#things on jades bedroom wall

[aliengirl]

Jade had a tier 1 tiny home, later a tier 2 and then a tier 3. Now we are officially upgrading to a full house and instead of just expanding the original one or picking one already made, im decided to build one myself and IM IN LOVE

[rioromanoffroses]

Ovulation

G!P Natasha Romanoff x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, masturbating, oral sex (R and Natasha receiving), finger sucking, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex (P in V), overstimulation

Summary: You're ovulating while on a mission, causing you to be uncomfortably aroused. Luckily, the agent with you is more than eager to help you out...

WC: 4.1k

The motel was just like any other – grey, dusty and lit only by dim off-white. You would only be here for a night and when you pressed your hand against the cold metal of the radiator, you were glad. You debated whether or not you ask the receptionist about it but keeping your head low was key when travelling on an undercover mission. The more questions you asked and the more times your face was seen and captured by CCTV, the greater the risks. You decided against it.

You inspected the bedroom, following safety procedures which included searching for signs of any electronic devices but luckily, there were none. The bed was a small double with beige, striped sheets that were thinner than you would’ve liked. The back wall was taken up entirely by a sturdy, wooden cupboard that matched the tawny-brown, bedside tables covered in dust. You switched on the lamp and ran your hand over the mattress, noting that you would need to wear thick layers of clothing to bed. You assumed the other bedroom was the same but didn’t bother checking. The other agent could do that.

You sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing your forehead with the palm of your hand. One of the things you hated most about being a woman and a spy was the problems it caused when it conflicted with your cycle. Missions on your period were uncomfortable, draining and painful. Ovulation week was also a mess; you had no way of dealing with the surge of hormones it triggered while on a mission. You made a mental note to take a cold shower after the other agent arrived. 

You read over the intel for the upcoming mission while you waited for them, straining your ears for the door. It was a complicated mission; you had to infiltrate the base of a growing terrorist organisation and hack into their systems to gather as much information about them as you could. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew scarily little about the organisation so you were going in almost blind – anything could happen. 

The plan was for two agents, including you, to blend in as one of the terrorists to get into the base. You were unaware of the identity of the agent you were paired with. You were curious to know if they were someone you’d worked with before or a complete stranger. You assumed the latter – you were still young and hadn’t been assigned to many difficult missions yet. You tightened your arms around yourself, shivering as the light outside the window was sucked from the sky, the moon blocked out by an array of dark, restless clouds. 

“You look cold.” You jumped and leapt on your feet, spinning around to see a woman standing behind you. Her face was painted with a smirk and she looked at you with her hands on her hips, her jade eyes travelling up and down your body. You swallowed. How did you not hear her come in? S.H.I.E.L.D. weren’t exaggerating when they said she was the very best they had at espionage. You didn’t realise you were staring at her until she brought you out of your thoughts, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Uh, sorry,” you said, clearing your throat, “Yeah, I am. East Europe is always freezing at this time of year.” You could feel sweat trickling down your neck. Not only were you ovulating on a mission but you were stuck with an extremely attractive woman during it. You were so fucked. 

“Mm, it is,” she said, stepping towards you and offering out her hand. You noticed the electrified branches of azure and emerald running down her arms up to her fingers, pushing up against the skin, your heart thundering against your ribcage. You quickly pulled yourself out of your trance. You were a spy for goodness sake, not the nervous wreck or helpless whore your elevated levels of estrogen were making you feel like. You shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, “I’m Agent Y/l/n.” You pulled your hand away from hers before she could pick up on your clammy palms but unbeknownst to you, she’d already felt them. 

“I know,” she said, “I’m Agent Romanoff but to you, it’s Natasha.” You could feel your breath hitch in your throat. Natasha. You could already imagine how those three, pretty syllables would feel falling off your tongue. 

You dismissed your dirty thoughts immediately, feeling ashamed of yourself. She was a stranger and your teammate; you seriously needed to pull yourself together. She nodded to the file in your hand, “I see you’re already prepared for the mission.”

“I was just double-checking all the details,” you said. The tight, black shirt and jeans she was wearing hugged her in all the right places, her sculpted arms in full view to you. She must take her training seriously, you thought, I wonder how often she goes to the gym.

“Good,” she said, dropping her bag on the floor, “I already know I’ll enjoy working with you.” You placed your hands behind your back so she couldn’t see your fidgeting fingers. Your gaze fell onto the bag and you frowned.

“Oh, were you planning on sleeping in here?” You said, “I’ll move to the other room then.” She held her arm in front of you as you stepped towards the door. 

“There isn’t another room.” You felt your heart drop. You realised the other door must be to the bathroom. You couldn’t imagine how your situation could get any worse, “Are you unhappy with that arrangement?”

“No, not at all,” you lied, “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.” You swallowed, hard. You started moving towards the door, “I’m going to take a shower,” you mumbled, not waiting for her answer. You fumbled with the handle, cursing under your breath and slammed the door shut behind you. 

You didn’t waste any time taking off your clothes and turning on the shower, sighing as the cold droplets collided with your burning skin. The water only offered you a few moments of relief, however. The more you thought about the redhead and how close you’d be together that night, the more you fed the raging arousal between your legs. It became clear that there was only one way you were going to calm yourself down.

You covered your hand with your mouth as you touched yourself, your mind overwhelmed by images of Natasha. It didn’t take long for you to reach your climax and you were certain that the sound of the shower and your hand had muffled out all your moans. You cleaned yourself before stepping out, drying yourself with a towel and getting dressed, praying that your body would be satisfied for the night. When you returned to the bedroom, Natasha was on the bed facing you, resting a pillow on her lap.

“You’re even prettier in real life than you are in your pictures,” she said, the unexpected compliment drowning you in butterflies. You noticed that her cheeks were flushed a bright red and her breaths seemed more laboured than before. 

“Really?” you said in disbelief. You had never seen yourself as unattractive but you didn’t think you were anything special either. You were nothing compared to the Goddess in front of you, that was for sure. She chuckled.

“You’re a humble one,” she mused, “How cute.” You couldn’t quite believe her words. Natasha thought you, of all people, were humble? You searched the room, looking for any kind of escape from the conversation and spotted a clock hung above the bed.

“It’s getting late,” you said, trying to hide your stutter, “I’ll sleep on the floor.” You knew it would be uncomfortable but anything was better than being next to Natasha. You’d slept in awkward places before so you’d just have to deal with it.

“No you won’t,” she said, shuffling to the other side of the bed and lifting the sheets, “There’s room for both of us, see?” The amount of room wasn’t the problem – it was the proxemics between you and the internal chaos your body was experiencing. How were you supposed to explain that to Natasha though? You noticed the moment your eyes fell on her that her autonomy wasn’t the same as yours so she wouldn’t understand your dilemma.

“Uh, okay,” you said, knowing you had no choice. You never sounded nervous or vulnerable, not even with your close family and friends. If embarrassment was a type of poison, you’d have collapsed in agony by now. You climbed into bed beside Natasha, turning your back to her. You were reminded of how small the bed was when you shifted slightly and felt her hand brush against the small of your back. You took a deep breath. You were in for a long night. 

She switched off the bedside lamp and to your horror, you could hear her unbutton her jeans and discard them on the floor. It was almost as if she was doing it on purpose. You tensed your muscles, forcing yourself to stay as still as humanely possible so there was less chance of you accidentally making contact with each other again.

“That’s better,” she mumbled and you felt her leg against yours as she adjusted her position to make herself more comfortable. You didn’t know how long it took for you to fall asleep with her body so close to yours, her breath creating goosebumps along every part of your skin that it hit. Unfortunately, you found out the hard way that your head was the worst place to escape to you in your current state. 

You woke up, gasping and blinded by the darkness around you. You pushed yourself up, feeling the slick on your thighs from the filthy dream you had just experienced. Natasha’s head had been buried between your thighs and you had been an absolute mess beneath her. You could honestly die from humiliation – how could your mind conjure up something so vile while you were sleeping next to her? As you were about to move off the bed and sprint into the bathroom, a light was switched on and you felt a hand tighten around your wrist. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Natasha said, a dark rasp accompanying her words, “You are not going into the bathroom to fuck yourself again.” Your eyes widened and you felt a tide of heat rush to your cheeks. She’d heard you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “I shouldn’t have, it was really inappropriate of me…” She silenced you by straddling your hips, trapping you beneath her on the bed. Before you could react, you were distracted by the feeling of something hard against your stomach. You looked down to see Natasha in only her boxers, the bulge pressing against your abdomen straining in its confines. Your jaw dropped. It had never even occurred to you that there was a chance she’d want you too.

“I was going to let you make the first move,” she said, “But you took too long.” From how the other agents described you, she had been so sure your boldness and confidence would’ve caused you to spring onto her immediately. She was annoyed that she’d had to listen to you pleasure yourself in the shower without her but at the same time, Natasha loved that her presence had changed your demeanour so much. 

You gulped and looked up into her eyes, seeing that her iris had shrunk into a thin line around her blown pupils. You drunk in the sight of her on top of you, placing your hands on top of her bare, supple thighs, her skin like velvet beneath you. 

“Fuck,” you breathed. She tilted up your chin, running her thumb over your bottom lip, wanting a better view of you.

“Tsk tsk. Such a dirty mouth.” You knew you shouldn’t be letting her walk all over you but you were enjoying it more than you wanted to admit. She lifted herself off your body so she could move her other hand to the waistband of your trousers. She hooked a finger underneath the material, “Can I?” You nodded and she dug her nails into your chin, “I want to hear you say it.” You weren’t used to this power dynamic – you were always the more dominant one. 

“Yes,” you said, “You can. Please.” She grinned at your obedience and slipped her hand into your pants, feeling you drip onto her fingertips. She groaned.

“Oh God, you’re so wet already,” she said, “I could stuff you with my cock right now if I wanted to.” She removed her hand from your underwear and brought it to your mouth, pushing her fingers past your lips. You sucked her digits hungrily, tasting yourself on your tongue. The sight only drove Natasha even crazier but she also felt a pang of envy, wishing it was her cock in your mouth instead. You felt so good around her fingers.

After pulling her digits out of your mouth, she lowered herself onto your body and she didn’t hesitate to connect her lips with yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. Her lips moulded against yours perfectly and you moved in sync with her, your kisses becoming more and more desperate. She could taste your sweetness as she kissed you and she forced herself to forget about breathing, not wanting to pull away for even a second. Her hands cupped your face and you reached up to tangle yours in her hair, her lips staining yours with garnet lust. 

You pulled her even closer against your chest, your mind a buzz of her and her only. You let her tongue slide between your teeth when you felt it press against your bottom lip, making no effort to fight against it with your own. She swallowed your whines, her crotch grinding against your thigh. You had never hooked up with anyone before; you weren’t that kind of person. But you were willing to break all your rules for Natasha and give every part of you to her without hesitation. 

Her mouth moved to your jawline, littering your face with kisses, her hands trailing down your arms. You shivered under her feather-light touch, gasping as her teeth sunk into your neck, intending to leave a bruise that everyone else would see. She tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off,” she said. She leaned back to give you space to pull it over your head and unhook your bra before she pounced on you like an animal. She traced her fingers over your collarbones before venturing further down to your chest, her fingers circling your nipples. You arched into her touch as she caressed your breasts, her movements sending a spark straight to your core. You reached down to cup her bulge, noticing the wet patch on her boxers but she slapped your hand away, “No touching,” she snapped. 

“Please, Natasha,” you said, “I need you; it hurts.” She tutted.

“Patience,” she husked. She pulled away from you and started taking off her clothes, freeing her aching breasts before pushing down her boxers. Her erection sprang out from the material, the tip inflamed and ringed by an enraged red, pre-cum dribbling onto the sheets beneath her. 

She led back onto the pillow, giving you a full view of her body and you took a moment to admire her. Everything about her was a masterpiece – her facial features, her muscles, her curves. Her crimson hair was a mess around her shoulders and the front pieces had fallen forward, framing her face, “I want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours.” You shook your head.

“No, Natasha,” you pleaded, “It’ll feel so much better in my pussy, I promise…” You fell silent as her eyes burnt into you. You reluctantly crawled over to her on all fours, hesitating before wrapping your mouth around the tip. You tried to irk her, moving as slow as possible but she grabbed a hold of your head and started pushing you down on her cock. 

“Suck.” You gagged around her length as she started bucking her hips upwards so she was fucking your mouth but the sound only drove her more. It didn’t take long for you to start moving your head up and down her cock without any guidance, guttural moans escaping Natasha’s mouth from the warmth and skill of your tongue, “Fuck, that shut you up.”

Tears spilt down your cheeks as she hit the back of your throat over and over again, the vibrations of your whines sending even more waves of pleasure through her body. She lifted her legs onto your shoulders so you could grab onto her thighs, spurring you on even more, “I’m so close,” she breathed. Her thrusts were messy and out of rhythm by the time she came undone, spilling her cum into your mouth. You made sure to swallow it all. 

She pulled her cock out of your mouth, a mixture of cum and drool coating her length, some of it dribbling down your chin, “You did so well. Such a good slut for me.” She took a moment to catch her breath, watching with eagerness as you pulled down your trousers and your panties that were positively ruined, throwing them on the floor. There were tears of white running down your legs and your clit was visibly swollen. She smirked wickedly, “You want me that bad, huh?”

“Please, I’ve been a good girl,” you whined. You tried to reach for her again but she caught hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Lie down.” You went to lay on your back but she grabbed your shoulders, her nails indenting crescent-moons into your skin before pushing you down onto your stomach. You gasped as her hand pressed against your cunt, her fingers running through your sensitive folds. Her movements were slow and deliberate, intending to increase your need but not give in to it.

“More,” you begged as her thumb massaged your clit. The smell of sex was heavy in the air and your senses were intoxicated by the vanilla and brown sugar fragrance of her perfume. She gave your clit a sharp pinch in response to your pleas, causing you to inhale a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re insatiable,” she said, “You’re begging to be fucked by a woman you just met. Like a whore.” You started rubbing your crotch against her hand, your motions erratic and frantic. 

“More, please,” you cried, your thoughts becoming incoherent as the need between your legs started to burn, “Please, Natasha.” She pushed two fingers inside of you, stretching out your entrance but making sure to avoid your g-spot. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you inside of me,” you groaned as she added a third digit to your cunt. Natasha started to play with her breasts using her free hand; she was burning for you just as badly as you were for and the sound of your begging only worsened her desire. It took all the strength in her body to hold herself back and not ruin you right there and then. She was so glad you couldn’t see her.

“I am inside of you.” You whined.

“I want your cock. I need it inside of me, please.” She grabbed hold of your hips, smirking. As much as she enjoyed seeing you so needy for her, her patience was wearing thin.

“Then you’ll take it all.” She suddenly rammed inside you without any warning, not being able to resist you for any longer and you cried out in shock. Your initial discomfort was drowned by explosive bliss as Natasha filled you to the brim, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. She was met with no resistance as she rutted into you despite her size which stretched you out deliciously. Your pussy was so much better than she could’ve ever imagined.

She flattened herself against your back, needing to feel more of you. She grunted against your ear as her hips slammed into your ass with each powerful stroke. You were dizzy with pleasure as her speed increased, your moans intensifying as she started to pound into your sweet spot. She was older and more experienced than anyone you had been with before which was evident in how she was making you feel. Your body was coursing with more pleasure than you thought was humanely possible. 

The knot in your stomach was tightening fast and the sounds of your wet cunt were echoing through the room, “Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” Natasha said, not caring about her dignity anymore, too lost in the sensation of your warmth clenching around her cock, “Tell me how you feel baby.” 

“I feel so, so good,” you said, “Please, don’t stop.” You looked back at her and she tilted her head so your lips could connect for a moment before her mouth moved to your shoulder. She sucked on the soft skin there, slowing down so she could sink deeper into your cunt. She could feel your legs trembling beneath her own as you pushed back in rhythm with each of her thrusts.

“How close are you?” Natasha didn’t want to admit it but she was already teetering on the edge, struggling to hold back from how well you were taking her. You could feel her movements become sloppy as more and more of your juices gushed from your entrance. 

“So close,” you said, your walls clenching even harder around her cock. It only took a few more thrusts before you could feel gasoline flood your bloodstream, ready to be set on fire, “Natasha, f-fuck…” You didn’t even have to say it.

“Let go for me,” she commanded. You let the knot in your stomach unravel, screaming her name as all the nerves in your body were electrified, sparks of searing light shooting across your vision. No drug could replicate the state of euphoria you were both lost in as your walls were drowned by white, your cunt milking her cock dry until there wasn’t a single drop left to give. You had never experienced an orgasm so strong, so prolonged, so incredible. You expected Natasha to stop after fucking you through your high but instead, she picked up her pace again. You whimpered.

“Natasha, that’s enough…” She pulled out of you and flipped you onto your back before slipping straight back inside of you. Your eyes widened. 

“What’s wrong?” she mocked, “You begged for my cock, slut. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She smirked when you didn’t give her an answer, already drowning in ecstasy again despite the building ache between your legs. You were losing your grip on reality as the new angle gave her access to more places inside of you and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were overstimulated. 

She didn’t take her eyes off you, wanting to see your reaction to everything she gave you. You were growing more sensitive by the second and you could feel her cock throbbing against your walls each time you squeezed her, drops of perspiration gleaming on every inch of your skin. You reached up to cup Natasha’s breasts, the extra layer of stimulation pushing her towards yet another climax in record time. 

She started to rub your clit, hoping to speed up your release but it was becoming evident she’d have to release without you. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her even closer and for a moment, she forgot your pleasure, getting too lost in her own. She tore her eyes away from you and threw her head back, panting like a dog. 

“Cum inside me,” you said and at the sound of your words, she didn’t hesitate, letting her orgasm crash into her body with full force. She moaned your name between gasps as she was hit by waves of bliss that slowly decreased in intensity as the milliseconds passed, pulsing through her entire body. She finally pulled out of you and collapsed on the bed. You both gasped for breath, your thighs and the sheets beneath you stained with lust. You were glad you hadn’t climaxed this time – you didn’t think you’d have survived it. 

“That was fucking incredible,” Natasha admitted, turning her head to face you. You nodded in agreement, too fucked out to form a sentence, your limbs still shaking from adrenaline.

That morning, Natasha woke you up with her cock between your legs, already hard and ready for another round. Her hands only left your body during the mission and three days later after its success, she didn’t hesitate to fuck you senseless until you passed out.

A/n - I have an idea for part two so let me know if that's something you'd like.

[miniimight]

DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

part two

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[luveline]

hi jade! could i request a luna lovegood!reader x eddie munson blurb? maybe him feeling protective over her in a situation? thank you! congrats on 46k :)

You have a soft touch.  

“Hello,” you whisper, scratching your nails into the soft underside of your new cat’s chin, “hello, baby Teeby. You’re back.” 

“You gotta stop leaving the window open.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, scratching right where the cat wants it, his little black face twisting into your touch. “Really, Eddie, I don’t mean for him to get out, but you’re right, of course you are. I have to remember he’s here now. Anything could’ve happened when he got out.” 

He didn’t mean for you to take his reminder so hard. “Hey, it’s okay. I found him, didn’t I?” 

You hadn’t noticed the cat was gone. To an outside observer you seem irresponsible, but Eddie knows the details of the story. You opened the window to the bedroom to let fresh air inside, then someone knocked on your door and you left to answer while the cat escaped. 

You’re new to cats. You didn’t realise he’d be eager to leave, but luckily Eddie caught him scratching at the wall of your house trying to get back up again. No harm, no foul. A lesson learned. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, baby Teeby,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss his head gently. “I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“I’ll get you a screen for the window, alright? That way you can keep it open.” 

“You will?” 

“Babe, I love you. Getting you a screen for your window is the least I’d do, right?” He holds your cheek, kissing you while you’re not kissing the cat. Your lips are balmy, and you smell like lavender up close. 

“I keep forgetting he lives with me now, I just assume any noise he makes is my ghost upstairs.” 

“He seems like he’s settling in fine.” He means great. Baby Teeby couldn’t be happier, you’re a good match for one another, affectionate creatures with gentle dispositions. Teeby didn’t do much when Eddie grabbed him besides meow. “Do you like him?” 

“I love having company when I miss you, honey,” you say, catching his eye as you say that pet name. He never imagined somebody could look at him and think something sweet like that. 

“Yeah, but do you like him?” he asks with a laugh, nudging you over to squish next to you on the bed. 

“Obviously I like him, he’s gorgeous. His heart is beautiful. He reminds me of you.” 

“He’s not evil when my back is turned?” 

Your laugh is high-pitched from the suddenness of it, then everywhere. If you laughed like that in public you’d draw stares. “He sleeps on my chest like a baby, Eddie, he’s just like you.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Alright, awesome, you like him, can you stop with the comparisons?”

The cat slinks from under your loving hand into Eddie’s lap. He looks up at Eddie, so different from you, rougher and louder, and he squints his yellowy eyes. 

“Hi, baby Teeby,” he murmurs. 

Teeby relaxes, tail unfurling against Eddie’s chest. 

“See, you’re twin flames. You’re like my two soulmates.” You tap his jaw with the flat of your fingernail. “Though he’s a little more handsome.” 

“I never shoulda got you the damn thing.” 

[naturesapphic]

Hi I love your blog and this is actually my first time requesting so sorry if it’s awkward but can I request a intersex Jade West X girlfriend reader where she accidentally calls Jade “Daddy” during sex but Jade ends up loving it!

Day four: Daddy Jade

Intersex!Jade west x fem!reader

Warnings: daddy!jade, smut, intersex

Kinktober masterlist

Her hands were wrapped around your throat as she pounds you from behind. The slapping of y’all’s skin and the moans were the only sounds present in jades bedroom. She said her parents were going to be out of town for a while so you decided to stay with her until they came back which was fine by your mom as she loves Jade.

So when you grabbed your things and headed outside to jades car you knew that these upcoming weeks with her will bring your relationship closer. Which it definitely did since she has you bent over on the bed, fucking you from behind. She was pounding you so good that you were seeing stars and you couldn’t form a word.

“You feel so good babygirl. Your walls squeezing my cock so nicely.” Jade grunted as she grabs your hips harshly, digging her nails into your skin. You were trying to respond to her, anything but you couldn’t spit it out until you babbled something. “D-daddy!” You moaned out and you felt Jade stop her movements, making you whine out. She slapped your ass harshly, making you stop your whining.

“Say that again.” She said as she grabs you by your hair, pulling on it. “D-daddy…” you whimper and she groans. “That’s so fucking hot baby. Keep calling me that.” She demands as she starts to thrust into you again, grabbing onto your hips with force. With each thrust you felt yourself about to cum undone and Jade knew it too, she could feels your walls get tighter and tighter. “Gonna cum for daddy princess?” Jade said lowly by your ear as she keeps ramming into you.

You let out a quiet “yes daddy” and not long after that, you came hard all around her cock. Jade waited for a few minutes before gently pulling out, your cum leaking from your pulsating hole. Jade smirks as she watches it drip from your hole, her secretly loving it. After Jade did your aftercare, she was holding you in her arms in her bed as you laid on top of her. “You definitely need to keep calling me daddy. That was so hot.” She admitted and you giggle as you gently slapped her arm. “Oh I definitely will.”

A/n: thank you so much for your request anon! You did great don’t worry :) Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all :)

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 4) part 1, part 2, part 3

-

You remember the lock turning on the door of another room.

Ice flooding your veins. Heart suddenly tripling in speed, flush against your breastbone, close to snapping your ribs and pumping right out. A man standing in front of the locked door, barring your only way out. Petrified, but not confused; it’d always been an inevitability, something you’d long been waiting to happen, but hoping beyond hope that maybe you’d skirt by it unscathed. 

You’re in a bedroom, but you’re also in a study hundreds of miles away, cabinets along the walls filled with jade carvings and porcelain trinkets, bookcases filled with untouched first editions with the spines still stiff, a leather chair tucked into wide mahogany desk, and a grandfather clock ticking ominously in the corner. And you’re watching a man come into the room and lock the door, shutting you both inside. 

There is a bust of the same man in the corner of the room. When you sink into the memory, your eyes drag there and hold.

“Honey? Honey, are you alright?”

You come back to yourself at the sound of another man’s voice. When you blink, the memory leeches out of the corners of your eyes and you find Price looking down at you with some concern, a slight furrow between his brows. You shudder out the memory until it’s wrung out, until you’re dry of it. Sweat cools on the back of your neck. There’s a tremble in your hand that you notice when you go to rub your forehead, a shake that even Price notices, taking your wrist and pulling it to his chest.

There is no bust in the corner of the room here. The man that locked the door holds your wrist tenderly to his chest and waits for you to answer, his lips still sloped down. The black spots fade from your vision one by one, panic retreating back into your bones. It leaves a too big hole inside of you. 

You know it’s still within you. It slumbers in the marrow of your bones; it cowers in there, sometimes close enough to kiss or close enough to cradle your head and crack it against the nearest ledge. 

“Honey?” he asks again. The deep tenor of his voice moves something back to life inside of you, as much as it pains you to admit. Even to yourself. 

You blink up at him, only realizing how dry your mouth is when you croak out, “I’m—I’m alright. Apologies.”

He doesn’t seem much convinced. Perhaps he has a right to doubt your words. You can’t see the tormented thing staring back at him. 

“I’ve given you a few too many frights today,” Price sighs, head dropping towards you, like drawing a curtain around the two of you. “Thought maybe you needed a bit of a push, but you’re not quite there, darling, are you?”

“Not where?” you ask, lost. “Where am I not?”

For once, he doesn’t answer, doesn’t try to force his vision into your head. It shocks you when he dips his head to press his lips against your forehead, lingering there for several moments. Breathing you in. You let him linger there, half-curious yourself, a softness suffusing into you like breath. 

“Are you hungry enough to eat? Or straight to bed?”

His words give you a nervous thrill, but when you catch his eye, there’s nothing to read there. Absent of double meaning. He’s asking you if you’re hungry and if you’re wanting to eat. 

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m still…well, I’ve had a bit of a cramp all afternoon. I don’t think I’m up to eating.”

“Not even tea or cake?”

The thought intrigues you, but not enough for your stomach to untwist. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

He hums against your forehead, then presses another kiss there, then a third on your temple, breathing out a puff of air that blows across your face and tickles your nose. “Not hungry for anything then,” he surmises, and you hear it there, the silvery flipside of an innuendo. You scrunch up your nose and flinch when he chuckles. “How about just a bath then? And then we’ll tuck in for the night.” 

“That sounds nice. Do you, um…I could help if you want?"

“Already fetched the water earlier today. Wash tub’s downstairs. You can stay here or come down and wait until the water’s warm.”

Finally, he pulls back and puts some space between the two of you. Something buried deep in your chest clicks when he unlocks the door and steps out. You try not to look at it too hard. 

You follow him downstairs, more out of habit than anything. With the water already fetched from the well and Price starting a fire to heat it up enough for a warm bath, there’s not much for you to do besides wait, but you join him downstairs anyway, taking the time to look around. 

“Toothpowder, brushes, and mint are in the drawer under the sink if you need any,” Price tells you. You don’t bother with the mint, but you use the rest to clean your teeth in the bathroom sink, a bowl of water already waiting for you to help rinse your mouth. You rethink the mint afterwards, chewing on a couple of leaves to rid your mouth of the chalky aftertaste. 

It takes awhile to heat up enough water for a bath, giving you time to peruse the rest of the house. After spending the bulk of your day locked up in his room, it’s nice to stretch your legs and move about. The rest of the house is fairly typical, barebones; Price heats up the water in a stone fireplace in the main room and at the other end of the house, you find the kitchen.

The crickets in the bushes out front are louder than you’ve ever heard them. For a moment, you stand alone by the front door, fingers twitching by your sides. It wouldn’t do you any good to run, but your feet feel quick now, light after hours of rest. You could bolt like an Appaloosas if you wanted to. 

Then Price calls your name and you drift back to the other room.

Steam billows off the water in the metal tub. It’s only halfway filled, which makes you frown; you have no right to be picky after the days you’ve spent cleaning yourself with a damp washcloth over a porcelain bowl, but you can’t help thinking that it’ll hardly come up to your waist. Still, staring at the warm water makes your skin itch; you could practically kiss the bar of soap sitting on the floor next to the tub. If there wasn’t a man in the room, your dress would already be on the floor. 

“Are you still waiting on more to heat up?” you ask, casting a glance at the fireplace where a small flame still burns. There isn’t a bucket of water hovering over it though, just a poker stowed back in its place. 

“Any more and I’ll be mopping up water for the rest of the night,” he huffs. “That’s more than enough for us.”

“Us?” you repeat. 

It only makes sense when you turn around and stare wide-eyed at Price as he untucks his shirt and starts at the buttons, each one slipped through the hole exposing a new inch of chest covered in dark hair. You make a noise at the back of your throat, half-aghast. The other half, indeterminate. If your feet weren’t glued to the floor, you’d stop him or grab his hands. Instead, you watch mutely as he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his pants, mouth drying at each new slab of muscle revealed.

You swallow reflexively when his pants pool around his ankles on the floor. You catch a glimpse of thick thighs covered in dark hair and something heavy dangling between his legs before you avert your eyes, staring straight up at the ceiling. Sure to give yourself a kink in your neck, but perhaps forgivable this time. 

“Us?” It comes out squeaky this time, high and tight in your throat. Price laughs.

When he moves towards you, you can hardly so much as lift a finger to keep him at bay. Your body feels tethered in place, sluggish and inert. The world moves around you instead, doubly so when Price fits his hands at your waist and twists you to face away from him. 

Big hands ruck up the fabric of your dress, slowly pulling it over your head. You lift your arms for him on command, the whole time baffled by how little struggle you put up. You imagine him telling that deputy of his what an obedient little bride he’s found for himself. 

“Us,” Price confirms, emphasizing the word the same way you did. “We’d be here all night if we took turns. Water’d be ice cold by then too. You’d rather I freeze my nethers off?” You open your mouth to reply but he cuts you off. “Don’t answer that.”

That pulls a real giggle from your chest, shocking you both. Breath sits like a bubble in your chest. You feel his fingers still at the ties of your corset before pulling it through. 

He loosens each lace slowly, giving each a gentle pull. It’s nerve wracking, nail-biting tedium, the corset gradually giving way to his touch and drooping into your waist. You let him undo each of the hooks and unwrap it from your torso before pulling off your chemise underneath, flesh chilling in the open air. Even stationed behind you, you feel his stare like a heavy, weighted thing. His fingertips trace over the naked skin of your back, looping small circles just for the pleasure of touching your skin. 

Gooseflesh runs down the length of your arms, shivering from his touch as much as the cool air. You tell yourself that it means nothing just to put it all away.

“Alright, let’s get you washed up,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. “Been awhile since you had a warm bath, I bet.” 

You turn part way around, watching him from the corner of your eye. If only he knew. 

Price gets in the tub first and it’s immediately obvious to you why he hardly filled the tub. His body takes up so much room that you frown when you realize that he expects you to get in next. It’s one of the bigger tubs you’ve ever bathed in and yet he still has to bend his knees. The sigh he lets out after relaxing against the back of the tub makes you shiver. 

When he glances up at you swelteringly, you hear the evocation unspoken. 

“If you’d just give me a minute,” you snap. 

“Darlin’.” 

The note of warning in his voice finally tips you over the edge of hesitancy where you’d been precariously balanced. 

The water is still warm when you dip a foot tentatively in. It’s easier to ignore the indulgent smile on Price’s face than engage with it, sure you’d shout yourself hoarse if you finally let your composure crack. 

You think it vaguely humiliating to have to turn around in front of Price in the tub in order to lower yourself to sit. He doesn’t touch you yet, but there’s no way to avoid the weight of his eyes on your backside. It’s not something you’ve thought about much before. A man’s hands on you, stripped bare for him, lowering yourself into a hot bath with him. 

You peek over your shoulder. “Do you ever stop staring?”

A pointless question. He doesn’t even meet your eye to respond, just stares at the curve of your ass with heavy lidded eyes, the faintest pink hue high on his cheeks. He hums instead. You purse your lips.

The water sloshes up the side of the tub when he pulls you down abruptly, settling your back against his chest. You stiffen in the cradle of his arms and chest, acutely aware of every point of your body pressed into his. When Price sighs now, it reverberates through your back and chest. 

“Why does it feel like you’ve been run against a whetstone?” he asks. The sound drips heavy from his lips because the room is silent apart from him, apart from the gentle lapping of the bath water against the sides of the tub and the water trickling from the washcloth when he lifts it out of the water and gives it a wring. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, frowning. 

“You’re all sharp, all hard edges. If I’m not careful, you might run me through.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you married me,” you huff. 

That gets another laugh out of him, raising your hackles. It’s hard to differentiate between ridicule and endearment. You opt for the former to guard yourself, to keep yourself safe. 

“I’ll take my chances.”

You can’t think of a way to respond to that. It’s loaded in an uncomfortable way. It’s easier to just let it pass into silence. Price doesn’t seem anxious for you to respond anyway, thankfully, instead reaching out of the tub to grab the bar of soap still on the floor. The movement pushes his pelvis into you, the length between his legs pressing against the small of your back. You jolt forward only for him to wrap an arm around your waist and haul you back. More water splashes over the rim.

“Christ, you’re skittish,” he gripes. 

“What do you expect me to do?” You squirm in his hold, which only makes his arm constrict tighter around you, drawing you even closer. 

“Sit there and let me wash you, for one. What’s got you all riled up?”

“You know exactly what,” you say, face hot when you feel it press against you again. 

“My—”

“Yes, that,” you hiss, digging your nails into his forearm. 

“Squirming around isn’t gonna make it go away,” Price teases, squeezing once before finally letting you go. You scoot forward as much as he allows, but it’s for naught; you can feel it press against you still. 

In the brief silence, Price lathers up the cloth until it froths, then puts the bar of soap back down on the floor. You almost stop him to say that you can wash yourself, but he starts on your arms before you’re so much as able to part your lips. 

Your nipples bead when he drags the washcloth over your chest. The material is coarse, almost abrasive, and when you wince, Price murmurs a soft apology into your ear. He’s softer when he pulls your legs one after the other from the water and sets your foot on the rim of the tub, dragging the cloth over your calves and up the inside of your thighs. You shake when his hand disappears under the water, biting your lip until it hurts.

You sit with the silence instead of electing to fill it. It’s better that way anyway; words can unravel so many interiorities that long for stasis. And what has the man at your back done to earn your words anyway, besides lock you up and throw away the key?

You’ll figure your way out eventually. It’s only a matter of time. 

His own washup is perfunctory, performed only to get it over with. None of the affection reserved for washing you. He barely makes you lean forward before dragging the cloth haphazardly across his chest, getting a few good scrubs in before calling it a day. 

“I can’t imagine why you’d spend so much time filling a bath just to wash up in five minutes,” you say, peering over your shoulder at him. Expressly not focusing on the pillowy muscles of his chest or the dark, wet hair now flush with his skin. 

“Haven’t used the tub in months,” he grunts, dunking the cloth in the bath water until it comes out clean. He wrings it dry before hanging it over the rim. “There’s a creek out back, ‘bout a ten minute walk from here.”

You frown. “You usually bathe in a creek?” 

“What’s the point in spending time heating up enough water for a bath when there’s a perfectly good creek nearby? Water’s water.”

“You did it for me.”

“That’s different.”

You roll your eyes. “It shouldn’t be.”

“You like to fuss over nothing, huh?” Price remarks. Again, it’s said so earnestly that it makes your skin prickle. 

When you stand, the water rushes off you in a wave, leaving you slick and cooling rapidly in the air. Your teeth clatter until he steps out of the tub to fetch you a towel, wrapping you up in it and patting you dry. You get a bit dizzy when he kneels before you to dry your legs, swaying on your feet. Under your breath, you mumble something like, you don’t have to. 

He ignores you. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you let it go. 

Your bare feet pick up stray dust and debris on your way back up the stairs alone. You wipe them off on the mat at the door before changing into your shift while Price empties the tub downstairs. The oil lamp on the bedside table illuminates most of the room when you light the wick and delicately put the chimney back in place, apart from the elongated shadows that hang from the corners like spiderwebs. 

The bed looks different when you know you’re meant to share it. You try not to tense up too much when you hear Price come up the stairs, eyeing him nervously from the other side of the room. 

“You’ve got that look again, darling,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it this time. The knot in your shoulder aches when they untense. 

“What look?” you ask, averting your gaze when he drops the towel to change into his nightwear.

“Like a doe.”

You snort, distinctly unladylike. “Like a deer before it’s shot?”

“The very same. Didn’t I tell you it’d be straight to bed?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. In the back of your mind, you must have assumed he was placating you, saying words just to soothe. It’s rare that men speak plainly and mean it. Over the years, you’ve learned to read into second meanings and real intentions couched in soft words. Men like to think themselves simple, but you know a vast underground world. 

Some part of you grows anxious with your own inability to play the part of his simpering wife. He must have thought he’d be taking to bed something nurturing and with wings. It’d be easier if you just acquiesced; you can’t imagine he’d worry so much about his doting wife fleeing in the middle of the night. Not the wife happy to spread her legs for him.

“Why are you so patient?” you ask him outright instead. 

He takes a moment to answer, studying you. His face by lamplight is inscrutable. “Nothing good comes plucked too soon.”

“You don’t think that God gave you the right to—” You can’t say the words, but he understands. 

“The methods of God take pickaxes and shovels to uncover,” Price says, so simply, so plainly. You hardly understand what he means. “It’s not a man’s place to rush to understand His intentions.”

You think it’s almost unfair for a man to say those words to you when you plan on running away from him. It makes you dig your nails into the palms of your hands. 

You’re still nervous when you crawl into bed, eyeing him when he settles on his side and turns the lamp off, cupping his palm around the glass and blowing out the flame. There’s little to worry about though. Price doesn’t so much as shift from his side of the bed. 

The world outside is beyond gold and red now, when you stare out the window from where you lie on your side. When you think of the past, it comes with a searing pain. Then, it is no more.

[lorelune]

(minors & ageless blogs dni. a piece for @ainescribe for helping me with my theme 💓 cw: predator/prey, hints of dubcon)

"i'll give you a head start."

jing yuan tells you this with a pleasant, easy smile and his hands behind his back. and no context. you cock your head at him from across the little table you share, and take a sip of your cold tea.

"come again, dear?" you knock your ankle against his under the table.

"i'm giving you a five minute head start." jing yuan leans closer and rests his chin his palm. his eyes take on a cat-like glint. "i've already started counting. i'd get going if i were you, sweetling."

you only want more of it.

your chest feels tight all of a sudden.

"jing yuan—"

"i won't be going easy on you." his smile verges on smug as he leans forward. "and i would advise to take full advantage of this time. i think you'll need it."

he leans away from you and tilts his head. it would be cute if you couldn't see the rapidly darkening mischief in his gaze. you jolt up from your little table, clattering your chair on the cobbled walkway. he eyes you up and down like a big cat sizing up its next meal as you step backwards, nearly stumbling.

something in your gut twists, like a hot iron.

you turn on a heel and walk as fast as you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. weaving around the late-night crowds and ducking around street vendors and their burning latterns, your heart pounds. faster and faster.

this had been your idea originally. you just hadn't expected jing yuan to entertain it (though on some level, he entertains all of your ideas.) this desire of yours seemed too risky, too innately... unlike him. at least to you.

this game had been a fantasy. one you'd confessed your interest in a few weeks prior, while luxuriating in a pleasantly steaming bath together. you shared a glass of wine, passed between sips after a slow, tender evening. you'd playfully started a conversation about things to try in the bedroom, and somehow, the Divine Foresight and honey wine managed to wring a few previously unspoken desires out of you.

this is the result, you suppose, as you stumble around a corner, toward jing yuan's estate.

you should've known that jing yuan would spring this fantasy on your unexpectedly. that was part of the allure. the hunt, the chase— you're just prey now, with no time to prepare or plan. the innate helplessness has already stirred something in you, even though jing yuan hasn't done anymore than send you hungry looks and promises.

you're sure five minutes have passed. you're positive that the man is trailing you, even if you can't hear or see him. you don't have the military prowess that he does, you're just a civilian. your footfalls are loud as you break into a run near his estate and its towering walls.

your hands shake as you hold your jade abacus to its lock. the slow 'clunk' of gears opening the gates feels like it goes on forever. your heart is pounding in your ears, like a drum that won't stop. you're out of breath, but force yourself to sprint the moment the door swings open.

you hide in one of his gardens.

jing yuan has many green spaces on his estate. it's situated on a large enough space to allow for a small stream running through the largest garden into the front yard. ponds gurgle nearby, filled with fat, sleepy fish. you wake them as you dash around the greenery and shrubs, uncaring of the dirt that is staining your shoes. the bottom of your outer most garment must be getting torn as it snags on the brush below.

the gate of the estate opens and closes once more, somewhere not far behind you. your heart lurches, your stomach feels cold and hollow and you run.

jing yuan knows his estate better than you, clearly. you don't know where is safe, but in his largest garden, there are large gingko trees and stones that seem okay to hide behind. maybe. you are too anxious, too out of your fucking mind, to use sound logic at this point. you scramble behind a smooth quartz boulder and lay a hand on your chest. panting. tears sting your the corners eyes as you desperately try to catch your breath.

you listen the best you can to see if you can hear him follow you. it's hard to pick up every little sound, breeze shakes the tree branchers into a late-evening song. cicadas chirp to disguise any potential footfalls. it would probably be best to hide somewhere on the edge of the garden. you're in the center of it, not far from the stream. you don't dare peak out from your hiding spot, but you should move— you feel so exposed—

a floorboard creaks nearby. you freeze.

the wind almost stills with the sound. you can't breathe as you strain to hear more. it came from the west, where you know there's an entrance to this garden. you think. probably. your heart pounds so loudly, you can barely hear anything over the roar.

you do another sound, though. the sound of a boot fall, onto stone. there's a path laid with them not far from where you are.

something white-hot, old and feral burst in your chest.

you need to fucking run.

with a burst of energy that makes you feel light-headed, you push off the ground and throw yourself over the rock you were hiding behind, away from the sounds that are surely jing yuan stalking you.

your feet hit the ground and you run. run, run, run—

you swear you can feel more footfalls than just your own, but you can't look behind you. all of your focus is on weaving through the gardens trees and shrubbery, to gain and sort of ground.

you stumble, eventually. it's inevitable that you lose. the game is set up that way.

you trip over your own feet as you near the little stream that cuts the garden and gurgles. your momentum ruins you; you can't right yourself fast enough.

a hand catches the back of your collar and pulls. your breath catches, caught in your throat by the pressure. an arm, his arm, bundle you up at the waist and slams your body into his. your back to his front. the force of it knocks the air out of you.

you still scramble, you can't help it. squirming and kicking, you fight against the unyielding grip he has on you. he's hot against your back, scalding even. the metal bits of his armor and belts dig into your as your struggle fruitlessly.

"what's this?" jing yuan says into your ear, soft and curling. "i thought you would do a little better than this."

you whine. your stomach feels cold.

jing yuan laughs then, rich and low like he always does. but there's a darker edge to it now. you can feel it spread down the back of your neck, your spine, drenching you down to your toes. he squeezes you, and you feel yourself get wet.

(you're fucked.)

"you'll have to try harder next time." jing yuan says. "maybe i did go a little easy on you."

"s-sure you did—"

jing yuan nips your ear. "what was that? i didn't realize prey animals were capable of speech."

you crane your neck, ready to snap at him, but you don't get the chance too.

in a single motion, jing yuan has you thrown over his shoulder. blood rushes too quickly to all of the places it shouldn't be. you feel dizzy with it and whine and sputter with it.

jing yuan doesn't yield, only laughs again, and gives your bottom a few firm (very firm) pats. you gulp.

(lucidly remembering the other details you revealed to jing yuan in the bath that night. all of the filthiest bits of your fantasies. jing yuan hardly had to ply you for them.)

and jing yuan is a strategist. you should have known he would use this new information advantageously against you in such a way.

as you enter his manor, heart still pounding, palms clammy, and feeling like a rabbit in the jaws of a lion, you feel foolish and turned on all once. jing yuan so easily catches you off guard when he chooses. he so easily undoes you, puts you in a place of his choosing and let's you fester there just enough that he can remedy it— either with sweetness or, as he now so adeptly showing you, with something an edge darker.

you gulp, light-headed.

[meiluu]

Dreamin’ about cowboys

Tyler Owens / Reader(Female) cw: SMUT 18+, FLUFF, domestic, pregnancy. a.n: no joke after I came home from watching the new twisters movie I took a nap and had one of the most vivid dreams about being pregnant on a cute cottage/farmhouse while being cuddled by Glen Powell/Tyler Owens. So uh, that’s the main inspo for this, give thanks to my weird but amazing subconsciousness.

*not edited, sorry for any mistakes*

The warm rays of sunlight kept you comfortably cozy while you sat in a rocking chair on your front porch, nursing some homemade sweet tea. And there making his way to you was your handsome cowboy. Cheeks flushed from the rush of adrenaline he’d gotten while chasing his latest tornado. Signature smile across his face as he quickly made his way up the steps of your beautiful home.

With a bit of difficulty you’re able to get up and meet him halfway. Strong and familiar arms wrap themselves around you, Tyler’s stubble tickling your neck as he buries himself into your embrace. “Missed you, how’re my girls doin’” pulling away, Tyler’s warm and calloused hand gently cups your rounded stomach, softly caressing the bump.

“Oh you know, constantly hungry for the weirdest of things and aching in places I didn’t know I could ache in.” Your words elicit a laugh out of the cowboy. “But besides all of that, we're good. Just missed you.” Reaching a hand up to his stubbly cheek pressing a kiss to his warm skin. One of his hands linger on the small of your back while the other pushes a rebellious piece of hair behind your ear, gently cupping your cheek. Leaning down to you, lips meeting your own. Your heart flutters within your chest, no matter how many times you kissed it still felt like your first time. Mouths dancing together, your hands reach up to tug on his soft wind tussled hair. A soft groan rumbles from within his chest, and as your kisses deepen Tyler is quickly lifting you off your feet so effortlessly.

House memorized like the back of his hand, he makes his way to your shared bedroom. Setting you down with the utmost care on the plush comforter below. Pulling away from your mouth, you watch as Tyler leans back a stares at you. Jade green eyes roam over your figure, "God its like you get more and more beautiful everyday." His words are nothing but honest, full of adoration for you. You feel your cheeks blush at his words, upon seeing your pink cheeks a mischievous smirk makes its way onto his gorgeous face. Rough hands caress your body's newfound curves making their way to the front of your simple milkmaid dress. Undoing the little bow keeping your breasts from spilling out.

The soft fabric gives way and is pushed aside by Tyler's hands, leaning back down he kisses every inch of skin within reach. Leaving behind little love bites for you to admire in the mirror tomorrow morning. Making his way up your chest, to your neck then taking your sweet lips back to his. His hands continue to lovingly massage your sides, paying extra attention to your hips that spend all day holding and cradling your baby girl.

One hand wonders downward, going underneath the skirt of your dress going right where you need him most. Pulling off your panties, throwing them over the side of the bed. A whimper tumbles from your kiss swollen lips as Tyler begins to swirl your clit, fingers gathering your embarrassing amount of slick. Then he is sinking a finger inside, then two. Your left hand tangles into the comforter while your other tightly grips onto Tyler's arm that still dutifully holding onto your waist.

"Tyler, I need you." you can't help the desperation within your voice. "I know baby, but I gotta stretch you out first." a needy whine leaves you at his words, a pout forming onto your lips. And its takes everything within Tyler to not immediately give into you. But it wouldn't be long before he'd have you moaning and panting out his name as he gave you everything you wanted.

Fingers rubbing up against your sensitive walls, curling up perfectly to hit the one spot within you that has you keening out in pleasure. A soft groan leaves Tyler as your walls clamp down upon his fingers, a telltale sign that you were close. "Come on baby, need you to cum around my fingers. Then I'm all yours." Voice husky with strained lust.

Tyler watches with rapt attention as your hips grind down onto his hand, fingers going in and out of your pretty cunt. The noises from your squelching cunt fills the air around you, accompanied by your breathy moans and Tyler's muffled groans. You feel that all too familiar heat creeping down your spine, twisting that metaphorical ball of pleasure that sits so heavily down past your navel. Then not a moment later are you baring down upon Tyler's fingers cunt clenching rhythmically around him as he continues to fuck his fingers into your spasming cunt.

Tyler watches as your breathing slowly evens out as your come down from your high, then he's slowly pulling his fingers from you. Then he's tearing off his clothes carelessly discarding them to the side, with nothing left to take off he helps you out of your dress. Crawling up to where his face is right above yours, muscled arms boxing in your head. You can feel his body heat radiating off of him, shielding you from the chill from your bedroom.

"Ty please."

"I know baby, I know."

Green eyes watch as his precum covered cock, sinks into you. Eyes rolling back into his head at the euphoric feeling of your warm and wet cunt that welcomes him so perfectly. Hips picking up into a deep and measured pace, perfect for pushing those heavenly moans from your lips while also giving just the right amount of pleasure to both of you. Your hands abandon the comforter to latch onto Tyler's strong back, relishing in the warmth he brings as you fingers feel his muscles tighten beneath your palms. Tyler lets his head fall to rest right beside your ear, filling your head with his filthy words and noises.

"Always take me so well."

"Just like that baby."

"Fuck, baby can you hear just how wet you are?"

Each husky phrase that tumbles from his mouth has you arching your back up into him, legs wrapping tightly around his waist. With every thrust in and out of you, your cunt squeezes down on him trying to keep him in. Your sweet sounds of pleasure ring through Tyler's ears, lighting a trail of white hot pleasure down his spine leading down towards his heavy balls that are just begging to fill you up. As if you weren't already pregnant, if Tyler could he'd get you pregnant again. Seeing you so beautiful with your belly swollen with your baby had lit an insatiable fire within him that would probably never be snuffed out. You were always breathtakingly gorgeous but when you had gotten pregnant it was game over, Tyler didn't know you could get more stunning and yet you always prove him wrong.

"Ty- I'm close." a moan interrupts your words halfway through saying them, but good thing Tyler knew your body just as well as you and could already feel your cunt getting tighter and tighter as you neared your second orgasm of the night. "I'm right there with you." rushing his words out as he groans out as you tighten up again around him. One of Tylers hands leaves its spot beside your head quickly bringing it down to swirl your clit, not a moment later are you falling in bliss as you cum hard around Tyler's still pistoning cock. A waterfall of curses leaves Tyler as feels himself swell then cum just right behind you. Warmth fills your lower belly as Tyler continues to slowly grind into you, riding out both of your highs, eventually coming to a stop.

Your eyes hazy with leftover pleasure watch as Tylers sculpted body rises, watching him watch as his spend dribbles out of you as he pulls his softening cock from you. Pupils blown wide as a hearty groan fills the space around you both. The vision in front of him is seared into his mind, and he'd make sure of it. His eyes take in you flushed face that traveled to the tops of your swollen breasts, kiss bitten skin, tussled hair, you were a fuckin vision he'd spend the rest of his life admiring.

Giving you a sweet kiss, he announces that he's going to the bathroom. A little while later does he come back with a warm wash cloth, with gentle hands does he wipe you down. Getting you comfortable in bed, he grabs one of his large pj shirts for you and a pair of boxers for himself. Grabbing you, Tyler tucks you beneath his chin as your face rest against his chest. Sleep quickly lulls you both under, as the moon rise higher into the night sky.

As the sun peaks above the horizon are you waking up, your little one seeming hellbent on rising along with the sun. Shuffling with sleepiness still clinging to you, you head to the bathroom then back into your bedroom. Pulling on some panties and a loose pair of shorts, muffling a laugh at the utter disarray you and Tyler left behind last night. Somehow your cowboys boxers had ended up hanging off your vanity, deciding to just leave it there, knowing that when he woke up he'd get a good laugh out of it.

With soft footsteps you head towards the kitchen, prepping up a cup of warm tea. Something you've had to switch to while being pregnant, no coffee until after giving birth. Once the your warm cup is in your hands do you head out back to your couch swing that Tyler had set up last spring. Settling down into the soft cushions, watching as the sun begins to rise higher and higher above the horizon. When you're halfway done with your cup do you hear Tylers footsteps making their way to you. Turning your head, you can't help the wide smile that pulls at your cheeks. Tylers hair looks like a tornado has hit it, clad in some baggy sweatpants. "Good mornin'." his voice is still husky with sleep, "Good morning." Your eyes follow him has he sits down next to you, then he's pulling you into his lap wrapping you up in his embrace. Snuggling deeper into his warmth, you both sit in the quiet of the early morning watching as the sun announces to the world that a new day has started. And you wouldn't wanna be anywhere but right here in your home with the man that you love with all your being right next you. With a warm and protective hand caressing your baby pump, your daughter fluttering beneath the familiar hand of her daddy.

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘’𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

and their wives were asked the mostly random places where they did it.

pairing: husband! alhaitham, cyno, kaedehara kazuha, kaveh, lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley x fem! reader(s)

cw: they're just talking about places they had/have sex. mdi. not beta-read.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 (𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐔) 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

𝐍𝐕!𝐖: His main seat in the court at the Opera Epiclese. We also do it in his office but Neuvi prefers to do it at home... Although I must say that in our dating days, there wasn't a single room in our house that hadn't remained... untouchable.

𝐖𝐑!𝐖: Our office. Whenever we can, of course. We've fucked several times at some expeditions to the abandoned zone of ​​the fortress as well. We were never caught. But if we're going to talk about our most unusual experiences, I can only think of the memorable time Wrio pressed me against the wall behind Wolsey's cafeteria during dinner time. We had to silence one of the guards that night.

𝐍𝐕!𝐖: My my. That's so scandalous. I like that.

𝐊𝐙!𝐖: During my husband's pirate days, we used to escape to the crow's nest a lot. If there were some goods to be transported, he’d pull me behind its boxes. I have to say that living a nomadic life taught me to overcome the fear and shyness of having sex outdoors and enjoy the excitement the environment provides. Liyue has some perfect hiding spots for this. 

𝐊𝐕!𝐖: I agree. Although I haven't had any crazy adventures like you, I must say that it was quite thrilling to seduce Kaveh while we stayed at my sister's Jade Chamber. She had given us the suite with the biggest balcony and… well… You can imagine what happened after that. The height and high exposure help to increase the adrenaline. 

𝐂𝐘!𝐖: Now I understand why you guys have such exhibitionist nighttime adventures. Thank you for enlightening us, my dear. But anyway. Just like our dear friend Lady Kaedehara, it isn’t uncommon for Cyno and I to have our intimate moments outdoors since we travel to the desert quite often. You can say that we already know the right caves and ruins where we can make it without getting caught in any inconvenience. However, my favorite adventure of ours would be that one where I rode him in the Grand Sage’s office. 

𝐊𝐕!𝐖: Damn girl, you are just as shameless if not more than me. 

𝐀𝐇!𝐖: I'd say the two of you are more similar with each other than you let on. Well, you see, Alhaitham prefers to have sex in environments where we won't be caught much less interrupted. That doesn't mean we haven't had our intimate moments outside of our bedroom, of course. I think the most frequented ones in this regard would be his office, my classroom, and the restricted book aisle in the House of Daena. Oh, and there was also that time we escaped out of the tavern to somewhere outdoors when we had that group dinner. 

𝐊𝐕!𝐖: I told you she wasn't feeling sick. 

𝐂𝐘!𝐖: It surprises me how you can say such filthy things with that innocent face of yours. 

𝐖𝐑!𝐖: And you, my dear? I believe that Lyney is a very romantic partner just because of the way he looks at you. 

𝐋𝐍!𝐖: He is. Although he is also a little… unpredictable. I believe it won't even surprise you if I say that we've fucked several times behind the stage or in our dressing room. Plus, Lyney likes to eat me out in places we visit for the first time so not even the office at his Father's orphanage escaped that. 

𝐍𝐕!𝐖: My goodness. Appearances really can be deceiving. 

𝐋𝐍!𝐖: Tell me about it. I couldn't have a proper conversation with his Father for an entire month without remembering her showing up at her own office and finding her son with his head between her daughter-in-law's thighs. 

𝐊𝐙!𝐖: Her? 

𝐋𝐍!𝐖: Long story short his father is a woman. 

𝐀𝐇!𝐖: Interesting.

𝐖𝐑!𝐖: Well. Needless to say we're having a pleasant talk here. I must say though that we had some very unusual experiences and others full of twists. I think we should make a toast. To our passionate adventures and for those yet to come!

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒

𝐖𝐑: The girls are quite noisy today, huh.

𝐂𝐘: Definitely they are. What do you think they're giggling about? 

𝐊𝐕 & 𝐊𝐙: You'd rather not know.

[merakiui]

wait wait wait wait gimme a sec……big bad wolf Jade and Red Riding Hood reader 😳 going to visit your granny but ending up banged and stuffed by this big wolf guy (maybe even +hunter Floyd)

AAAAAAA OTL OTL down tremendously bad for wolf Jade,,,, so scummy…… such a silver-tongued wolf, trying to tempt and stray you from your path to grandmother’s house. >_< he’s so hungry, you see. :< won’t you find some kindness in your heart to stop and lend him something sweet from your basket? That jar of homemade strawberry marmalade looks particularly delicious. :) but you rip it away from his clawed hands and insist that you must be on your way, for your grandmother is expecting you. He smiles like he understands and he doesn’t follow you, but you can’t stop looking over your shoulder the rest of the way.

Can you truly blame a ravenous wolf for making a meal out of your grandmother? You make it to her small cottage to find a smattering of blood soaking the walls of her bedroom, staining the wallpaper, the linen sheets, everything in sight. And who should be waiting for you, licking that same blood from his fingers, but that terrible wolf!!!! It truly is a shame, he tells you, for if you had just shown him an ounce of pity he’d have left perfectly satisfied. Alas, he’s still craving something sweet and you smell very appetizing, even more so when you try to flee. <3

Maybe you’re a virgin,,, the village sweetheart praised for being so pure and kindhearted. You don’t quite look like one anymore, though, with your tear-streaked expression and the way your lips have been bitten and bruised from so many hungry kisses. orz he could be merciful and kill you here, but then he wouldn’t have the chance to savor this sweet treat.

Thick wolf cock bullying its way into your tight pussy….. claws scraping at the pudgy flesh of your hips and inner thighs, drawing pinpricks of blood that make you wince and cry out. His thumb grinding harshly against your clit,, a slobbering, bloodstained mouth at your throat, whether to taste your pulse or rip out your jugular with those sharp teeth of his. And such big, calloused hands—big enough to grab you and slam you back down on his knot when you try to escape, pinning you there so you can take all of him inside.

It’s just too much for your little womb to handle, but it satisfies the wolf and his big, bad appetite for fragile things like you. You’re lucky enough to escape with your life, but you can’t say the same for the rest of you. :( you’re only given the opportunity to escape because he allows it—and there’s some lesson to be learned about being kind and generous to those less fortunate, or whatever he’s pretending to be—because he expects to cross paths with you again, and surely then he’ll take what he believes to be his.

And hunter Floyd….. maybe he’s also a wolf, but he likes living amongst humans in this quaint village, so he’s taken to disguising himself. Hiding his ears under a hat or hooded cloak. Stuffing his bushy tail away so no one sees it. Taking care not to show off his teeth so much, or else overly suspicious townsfolk might start crying wolf. Hunting the other beasts in the forest is no problem for him, and the villagers absolutely adore him and his silly, boyish charms.

But Floyd only has eyes for Little Red, and ever since you returned to the village a right mess, tattered, crimson cloak barely covering anything, and looking like you’ve just tussled (and lost) with quite the formidable monster it’s given him an opening to cozy up to you. He’ll hunt the beast who slaughtered your grandmother! You needn’t fear.

Unfortunately, Floyd isn’t the strongest man wolf, and it’s getting harder to do everything the human way when the wolf way is so much easier, if not particularly brutal. But he’ll endure and he’ll be patient because when he takes down that beast you’ll appreciate his efforts and sheer loyalty, and maybe then you’ll stop scoffing every time he tries to strike up flirty conversation with you. Maybe you’ll finally take him seriously and see him as a man wolf worthy of your love.

[princessbrunette]

Step bro John b got me thinking, what if John b didn’t take up the offer to bone his step sis because he is too much of a problem solver to create more problems so jj gives her what she wants, fucking her realll good he would so be like “John b is mean huh? Doesn’t wanna take care of his lil sis” while balls deep inside you. His so pervy

ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິ王女୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

“somethin’ bout this bein’ a secret really turns you on, huh?” jj winces, voice low and husky in your ear as he grinds his dick through your walls, all but dropping his weight on you in your bedroom. john b was off chasing some lead across the water, stupidly leaving jj to ‘keep an eye on you’ as if you were the troublemaker out of the two.

jj had wanted to be a good friend, but the opportunity presented itself — being you walking around a bikini top and the tiniest skirt to mankind, and unlike john b jj wasn’t one to waste perfectly good pussy being dangled right below his nose.

which is how you ended up with him inside you, unable to resist his charms. “just wanted to feel good, jayj.” you mewl, voice trembling with each fast and sudden thrust of his hips, drilling into you. by instinct, you throw a hand back to push against his tummy and he lightly smacks it out the way.

“move that hand, mama. you wanted this.” he drawls, that charming southern twang making your walls flutter around the shaft that you had glossed with your arousal.

“are—are you g’nna tell john b?” you whine, and to be honest — you’re not sure what you want the answer to be. you keep this little rendezvous to yourself and stay turned on by the idea of being a sexy little secret — or you face the consequences of a jealous and jaded step brother, who could potentially take that frustration out on you. you always did find possessiveness sexy.

“hey i’m not a snitch.” he adjusts his hands, one arm sliding beneath your stomach to hoist your ass up a little higher, the other hand coming to affectionately wrap around your throat. he presses a kiss to your jaw and his lips linger there as he stills inside you. “unless, like… you want me to tell him. in which case you’re naughtier than i gave you credit for.”

you groan, wriggling until he got the message and helped flip you on to your back. he didn’t let you off easy though, pinning your knees up onto your chest leaving you spread and exposed. instead of getting shy, you giggle, almost evil and doll-like which only approves his suspicions about you being quite the little nympho. “but we’re doing such a bad thing, jj.” you bat your eyelashes, faux innocent and he smirks at the audacity, licking the cut at the corner of his mouth.

“look, all i know is john b sent me over here to look after his little step-sister,” he explains as he lines himself back up with your needy hole and pushes back in, making your face twist in pleasure. “and that’s exactly,” he punctuates with a hard thrust that bounces you off the bed. “what— i’m— doing.”

ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິ王女୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

[moonwalkingprincess]

The red top

Summary: You slept with Marhall and in the morning, you meet the ray of sunshine: Kim Mathers.

Y/N wakes up in a messy room, the sheets are a tangled mess and her clothes are scattered everywhere. She stretches out her right arm to the empty side, then opens her eyes. Marshall isn’t there. She sighs. But then she catches a glimpse of a post-it note on the nightstand. She picks it up and reads, “I’m so not a chef, so I went to buy breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Y/N smiles and gets up to explore. She tries to find her clothes. She lies down and sees a glimpse of red fabric on the floor. She picks it up—it’s torn up, lying on the ground. She blushes, remembering why... Marshall had ripped it and kissed and licked over her chest... She’s interrupted by the doorbell. She finds one of his shirts in his drawer and throws on the first one she finds. She also grabs her leather pants that aren't torn and puts them on.

She rushes out of the bedroom and takes in the view of his place. He lives in a gigantic penthouse. His penthouse was huge. There are no walls, only windows with a view of New York City. She heads toward the door and opens it. Her eyes widen when she sees it’s not Marshall. There are two little girls, around 8 or 10 years old. They look pretty alike. One of them looks a little older, though. Behind them stands a blonde woman, glaring at Y/N.

“Who are you?” she hisses.

“Uhh...” Y/N stutters.

“Hey!” says one of the daughters. “I’m Hailey. What’s your name?” she asks. Y/N realizes who they are and gasps. This is Hailey Jade, the one Marshall wrote ‘Mockingbird’ about?

"Oh my gosh, you're THE Hailey?" y/n said full of excitement looking at the famous girl infront of her. "Yeah yeah yeah, this is the girl he wrote Mockingbird for, can we come in? Or not?" asked Kim, trying her best to act kind.

“Uhh, yeah, come in,” y/n says, letting them in.

“Girls, go to your rooms and unpack. Mommy wants to have a talk with your dad’s friend,” says the woman to the girls, giving y/n a smile that sent a shiver to her spine. The girls ran upstairs and y/n heard the door shut.

“What are you doing in my husband’s penthouse, wearing his shirt?” the woman asks. y/n has never met her before, but this gotta be Kim.

Y/N scoffs, “He's not your husband anymore,” y/n says. She makes a face.

“We’re separated,” She says. “We were supposed to try to make things work, Hailey’s sake.”

Y/N raises her eyebrow and nods. “You really tried when you cheated,” she says. The woman looks like she’s about to attack her, but just then, Marshall walks in. His hands are full of bags from a bakery, and his mouth holds a holder with two coffee cups.

Y/N goes and takes the coffee cups from his mouth, and his face turns red. Y/N could feel the tension shift. It was suffocating. The woman stood with her arms crossed, lips curled in a scowl, her eyes scanning Y/N from head to toe with nothing but contempt.

”What are you doing here, Kim?” He asks. Yep it is Kim.

"Dropping of our girls” Kim spat, stepping further into the penthouse. "Like what the hell marshall? You bring some random girl into your home while the girls are visiting? Are you serious right now?"

Marshall scoffed, setting the bags of food on the counter. "First of all, Y/N isn’t some random girl." His eyes darkened as he turned to face Kim, his jaw tightening. "She grew up next to me. We went to high school together. You just never noticed her because she wasn’t getting high all the time."

Kim looked at Y/N for confirmation, and she nodded. Kim let out a sigh. "Oh, don’t start with that holier-than-thou bullshit. What happened with trying to fix things for Hailey’s sake?"

"Fix things?" Marshall let out a bitter laugh. "You mean pretend everything was fine while you fucked other guys? Yeah, real solid effort, Kim."

Kim stepped closer, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper, though the venom in her tone was unmistakable. "You weren’t exactly the perfect husband either. You were gone all the time, locked in the studio, drowning in your own demons. What was I supposed to do, Marshall? Just sit around and wait while you self-destructed?"

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling with controlled anger. "Yeah, well, at least I owned up to my shit. What did you do"

Kim let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, congratulations! You want a medal for finally getting your act together? Meanwhile, you’re still making the same damn mistakes."

A movement in the hallway caught Y/N’s eye. She turned her head slightly, and her stomach dropped when she saw Hailey and Alaina standing there, watching the fight with wide, nervous eyes. Y/N took a step forward, attempting to defuse the situation.

"Guys, stop. The girls can hear you," she said softly.

Kim’s head snapped toward her, her glare cutting like a knife. "Ohhh, now you’re the parenting expert?" She took a slow, taunting step toward Y/N. "What, you think you’re a better mom than me now?"

Marshall’s entire body tensed beside her. He stood in front of y/n. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Don’t. You. Dare. Touch. her."

Kim smirked. "Oh I hit a nerve there." She was smiling now.

Marshall inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as he tried to keep his composure. Finally, he exhaled and spoke in an eerily calm voice.

"Get out, Kim. Now."

Kim scoffed, grabbing her purse. "You’re pathetic, Marshall. Just wait till Hailey sees you for what you really are."

Marshall’s expression didn’t change, but his voice turned ice-cold. "Oh yeah, that's why she's begging to come and stay at my place all the time. Wondering why she doesn't like your place." he said.

Kim stormed toward the door, yanking it open so hard it nearly slammed against the wall before she disappeared down the hall.

The silence left behind was deafening. Marshall dragged a hand down his face before turning to his daughters. "You girls okay?" His voice had softened, losing all of its previous edge.

Hailey nodded but frowned. "Why do you always fight?"

Y/N knelt beside them, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Sometimes grown-ups don’t get along, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you."

Alaina looked up at her dad. "Dad, are you okay?"

Marshall forced a small smile, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, kiddo. I’m good. Let’s eat."

Y/N followed them to the dining area, relieved that the tension had finally passed. As they sat down, Marshall’s gaze landed on her, his expression softening.

"By the way," he said, smirking slightly, "where’s that top you were wearing yesterday?"

Y/N arched an eyebrow at him, casually taking a sip of her coffee. "You tore it. Remember?"

"oh yeah" he said as he gave her a big smirk. Hailey tilted her head curiously. "Why did you tear her shirt, Dad?"

His entire body stiffened. Eyes wide, he looked at Y/N like a deer caught in headlights.

Y/N grinned "He’s dumb. That’s why." she said dipping her spoon into the whipped cream on her plate before flicking a dollop onto his face.

The girls started to laugh. Marshall smirked. He leaned in to kiss Y/N, but she quickly pulled back, laughing. "No," she protested, giggling, trying to protest by stopping him with her arms. Marshall smirked at her attempt to stop him, grabbed her arms and put them away and pressed a kiss to her lips anyway.

"Marshall!" Y/N squealed, pulling back with a gasp. The girls laughter filled the room. She wiped her cheek, now covered in whipped cream. "I told you no!"

He just laughed, being pleased with himself. "Too late," he teased. Alaina leaned closer to Hailey and whispered with a grin, "I really like her."

Hailey giggled and nodded. "Me too."

Masterlist

[nighttime-horrors]

☼︎ Long Nights ☼︎

⊹ฺ Characters: Nathan Prescott (Life is Strange)

⊹ฺ Contains: 18+ Nathan and Reader; Fluff; (Very obvious) Allusion to bondage; Can be read platonically; Set before/within the events of Life is Strange (pre-storm); Short and sweet; SFW; 666 words

⊹ฺ Note: A result of nostalgia and encouragement. I hope you guys enjoy it. ♡

(While it is SFW, I have an MDNI on just for the bondage involved.)

— ♡ Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI! ♡ —

God, he's beautiful.

Stood before you, fiddling with a tripod and his camera, was Nathan Prescott. He was a troubled boy, who, ultimately and deep down, had a good heart. In many ways, he was a stereotypical, douchy, rich boy, flaunting his father's wealth and influence as though it were his own. By some miracle, though, you were able to see through that.

It wasn't immediate by any means. The walls that Nathan had built around himself were monumental. He was jaded and temperamental because the world had taught him that he had no other choice; to Nathan, people didn't want to know him to know him, but rather what they could gain from him. So many or his responses were defensive and reactionary with his mental health being an added contributor.

But with you, right now, in his dorm room, that wasn't the case. Most times with you, being defensive and angry weren't the case. Right now was different, though. There were multiple things that were contributing to Nathan's state of calm; remembering to take his meds, being in his bedroom (the only safe place he had to lose it), and you, sitting pretty on his bed.

There were a few little clicks from the tripod, and likely smaller ones from buttons or dials that you couldn't hear or understand before Nathan looked back at you from over his camera. The lighting in his room was dim, but you knew there was something in his eyes when he looked at you. You could feel it. The intensity of it all was almost dizzying. You knew that even with how he was studying the way you looked through the camera for his shots, you knew he was also focused on all of the details of your body. Every roll, freckle, out of place hair– anything you may or may not deem to be perfect.

Taking himself away from the camera, Nathan came to stand in front of you. He seemed so imposing in that moment, all big and covered in shadows. The shadows somehow added to his intimidation factor. It was something you often forgot was possible – Nathan Prescott being able to somehow be more imposing than he already was.

You supposed that was your fault, though. You were caught in a strange position of being able to actually perceive Nathan. While he showed himself to be cocky and in control, you have seen him be the exact opposite. And even though Nathan seemed so scary as he loomed over you, there was still a sense of calm around him. The only thing that had you shake was anticipation. You didn't know his next move and you couldn't deny the excitement whirling in your stomach.

One of his hands came up to sit on the top of your head for a moment. A soft gesture that made your cheeks heat up, a small smile pulling at your lips. That same hand then slid down your cheek to softly cup your jaw, carefully moving your head to different positions and you giggled. You didn't know if it was meant to be silly, but you certainly thought it was. You earned an amused scoff.

"You're so weird." Nathan stated, crouching down in front of you so he could look at the ropes skillfully wrapped around your wrists.

"Just for you." You smiled, watching him as he checked his work. Fingers moved between the rope and your skin, making sure nothing was too tight, double-checking the knots he made.

He cupped your face again, making you look down at him. "You ready?"

You take in an excited breath, suddenly remembering why you were there in Nathan's bedroom and all tied up. Like you were back in your body again, after completely letting go for him. You were only present enough to answer him, though. "Yeah." Your eyes followed Nathan as he pushed himself back up to go back to his camera, a wide grin threatening to hurt your face.

[pearlessance]

32:1 - Idle Threats [x]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel builds the heaven you've granted him.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap(32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot, themes of forgiveness

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

Blessed is he whose disobedience is forgiven.

Ellie stays at the farmhouse for the first couple of weeks and Joel’s grateful for it. The two of you get along so well that he can even hear you both laughing in the front yard from the bedrooms upstairs. And Joel knows you need it; the laughter, the company, the distraction. 

Because every night, he holds you in the bed you’d taken from Jackson and lets you cry into his shoulder over your loss. 

Maria’s decided to let the both of you come and go from the commune as you please, but she refuses to say a single word to you. It’s her who gives the silent treatment, now. And although you’re aware the traumatic bond the two of you formed is better off severed, Joel knows it must hurt regardless.

“She was all I had for such a long time,” you whisper into his shoulder on the fourth night. “I know it’s for the best but I…I miss her is all.” 

Joel helps you through it as best as he can. He listens to you whenever you’re ready and willing to speak, and remains patient with you when you grow angry and lash out at him over small things that don’t truly matter. 

“It’s okay to miss her,” he says gently. “But I’ll never let her hurt you again. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, little girl.”

You and Ellie get the front porch fixed up and find a set of old, rickety rocking chairs in the attic in the barn. Ellie paints a meadow of lavender on the freshly painted white siding. She’s showing Joel all the small details, the stems that alternate between the colors of jade and emerald, telling him how she’d painted it first in blue to set the undertone when a familiar truck pulls up the long driveway with a trailer hitched to the back. 

Tommy is a welcome sight, in truth. Because the house needs a lot of work and his brother’s hands will cut the time in half. But, more importantly, his presence will cut Joel’s stress in half, too.

Still, he catches the way you look at the passenger side of the truck with hopeful eyes and watches your face fall when you notice it’s empty.

Tommy hugs you and Ellie and lets out a deep sigh when he wraps his arms around Joel’s shoulders and claps him on the back. “Good to see you, brother,” he says. And it is. “Brought y’all some things. Come take a look.”

The trailer is packed full and so is the back of his truck. You and Ellie tear into its contents, giggling all the while. Most of it came from the white house on the corner in Jackon, Joel knows. Most of it’s yours.

Not much work gets done on the first day. Joel and Tommy work on carrying in the heavier stuff; the weathered, handmade dresser, the round mahogany table with matching chairs, and the box full of kitchen utensils and towels. Joel’s most excited about the generator, though. They bring it out back and vow to hook it up first thing tomorrow morning.

The four of you split the two rabbits Joel caught in his snares and you and Ellie throw strands of pasta at the wall to ‘check if it’s cooked,’ but Joel thinks it’s just for your own amusement because the both of you laugh maniacally every time it sticks to the wallpaper.

You eat together and laugh together and for the first time, Joel feels warm. He feels whole. Complete.

After you and Ellie both go to bed, it’s just Joel and his little brother sitting at the table. Tommy stares hard at the glass of iced tea in his hands and says, “I know it’s, uh…I know it’s just a short drive, an’ Ellie’s got the guest room but is it cool if I crash on the couch for a while?”

It feels like old times. Feels like before. Joel knows there’s something left unsaid in Tommy’s words but thinks he might already know. It’s not his place to force the words out of him, though. So Joel just nods and says, “You’re always welcome to it. You know that.”

“Maria an’ I…we talked. She, uh…told me what happened. Told me the full truth. About what he…what he did to…”

“You see now, don’t you? Why I couldn't let it go on? Why I couldn’t let Maria look at her like that? She didn’t do anything wrong, Tommy. Compared to what we’ve done…she’s innocent.”

An innocent little girl who’s only ever harmed those who’ve harmed her first. Self-defense isn’t malice. It’s not rage or wrath. It’s a learned trait, a taught skill.

Tommy nods slowly and takes a sip from his glass. “I, uhm…need a place to crash for a few days. Some space.”

“Like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

When he crawls into bed that night, Joel holds you extra tightly. Because the moment he snakes his arms around your waist and you turn to face him, your eyes well up with tears as you say, “She’s only sending him with my stuff, Joel. She’s trying to erase me like I never mattered.”

He didn’t see it at first and is a little surprised to admit it. But hearing the words come from your mouth clears the fog in his brain because you’re right. Joel can see the subtle stroke of manipulation when he imagines that house in Jackson you lived in for so long, sitting empty. 

There’s nothing he can do but hold you and let you cry and promise it will be okay, so he does. He tells you he’s here with you, reminds you that you’re a person and not some mistake made on paper, reminds you you’re not erasable. But when your breath evens out and you fall asleep, Joel leaves the bed to open the window for some fresh air to soothe the anger that rises up in him. 

Still, even miles away, even after this big, impactful change of life, Maria has still managed to hurt you in a fresh way. Joel knows he can’t protect you from everything. Knows that being hurt is inevitable, but he wishes so badly that he could take it all on for you. Shoulder the burden to ease your strain.

He’s only just begun creating this life with you and already he begins to wonder if he’s failing. If he’s already failed.

Joel hears your bare feet pad across the creaky wooden floor seconds before he feels the palm of your hand against his spine. You slide your fingers gently beneath his t-shirt and the touch grounds him, brings him back, reminds him he’s doing what he can and that it’s enough. Reminds him that no matter where he goes or what he does, you’re with him. 

His.

You press your cheek to his shoulder and he turns to pull you in close. When you tilt your head back to look up at him, he knows what you’re asking for, knows what you want. He presses his mouth to yours and thinks you taste like sleep and sunshine and solace.

He finds his own sort of peace in your body, in the way you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper, in the way you press your lips to his shoulder to quiet your moans. He tells you he loves you while he’s deep inside you and knows without a single doubt that you’re the one salvation he’ll ever be allowed but knows, too, the sin of taking you has been worth it.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to the rhythm of your heartbeat. He can feel the steady thump, thump, thump through your sternum that’s pressed up against his ribcage. The vibration of your mercy, your clemency, your forgiveness reaches down to his bones. 

Tommy stays for seventeen days. 

They finish repainting the siding, fix up the plumbing and electrical, patch the holes in the drywall, repair the gate in the back yard, build a water system connected to the river in the woods, and start cleaning out the barn in preparation for livestock. 

You and Ellie make a run to an abandoned hardware store for gardening tools and return with an entire stockpile of seeds and rakes and hand-sized tillers. The two of you are mapping out the size of the garden when Tommy says to Joel in the back of the barn, “Been a long time since I’ve seen that look on your face, man.”

He knows exactly what he means but asks anyway. “What look?”

Joel follows his brother’s gaze that lands on you. He watches, in complete awe of you, as you throw your arm around Ellie’s shoulders and smear the dirt on your forehead against her cheek. She’s laughing and trying to push you away and all Joel can do is smile, feeling himself settle, feeling roots growing from his feet into the very ground he stands on.

Tommy shrugs and uses his shovel to lift more stale hay into the wheelbarrow. “Since I’ve seen you happy.”

At first, the urge arises in him to argue with his brother on this. But then he realizes that Tommy’s right—because Joel has never felt anything like this before. Never changed his course so dramatically to make room for someone else in it.

Not since Sarah was born. Not since he met Ellie.

He swallows and says with his eyes focused on the rake in his hands, “I see so much of myself in her at times. Angry at the world, at what it’s become. She might not remember things like they were before but she’s had to go through hard lessons like we all do and it’s made her do cruel things. Violent, even. That’s not the only thing she is, though. Never been the only thing she is.”

Tommy stares at his brother for several seconds without saying a word. And then he confesses, “Never thought she was in the wrong about it, y’know. About Thomas. But I wasn’t…uh, I wasn’t there. When it all happened, you know. Can’t say much about somethin’ I didn’t know much about. But with what I do know now, I can’t say I’d do anythin’ different. If it were…I mean, if it were our Sarah. If it were Ellie, you know?”

The sound of her name feels less like a knife these days. He finds instead it feels good to hear it, feels like remembering, like healing. And though Tommy doesn’t say the words directly, he understands what his brother’s trying to say. Knows Tommy, too, would kill the man who tried to harm an innocent little girl.

Joel thinks about those men in the warehouse. Thinks about what he would do if it were you in your sister’s place and knows he would’ve killed Thomas even slower than you had. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

Ellie returns to Jackson with Tommy a few days later. It’s a bittersweet moment, in truth. Because Joel knows she needs to do this, needs to get out on her own, become her own person now that she has someplace safe to do so. But he can’t deny the urge that rises up in him to ask her to stay.

He doesn’t, though. He lets her go, knowing she’s safe in Tommy’s hands, knowing she’s safe because Joel taught her to take care of herself. He has full faith in Ellie and he has full faith in the two of you.

There’s still a lot of work to be done. Seeds to plant, rooms to clean out, wiring to the generator, walls to paint and pictures to hang. The two of you settle into a routine.

Somehow, you’re always awake before Joel. And every morning he makes his way downstairs to find you sitting on the porch with a warm cup of tea in your hand and the sunlight casting shadows on your face. You always smile when you see him and stand to your feet to give him your chair. 

There are two of them, but only one ever gets truly used. You sit in Joel’s lap, and he holds you and the two of you talk about your plans for the day. You’ve been working tirelessly in the garden, hanging flowers and herbs to dry over the porch railing, making lists of canning supplies to pick up from Jackson or on your next run. Joel’s been repairing the barn, sawing down trees in the forest and rebuilding cracked beams to restabilize the structure.

On one morning in particular, you let him sip from your cup and say softly, “Thank you.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw and wraps his arms a little tighter around your waist. “For what, sweetheart?”

“This,” you reply. “For the home we’ve built. For…I don’t know. For you.”

“Me?” He doesn’t understand, but he tries to.

“Just for being who you are. For loving me still. Thank you.”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know that it’s ever been a choice for him. Joel thinks he’s loved you since the moment he’d first laid eyes on you, thinks it was always meant to be his fate to find you. “I always will,” he promises. And he means it.

When the barn is fixed Joel builds you a greenhouse. 

You’re more than happy to assist him when needed, and listen to him talk about this, that and the other. Once, without even realizing, he talks to you about how drywall is made and why it’s sometimes called gypsum board or sheetrock for an entire afternoon. You don’t complain, not even once, and he wonders why but then realizes he’d let you talk about anything under the sun for an entire afternoon, too. 

In June, Ellie and Tommy visit and they bring guests. In the back of the truck is Bonnie and her son Sam, as well as Greg, Mike who has a ziploc bag of coffee grounds,  and his wife, Stella, who carries a plate of strawberry scones. 

There’s also the addition of four lambs and six chickens. 

You greet and hug and thank everyone for coming but when you hug Ellie you let out this girlish giggle that brings him so much joy he thinks his chest may burst with it. The two of you bring the lambs and the chickens to the barn and Sam and Bonnie help you set out feed and fill a trough with water from the stream while Joel and Tommy start a bonfire in the backyard. 

Everyone gives the two of you updates on Jackson. They tell you about how Miley’s made a full recovery and Maria’s due within the next week. They tell you that Kelly and Abel are an item now and they like to flaunt it for all of Jackson to see, that the Tipsy Bison is getting an upgrade after Jesse had discovered a distillery on a run.

You and Joel both are showered in compliments about your new home. About the garden and the greenhouse and the barn. Mike and Joel talk for an hour about Joel’s newest project, inspecting the half-hollow body of an acoustic guitar.

Tommy and Greg leave the group for a short hunting trip and in the twenty minutes they’re gone manage to return with a deer. You roast venison over the bonfire and everyone eats standing with their plate balanced in one hand, talking and laughing.

Joel catches your eye in the cacophony, and for a moment you just stare at each other from across the yard with mirrored grins. You look so beautiful in your pretty sundress and bare feet. There’s a leaf suck in your hair and venison grease on your fingers and Joel fights the urge to kick everyone out early so he can lick you clean.

He loves you more than he’s loved anything in all his life, and it’s this precise moment where he thinks maybe there is no such thing as acceptance into heaven. Maybe the devil and his pretty, perfect Judas possessed enough love for one another to create it on their own with greasy, calloused hands and broken hearts. Maybe he’s been wrong this whole time and he’s never been cursed, never been punished for his sins. 

Because how can he stand here in this home he shares with you, surrounded by the people he loves, feeling the presence of those he’s lost in the wind, and say he’s cursed?

Joel Miller feels like the most blessed man on the face of the planet.

Just before dark, they all pile back into Tommy’s truck with full bellies and smiles on their faces. 

And the minute they’re down the long drive way and the lambs are safely in the barn, Joel’s hands are slipping beneath your dress. He squeezes the soft flesh of your thigh and you giggle into his mouth, kissing him deep, letting him invade your body, your mind, your soul. 

He lifts you into his arms with the intent to take you to bed but then you wrap your legs around his waist and rut your hips against him. Pretty, desperate little girl wants him just as bad and who is he to deny you?

Joel lays you down in the grass, pulls your panties to the side, and takes you right there beneath the summer sun. He pushes your legs up to your chest and holds your knees apart, watching himself disappear inside of you, encouraged by the sweet moans you make.

“Gonna take real good care of you, little girl,” he says, circling your clit with his thumb. And he means it now and forever. No more silent vows, no more internal battles—you’ve become everything. “Always gonna take care of you. Keep you real safe, baby. Make you feel real good.”

Your pussy constricts around him as your orgasm feathers through you and he follows you off the edge at the sound of the words I love you in your mouth.

When he pulls out of you, Joel uses his fingers and pushes his spend back inside. And even though he knows it’s impossible, for the first time in the last thirty years he wishes it would take. Wishes he could get you pregnant, wants to see you barefoot in the garden with a belly rounded with his baby.

But it’s impossible and he knows it. This is enough, though. The two of you and a couple of lambs.

Even though your thighs shake, Joel fucks you with his fingers until you’re writhing again before he helps you to your feet and heats up water for a bath to get you clean. 

Joel finishes constructing his guitar. He plays the chords to Stairway to Heaven from the backyard and can see you begin to sway in the kitchen through the screen door. He plays a little louder and swears he can hear you humming the lyrics and the elation hits him like a fucking freight train. 

Because when he’d first met you, you’d been callous and rude and brash. You’d lashed out at him and Maria and Tommy and anyone else who stood in your way. You’d bitten off every hand that tried to feed you because those that tried had never tried again after feeling the sharpness of your teeth. 

But Joel had. He tried a hundred times and still kept coming back for more.

And now you stand in the kitchen you built together, swaying your hips while canning the vegetables from the garden you watered to feed your family through winter. The sun is shining and he’s playing his guitar and you’re singing.

It took blood and guts and tears, it took a war to get here, to find peace, but you did. Fought tooth and nail for it, bled and lost and died for it.

Joel had done all he could but it was you who held the cards, who had all the strength. Not him.

And you’re singing.

Joel’s eyes fill with tears before the song’s over and when he goes to sleep that night he finds he can breathe a little easier. 

He learns that Stairway to Heaven is your favorite song because you ask him to play it all the time. Joel never gets tired of it. 

On the first day of August, Tommy comes to visit. You come rushing out of the front door, excited for Ellie to see how big the lambs have grown. Only, this time, Ellie isn’t sitting in the passenger seat. But Maria is and she’s holding a bundle of blankets close to her chest. 

You freeze on the last step of the front porch and Joel stands from his chair, on the defense before the truck is even in park. 

When Maria sees you for the first time in months, her face falls and she begins to weep.

No word is said, but you’re suddenly running through the tall grass in the yard and you’re throwing your arms around her and her new baby, an immediate exoneration that Joel’s not sure he trusts.

It’s a girl. They name her Olive. “Like that olive tree in the bible mama always used to talk about. It means forgiveness,” Tommy says.

You’re infatuated immediately. Olive’s a smiley baby, just like Sarah was. She doesn’t cry even once while they visit, while you give Maria a full tour of every room in the house and of the garden and the greenhouse and the barn.

“She’s been wanting to come for a while,” he tells Joel. “Just wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. It’s been real hard on her since you guys left. I didn’t wanna say anything, cause, well…you know.”

He does know. Tommy didn’t say anything because Joel had no interest in hearing it. No sympathy at all. “Look, I’m…I’m real glad they’re getting to see each other. Even happier to see my niece. An’ you know that Tommy, but…they can’t ever go back. Not to the way things used to be. I won’t allow it.”

Tommy’s eyes soften. “I know that. Maria knows it, too. I’ll admit, I wasn’t always the loudest advocate for you two but I’m glad things worked out the way they did. Glad she’s got you. Glad you’ve got her.”

Tommy takes his daughter from you with some convincing to give Joel a turn.

He cries when he holds her.

She’s so small, so soft and delicate in his arms. Olive reaches a hand up and tugs at the wiry hairs of his beard and he laughs until his stomach hurts. He bounces her in his arms and gently runs the pad of his index finger down the bridge of her tiny nose.

“We should talk,” Maria says after some time.

Tommy takes Olive from Joel’s arms. “I’ll, uh…give you guys a minute.”

Maria sits on one side of the table and you and Joel sit on the other. The tension is thick in the air, so much so he thinks he may be able to cut it with a knife. She clears her throat and opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

Joel wonders how hard an apology could be for something so horrific. If he were in her place, he thinks it would come easily. He knows his face is contorted into a scowl but he can’t bring himself to smooth it.

She tries again. This time, her voice is successful. She looks only to you and admits, “I want you to know that I have never blamed you for the loss of Sarah. I feel that is most important for me to say.”

His jaw ticks.

“It always felt like you did. I blamed myself enough already.” Your voice is so timid and mousy, such a stark contrast to the confidence he’s grown used to.

“I know, and I’m so, so sorry for it.”

A start, Joel thinks.

“I know I didn’t want to believe it at first,” she says. “About…about Thomas. I never would have imagined he’d ever be capable of such a thing, but I…looking back, I see there are things I’ve missed. And I hope you know that if you had just come to me before you…if you had—”

“Careful,” Joel says lowly.

You take his hand in yours beneath the table.

Maria swallows and straightens her spine. “I’m sorry,” she says again, tears welling in her eyes. “I was angry, hurt. My entire world had imploded and then to lose Sarah, too, I couldn’t…” She shakes her head. “I needed you after losing them both. But I was furious with you for not trusting me enough to believe you.”

“You didn’t believe it,” Joel states. “And you made her out to be some sort of villain in front of everyone. Being angry is not an excuse.”

“I know,” she says. “You’re right. And I admit, sending you out on these runs was selfish and horrible. I know it. But I do love you like a daughter. I love you as much as I ever loved Sarah, more, even because of the loss we share. Your absence has been…catastrophic. Please, I…I know I can never take back the things I’ve done but I would like to work towards something. If you’ll let me.”

“I didn’t deserve what you did to me. The burden you put on my shoulders,” you say. The confidence has returned to your voice, the surety. It puts Joel at ease to hear it.

“No,” Maria says. “You’re right. You didn’t.”

“But she would hate us for this.” Your hand trembles in his. You reach your other hand out and lay it on the tabletop, palm up and open. “I have to cut some vegetables for dinner tonight. Would you like to help?”

Maria takes your hand and a tear slides down her cheek.

You turn to Joel then, and ask, “Can you and Tommy bring in some rosemary and thyme from the greenhouse? I’d like a second alone with Maria if that’s okay.”

He doesn’t trust it. Not at first. Because without him at your side to mediate, to keep you safe from the harsh things Maria has proven herself capable of saying, who will protect you from her manipulation?

But then you squeeze his hand in yours and Joel reminds himself that he has faith. Faith in you, in what the two of you have built. He knows you’re capable of fending for yourself. And, more than that, he knows should you falter, he’ll be wherever you fall to pick you back up.

Should you forgive her, he’ll be at your side. And should you decide to keep your distance, he’ll be there just as well.

He finds Tommy and Olive near the barn. The two of them talk over how the conversation went and Joel admits he’s weary of the truce the two of you’ve come to. He holds Olive while Tommy picks a handful of herbs.

When they return to the house, Maria takes the infant from Joel’s arms and says softly, “Thank you. For making me see the error of my ways. For being for her what I never could be.”

It’s going to take time for him. You might be able to forgive her after a long talk and some time away, but Joel isn’t so easily swayed. 

And he thinks Maria knows it because as they’re leaving to return to Jackson that night she nods and says, “I’m really sorry, Joel. To you as much as to her. I’m going to try and make this right. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy.”

He looks at you as Tommy holds you in a tight embrace, at the way the two of you have such an ease with one another. He looks at Olive and the way she stares up at her mother as if she put the stars in the sky. “It’s not me you’ve gotta make it right for,” he tells her.

“I know. I’m going to do everything I can to prove it,” she says. “You’ve built a beautiful home here.”

When they leave, you melt in Joel’s arms and he carries you to bed and rubs your back as you cry.

But Maria keeps her word. She brings Ellie and Olive to the farm twice a week every week. Sometimes they bring trinkets or gifts or supplies from Jackson, other times they leave with vegetables from the garden or fresh baked bread. She never raises her voice at you, never asks anything of you other than, how can I help? Tommy becomes Jackson’s most frequent runner, but he oftentimes will stop out to see the two of you before he goes anywhere and the farm is his first stop on the way back. 

It takes time, takes a bit more watering and sunlight, but eventually trust begins to take root.

A snowstorm hits in December. It takes out the generator, leaving the farmhouse dark for most hours of the day. Joel tries to fix it but after a few hours in the cold, you tell him to come back inside, that in a few days you’ll take a trip to Jackson to get tools to repair it. 

You make the most of the darkness. You light a fire in the hearth and sleep on the living room floor. You play rummy a hundred times and Joel lets you cheat for every game just to see the smile on your face when you beat him. He teaches you how to play poker and you use walnuts as chips.

He discovers you have the best poker face he’s ever seen. And when he’s backed into a corner, unsure whether to fold or to put in all his walnuts, Joel gives up and throws his cards down, and crawls to you instead. He pushes you back against the mass of blankets and pillows brought down from the bedroom, forces your legs apart, and devours you. He licks and sucks at your clit until you’re crying out for him. Until you’re crying out for God.

He doesn’t know why he chooses this moment, but he does. 

“I want to marry you,” he says with his head between your thighs.

“What? What are you…?”

With his mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh, he says it again. “I wanna marry you, little girl.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back down and runs his tongue through your wet heat, delighting in the way you shiver and shake with just a single touch. “Want to give you everything.”

“You’ve already given me everything,” you say. Your hands tangle in the roots of his hair. “This is everything. You are everything, Joel.”

He slides his finger into you with ease. You’re dripping for him, slick coating his knuckles and spilling out of you and onto the blankets. “Wanna give you my last name, too,” he says. “Want you to be my little girl forever.”

“I already am,” you say, and it sounds like a promise.

The words make him groan against your skin. I already am. Of course you are. You’ve always been. 

Joel makes you finish on his mouth one more time before crawling up to you and pulling you close. Before he has a chance to lay his head down you’re asking through panting breaths, “Did you mean it?”

“‘Course I did.” He presses a kiss to your hairline that’s dotted with sweat. You stay silent for a moment, and Joel finds that it doesn’t frighten him. Whatever your answer may be he’s content with. Satisfied, happy. As long as he gets to hold you like this there’s nothing else he’d ever need. 

Still, he can’t deny the excitement that courses through him when you say, “Okay. We’ll go to the chapel when we get to Jackson.”

While you sleep, he carves two identical oak rings to perfectly fit on your ring fingers. He stains them black, seals the wood, and fries eggs for breakfast to present them with. He asks if you’d rather wait and put them on during the ceremony or if you want to do it now. 

“We should do it now, don’t you think? Just the two of us.” 

He puts yours on for you around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and a smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. When you place Joel’s ring on his finger, it doesn’t feel out of place or foreign on his hand. It feels like taking off an uncomfortable piece of clothing after wearing it all day, like kicking your feet up and laying your head back. It feels like coming home.

The moment is intimate and he knows he’ll always remember it, always hold the memory close. He finds himself missing it even while still living it, finds himself wanting to stay in this little happy bubble with you forever.

After breakfast, you’re readying yourself for the journey to Jackson. Bundling up in warm clothes, tightening boot laces, filling canteens. But then the front door is ripped open and on instinct, Joel grabs his rifle from the side of the bed. 

“Joel!”

Tommy’s voice is frantic. The both of you are at the bottom of the stairs in a second. 

His brother lets out a sigh of relief and doubles over with his hands on his knees. “Oh, thank God. I thought the storm might’ve taken out the farm.”

Joel doesn’t understand it at first. But when the three of you climb into Tommy’s truck and head to Jackson, he realizes just how fortunate you’d gotten. 

Less than a mile away, there are downed trees on every side of the street, thousand-year-old trunks severed in half. The abandoned buildings between the farm and the commune have been demolished, splintered into a thousand tiny pieces. 

Somehow, you’d been left untouched. The generator was the worst of it.

For the first time, he wonders just how safe you really are. He’d brought you to the farm, away from Jackson, to protect you. But there are things he can’t fight against. Beasts he has no business battling. He wonders if the two of you should abandon the home, the heaven you’ve created in order to ensure your safety.

You’ve gotten lucky twice now. He knows there won’t be a third time.

You reach through the space between the driver and passenger seats and grip Joel’s hand in yours. He can feel your ring press against the palm of his hand and it grounds him, pulls him out of his head. With your free hand, you hold the cross necklace you’ve never taken off since he’d given it to you in that church and say, “I know you don’t believe in God much anymore, but I think something has been looking out for us.”

At the chapel, Tommy stands beside Joel and Ellie stands beside you. Dina takes pictures on an old Polaroid camera. Half of Jackson sits in the pews and there’s so much joy and laughter in the day that Joel wonders if he deserves it. 

But then you look at him, slide your hand into his, and press your cheek to his shoulder. You say, “I love you,” as if it’s the simplest, easiest thing you’ve ever said. As if it’s second nature. You don’t fight it, don’t hesitate or second guess. You say it because it’s true. You, an innocent, love him.

Joel Miller thinks he might be worthy of forgiveness after all.

[part nine]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @elliesr1fle @pascaltesfaye

[masterlist]

[realcube]

kunikida + work stress

things at the ada have been heating up, from what you've heard. your boyfriend speaks little of his work, but it doesn't take a psychoanalytical genius to figure out by the way he grinds his teeth constantly and the perpetual look of discomfort on his face that he might be stressed.

and unless it was your relationship that was straining him — which it's not because you're an angel — the only other viable option is his work.

he doesn't like to divulge information about his job too much so whenever you ask him about the issues going on, in hopes that talking about it might alleviate his worries, he finds a way to skirt around the details and essentially tell you nothing.

not bothering to pry any longer, you give it a rest and leave him to sort it out on his own like he usually does. however, you realise that his stress may be a cause for concern, when you begin to smell burning in your bedroom on a tuesday night.

having not lit any candles, naturally you were worried. though you were instantly relieved when you noticed your bedroom window was open, and the source of the scent was definitely coming from outside.

promptly, you shut the window to prevent the smell from infecting your room, then rush downstairs to inspect it further. without searching for long, you find the back door is ajar and through the slit you can see outside, and there is a figure looming by the wall which you immediately recognise as your boyfriend, kunikida.

however, it was what he was doing that came as a shock.

you watch as he brings a cigarette up to his lips, and takes an extended draw; huffing out the smoke in a deep, jaded sigh, allowing it to sink into the crisp night air. the lit tip glowed a fiery orange, which reflected in his glasses as he stared down at it. cigarette held between his two fingers, one arms was crossed over his chest and the other held it to his mouth, then lazily dropped back to his side as he exhaled.

as a grown man, he could do what he wants so it wasn't nessecarily off-putting to see him smoke — especially not when he does it in such an alluring manner — but it simply surprised you since you've never seen him do it before, nor has he ever mentioned it.

you pad over to the door and poke your head out, "are you okay?" you ask, quietly.

when he fully registers your presense, he is quick to try and hide his cigarette by throwing it on the ground and stomping on it, then crossing his arms over his chest and awkwardly looking up at the sky as though he was just admiring the moon all along. "oh, yes, dear." he stammered, trying to create the most believable pose, but they were all rigid, "i just needed some fresh air."

"you know i saw you, right?" you giggle, while he sighs from defeat.

"(y/n), i'm so sorry. the pressure from the ada has been severe so i—"

you hastily interupt him before he commences a long-winded, solemn apology, "you don't need to be sorry. do what you like. i'm not your mother, or your doctor."

eyebrows furrowed together, he nods.

"but i do feel a bit bad," since he didn't have anything to add, you continue, "that you'd rather stand out here in the dark with a cigarette than talk to me about your work stress. but whatever helps, i suppose."

his breath hitches, and all he's able to do is offer you a weak smile, "may i do both?"

you reciprocate, and with a small shrug, you whisper, "sure."

[drinkthehalo]

Goodbye to the McKittrick Hotel

April 16, 2011. My friend Tammy had told me she'd seen an incredible production of Macbeth that she was certain I would love. I walked into the McKittrick Hotel that Saturday night with no idea that I was entering a place that would change my life forever.

What an extraordinary, fruitful place of creative energy it was. How wild, almost unbelievable, that such a place survived in New York City for nearly fourteen years. 

My first impression: You have to walk around and climb stairs and wear a mask? How can you do Shakespeare without dialog? Until I realized the dialog was in the dance, and the rave shocked my jaded sensibilities, and I was in a tiny room with a beautiful sobbing naked man, and then I went home and dreamed about it and knew I had to go back.

Then the parties. Halloween 2011 was the best event party I had ever been to - welcoming, engaging, fun. For fourteen years the McKittrick became my Halloweens, my New Years Eves, my May Fairs (I didn't even know that was a thing), that wonderful exhausting year of 2016 when they did Supercinema almost every month. The parties became more elaborate, the costumes, the set designs, the stories, the interactions, the performances. The Paisley Players, the epic ballroom extravaganzas, the tableaus in the walled garden...

Remixed (the first) remains the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. November Rain at the banquet. The Imperial March in the maze. Diamonds are Forever, forever...

The Boy Witch party made me cry and cry. Two nights only and it was probably the best thing I've ever seen. The carousel on the ballroom stage, the fire, the lady in pink tights, the lost love. Every time I hear that version of Crazy in Love, I feel that emotion again.

At the Clue party, Maximilian led us through the floors, and we watched Neil Patrick Harris chop off his own head in the Macbeth bedroom.

Fourth of July 2012, after the show, a marching band played as we climbed six floors to the roof to reveal a beautiful secret garden where we watched the fireworks. Gallow Green was magical in the early days, with Paul Corning's gardener watering plants and occasionally leading people away, and Annabella planting herbs and making potions with us.

One day after the show, Lulu put a stamp on my hand and told me to go to the elevator. I took it up and a character led me into the Heath for the first time. We'd go there for drinks or dinner, watch Elizabeth Lindsey glide through the space like watching a portal into a film noir, follow instructions on secret notes and hope to win the lottery. (Once I did; Ginger took me, blindfolded, to High Street, and I still have the memories of discombobulated absurdity - and a spoon with my name engraved on it.)

Then they put a cozy little Scottish lodge on the roof, with bunk beds and blankets and heaters, and a forest out back with a canoe? in a tent. We'd huddle around the fire pit, or sprawl on the bed. All the books were pre-1939. At some point there was a room full of board games. My friend Matty would sit at the desk writing his dissertation and people thought he was a character.

I watched Rosemary's Baby on the rooftop, curated by Amy Poehler, and Vertigo in the ballroom, shivering in the air conditioner.

Calloway started doing these "salons" in the Manderley after the show, with songs and narratives and recurring characters and Hans dying every time. Then one day the email said something about "McKittrick Follies," and I showed up and characters were singing and telling stories and everyone was drinking and talking into the night.  

I can't believe we were so spoiled by that boundless creative energy for so long. For months? years? we had a weekly Follies, then... biweekly? Sunday afternoons we'd sit on the beds in the Lodge drinking mulled wine before going down to the Follies; then Wednesdays I'd work late and walk into the Manderley at 10pm, or go home and walk up the High Line to come back, listening to the show crowd's excited chatter as they exited, entering to music and humor and drinks that flowed and flowed and flowed. So much extraordinary talent, all concentrated in this one place and sparkling off of each other, creating and creating and creating.

Ginger was so funny. Lily's voice was beautiful. Mallory was the bawdiest thing. Nick's Maximilian was a true original. Conor and Austin were so awkward and snarky. JWW has the most dear, sweet, unique style. I can't list everyone; I can't believe we were blessed with so much. 

There were so many incredible singers and musicians over the years. Kat Cunning. Lisa McQuade. Julia Haltigan. Stephanie Amoroso. Onalea Gilbertson. Every iteration of the Manderley band was full of wildly talented musicians. I was lucky enough to see Cibo Matto in the Heath, and Leslie Odom Jr in the Manderley. The place was absolutely punching above its weight in terms of talent.

I learned to drink in the Manderley bar. When I first went, the only drink I knew how to order was a Sex on the Beach. I had my first gin gimlet at the Manderley Bar. The Professor, Brandon Tyler Harris, asked me what gin I liked, and I didn't know, so I tried them all and discovered that it's Hendricks. Then I switched to smoky mezcal margaritas, and drank them for years, occasionally starting trends. Later it was scotch sours, smoky Laphroaig, heaven in a glass. At the Heath they'd had my all time favorite drink, long gone; something with Scotch, orgeat, and a cabernet float... I'm at the age now where I've largely had to stop drinking; the era of alcohol in my life will always be tied up in the McKittrick.

If it weren't for Sleep No More, I wouldn't have gone to London and made many of my dearest friends; would never have experienced Shanghai the way I did, with local friends to guide me.

Lily Ockwell brought me on the Manderley stage on my birthday. The lights were very bright. Could she have imagined how utterly terrified I was? In a good way.

At my 100th show, Kit/Ginger bought me a drink as soon as I walked in.

Gus from front of house overheard me talking about an upcoming trip to Shanghai and invited himself along. We had so much fun, we took a trip to Costa Rica the next year.

After my cat Lucifer died, London gave me the biggest hug as soon as he saw me.

At Austin Goodwin's Juilliard graduation performance, the whole evening was so beautiful. All these extraordinary young people who'd worked so hard, accomplished so much, brimming with possibility for their futures. I wanted so much to be one of the families, full of pride and love for someone I'd helped nurture. When I wrote a tumblr post wrestling with the decision to have a child, Austin sent me a message telling me he thought I'd make a good mother. It is one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me, and helped me make one of the hardest decisions I've ever made.

Once on new years eve, Anabella gave me a Tarot card - Ten of Pentacles. I knew when I got that card that it was about my desire to have my own family, a child of my own. I put it on my fridge as inspiration and it's still there next to pictures of my kid.

I met my best friend on High Street, looking in the window of the tailor shop, watching Paul Zivkovich as a clown. This is the friend who is now in my will to take care of my child if I die.

I say I'm not creative, but the McKittrick brought out the creativity I do have. So many words in this blog. Several interviews for academic papers or articles. A box full of costumes in my closet: Andrea Alden in the Infidelity Ballet scene; Medusa out of a bunch of plastic snakes I painted and attached to a headdress; Vampire Willow; a Baz Luhrman Capulet; Mrs White. I see photos and find myself wearing costumes I don't even remember.

In early 2020, I hadn't been going to Sleep No More for a while, but when covid got scary, suddenly that's where I had to be. I was there until the day I showed up and the doors were closed.

I genuinely wonder, will I ever be as good at anything in my adult life as I was at following the Macbeth loop? I knew just where to stand, to view a perfect wide shot, to see a close up at a respectful distance. I loved to follow Macbeth down the corridor into the rave, a shadow halo'd in red, arms out against the tin walls. And to follow him out, running full speed, enraged and out of control as the music swelled and he went into the speakeasy to kill Banquo; there was no room for anything but adrenaline and utter absorption in the moment. To follow the Macbeths down the stairs as they screamed and shoved and kissed chocolate blood all over each others' faces. To stand still in the bedroom as they danced and fought around the room, the audience swarming around them, everything moving around me from close up to wide shot to close up. 

Will anything bring as much peace as a Porter loop? I could always go there when I was sad. The hotel lobby was my favorite space. So dark it was almost black; figures emerging through the shroud of darkness. The tiny office, the papers and pencils. The sweet silliness of that character, the eternal hope. The overwhelming sadness. To be the one not chosen. Trapped, unable to change anyone's fate, watching and witnessing.

I used to think, there's a lot of downtime in this loop between the big moments like the cabaret, but in the end I realized, there is no downtime. Every moment is beautiful. I'd go there just to see the ominous deer loom over him as he reset the dining room, or to see those white sheets moving through the darkness like abstract art.

Zach McNally's Porter was my first 1:1, in 2012. I remember watching the tears down his face during the cabaret and thinking, wait, this character is as important as the Boy Witch. On Saturday, I watched him fade away into the shadows for the last time.

At the very last show, Andrew Robinson's Porter cried along with the audience as we watched him trace his hand. At the end, he cut his toast into a tiny heart and gave it to Danvers. She burst into tears, cut it in half, and they ate it together.

Boy Witch ended for me when my favorites left; it was all memories, echoes of the past. I'll never forget Conor, who always saw me, no matter how far away I stood, and always created some little moment to make my night special. 

(I used to rarely watch the shower scene, and once he ran up to me in the bar and told me, you paid for your ticket, you can watch what you want to watch.)

Oddly, at my second-to-last show, I followed Macduff. Never a favorite, but the choreography is so good. Steven Bangerter looks and moves so much like Rob McNeill, and his sweetness balances out the character. How extraordinary to see the echoes of Rob, who was in the 2003 London production, so clearly and vividly, 21 years and who knows how many performers later. (I did not see the original production, but there are photos, and the first time I saw Rob in the Drowned Man I thought, wow, he moves like Macduff.)

I was noticing new things up until the end. Macbeth, upside down in the ballroom at the reset; the hanged man Tarot card. Macduff, lifting Sexy Witch in the ballroom and spinning her around, like Rob McNeill once did to me as we danced to the finale stage at the end of a Drowned Man.

After the second Remixed, I worked up the nerve to speak to Stephen Dobbie, asked him about the song choices, raved about how great they were. I'd forgotten that the November Rain video actually has a banquet scene in it.

One time I sat across from Felix Barrett at dinner and accidentally changed the ending of the show. I complained that the matron just closes the door to the pagoda and black masks hurry you away; he made a note on his phone and within days it was better.

Once, I had a long conversation with Maxine in the Manderley. (And a few brief ones in London.) Sunday night when I said goodbye, she gave me a hug and said, you've been here all these years.

I don't know why it matters that I met these people. I'm not trying to break into the arts. Maybe I just have so much admiration for the people who've succeeded, in a world that makes it so difficult. Actually if I could have been anyone in the building, it would have been Carrie Boyd; color-coded spreadsheets are my jam. What an unsung superstar. Her salon was the best.

Once after a roundtable, I found a note in my bag from Ilana. "Thank you for your heart and mind." I'd say the same to her.

I don't even know what else to write. Fourteen years of memories. After I post this, I'll think, oh I should have mentioned that other thing too. How can you sum up something that meant so much?

The McKittrick was at the center of my experience of New York City; of my mid-adulthood. I will mourn it at the same time as I marvel that it ever happened, that I found it as early as I did, and that it could possibly have lasted so long.