor, sustenance. 

you used to dread the summertime. now, it’s your favorite season.

so when luffy pops over with a blanket and a basket, you don’t need to think too hard to throw in a couple of (okay, several) sandwiches and some leftover fruit.

you decide on a quaint spot at a nearby park. the two of you walk side by side underneath the orange light of the dying sun. it’s a cooler evening. the grass next to your feet bristle; trees dance in the gentle breeze. the endless drone of the cicadas meshes with luffy’s rambling about his latest outing with ace and sabo—apparently, it ended in a fire—and you sneak a few glances at him. luffy’s skin is a rich, warm gold. underneath the last few embers of day, the sky soaked in warm oranges, pinks, and a devastating purple, you find traces of its colors reflected on his skin. 

and luffy is loud, loud, loud, but he is also quiet. and underneath the weight of the sky, you feel incredibly lucky to be a part of his life. 

his hand, looped lazily around your free wrist, snakes down to intertwine with your fingers. 

“what is it?” he interrupts his spiel with a sudden question. 

your teeth sink into the plush of your bottom lip as you consider your response. “it’s nothing.” you pause. parse through your emotions and will them to become coherent thoughts. “i guess i just missed you.”

slowly, he drags the two of you to a stop. he tugs on your hand, a reminder, even as he blinks in confusion. 

“i’m right here,” he says, solemn.

“i know.”

a beat.

“you don’t have to miss me. i’m already yours.”

and, he’s right. like a sun rising above the horizon after a night plunged in the dark, he returns to you, again and again. 

“i know that.” in a stroke of luffy-branded honesty, you admit to him with a shrug, “but i don’t think i’ll ever stop missing you.”  

it is not a bad thing. not a bad thing at all. just another way to say i love you. perhaps the only way you can say it, right now.

luffy stares at you for a while and then releases an uncharacteristic sigh. he takes the picnic basket out of your hands and lets it drop in the grass, along with the blanket he was carrying. then, without warning, your boyfriend tackles you to the ground.

you barely even register it, he breaks your fall so gently, and then he’s clambering over you, long arms pressing you into the soil, long tendrils of grass tickling your skin, and you’re thinking about the dirt undoubtedly ruining yet another shirt of yours as he clumsily lowers his mouth to yours. he smells like grass and sunscreen and maybe a little bit of sweat, and tastes a bit like koolaid. but all you can register is him, the ever-present heat radiating off his body, the nimble fingers digging into your skin almost brutally, the clink of his teeth against yours. hot and sloppy and luffy, luffy, luffy.

you kiss until you can’t breathe, until you breathe fire, until your head is spinning and you can think no more.

then, he rolls off of you. the two of you pant: you, content to remain a puddle on the ground, him, leaning back on his arms. still close, though. still above you, dark eyes roaming over your form intently, tracking your every flutter. 

it’s quiet, save for the cicadas. soundtrack of the summer. 

you sit up and try to pat yourself off. it’s probably useless. you know there’ll be nasty grass stains on your back when you get back home. ah, well. can't be helped.

“i get it,” luffy says, eventually. after you’ve both caught your breath. he runs a finger down your leg, tracing inexplicable patterns into your skin. “i miss you too.” 

oh, how silly it is, to be in love.

“i know,” you say, cheekily. 

he relaxes. “good.” luffy reaches up to pat your head. 

you bat his hand away.

he tosses you a toothy smile.

you catch it.

this was v fun to write. hope u liked reading it <3

[titanic-angel]

мιgυel o'нara х F!reader

◥︎ 『 coғғee ︎pт.1 』︎ ◣

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��υммary ➞︎ yoυ вrιng мιgυel coғғee тo нelp нιм тнroυgн a long worĸ nιgнт

warnιngѕ ➞︎ none

noтeѕ ➞︎ part 2 is up ❤︎

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The evening air was so dry in the summer, and the silence that invited itself into the coffee room buried deep in your skin. The tiles felt cold under your slippers, the setting sun stealing the heat and light from every inch of the room.

You let out a harsh breath, pouring the deep brown liquid into the two cups, staining the white glass with caffeine and steam.

You, Jess, and Peter B had made an agreement since your involvement in the Spider Society had started.

Miguel’s workaholism caused long periods of time, sometimes days, where he wouldn’t even leave his lair, chest deep in his own mind and perfectionism. You all initially believed that his inhumane attributes gave him the stamina to last weeks without rest, but after catching him in deep sleep on his own computer, you realized the goliath wasn’t, in fact, invincible.

So, like any good friends (although Miguel never really used those terms), you took shifts bringing him coffee. With the mugs, Peter and Mayday brought him laughter (all of which was their own, but there wasn’t an indication he didn’t appreciate it), Jess brought him a tough love and a listening ear that fueled his work and you…

Well you weren’t sure what you offered.

You never left without a conversation- and maybe a little coffee yourself. Sometimes he would explain whatever anomaly had taken his attention for the hour, or he would stay silent, listening to you talk about your own day, slightly less exhausting but much more exciting.

Most times, however, you’d give him his coffee, and without saying much, he would look at you.

You are convinced more and more each time that, years ago, his eyes were more brown than they were red. Deep bronze like the color of the coffee in his cup. Younger than they are now. Maybe it was his exhaustion seeping through his irises, but something in the way he looked at you…it felt softer.

Kinder.

You shook off the image as your slippers padded against the hallway marble, the once lively hub now hushed to an empty whisper.

Jess had gone to her universe, undoubtedly resting her weary body, and Peter B eagerly ran home to his beloved red-heads. Homes filled, endlessly, with reunions, warm meals and kisses doused in exhaustion and a love unique to them.

You were happy for them, but you would be lying if you told yourself that you weren’t envious.

Quietly, secretly, you much preferred the hub over your own home, it’s thrum of life filling the emptiness of your crammed apartment. It was depressing to go home to silence after a day of action, which meant many nights you slept in your office, feigning the stress of work and battles to avoid questions from your peers.

You stepped over stray wires and scraps of metal, amongst other abandoned equipment you were sure meant something, once. The dark room was illuminated in neon, flashing lights pulsing across the floor and ceiling.

His gigantic platform came into view, hovering over the pitch floor. The familiar sight of him, surrounded by yellow holograms, greeted your eyes with a brightness that made you squint, vision adjusting to the light.

You caught the butt-end of a conversation, Lyla glitching around his head with attitude. You kept your mouth shut, a little curious to hear their idle chat.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Miguel said, flatly.

“Don’t play stupid, I’m an incredibly intelligent A.I. I know fondness when I see it.”

“She brings me coffee- that’s all.”

You paused, muscles tense and the suggestion that they were talking about you.

“I don’t know Miguel~. Peter B and Jess do the same and you aren’t as soft with them.”

“I am not soft!”

“Sure, sure.”

Lyla’s hologram stuttered, and she suddenly focused you. Even from far below, you recognized her mischievous grin.

“Well, I’m feeling awfully tiered. It’s very late y’know! I’ll just let you do your thing!”

“But you don’t-“ Miguel followed her line of sight. He looked down at you with surprise, and you sent him an awkward wave through the cup handle.

“Bye!” Lyla’s drawn out y’s echoed even as she disappeared, Miguel’s hand swiping at the air before she vanished.

He let out a harsh sigh, and you slung up to his platform, handing him a cup. He looked at you again, that faint brown sparkling clearer tonight.

Strange.

“Thank you.”

You nodded, leaning against his table.

“Long night again?” You asked, thumb tracing the smooth glass of the handle.

Miguel nodded, letting another exhausted sigh escape his chest. “Yes.”

You waited for more, but it never came, Miguel shifting near awkwardly as he clicked on the screens with his free hand.

You nodded slowly, taking a sip of your cup. You shuddered, unfamiliar with the pure caffeine. You looked down at your cup, dark brown looking back.

Oh shit.

You watched in short-lived anticipation as he took a sip of your cup. He’s face scrunched in surprise, as if the sweetness of sugar and cream was completely foreign to him.

He looked at you, the red in his eyes more prominent now. Your cheeks strained, but soon the ballon of laughter burst from your chest.

It bounced off the dark walls, echoing around the both of you. You closed your eyes, squeezing out tears as you gripped his desk, laughter shaking your core.

When you regained yourself, you slowly sat up, wiping your wet cheeks and grinning ear to ear. You sighed, small laughs residing with your quickened breath.

“Oh, Miguel you should’ve see your-“

You stopped.

Miguel was smiling.

Well, in the generous sense of the word. Although it wasn’t bright like Peter B’s or gentle like Jess, it was genuine. His eyes crinkled, his lips drawn into a gentle upturn, highlighting his dimples.

Your shocked face must have startled it, because it quickly disappeared, now taught in a hardened, neutral line.

You smiled at him empathetically, slightly guilty you had embarrassed him. You reached out your hand, beckoning your drink.

“Here…let’s switch.”

You fingers brushed at the exchange, and you blushed, the warmth of his skin penetrating your own. If he noticed, he didn’t let it show, taking a quiet sip of his flavorless, bitter coffee.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you, agonizingly different from the laughter just seconds before.

You were beginning to think that he really only was fond of you because you brought him coffee. Sure, you had polite conversation but it never really passed surface level. Not to mention you always initiated it. Maybe Miguel was just playing along, desperately waiting for you to leave him to his work and study.

You sighed, your tone possibly letting on to more than you would’ve liked. You stood, flexing your legs and taking a sip from your cooling coffee, ready to breathe air that wasn’t so endlessly stiff.

“Why- why do you drink coffee with so much sweetness in it?”

You paused, looking at Miguel with surprise. He’d never asked you a question like that. A question about you.

“I uh- well,” you laughed a little bit, still a little startled at the sudden interjection, “black coffee is too bitter for me. The sugar and cream lets me enjoy it.”

“But coffee is meant to energize you, you aren’t supposed to enjoy it.”

You lifted a skeptical brow. “That’s a pretty serious take, don’t you think?”

Miguel paused, lips pressed together in thought before he replied, “I’m a serious guy.”

You laughed, a little quieter now, leaning back onto the table. But this time, closer to him. If you were paying attention, the way his eyes looked at your new position might of told you he noticed.

“I gathered.”

Silence fell over the two of you like a weighted blanket. But now, you had hope that he might want this conversation to continue. That he liked it- you.

“How about this Mr. Serious,” you leaned in, “I’ll give your black coffee another shot if you do the same for my sugar and cream.”

He scoffed, but when the corners of his mouth quirked up you knew the proposition interested him- if only a little bit.

“Absolutely not. I already did try it.”

“First impressions aren’t always accurate, y’know.” You shook your mug, the light brown liquid creating a small whirlpool.

“Try it? For me?”

He glanced at you, and although you thought yourself educated on his eyes and their looks, you were stumped by this one. It was entirely alien to you- there was something in it that you couldn’t place.

You liked it.

He let out a sigh, and held his hand out. You grinned, taking his mug and swapping it for your own.

You both took a sip, and you forced yourself not to wrinkle your nose.

His coffee was extremely bitter- as close as coffee could get to the bean. If his scowl and general demeanor was grown and grind into a beverage, his drink of choice is what it would taste like.

However, it was extremely warm. Somehow it hadn’t cooled off in the fifteen minutes since you had poured it. It’s bitter bliss seeped down your throat and made home in your chest. It was almost calming.

You opened your eyes, surprised to be as content as you were with the drink.

You glanced at Miguel, whose lips were pulled into a tight line. His brows were drawn in thought, eyes glimmering in the hologram light.

“Well?” You asked, rocking on your heels.

“You first.”

You paused, running your tongue over you teeth to remember. “It was a bit gross. But honestly? No bad.”

He nodded, and sighed. “Yours wasn’t….bad either.”

You gasped, a wide smile spreading across your face in stunned victory. “So you liked it.”

“I never said that.” He said, narrowing his brows.

You raised yours. “Didn’t have too.”

He shook his head, handing you the coffee mug. You looked at him as if to ask are you sure? To which he rolled his eyes and pushed it closer to your chest.

You sighed, taking his cup and swapping mugs for the last time. When you looked up at him, sending him a gentle smile, you noticed a thin line of cream that lined his dark lips. You stifled your laughter, stepping forward to a clueless and confused Miguel.

“What are you-“

“Stay put, you have a little-“

You brought your hand up to his face, cradling is course skin under your palm. Your movement stuttered, just for a moment, savoring the feeling of his rough jaw.

You lifted a gentle thumb, your touch but a whisper on his skin as wiped the sweetness from his upper lip. Contrary to his jaw, his lips were soft under your print, molding to your movement with ease.

You imagine they’d taste like coffee.

You paused, your eyes drifting from his lips to his eyes. When they met yours, they were the softest brown you’d ever remember seeing them. It could be how close you were, feeling his slow breath on your nose. It could be how small, short the moment was, catching his facade in a moment of weakness.

But you think, hopefully, foolishly, that it might be how good it felt- to be this close.

You drew your hand away, still staring at the warmth. You settled yourself on the floor, holding your cup with both hands, the once steaming glass now a cold comparison to his face.

“You…you had some cream left on your face.” You laughed weakly, your gaze looking to the side. “I didn’t want Lyla to make fun of you.”

You paused, uncomfortable with the silence your created.

“Sorry.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, with that same glimmer you couldn’t quite place. He cleared is throat, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips.

“It’s- okay…I-“ He paused, eyes finding your again, “thank you.”

He had whispered, speaking as though if he has said it any louder he would’ve scared you away. It was so- gentle compared to the gruffness of his voice. Warm.

The silence that followed was completely novel from the past dips in conversation. It was full of tension, thick and suffocating. It felt as if you had swallowed cement, every breath trapped in your collarbone and buried in your throat.

You stepped back, your vision so deep in his own- their intensity making it feel as though there wasn’t anything else to look at. Even in their softer colors, they were so deeply overwhelming it felt like they had woken something visceral in you. It wasn’t fear, or terror-

It was fondness.

“Well- I think I need to get my own rest,” you tore your gaze from his, setting your coffee down on the table next to him, “I won’t be needing this- I don’t want caffeine dreams. You’re welcome to finish it- now that you like it. A little.”

You smiled up at him, the thrum of your heart and the heat of your breath tickling your skin.

“Goodnight, Miguel.”

His chest rumbled, preparing to speak, before he sighed quietly and quickly, another genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Goodnight.”

You took one last look at the brown- intimate and tailored to yours. One look at the coffee cups, different in every sense but comforting none the less.

One look at the man who may have just given you the home you’d been envious of.

As you slung off into the the void, you smiled at it all, welcoming the shudders of warmth that pooled in your stomach at the revelation.

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The next morning, you woke up in your office yet again, the early morning chill crawling up your spine and beckoning you to wake.

The first thing your eyes were met with was your mug, matte in the morning light.

It was empty, a yellow note rested under it.

I didn’t want it to go to waste.

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Part 2

[thegnomelord]

16 for ghost. Ghost is upset or stressd and can't sleep so he's out training/working out very late into the night by himself and reader finds him like that. Ghost likes reader but hates showing vulnerability so he says he doesn't want help or comfort but reader is very stubborn. M! reader please.

Sure thing anon, tried to make angst but this just turned out sweet :/, Play the game HERE

Prompt: "What are you doing up so late?"

CW:SFW, M reader, established relationship, fluff,

Neon green numbers slowly blink in and out of existence, taunting, mocking. Simon's eyes burn from how long he's been staring at the clock, ears straining to catch every stuttered staccato breath and slow wheeze leaving your chest. The pillow beneath his cheek is cold, the sheets are cold, his body is cold. And you're warmth is right there, just an inch away, yet it feels like there's a canyon between you and him.

His eyes linger on your exposed chest, the deep dark bruises marking your skin along your entire side. It's his fault you ended up with bruised lungs, got distracted for a few seconds and the next thing he knows you're getting thrown out the window. . . His gums itch, his knuckles itch; he needs to bite something, punch it, stab it, tear it apart.

Silent as the grave he shuffles out of the bed, careful not to wake you despite the pain meds making you sleep like a log. Static buzzes in his knuckles with a desire to touch you, to feel a semblance of your warmth, but he holds off. He needs to be better first. Needs to drown in rage and violence until he floods out the weakness that had hurt you.

So he silently leaves your shared room.

. . . .

You don't notice when you wake up, don't know why you wake up when the pain, exhaustion, and meds hang heavy on your eyelids, but your body refuses to go under, hummingbirds 'tap, tap' tapping on your skull.

With a wheezy groan you turn over slowly, blindly searching for Simon only to come up empty. Blinking the sleep from your eyes you confirm what you already know, your fingers feeling the indents of Simon's body in the mattress and the lingering heat there. Your eyes settle on the blinking green numbers, a deep scowl tugging on your lips as you realize it's way too early for his shit.

It takes you a bit to get up, bones crackling like popcorn and a long low wheeze escaping you, needles stabbing your side with every breath. You slip on those bunny slippers Simon had gotten you as a gag gift, grumbling curses under your breath like an old man as you shuffle out of your shared room.

You're not even surprised when you find him in the gym, the rhythmic 'thunk' of something getting hit drawing you in like a moth to a flame. "What are you doing up so late?" You ask, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn't react, doesn't even turn to you, just continues to punch the sand bag. "What's'it look like?" He asks, voice rough like gravel.

"Like you're doing something stupid." You hum, forcing out a low breath of humor and the sharp wheeze your lungs give makes him stop to look at you.

Simon frowns beneath his balaclava, fists clenching, the bandages around his knuckles already speckled with dried blood. "'m training, which you could do too," Simon grunts, that same itch in his body returning with you nearby, when the harsh lights overhead make your bruises even darker. "Go back to sleep, I'll only be a few more minutes."

"'Few more minutes' yeah right," You scoff and trudge towards him. "You're going to end up dead on your feet."

"At least I'll make a pretty corpse." He snorts, tuning you out as the itch in his body grows more annoying, brief relief flooding his veins with every satisfying punch he lands on the sandbag. But hate keeps nibbling on his brain, his eyes keep wandering to the dark bruises across your shirtless torso and reigniting that need inside him.

There's no talking about this. Time for drastic actions.

You watch him punch the sandbag a few more times, drawing closer and closer until, at the last swing he does and attempts to sidestep the swinging sandbag, you bite your lip and grip him by the waist and haul him over your shoulder like he's a sack of potatoes.

"What the fuck?" He yelps, instinctively grabbing whatever he can reach, blunt nails clawing at your back and shoulders. You wheeze from how his weight pulls on your bruised ribs, but the ache and pain is easy to ignore when he makes such a surprised noise, like a dog that thinks it's too heavy to be lifted.

"Sleep time." You growl through your pain, swiftly turning on your heel to avoid the swinging punching bag and slapping his ass, keeping your hand there to keep him firmly over your shoulder.

Simon's brain completely short circuits when you slap his ass, a sound like a strangled dog leaving his throat. "Fuckin' wanker." He growls, thinks of struggling but goes against it, doesn't want to hurt you more than he already has.

"You love me." You snort in turn, keeping a brisk pace to make it back to your room.

"That's a strong word." Simon says, but there's no heat in his tone, and he lets himself be thrown back onto the bed, the springs creaking beneath his weight.

"It's the correct word." You counter, finally letting out a sound of pain as you settle next to him, needles growing from your ribs to stab everything around them. "But you're a dick for making you look for you."

Before he can shift away you reach out, laying awkwardly as you are you unwrap his bandaged fingers, your eyes never leaving his. You can see the thoughts turning in his head; too much to say yet nothing to talk about, half growl ideas leeching on his mind, violence with no outlet turning to snarl back at his face—

"We'll talk in the morning, yeah?" You ask, blindly throwing the bandages away. "Just sleep with me," You pause, looking beneath your lashes to give him the puppy eyes Soap had taught you. "please?"

Simon's jaw tenses and he breathes out slowly, accepting the open door without the fear of being leashed, just as slowly rolling around until he's half on top of you, one arm thrown around your waist. "Fine." He grumbles, rests his head next to yours, scarred fingers tracing from your hip up to your pec, nails slightly dipping beneath the bandages.

"What, not even going to kiss me good night?" You tease, pushing your luck despite knowing it's not the best idea.

"Need a bedtime story too?" He says, but still reaches to pull his mask up to his nose, giving you more of a nuzzle than a kiss on your cheek before you shift and kiss him. It's chaste, nothing but a brush of lips, but it leaves him warm all the same.

"Would you tell me one if I asked nicely?" You ask, chuckling softly, resting your hand on top of his, letting him trace the darkened bruises from your pec down along your ribs and back again.

"Only if you ask me very nicely." You feel Simon rumble against you, your noses brushing together as you feel his hand slow in it's movement, sleep deprivation starting to claw on his mind. "Hey, why do nurses creep around at night?" He suddenly asks.

"God, I'm going to regret this." You groan, preparing yourself. "Why?"

You feel him chuckle preemptively, "So they don't wake the sleeping pills." He grins against your skin as you groan,

"You're so lucky I'm too tired else I'd beat you with a pillow." Your words only make him chuckle more, the rough sound ringing softly between you two until it slowly dies down, your breathing synchronizing bit by bit until finally you fall asleep, Simon right next to you. . .

Sweet dreams

[roosterbruiser]

would you perhaps be able to do “please talk to me” from the angst list with bradley?🥺👉🏻👈🏻

when Rooster wakes up, he doesn't get even one moment of normalcy. usually when he wakes up beside your sprawled figure, he peppers your shoulders with lazy kisses. then slink out of bed, brushes his teeth, slips into his tennis shoes, and goes for a run down the shoreline. sometimes he even watches the sunrise there, panting, taking an earbud out to hear the gulls caw. sometimes he'll even grab smoothies for the both of you on his way home, and hop in the shower as you finally woke up, lips wrapped half-heartedly around a neon straw.

but you're not in bed when his eyes flicker open for the first time today. your side of the bed is crumpled, cold. you've been out of bed for a while.

the morning light is gray--not an early morning gray, but an endless slate. one that means rain, probably.

he glances at the clock, head muddled from his deep sleep, and sees that it's almost 11am. he sits up, brows furrowed, and feels that hollowness grow inside of him immediately. it's like a jolt--something that infects wholly and completely immediately.

oh. his body is reminding him.

today is November 7th.

how could he forget?

instead of jumping out of bed like he usually does, which is a habit he vaguely remembers his father having, he allows his shoulders to slump and his chest deflate. he sinks back into the covers, feels his eyes grow heavy, and pulls the blankets up beneath his chin.

there are two days of the year that Bradley lets himself stay in bed all day: July 29th and today. the anniversary of both of his parents deaths.

you're trying to balance this goddamn tray of food as you walk up the stairs in your monkey slippers, cursing yourself for settling so many beverages on here. does Bradley really need three choices?

whatever, you think. he'll have his pick of the litter at least.

the bedroom door is cracked just enough for you to carefully back your elbow into--just enough for you to step into the room in near-silence except for the shivering glass on the metal tray in your hands.

honestly, you're expecting Bradley to be asleep still. he slept in on that hot day in July, didn't say much at all, just pressed his face against your belly and let M*A*S*H reruns play all day. after, you'd felt guilty; you hadn't done much to make him feel better, stupefied from being this close to such palpable grief. your only prerogative was being there for him, which is how you ended up staying beneath the sheets despite the heat.

but you find Rooster's knit brows and glossy eyes immediately. in your spot in the doorway, you freeze, then grin.

"well, good morning, merry sunshine!" you say softly. "how'd you sleep?"

Bradley's just staring at you, eyes moving from the tray and back up to your wanton gaze as he slowly begins to sit up against the headboard.

"fine," he tells you.

"thought you'd still be asleep," you tell him, shuffling to the bedside carefully. "hope I didn't leave you waiting too long! and I hope you're hungry, 'cause I made a little bit of everything."

Rooster, stunned, just watches you with his hands in his lap. you're wearing his class t-shirt from high school and an old pair of cotton underwear, your eyes bleary and your hair untouched. but all the same, you're grinning at him, nodding for him to move his hands from his lap.

"for your drink selection, we've got coffee, orange juice, and a strawnana smoothie--if you're feeling frisky. for our meats we've got turkey bacon, Impossible Sausage, regular bacon, and--well, are eggs meat? no, right? okay, moving on," you say, shrugging as you point to all the foods as you list. "then we've got scrambled eggs--lots of cheddar cheese and no sage this time, okay? I won't do that ever again, baby, I promise!" you press a lewd and sweet kiss to his forehead before continuing. "and then we've got two pieces of French toast with maple syrup--like that healthy kind you like, the one that gets, like, milked from the trees or whatever. we've also got a short stack of buttermilk pancakes with the sprinkles I know you like but you won't admit it, so we'll say that I like sprinkles in my pancakes! and then the usual suspects--grapefruit, cinnamon oatmeal, sliced apples, grits. pick your poison!"

and that is when Bradley suddenly lets his head tip forward, tears spurring from his eyes suddenly as if a spice had been broken.

oh fuck. this isn't what you meant to happen.

"baby?" you ask tentatively, holding the back of his head with a frown planted on your lips. "I was just kidding about the sprinkles."

with his face angled down, he can see those stupid monkey slippers on your feet. he can see the eggs you made just right, leaving out the sage you sometimes like to sneak in. he can see the different beverages and the rainbow sprinkles. he can even see the sly nibble you took out of his French toast.

he is totally and completely overwhelmed--but it isn't by grief right now. it's love. love and affection and honey and everything else in the world that is sweet and perfect.

"talk to me, baby," you whisper, shuffling to move the tray from his lap and sitting on the bed. he immediately lets his face fall on your shoulder, choking on his sobs. "please."

November 7th was the worst day of his life--one of them, at least. it was when his mother let go, moved on, left him behind. he remembers how peaceful it was when she was gone: all the monitors turned off, the IV drips empty, her face slacked and serene. and he remembers being so angry about it all--why did she have to go to be okay again?

but now it's November 7th and he's eating breakfast in bed and you're in your monkey slippers and those old panties and stroking his hair. he feels entirely swollen with it--love.

"I love you so much," he tells you, unable to put it any differently. "and I really do like sprinkles in my pancakes."

the knot in your throat dissipates at his words. you never push him to talk about his grief--only nurture it when he trusts you enough to speak on it.

so, you kiss his head a few times, hold him against you.

"that was really brave of you to admit," you tell him, a smile tugging at your lips.

he laughs through his tears, sniffling, tracing your spine with his fingers delicately.

"I know," he sniffles. not so subtly, he wipes his nose on your tee. you don't mind it one bit. "you're my best friend."

"me?" you whisper, voice thin with emotion. but you know that you can't start crying, too. so, you clear your throat. "you must be a real loser then."

he laughs weakly, inhaling all that sleep on your skin.

"yeah," he agrees. "I must."

[gatheringbones]

[“As history has shown, and as I was at the time experiencing, a strap-on can be sexy, but it can also be a failure and a threat. It draws attention to how contradictory and fragile our definitions of male and female are, and how tightly we cling to them, even in relationships between women, where gender and sexuality are more flexible.

I think it’s important to look at how this played out, not just in the history of straight men policing lesbians but in the lesbian community policing itself. In the 1940s and 50s a bar scene began to develop in cities across the country, marking the first time when lesbians, particularly working-class ones, gathered publicly and in large numbers. During this time a butch/femme culture developed that included strict codes of dress and behavior both in and outside the bedroom. Butch women slicked back their hair, wore suits and jeans, and were, generally, the “givers” of sexual pleasure. Femme women wore dresses and makeup and were the “receivers” of sexual pleasure. In some ways, this culture was liberating, as it represented a powerful, cohesive group aesthetic and safety in numbers. Especially for women who actually identified as butch, it was also a chance to finally adopt masculine dress without being seen as failed or dangerous but rather as sexy and loveable. For others this culture was a trap, pushing women into restrictive sex and gender roles in the same ways heterosexuality had. It is by no means the only lesbian aesthetic, but I think part of the reason it has stuck around for so long in the popular imagination as the way lesbians are is because it allows straight people to again see themselves as the center of the sexual world.

In either case, strap-ons were not widely used, or at least not talked about. In Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold, a book that documents the lives of Black and white lesbians in Buffalo, there is a pretty exhaustive set of interviews about sex acts and terminology, but no one mentions owning, liking, or even trying sex with a strap-on. Indeed, the one mention of a dildo is one of bewilderment as Vic, a self-identified butch, talks about her friend pulling her into the bathroom to show her the new strap-on she got. “Jesus, she whipped this thing out . . . I’m supposed to be butch and my face felt like a neon sign. I could feel the embarrassment. How do you admire a dildo? No seriously, what do you say?”

Butches in the book took great pride “in their own hands and their ability to please,” which “did not dispose them to think that a dildo would improve their lovemaking.” It’s interesting that they considered the dildo less potent and successful than hands. This could be read as displacing the power of the dick, but, coupled with the silence surrounding strap-on use, it also points to a greater fear about the lesbian body. How regulated and small it had to be to exist. How easily it could be diminished by something outside itself, or destroyed altogether.

In the lesbian radical feminist movement of the 1960s and 70s, there was also a great deal of attention focused on creating distance from dicks. Jill Johnston argued in A Lesbian Nation that the only true road to female liberation was the conscious “withdrawal at every level from the man to develop woman supremacy.” This meant that not only butch/femme dynamics but also penetrative sex were out. Anne Koedt developed the theory that the vaginal orgasm was a myth perpetrated by Freud in order to center male sexual desire for penetration, though her evidence for this was a study done by Kinsey—a man—that found the vagina was not particularly sensitive to touch. True orgasms, Koedt argued, only came from the clitoris—even though she interestingly also called the clit “the female equivalent of the penis”—so if women wanted to have enjoyable sex there was no need for penetration, only clitoral stimulation. Andrea Dworkin went so far as to call the penis “a hidden symbol of terror” and argued that “violence is male, the male is the penis.”

Dorothy Allison writes about the effects this had on herself and other lesbians at the time. “No one admitted to using dildos, wanting to be tied up, wanting to be penetrated, or talking dirty—all that male stuff . . . my lover wanted us to perform tribadism, stare into each other’s eyes, and orgasm simultaneously. Egalitarian, female, feminist, revolutionary.” In attempting to free themselves from the penis, in many ways radical lesbians ended up reinscribing the power of the dick and sacrificing the range of sexual pleasure they could experience in the process.

In a counter to this, the lesbian sexual outlaws of the 1970s, 80s, and 90s argued that dildos were actually great, not problematic, but primarily because they didn’t reference the penis at all. Some even argued that wearing a dildo turns a woman into a cyborg, not woman, man, or even human, just a body involved in the mechanistic movements of giving and receiving pleasure. While there is something freeing about this argument, as it gets us out from under the idea that we can’t talk about strap-ons and that a woman wearing a strap-on is only trying to make up for a never-ending lack, it still bypasses the sticky, complicated reality of the gendered/human world we live in and the simple fact that sometimes lesbians want strap-ons to look like penises.

All of this begs the question: can a dyke wear a dick and just have some damn fun?”]

amy gall, from my dick, your dick, our dick, from wanting: women writing about desire, 2023

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Once More, With Feeling ♡

♡ Pairing: poly!hyunlix x gn!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/angst

♡ Summary: Unable to sleep after a major argument leads to a breakup, you return to a place that's close to your heart to find comfort and end up with something much more special.

♡ Word Count: 1.4k-ish

♡ Warnings: None.

♡ A/N: I was listening to dreamy low-fi indie music and got in my feelings so, like, come get in them with meeee.

It’s 3:23am and you can’t sleep. Two tablets of melatonin, three cups of chamomile tea, and an endless loop of soothing rain sounds have done nothing to change that. Your heart aches, it’s unbearable, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. Rolling onto your back, you rip the covers off, only now realizing how much you’ve been sweating from the anxiety of cycling through last night’s events over and over in your head.

None of this feels real, losing Felix and Hyunjin, the ones you love the most. Maybe it was a bad idea from the start, the three of you being together. Maybe you weren’t as well equipped to keep them both happy as you thought. Every “maybe” hangs over you as if it’s written in glow-in-the-dark paint on the ceiling, taunting you from the void. Does any of it even matter now? Whatever it was that led to the eventual downfall of your relationship, the argument that ended it all, you can’t go back and fix it.

Even still, your heart longs for the possibility that you’ll be together again someday. You’ve always liked to think that when you truly love someone you’ll find each other no matter what, in this life or the next. It could be wishful thinking, the musings of a hopeless romantic. What does it hurt to wish, you figure, if that’s all you have? You take a long, deep breath in, allowing your breath to slowly flow back out as you squeeze your eyes shut. If I lay here long enough I’m bound to fall asleep. Right?

“Fuck it” you groan, popping up out of bed and throwing on your fuzzy bunny slippers. Felix thought it’d be cute if the three of you got matching pairs. You hate how right he was. You’ve been fighting tooth and nail with yourself all night not to drive down to the pier. For years it’s been the destination of endless late-night drives. It’s where you snuck away together when the rest of the world felt like it was too much. Your memories of being there, as much as they might sting, are the dearest things to you and you need to drown yourself in them now more than ever.

So, before you know it, you’re headed out the door pulling a hoodie over your head, car keys in hand, desperately seeking solace in nostalgia. It’s a long, lonely ride to the pier. The combination of empty streets and too-long traffic lights gives you the sense that the world has come to a screeching halt. Whether it has or not for everyone else, it has for you. The light flashes neon green, bringing you back down to earth just as you begin to drift away, and you’re making the right turn that takes you to your usual parking spot. 

Turning the car off, you take a moment to sit and inspect the other cars around you. There are a few on your side, a dozen more on the other, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone out here. Probably all people who live nearby. Confident that you’re alone, the wall you’ve put up comes crumbling down, tears falling down your cheek faster than you can wipe them away. Why am I doing this to myself? You shake your body in what would look to a passerby like a cute, albeit strange, dance of sorts in hopes that some of the emotions overwhelming you will fall away like leaves.

Get it together. Summoning all of the courage you have, you make your way to the stairs leading up to the pier. You almost slip on the gritty, sand-coated steps, but manage to make it to the top without breaking your neck. As you venture forward you already hear the waves crashing to shore. You feel the stars watching you, their gaze intense and overwhelming. Only it’s not their gaze at all. There’s someone at the end of the pier staring back at you, teary-eyed and stunned. That intensity, that overwhelming emotion, it’s his.

Felix? No, no, no. You turn on your heels, racing back to the car before you lose it completely. “Wait!” he yells, running after you. Felix hadn’t expected to see you here either. He’d typed a million text messages asking you to come but he’d deleted all of them, thinking you wouldn’t want to see him with everything being so fresh. He’s been wishing too, as much as you have, and he can’t let this moment slip away. Your car door’s halfway open when he reaches you, your fingers held tightly around the handle.

“Can we talk?” he asks, his hushed voice skimming your neck as he pushes the door closed. You don’t fight him. You don’t want to. The feeling of his chest against your back, the wind blowing his hair so that it tickles your cheek, makes you want to melt into him. Turning to face him, melting is the first thing you do, straight into his arms. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you tight to him, the tension soothed by the simple act of having you near him again. “I’m really sorry” you weep, “I should’ve seen that you weren’t happy.” 

Felix shushes you, his fingers stroking your neck, “Stop, don’t say that. I was happy. Me and Hyunjin…working with each other, we just get frustrated sometimes and it wasn’t supposed to come home but it did. I should be sorry” “What? No invite to the family reunion?” you hear Hyunjin ask and you’re positive that you’re hallucinating. But when you look up he’s standing there staring at the two of you with an expression you can’t quite make out. “I…no…we didn’t…” Felix stutters but Hyunjin’s already walking away, heading for the edge of the pier, ignoring you like you’re strangers.

You’re so much more than that and he knows it. Enough time hasn’t passed for him to erase what you shared from his mind. Even if he could, he wouldn't. Why else would he be here? Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets, stopping to make a half-turn toward you. “If I admit I’m an asshole will you come with me?” “I mean, we already know you’re an asshole so…no” Felix teases, getting a laugh out of both of you. “What if I say I’m sorry and that I’d really like to not be alone…to be with you two?” A long stretch of silence separates his question and your answer.

“Wait up,” you smile, taking Felix’s hand and dragging him along with you to catch up to Hyunjin. Meeting him at the center of the pier, you take his hand too and the three of you walk to the edge together. Any other time the minutes would fly by, all of the laughter and kisses making hours feel like minutes. But, in the presence of lingering pain, minutes feel like hours. “It’s not the same,” Hyunjin sighs, picking at his already chipped nail polish and flicking it into the sea. You want to deny it but you can’t. “No, it’s not.” Felix sits down, crossing his legs as he frustratingly tousles his hair, “So that’s it, then? We’re done?” 

You take a seat beside him on the ground, sick to your stomach at the thought, “I mean, is that what you want?” “Of course not. It’s never what I wanted. We are what I want.” You turn to Hyunjin and he’s already sitting down on the other side of you, his head resting on your shoulder. “Me too” he yawns, “But what about you? It doesn’t matter what we want if you don’t—” “I do. I always will.” Their faces brighten up, even in the midst of their exhaustion. Felix takes his jacket off, gathers it in a little bundle in your lap, and lays down. “Maybe it shouldn’t feel the same this time,” he muses, “We should make it better.”

You pet Felix’s hair, “I’d like that.” Hyunjin nuzzles up closer to you, seconds from falling asleep, “Better sounds nice.” Stroking Hyunjin’s cheek, you lean into him too, every sleep aid you tried kicking in at once. Suddenly the world feels like it’s moving again, bursting with life even in the dead of night.

You’ve always liked to think that when you truly love someone you’ll find each other no matter what, in this life or the next. How beautiful it is that it turned out to be this one after all.