#this is the same pattern on three different shirts ->

[dribs-and-drabbles]

The Thai Communal Wardrobe item #8

The Thai 🤝🏽 Taiwanese Communal Wardrobe Item #5

Our skyy 2 x The Eclipse ep 6:

Step by Step ep 7:

Dangerous Romance ep 10:

Only Friends ep 12:

Wandee Goodday ep 4:

Wandee Goodday ep 4:

Knock Knock, Boys! ep 11:

The On1y One ep 6:

Sunset x Vibes special ep:

for @akkrosu and @lurkingshan 💙

[byoldervine]

Foreshadowing Ideas

• Character themes/motifs. I’ve heard of one writer who tries to give each character their own theme for similes, metaphors, descriptions, etc so there’s like a theme to the way they’re portrayed. You could use that to foreshadow notable secrets about the character that will later be revealed, or if at any point they’re disguised then you can use that to tip off the reader that they have the same motifs and so might be related/the same person

• Tiny details hidden in lists. Say the MC was trying to work out the identity of a bad guy, who we know was wearing a red shirt on the day of a big bad event. A few chapters later, MC is checking around their best friend’s room to find them, with the place its usual mess with discarded takeaway boxes, the bed unmade, a red shirt left on the floor that could use a good sweep. The red shirt might not click with all the readers, but those who register it upon their first read will eat it up

• Inconsistent behavioural patterns. Once we have a good idea of what a character is like, having them act out of character can set off alarm bells and make us question what’s occurred to make them act this way. Let the other characters register it too, if it’s reasonable that they would, but let them ultimately brush it off quite quickly to keep it subtle. Or just call it right out, whichever you prefer

• Unreliable narrators. Let one character say one thing and a second character say another, even if they both ultimately agree on the same thing but get one or two small details wrong. Ideally do this two or three times in order for the reader to know it’s not just a mistake in the plot but an intentional inconsistency, but even if it’s only done once and it’s taken as a mistake it’ll still slot together like puzzle pieces in the end and they’ll be kicking themself for dismissing it

• In-universe red herrings. If you’re going to add red herrings as foreshadowing, it’s helpful if the red herring aligns with the intentions of someone person aware of the upcoming plot twist who’s trying to control the narrative. Say the plot twist was the reveal of a mysterious character’s identity to be the best friend of the MC, the best friend might have deliberately thrown the MC off their scent by planting suspicions in the MC’s mind that a different character was the mysterious character’s identity all along. This is less about foreshadowing the actual reveal, of course, but rereads will be a punch to the gut when everyone realises that all this misinformation and red herring business came from someone trying to cover their own ass rather than coming from misunderstandings or multiple other random sources

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Lessons

Summary: Joel Miller, the smuggler of the Boston QZ, does not want your money when he gets you the medication you need, he asks for your body. Something you happily agree to. But one night he catches you touching yourself after you just had sex and leaves you to finally admit to him that you almost never finish with him. Something Joel can't and won't let stand.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings: Boston QZ Joel, sex as a business transaction, mentions of period pains and medication, mentions of alcohol. smut (unprotected sex, semi public sex, oral sex) Joel is bad at feelings but he's trying, little bit of oblivious idiots cause why the hell not

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

It started because you needed pills.

FEDRA had again increased the prices for the medication you and many other people needed, you, to get through you period every month and you had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there might be another way to get it. 

It was back then that you met Joel Miller. 

You were at the speakeasy after a long day of pretending to love getting to cook meals at the FEDRA base on the other side of the QZ. 

You hated the job, but it paid well and left you being able to sometimes steal shit so you put a fake smile on while the FEDRA officers lined up to get their food at the make shift cafeteria you were working in, ignoring their lingering stares and attempts to flirt with you. 

It had been a long and exhausting day and you wanted a drink when your friend Carl told you that Joel Miller was here. You followed the way he was pointing at, being met with dark eyes already looking at you. 

He was not what you expected. 

Smugglers you had met before usually were younger and making you uncomfortable for various reasons. 

But Joel Miller was attractive in a dangerous way. 

He was sitting at the far end of the underground speakeasy, his jeans clad legs spread widely. He had a drink in his hand, that was resting on his thigh, the sleeves of the dark shirt he was wearing pushed over his elbows, showing his strong arms. 

But it was the way he was looking at you that made you realise that Joel Miller could become a problem for you. 

It was the first night he had fucked you. 

In a dark corner outside of the speakeasy, his hand wrapped over your mouth to keep you quiet as he railed you against the cold stone wall, spilling his cum over your still clothed back before you could cum, leaving you to clean up by yourself while he made his way back inside. 

You had to finish yourself off the moment you got home.

A pattern that you didn’t know would continue for the next years. 

It was easy. 

You let him fuck you and he would get you the drugs you needed. 

Yes, you could afford to pay him with ration cards. It would probably even better for you. But over the years this arrangement you had was now going, you started craving the way he was using you. 

It was the only human connection you allowed yourself to have, even though it only rarely ended with you getting to climax. Something that you realise should bother you more. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t make you feel good. He did. He was big and rough and just what you craved. 

He just wasn’t in it for you, but for him and him only. 

Joel came, every single time. 

Be it on your ass, on your tits or in your mouth. He always finished. 

It was always the same procedure. 

Every three months you’d meet up at the speakeasy. He would fuck you from behind either there or at your home, never his, and you would wake up to a three month supply of the drugs you needed on your kitchen table. 

You asked him once how he did get inside of your apartment and he said that you should learn how to lock your door.

But tonight something was different. 

You had run into him on the street after your shift. Another thing that seemed to happen more often. 

In the last couple of months Joel seemed to always be where you were. Something that had not happened in all the years before. 

It had only been three weeks since you met up and he asked if he could come over later. 

Confused you had agreed. 

If you were honest with yourself you had been looking forward to spending the rest of your day with the bottle of wine you had stolen from the FEDRA kitchen some weeks ago. 

There would be memorial services all over the QZ tonight, the curfew being lifted for the day before and for Outbreak day. 

You couldn’t believe it already had been ten years. 

You were already a glass of wine in when you heard a knock on your door. Event though you knew who it would be (you never got visitors) you checked before you opened the door for Joel. 

He nodded at you as he entered and you leaned with your back against the closed door, watching him in your space. 

You came to the realisation that you only ever spend time with him when it was dark outside. Like he was a monster that was hiding under your bed. 

He awkwardly turned around to look at you and you tilted your head to the side as you looked at him, waiting for what would happen next. 

„The supplier for your drugs got killed last week. I don’t have someone new yet, but I have these,“ he reached into this back pocket and showed you a small tube of pills. 

„These should last you for four months more. I’ll try to figure something out for after,“ he said. You nodded, taking a step towards him. He held out the tube of pills and you took it from him, reading over the faded out ink on the label that read the name of a woman that was probably long dead. 

„Thank you,“ you said quietly. 

„Take a seat, I’ll just put them away,“ you said. He nodded and you turned around, walking towards your little bathroom. You put the pills away, before you looked at yourself in the small mirror above the sink. 

You asked yourself why he chose today to come over and give you the pills. He could have waited  until the next time you were due since he had a full supply for the next time. 

Not that you were complaining. 

More than once you had tried to come up with a plan to have sex with Joel more often than you did, but for some reason you felt silly with every idea that you had. 

You could ask, but you didn’t think you could handle if he said no, so you made your peace with the arrangement you had. 

You just wanted to spend more time with him, feeling yourself drawn to him. 

Taking a deep breath you made your way back towards your kitchen area, where Joel was now sitting at your small table. You were overwhelmed with the urge to climb into his lap. 

Instead you picked up your glass of wine to take a sip. 

„You want a glass too?“ You asked him. 

„Sure,“ he nodded. You picked up a mug. 

„Only have that one glass, sorry,“ you said sheepishly as you filled the mug with some wine and brought it over to him. 

„Where did you get that from anyway?“ He asked, his fingers brushing over yours as he took the mug from you. 

You sat down on the chair next to him. 

„Stole it from the FEDRA pantry,“ you shrugged and he looked at you with a raised eyebrow  before he shook his head, his mouth twitching into a small grin. 

„Unbelievable,“ he said looking at you with warm eyes before he brought the mug up to his lips. 

„They have so much shit they don’t need. Makes me angry to see everyone suffer while they get to eat first class meals. So I sometimes take things,“ you shrugged. 

„Anything else you took?“ He asked, leaning towards you. 

You sucked your bottom lip in, before you got up. 

„I usually take small stuff. Spices, herbs and shit. But,“ you bend down, opening the cabinet under the sink and reaching to the very end, searching for the two bottles you hid there some time ago, grinning when you picked them up and turned around, missing him staring at your ass.

His eyes widened when he noticed what you held. 

„Shut the fuck up," he said in awe and you chuckled. 

„You want some Jack and Coke, Miller?“ You winked and he shook his hand with a grin. 

„If you’re offerin’“ he winked.

„Please,“ you moaned, letting your head fall down against your pillow as Joel fucked you into you mattress. You were so close. He had one of his hands on our back, pinning you against the mattress while he pumped his cock into you in deep hard thrusts. 

He had gotten you naked not long after you offered him the first glass of whiskey, asking you if you’d like to suck his cock while he emptied his glass. 

You did, keeping him on the edge for almost an hour before he pulled you up and told you to kneel on the bed. 

You were surprised to find him pulling you up against his chest moments later, his skin against yours as he played with your tits. 

Usually these fucks were quick, leaving no time to really get out of either of your clothes. And if you had the time, it was always you who got naked. 

„Always so fucking good,“ he moaned behind you and you gasped. You reached one hand between your legs to play with your clit when Joel groaned and pulled out of you. Whining as he turned you around you looked up at him as he jerked himself off before he moaned and spilled his cum all over your body. 

You were annoyed for a moment, having been so close yourself but that disappeared the moment you saw how relaxed Joel looked. He was mumbling something you couldn’t make out before his eyes opened, taking you in as you laid on your back with his cum all over your stomach and chest. 

„So pretty,“ he mumbled before he let himself lay down next to you. He stretched his arms to the side and you sighed, slipping your fingers through his cum on your chest, bringing it up to taste it. With a grin you turned your head towards the side to look at Joel only to find him asleep.

Disappointed you sat yourself up before you made your way back to your bathroom to clean yourself up. 

After taking care of your business and brushing your teeth you grabbed a glass of water and made your way back to your bed. Joel was still sleeping, laying completely naked in your bed, his flaccid cock still glistening in your juices. 

Shaking your head you grabbed your spare blanket and put it over him before you snuggled under your blanket. You switched the small lamp on your bedside table off.

Usually he would be gone by now. 

He never stayed, let alone fell asleep next to you. It made you think back to the last time you had shared a bed with someone. Ten years ago.

The last time your life had been normal. The last time you had been truly happy. The last time you had slept in the arms of the man you thought you would grow old with only to wake up to him trying to kill you. 

Closing your eyes you shook your head, trying to get rid of the memory that haunted you every single day. You turned your head to look at Joel.

He looked so much younger when he was asleep. The lines around his eyes almost gone, his lips resting in a pout. Adorable. 

You spend more time thinking about Joel Miller than you would ever admit. 

Of course you heard the stories around the QZ about him. How he took no shit from anyone. He had the reputation to be brutal and cold. 

But he never was with you. 

You hummed, letting your hands ran down your body, before you brought one hand between your legs while your other hand played with your tits. 

You moved your fingers over your clit, your pussy still wet from Joel fucking you. 

Thinking about how he felt when he fucked you you pushed two fingers inside of you, humming quietly. It wasn’t his cock, but it would do the job. Moving your fingers inside of you, the palm of your hand massaging your clit. 

„Fuck,“ you whispered, moving your hips slowly. You pulled your fingers out, focusing on your clit instead and you smiled when you felt the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching. Arching your back your blanket slipped down, revealing your tits to the cold air. 

Your lips parted as you took deep breaths, your orgasm so close you could almost taste it. 

You released a long and happy sigh when you finally came, biting your lip as you rode it out. Relaxing back into your bed you closed your eyes, smiling to yourself. 

„Can’t get enough, huh?“ Joel’s sleepy voice startled you and your eyes opened wide, finding him looking at you as he laid on the side.

Caught, you felt your cheeks burning before you turned your head away from him, hiding. 

„Uh. Yeah. I just… needed to cum again….“ You mumbled awkwardly, intending to get out of the bed to flee into the bathroom, before you felt his fingers wrap around one of your writs, holding you back. 

Nervously sucking your bottom lip in you turned back to him, finding him already looking at you with narrowed eyes.

„You did cum earlier, right? I felt it,“ he said.

You just looked at him, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation when you slowly shook your head. He blinked once, twice at you before his eyes widened. 

„You didn’t cum?“ He asked, confused. 

Suddenly feeling too naked for this conversation you pulled your blanket up and over your breasts as you turned on the bed towards him. 

You took a deep breath. 

„No. I did not,“ you finally said and if this situation wouldn’t be so awkward you would laugh at his horrified expression. 

„But… You… You… I felt it? I did, didn’t I….“ He was speaking to himself and you took his hand. 

„It’s not a big deal. Maybe it’s me. It’s always been hard to finish and…“ You were stopped as he squeezed your hand. 

„You did finish before with me, right?“ He asked slowly. 

You nodded. „Of course!“ You said quickly. 

He narrowed his eyes again. 

„How often. And don’t lie to me,“ he added. You looked down at your hands.

„Joel, can we please just… I don’t know. Sleep? This is… You make me feel so good. Really. And that’s….“

His fingers tilted your chin up so you had to look at him. 

„How often?“ He asked again and you sighed. 

„Once,“ you mumbled.

„Once?“ He asked with wide eyes. 

„Yeah. But Joel… I like the way you fuck me. It feels good and I don’t care if I cum or if I don’t cum. And I mean it’s a business transaction really so it doesn’t….JOEL!“ You cried out his name when he grabbed you to lay you down, throwing the blanked off your body, his body caging you in. 

„Do not say that it doesn’t matter. Just because it’s business does not mean that it doesn’t matter that you don’t cum. Why didn’t you say anything?“ He asked.

„Because this is fucking awkward,“ you whined. 

„Doesn’t matter. I don’t make you cum, you tell me. Or better yet,“ he said as he slowly slipped down your body. 

„We not gonna leave this bed until I know exactly how it feels when you cum,“ he said and you felt his beard lightly scratch over your stomach, before he settled between your legs. 

„But Joel. You don’t have to do this. It’s just sex,“ you said and you saw him close his eyes before he took a deep breath and looked at you again. 

„Hasn’t been just sex for me for a while. Why do you think I keep looking for reasons to run into you,“ he said and it was like something clicked inside your head. You had been seeing him fairly often these last weeks. But he never talked to you. He sometimes nodded at you when you saw him, but there was nothing else. 

„So please, let me learn how to make you cum so I don’t feel like a dick who has been using the woman he’s been crushing on like a fucking teenager?“ He said and you grinned. 

„You are crushing on me? That’s adorable,“ you teased and he chuckled with a shake of his head before he kissed your inner thigh. 

„Not a big talker. But I now how to use my mouth in other ways,“ he winked before he licked through your folds, making you gasp. 

„And I need you to guide me, so I know what to do the next time,“ he said.

„Next time?“ You asked. 

„Next time,“ he nodded, before he began to eat you out.

He started slowly, his tongue exploring your pussy, humming at your taste. You could not take your eyes off of him. 

His strong arms were wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs parted as wide as he needed while he nibbled and sucked and licked you, driving you positively insane.

Once he had you cumming on his tongue he used his fingers. Saving every single expression and sound you made to his memory so he would never forget what made you cum. 

In the early morning hours he had you coming on his cock, squeezing him so hard he almost spilled inside of you, yet he fucked you through your orgasm until he pulled out and spilled himself all over your pussy. 

You were almost asleep, exhausted and utterly satisfied from the five orgasms you had in the last hours, when you almost missed him pulling you against his chest and kissing your shoulder, mumbling a sleepy „Love you“ against your ear.

Making you fall asleep with a smile on your face. 

[changisworld]

Baby fever

Husband!Chan x reader

word count;3,200

Summary: Your husband, Bangchan has finally decided that he too wants a baby, after you constantly pestering him & getting it into how good parents you would both be.

-just HAD to write this after I got an ask about & then having my amazing 🪫 anon AGREEING which has now encouraged me to write this heheh,

18+, MDNI, SMUT WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

SMUT WARNINGS: PIV, oral(f rec), B R E E D I N G kink, creampie, lactation kink if you squint, nipple sucking, slight dirty talk, channie is BBBIIIGGG, bulge kink, body worship, marking, lovemaking, praise, aftercare but more off screen, 99% smut 1% backstory :3

You & your husband, Chan are just strolling around Walmart, doing some grocery shopping for your fridge & cupboards & you both end up walking past the small clothes section & your eyes land instantly on the cute newborn baby onzies & cute baby packs of socks.

"Channieeee, how can you even look at this n not want a baby? the clothes are so teeny & adorable!" you cheer, looking at him with a big smile & doe eyes on your face & chan just looks at you & rolls his eyes, smiling at you as he reaches out to touch the baby clothes, looking at all the cute patterns on them.

"Shhh! It's not that I don't want a baby, It's just scary! You say the exact same quote every time we walk past anything to do with babies I can rehearse it!" He giggles before putting his hand up & splaying it across the little onzie, comparing the size to it.

"I know but I'm just dyyying for a baby! Would you prefer a boy or a girl? & you've been saying you'll 'think about it' for monthhhs! We'd be the best parents on earth n you know it, I've seen you with kids & you'd be the best dad evverrrrr!" you cheer back, reaching out to ruffle his soft black hair & he kneans into your touch.

"I wouldn't care if about gender as long as I got a mini us & I knowww but still! You've came off the pill so now we just gotta see if it happens, can you get us some tomatoes? We forgot to pick em up." He questions you, putting both hands back on the cart & giving you a kiss on your cheek, making you blush.

"Doesn't mean much if you pull out Channie! I'll grab five." you sigh as you leave your husband & walk to go get what he asked you to. Chan watches you leave before he looks back at some of the cute baby clothes & he picks up three different onzies in different stripes & also polka dot patterns, he also picks up a cute little white baby hat before he buries it underneath the small mountain of items still in the cart before making his way to the checkout, texting you to just put the tomatoes back & meet him at the car.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･:༅｡.｡༅:ﾟ::✼✿　　✿･⭑✼:ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ

"I didn't even realise that you'd asked me for tomatoes but while I was there I remembered you don't even like tomatoes!" You whine as you buckle in your seatbelt, turning to look at the man beside you, now laughing as he turns the key.

"I just wanted to see if you'd remember! You failed the test." he chirps back & you swat him on the arm jokingly & he just laughs at you again before driving back to your shared home.

The rest of the day goes without a hitch, Chan insists on putting the items away & you don't complain, deciding to just tidy up your shared bedroom instead, reorganising the room & making the bed before deciding to just do some laundry since you have the habit of letting it pile up.

You are sorting out your jewellery box, using your shirt to make each piece shinier before replacing each part, fully rearranging the box in front of you when your bedroom door opens & Chan enters the room, hands behind his back.

"Ah, what ya doin babe?" he questions, looking a bit antsy. "Just tidying, why? Wha'cha hiding?" you reply, your head nodding towards him, referring to whatever he is holding behind his frame.

"well eh, I couldn't decide if I was gonna hide it for a while longer or if I wanted to lay it on the bed with rose petals or something, make it all romantic but you caught me, can I do that or are you gonna be stubborn n make me show you now?" he hums to you & you frown your eyebrows at him, chuckling as you try move your head to see what is in his hands, but he is quicker & keeps moving his frame.

"You know me too well, I really am that stubborn, show meeee." you reply as you do as he asks of you anyway & you stand in front of him before closing your eyes & cupping your hands in front of the both of you.

He takes in a deep breath & you just know his hands are shaking behind is back. "Just know y/nnie, no pressure! I don't want you to feel like I'm putting you on the spot." he says in a soft voice as he places something in your hands.

You open your eyes after nodding at his words & look down & what is it you see? A few of the tiny baby onzies you were dreaming over just a few hours ago & an adorable tiny tiny baby hat laying on top of them.

You look up at Chan, nerves smeared all over his features, his adams apple moving through his throat as he swallows, not taking his eyes off you as his hands cup themselves over the outside of yours, his thumbs caressing your hands.

"Is this what I think this means, Channie?" you ask, your mind going at a million miles an hour & the butterflies in your stomach being that crazy you're convinced they're about to fly out of your mouth.

"Uh.. yeah, I've had my mind up for a while, just got a bit scared to directly say it I guess?" he replies, his cheeks a shade of rose pink as you can feel his hands slightly shaking & getting warmer against your as he keeps his on yours.

"Channie, you're so silly, there was nothing to be scared of when I've been begging you to knock me up!" you joke as you softly throw the small fabric on the chest of drawers beside you both before practically throwing yourself at him, connecting your lips together, he freezes for a second before melting into your touch & kissing you back passionately.

He ushers you towards the bed & you lay down once the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed & chan follows right behind you, putting his hand & forearm on the bed beside your head to hold up his weight as his tongue begins to break past your lips, tasting you deeper, which you have no problem reciprocating.

You worm your hands beneath one of his usual black shirts & you feel over his chiselled abs, making him squirm. "You really are desperate, aren'cha?" he teases as he takes the three seconds to take his top off before getting back into the same position he was in before, taking the time to admire your slightly reddened & spit glossed lips.

"Well why waste time when I've been begging for so long?" you chirp back as you wriggle yourself up the bed, making chan follow not long behind you.

Your husband just smirks at you before kissing the tip of your nose. "I love you, soooo much, you mean the world n more to me." he murmurs in a sweet tone to you before he begins to kiss your jawline before making his way down to your neck, nibbling on different spots of your neck before lightly suckling on the exact same parts of skin, leaving four dark red marks on the right side of your neck.

Chan bunches your shirt up at the top of your chest, not bothering to take it off as he wriggles himself downwards just an inch & begins to fondle your tits over your bra as he kisses the parts not covered by the fabric & you sit up just enough to unclasp it for him & he lets out a hum of approval before taking a look up at you, the both of your eyes completely full of lust, pupils blown out & your stomach does a flip.

He cups your right tit in his hand as he starts to tongue your left nipple, your nipples perking up even more than what the cold air caused. He takes it in his mouth & suckles on it, making your back arch off the bed & you let out a small hum as you let your fingers find their way into his hair, playing with it.

"Your tits are so perfect, can't even imagine these filled with milk, try save me some, alright?" he says, more to himself but he still takes the time to look up at you, his fingers not stalling on your right nipple before reattaching his pretty, pink, puffy lips to your nipple, sucking on it as if it's the last time he will ever do so.

"Channie with a lactation kink? who woulda guessed." you chuckle at him as he switches tit, repeating the action & you close your eyes, simply taking in the feeling.

He then stops his motions & gives yet another hickey to your left tit before kissing all the way down your stomach before pushing your shorts & underwear off your smooth legs without much struggle.

"How do you blame me, have you seen you?" he remarks back at your words, not even looking up at you this time as he now settles down at your legs before pushing them open, now looking at your pretty, now glistening cunt & he sighs, a dreamy look painting his features & your heart melts.

He wants to tease you but his own patience is wearing thin so after a few kisses to your thighs, working his way inwards, not missing the way you squirm & twitch beneath him as your thighs rest on his broad shoulders & he licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt which makes you shudder.

He uses the tip of his tongue to slightly tease you but mostly to get a deeper taste by licking the outside part of your folds before using his tongue to part them further before he works his way up to your clit & begins kitten licking it.

"Chan, like that, fingers please." you request, sucking a breath through your teeth, trying your best to stay still for him. "say please n I will" he teases to you before moving away from your clit, much at your disapproval & begins teasing your now leaking hole.

"Pretty pleaseee, Channie, please." You beg as you try push your hips towards him, giving him that little bit extra of your cunt on his lips & he obviously can't help but let out a muffled groan as he starts to grind his hips against the bedsheets, trying to ease even a tiny bit of the pressure in his cock as he listens to your pleas & enters his middle & index finger into your pussy, a small squelch being heard.

He picks up the pace on your clit as he begins to suck & nibble on it, not caring about how much spit is escaping his lips as his fingers match the same speed, doing a 'come here' motion & you begin grinding against his face, your hands reaching down to twist your nipples in your fingers as you begin to fall apart.

"Gonna cum channie, don't stop." you basically demand as your eyes scrunch closed & your legs close in on his head, but he doesn't budge & continues at the same speed, smirking into you & humming & moaning into you & your orgasm bubbles over not even five seconds later, moaning his name non stop.

He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue & fingers as he slowly slows down his movements until you begin to whine & he knows your body well enough to know it's the overstimulation setting in.

He pulls out his fingers & puts them up to his mouth & sucks the orgasm you just had off his fingers & groans to himself before licking his lips & then making his way back up to you & kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue & you whimper on his lips.

"Taste as good as always, do you still wanna do this Channie? You can still pull out if you have any doubts." you reassure him, cupping his cheek with your hand & moving your thumb back & forth, giving him a warm smile. "I'd never back out babe, especially now that it's out in the open, lemme put this baby in you, mkay?" he chirps, nuzzling into your touch before allowing you to sit up so you can take your top off & he strips too, his cock slapping against his lower stomach as he helps manoeuvre you towards the edge of the bed & stands between your legs, jerking himself a few times, his tip already shiny with the amount of precum that has been leaking for the past twenty minutes or so.

He gives you a warm smile & he reaches down to hold your hand, your wedding rings beside one another as he begins to slowly push in, knowing he can't go too quick as he is aware how big he is, he knows he needs to allow a lot of time to stretch so he doesn't make it hurt any more than needed since no matter how much prep he gives you, it still makes you hold your breath for a second.

He buries himself to the hilt & he pauses, letting you get adjust as he kisses your ring finger, making you both blush as you look at each other, nothing but love & adoration in both of your eyes.

"You can move, 'm ready." you softly speak & chan hums as he moves his hips before softly moving them forward again, both of you letting out a moan in unison. "you're so tight, y/n, I'm fully convinced you're made for me." He says in a hoarse voice, biting his bottom lip, making you clench around him.

He begins a medium pace, hitting your G-spot each time & you can barely catch your breath as you both make eye contact, not one of you daring to break it as you can both slightly hear the wet, squelching noises of your cunt wrapping around his cock over your shared moans.

"Chan-nie, you're in my s-stomach, fuck." you yelp as he changes his position slightly, hammering into your spongey spot & kissing your cervix in a painful yet addicting way.

"Hmm yea? I can tell, look at it sweetie." he groans back, slightly breathless as he stands up, pace not slowing as he takes the hand which he is still holding & placing it on your lower stomach & you can't help but get giddy as you can feel his cock in your pelvis, making you clench around your husband more than you already were, making his pace falter.

"Taking me so well, babe, see? too bad we won't get to see it in your pretty belly once my cum sticks, can't say I-I'd complain though." he basically whimpers as he leans back over you, taking your lips in his own as he continues to destroy your poor hole & you yelp into his mouth with how deep he is.

"C-I'm gonna cum, gim-gimme it." you shriek as your hands reach onto behind his back & you dig your nails into his back, refusing to let go & chan just groans into you as he kisses you again, muffling both of your moans but only slightly.

You begin clenching around his cock & he stands back upright to be able to take in the whole sight. He reaches down to rub your swollen button with his thumb & you don't even have the right mind to even be able to warn him before your second orgasm hits you like a brick wall & your legs begin shaking as your back arches & you let out a shriek as you cum, this time all over his cock, your orgasm so strong it almost pushes him out of your hole.

He doesn't falter his pace this time & continues at the same speed & rhythm, throwing his head back but not for long as he feels his own orgasm starting to bubble up.

He looks down at your pretty, reddened face, a small shimmer on your skin, your tits bouncing along with his thrusts as you pinch your nipples again, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Cha-channie, s-so big I-I swear to f-fuck, please c-cum in me, gim-gimme your baby." you whine up at him, trying your best to ignore the overstimulation he is giving you for the sake of his own release & mostly focusing on just trying to push the simple sentence out.

"Wou-wouldn't dream oth-otherwise, beautiful, your pretty belly gon-gonna be so full for me, I know it's gonna s-stick, you're t-too good for me, my angel." he says, breathless & he takes your left hand in his again & he sucks on two of your fingers as he lets his orgasm take over, having to use all his strength to keep himself standing as he lets his cum coat your walls, you taking in the feeling of it too.

Chan lets his own orgasm come & then pass before he slowly pulls out, not failing to notice how his dick is so shiny you'd think he put lube on it & he uses the rest of his strength to help you lay at the top of the bed & he rests his back against the pillows, letting you lay between his legs, your back against his chest.

He grabs the bottle of water from his side of the beds bedside table as he always insists on having water there & feeding you it as he kisses the top of your head.

"Did so well for me hunny, you not sore or anything? I love you sooo much. want me to run you a bath n make food?" he questions softly as he reaches down with the hand not holding the bottle to rub over your stomach.

"I'm fine, more than fine actually, just daydreaming about out future bundle of joy! Just wanna lay here for now but yes, we can bath n eat soon, just lemme melt into you a bit more first." you half joke as you turn your head way from the bottle, indirectly telling him you're finished drinking & he just half laughs as he puts it back where he originally found it & cuddles you.

"Just gotta think of baby names don't we? It can't come soon enough, you can choose food since you'll complain if I order something for us if you give me the freedom to choose." he jokes & you just 'tut' at his words, smiling as you rest your head on his arms.

->Taglist:open!

->Anon list:open!

[accala]

I love how simplistic the clothing is in Advent Children compared to those in Rebirth. I know it's not what they intended (Rebirth is a fairly new game and AC Movie was back in the 2000's). But I like to think that characters had to improvise with their clothes because Shinra, who was the major supplier for everything, was gone after Meteorfall. Plus with Midgar down and in the middle of a wasteland, they had to scramble for resources, so any fabric had to be salvaged.

Here's some side-to-side references of Remake/Rebirth (RR) Clothing vs. Advent Children (AC) Clothing:

[Rufus Shinra]

The buttons. The details. The extra fabric. The belts. And then look how more simple AC is. Sure he has a coat on top of three shirts, but his RR suit looks so extra and customized to fit him whilst his AC suit looks like something he scrounged up in his remaining closet. He lost all of his extra belts. His undershirts look like they’re made out of cheap cotton too. His coat in particular looks short on the sleeves and too loose on his form.

[Turks: Rude, Reno, Tseng, & Elena]

(Top right photo from Advent Children)

Classic expensive suits for RR. Simple suits for AC. Look at those clean looks and small suit details for RR (ex. Rude has a patterned tie and Elena’s collar has a small button/pin on her collar). The difference is apparent with Reno, who has a fancy undershirt in Remake vs his simple cotton undershirt in AC. And if you zoom in on the AC photo, the coats have zippers!!! The AC coats also look loose compared to their form fitting coats in RR.

[Cloud Strife]

AC!Cloud has more fabric than in RR. But AC lacks the details that RR has. For example, RR has leather gloves with metal encased on the wrist and fingers. His shoulder pad looks forged with giant metal screws as well. But AC mostly has leather and little to no metal except for its strap buckles and wolf insignia (And it's likely that Cloud made those wolf symbols himself). Although, he does have major upgrades (read: his sword and motorcycle; both things he probably made himself/with help from scrap materials).

(Extra note: This is a common theme on other characters where they replace their utility pockets and metal armor with leather/denim. It makes sense for their equipment to be replaced due to wear and tear. Lack of metal armor could be due to lack of weapon/armor production. Plus Leather pauldrons/gauntlets are faster to make.)

[Tifa Lockhart]

Her outfit in AC looks more casual than in RR (ex. She got rid of her compression armbands; She switched out her red combat boots for look-alike converse sneaker boots; and put her utility pockets in front of her skirt/shorts combo). Notice how she doesn’t have gloves nor Materia slots in the movie (Although it’s weird that she DOES have gloves in other games/promos).

[Barret Wallace]

In AC, he has a sleeveless puffer jacket and a fishnet shirt. He also lost his leather utility pockets (for ammo possibly) from RR. And it’s probably because he doesn’t need it, now that he has a new advanced weapon (it can transform from a metal arm into a high tech machine gun and vice versa). As an oil baron, he probably has more access to materials and utilities compared to other characters, that’s why Barret’s clothes don’t look so simple/improvised.

[Marlene Wallace]

Obviously Marlene would have a different look when she got older. But look at her cute frilly pink dress vs. her white sleeveless collared shirt and floral patterned skirt (notice how her outfit looks like a mix of Cloud and Aerith’s outfits). The stitching for her AC outfit is way more simple. Also I’d like to think Barret gave her that floral patterned fabric for her skirt since it would have been difficult to get ahold of.

[Yuffie Kisaragi]

Zippers galore. Her outfit is changed to black with a floral patterned shirt with a denim ensemble (I think her outfit is a little extra because she's a WRO member). Her shuriken’s the same but her metal and leather armor are gone and replaced with a wristband and a black cloth that covers her forearm. She still has her utility pockets though but it’s in denim (I wonder, did she break her old armor?).

(Edit: She also has these green converse knee high boots?? Again, as a WRO member, she probs got them outside of Midgar)

[Vincent Valentine]

Nothing changed that much. He kept his coat. His AC leather straps and gauntlet are less detailed than the Rebirth one. The metal buckles look different in shape too. I think he changed those in AC. Makes sense if there were wear and tear during the years (I wonder how he does his laundry though lmao).

[Cid Highwind]

Cid changed to a cotton blue shirt. He doesn’t have his pilot scarf anymore nor his flight jacket. Instead, he has a brown bomber jacket tied around his waist with a dog tag around his neck. As much as I think his clothes are due to scarce resources, I also don’t think he cares that much regarding fashion.

[Reeve Tuesti]

The shoulder pads. The silver and yellow accents. The foot length blue coat. It's a major improvement on Reeve's outfit compared to his old businessman suit. As the WRO leader, he gets access to making his outfit a little fancy (more chances to trade with other towns/cities outside of Midgar). Although I do think someone made that coat for him, and he wanted to reject it because he considered it too much. But accepted either way 'cause it would be a waste.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {5}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Max arrives at the wrong time and everything goes to hell. Warnings: 18+ only, angst WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

The door opening might as well have been a punch to your gut. You had seen Lando lose, you had seen him cry, but you had never seen him defeated.

“Lan,” you whispered in the silence as you rose from the couch where you had been curled up in Charles’ arms, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, it was an accident.”

The backpack hanging from his sagging shoulders slipped and thudded to the floor as he saw the suitcase waiting beside the door. “So this is how it is, go public and kick me out?”

“Lando, no.” You closed the distance and crashed into his chest but his arms didn’t return the embrace as you looked up to see the tears in his eyes.

“They’re mine, mon cher,” Charles said as he wrapped his arms around the both of you and kissed Lando’s temple. Lando closed his eyes at the soft touch of Charles’ lips and a tear squeezed free, squeezing your heart at the same time. “I thought you might want the night together after what happened.”

Lando fisted his hand in Charles' shirt to stop him from stepping any further away and tugged him back. Their lips collided with desperate need and you melted at the sight of their tongues fighting for dominance until Lando won. Charles sank into his embrace and moaned when Lando combed his fingers through his hair before they parted breathless. “You’re not leaving right now are you?”

Charles chuckled softly and shrugged. “I’m sure I can be convinced to stay for a little while.”

You would usually try to go to bed early before a race but this wasn’t a normal night. It was already late by the time Charles left for the empty room booked in his name down the hall, next to the empty one of Lando’s, for appearances sake. There was still no chance of sleep yet, not while Lando lay awake and staring at the patterns on the ceiling.

He had been a little rougher as his emotions got the better of him, not enough to hurt you or Charles, but enough to know there was a discussion needed about the new situation. Since Charles left he had been quiet, retreating back into himself the longer he lay there.

“Babe, we need to talk.”

His rising chest stopped as his eyes darted your way. “I hate those words. They are never followed by anything good.”

“They’re just words, not good or bad,” you pointed out but he just looked away with a huff of air through his nostrils. “What do you think we should do?”

“About what?” He turned and propped himself up on his elbow as he traced a fingertip along your curves. “About how my boyfriend and my girlfriend get to have a normal relationship in public, go out on dates, hold hands, kiss? About how I have to play third wheel, a friend tagging along?” He flopped back down and slung an arm across his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“There are other options. We could say we went on a date but it’s nothing serious, no label, be more careful and let the heat die down. Not everyone who kisses has to be in a relationship.”

“If you say you aren’t dating him then the tabloids will call you a slut, that’s how they work,” he muttered.

“I don’t care what they call me, they’ve called me a bitch for most of my career.”

“But I care! I hate how you are treated by the male reporters, how everyone holds you to different standards.”

“It wasn’t all that long ago when you were one of those people too,” you reminded him. “You treated me differently to your guy friends.”

“Not because you were a girl,” he groaned as he pinched your hip. “That was because I was in love with you.”

You quirked an eyebrow up and poked him in the chest. “Was?”

“Am, always,” he corrected with a laugh before he sighed. “I feel like I’ll be forgotten.”

“Oh, Lando…” You pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. “This only works because of the three of us. Without you, we wouldn’t be complete. I wouldn’t be complete.”

His face softened at the reassuring words and his hands ran up your body to cup your face, pulling you down to meet his. “Promise me,” he whispered against your lips.

Taking one of his hands you held his forefinger and crossed it over your heart. “I promise. You won’t ever be forgotten.”

Cradling you to his chest, he wrapped his arms around you and yawned as the exhausting day came to a close. “What do you think Charles is doing?”

You snorted a laugh. “Probably sitting on an ice pack.”

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” Lando asked as he bit his lip.

“I don’t think our Charles has ever really been spanked, he might feel it in the morning,” you giggled. “He knows you would have stopped the moment he asked to, but he didn’t, so it wasn’t too much for him.”

He relaxed under you and after a few minutes his breathing evened out as he fell asleep. You started to climb off him so you could lay on his arm but the moment you moved he woke up.

“You make a terrible weighted blanket,” he grumbled. “Stay still.”

Chuckling, you laid back down and made yourself comfortable, pulling the blankets up to settle in for the night. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

His sleepy mumblings were almost incoherent but you caught his reply with a smile as you drifted off too.

“Max?” You frowned as you opened the door expecting to find Charles returning for breakfast. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” he replied as he pushed the door open and walked in without an invitation.

You pulled the hotel robe tighter around your body and crossed your arms defensively. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“He’s one of my best mates and you lied to me.”

“I never lied, I just didn’t tell you - because it’s none of your business what I do. And, it obviously didn’t affect your friendship.”

“Secrets are bad,” he stated like he was talking to Penelope and you felt your temper rise.

“I was a secret!” you hissed sharply. “I was a secret for ten fucking years, Max. Does that make me bad?”

“Why are you whispering?” Max narrowed his eyes at the bedroom door that was almost closed. “Is that bastard here? I'm going to kill him.”

“Max, don’t go in there.” He ignored your protest as he shoved the door open and tore the bedding away. “Max!”

Confusion hit Max like a slap to the face as he saw who it was asleep naked facedown in your bed. “Lando?”

Lando came awake suddenly, after managing to sleep through the noise it was the cold air that woke him. “Woah, what the…?”

“You’re fucking him too?” Max growled, turning away from Lando to look down his nose at you. Disappointed was set deep in his features as he shook his head. “You’re a whore, just like your mother.”

You didn’t even feel your fingers closing around the vase, you didn’t feel anything but the explosive need to make him regret his words. Max managed to dodge the vase as it flew across the room at him but porcelain shattered against the wall that your scream echoed off.

“Apologise now,” you demanded as you started to stalk your half brother around the bed. “My mother did nothing wrong! Jos may have cheated on your mum, but he royally fucked mine over.”

You didn’t hear the footsteps coming in, and you barely registered the arms that wrapped around you, the red sleeves bright against your white robe. All your focus was on Max and the sneer on his face that you wanted to slap right off. 

“Guess you’re more like Jos than you thought then,” Max snickered. “Let her go, Charles, prove once and for all that you are a Verstappen.”

“What the hell is going on?” Charles growled as he struggled to hold you back. “Lando…a little…help.”

Max frowned as he watched Lando rush to help keep you from reaching him, after tripping over the pair of boxers he was trying to pull on. “You’re not even going to ask why Lando was in her bed?”

“I would be more worried if he wasn’t, it’s where I left them,” Charles snapped impatiently. “Now get the fuck out of our room.”

Max swallowed as he digested the news and an array of emotions flitted across his face. “Where you left them…”

Lando cupped your face as he positioned himself between you and Max, talking softly as he tried to get your attention, “Look at me, love. Forget what he said, he’s wrong.”

“You’re nothing like Jos,” Charles reminded quietly in your ear, his lips brushing your neck as he spoke. 

You finally dragged your eyes away from Max and met Lando’s only to see the rage you showed outwardly suppressed deep in his blue eyes. Closing your eyes, you sagged in their arms and nodded as the fight left you as quickly as it came. It was only then that you realised the shaking wasn’t coming from you but Charles and Lando. They were using you as an anchor as much as you were clinging to them like a lifesaver.

“Go away,” you said to Max as Lando buried his face in the crook of your neck, his quiet murmurings promising you their friendship was over for what he called you. “Leave us alone.”

“But-”

“As far as I am concerned, I don’t have a father, and I don’t have a brother.” Your voice was steadier than you expected it to be but it was empty, cold and dead. “I have everything I need right here.”

Max could see there was no arguing with you, your mind was set and you were stubborn. Making his way out of the room he paused beside Lando, looking at his closest friends to see they were just as disappointed as he was, only theirs was aimed at him. “You’re throwing away a decade of friendship for her?”

Charles' arms tightened around you as his back stiffened at the question and you peeked up over your shoulder to see the sadness in his eyes. “You did that, mate, the moment you disrespected the woman we love.”

“Charles, you love every woman you date. My sister is just going to be another girl you get bored with and dump at the end of the season.” Max shook his head and made his way to the door only to stop as he reached for the doorknob. “I hope you really thought this through, zusje. What happens when one of them crashes, are you going to throw away a win just to check they are alright?”

“Yes.” It was an easy question to answer. “Some things are more important than winning, which just goes to show…I’m not a Verstappen.”

You left the circuit without taking the usual team celebration photo. You left the moment the podium celebration was finished. 

There had been no flood of excitement or adrenaline as you stood at the centre between Max and Lewis. You hadn’t even been able to shake your bottle of champagne to more than a fizz before taking a seat on the step and overlooking the crowd that cheered. You deserved the win, you worked hard for it, so why did you feel like shit? 

You had pushed recklessly, taking corners needlessly fast so you could stay ahead of Max. You had degraded the tires uncharacteristically quick with poor management. It wasn’t a clean win. It wasn’t won for the right reasons. You had wanted to humiliate Max and a 20 second lead was the only way you could do that. 

Spotting a disappointed Jos in the crowd, you lifted the bottle up to salute him before tipping it back with both hands and swallowing as much of the bubbly as you could before Calum intervened. He already had his hands full after collecting the Constructors trophy on behalf of Red Bull but he made room to take your bottle as well.

“Come on, Spitfire,” he said as he hooked an arm under yours and pulled you to your feet. “Another one for the collection.”

You forced a smile and traded your trophy for the bottle. “Can you take that down to the garage for me?”

“Sure. Where are you going?”

“Home.” Your eyes drifted to Max who was busy wiping away the confetti stuck to his hair. You had half expected him to tell everyone the truth but as the day wore on there was no breaking news or anything more than the photo of you and Charles kissing. 

“Wait, hold up, wait…” he called after you but you were already descending the stairs and weaving your way out the back of the motorhomes. You stopped by the empty Red Bull space just long enough to change your clothes and grab your bag but by the time you opened the door Charles and Lando were waiting outside your driver room.

“Need an escape, love?” Lando asked as he held up the key to the McLaren sports car he had been given for the weekend. “We can beat the traffic to the airport if we leave now. Anywhere you want in the world, baby.”

You pulled your phone out of your bag and turned it on to see all the unread messages but there was one you had been waiting for and you smiled when you found a reply had come in during the race. 

Of course, honey, you are always welcome home x

“Anywhere?” you asked as you put your phone away. You met their curious faces as they nodded and waited for your destination. “How would you like to meet my mum?”

Click here for part six.

[sxorpiomooon]

What should you dress like based on your rising sign.

hello!! If you guys want to you can also check for your venus sign for a more accurate description and lmk if you guys would want me to make a post with some clothes example!

check out my paid readings as well

Aries-

Athletic wear,edgy bold prints, leather, acubi aesthetic, cargos, lose shorts, formal, bold genderbending style. Y'all just wanna look cool😭

Colours- red, monochromatic.

Taurus -

Feminine clothes, net, maxi dresses, sweatpants, a lot of accessories, satin plain shirts, blazers jumpsuit y'all love smelling and looking rich and classy lmaaao

Colours- sage green, beige

Gemini-

Playful, I literally had a vision of jeans with dress and jersey with skirts, mix and match, two three aesthetics all at once, vibrant colours, Y2K, bratz, quirky accesories, glasses lmao I'm seeing so many tiktok videos in my head rn

Colours- neon, vibrant colours, splash or colours

Cancer-

Soft, coquette, loves pearls and carrying purses or cute wallets, cutely and ethereal at the same time, white colour

Colours- soft feminine colours such as sky blue, lavender etc

Leo-

Wants to stand out, flashy colours, gold jewellery, rings, bold colours, rock grunge might suit you guys

Colours- black, prints.

Virgo-

Formal,old money ralph lauren lmao, skirts, belts, floral skirts, forest fairy core? Cares alot about details and will always want to personalize the look somehow

Colours- green also you guys would look really good with basic jewellery

Libra-

Cute maxi dresses, clothes that have art on them, bunch of charms, alot of colours, ethereal jewellery and clothing, old channel vintage or clueless sort of clothing.

Colours- soft colours like baby blue, baby pink as well as lilac

Scorpio -

Bold cuts and colours and clothes and accessories, less accessories more eye makeup perhaps, bold fashion statements, might, v cut and boots. You guys might also look good while wearing only one colour instead of two three at the same time

Colours- wine red, maroon, velvet clothing

Saggitarius-

Eclectic, upbeat clothes, lose shirts, flamboyant, mix colours and different patterns at once it's like wearing different earrings on both ears.

Colours- yellow, orange

Capricorn -

Formal, elegant, old money, big handbags, old vintage watches I also heard Italy flea market for some reason so lmao

Colours- neutral tones

Aquarius -

Comfy, sweatpants, trousers, oversized, streetwear, patterned clothes might really care about good statement shoes, thrift, flamboyant clothing lmao

Colours- faded jeans and clothing, blue eyeshadow or blue colour in general honestly

Pisces-

Transparent, net, shiny, pastel shiny colours, chunky aesthetic jewellery, pendants, sunglasses, delicate, silver.

Colours- lavender, baby blue etc

Thankyouuu!!

[radiant-reid]

Angel

Summary: Based on 14x09 where BAU!Reader recounts how working the case reminded her of Spencer's addiction

a/n: tbh this is trash, just trying to get some motivation back

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Content Warning: references to Spencer's Dilaudid addiction

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Navigation

There are flowers on the table. 

That's the first thing Y/n notices and the only thing out of place in their otherwise tidy house. Spencer's always been a clean person. 

The kid clutter- books, coloring pens, tiny shoes, the occasional Lego figure- that clutter, he's proud of.

Next to the vase is a bowl of pasta in a tomato-based sauce, and she guesses because of that, there's at least one child-size shirt soaking in the laundry with a stain on it.

"Hey, beautiful." Spencer makes her jump with his silent footsteps, followed by sudden voice. He touches her shoulders, massaging them softly. 

She turns around, placing a quick kiss on his lips. "Hey. Missed you."

He pulls her forward, resting his head on top of hers. "Missed you too. Glad you made it back safe." 

Things are different since the bureau mandated Spencer take time off as part of his reinstatement after prison. After the births of their three kids, Y/n stayed home, naturally, on maternity leave while Spencer continued going out on cases with the team. In between, and for most of their relationship and marriage, they worked at the BAU, spending almost every minute together. But this is different. Now, Spencer's the one that spends more time in DC, and in his 30 days not working at the BAU, he does an excellent job as a househusband. 

Y/n pulls back, admiring his features for the first time in days."Sleeping angels?" She checks.

He scoffs lightly. "Not so much." She raises her eyebrows, humored. "Water, bathroom, another story, you know how it goes."

She chuckles. "Oh, yeah, I've heard that song before."

"Love them, though." He adds. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving." She turns to the delicious-smelling pasts on the table while his hands stay on her waist. Spencer's learned a lot while being a dad but his learning to cook has been very rewarding for her.

They move to the couch, needing to be closer than they would be if they were sitting at the table. 

Her smile dimmers after she's complimented his cooking, and he's called her beautiful again. It's an easy difference in demeanor to spot for Spencer as a husband rather than a profiler. 

"The case?" Spencer guesses. 

Y/n takes a deep breath in and shrugs. "One like that wouldn't get to me usually." She tries to dismiss her feelings.

He catches it, having used the same technique many times. If it's bothering her, they're going to discuss it. "It was Tara's ex-husband that discovered a pattern?"

"Mm-hmm, uh, Daryl, he brought it to her, thinking there was an angel of death unsub killing people in the recovery community." She recaps, although he already knows from their discussion on the phone. 

Technically, he's only allowed to know the basic details, not offer advice, but as long as Emily doesn't officially know that the occasional case-solving tip comes from Spencer, it's okay.

"What was his vice?" He asks.

Tara didn't want to spill all the details, but Y/n had made a few assumptions. "Alcohol, drugs later, I think." 

"So why was this one more difficult than usual?" Spencer asks, frowning then it hits him. "Oh." 

Y/n feels a pang of guilt in her chest at Spencer's expression contorting. "No, I don't mean-" She pauses, not knowing what to say. Neither can deny that her feelings are connected to what Spencer went through.

"Comparing the victims to me?" He guesses again.

Her selfishness feels even worse than her guilt. "No. Tara had to give a heart-wrenching speech. And we were in very different situations, her and Douglas and you and I, but it made me think about that time." She tries to explain it.

Spencer understands, and he nods solemnly. "We never talk about that in relation to you." He realizes that it's something he feels guilty about.

"I don't like to talk about it." She shrugs. "Just hearing what Tara said struck a chord." She could feel Tara's pain through Emily's repeated words, and it was all too easy to remember the heartbreak of seeing someone she loved struggling.

Spencer takes her hand, squeezing it lightly. "We can talk about it whenever you want, you know?" 

"Not now." She shakes her head. "I missed you." 

He smiles softly, resting against the couch and spreading his arms out. Y/n rests her legs over his and tucks herself under his arm. "I missed you too." He kisses her forehead and holds her closer. Things feel better when they're all under one roof. "Y/n, it's really important to me that you know how much I appreciate you staying through that. You're an angel, you know?"

"Spence." She coos, touching his cheek softly and momentarily getting caught in his eyes. "It wasn't a hard choice to stay with you and support you through that. I love you, and I'll always be here for you."

He takes a deep breath in. "I love you too. I could talk about how grateful I am for you forever, you know?"

"I know." She laughs lightly, having heard those speeches from him more than once. It never gets less heartwarming.

Spencer shuffles slightly, reaching out to take something off the coffee table. She raises her eyebrows until a look of recognition takes over her features. 

"A photo album?" She asks curiously. "Why's that out here?" 

"It's our first." He explains as he opens it, tracing his finger over the cover page. "Tillie wanted to see it." He finds the page he's looking for, showing her a photo of them. 

Y/n grins, looking at it, remembering the exact second it was taken. "You look so little." She coos, touching the glossy picture of them. They're not much older than 25, fresh-faced, innocent, and dressed nicely. Spencer's smiling the adorable smile he still smiles today. It's stayed the same through every challenge they've faced.

"You've always been so beautiful." He mumbles, stroking her hair with his spare hand.

Her cheeks heat as she taps him on the shoulder. "Stop." She whines. 

"Never." He shakes his head. "You're gorgeous, and I'm going to make sure you know it. I have no idea how I got so lucky."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "I'm the one that got lucky, marrying a genius."

"I married a genius too," Spencer claims, and he pulls her even closer to him like there's any chance she wants to move.

"Can we just sit here a while?" She asks as she relaxes more into him. 

He leans down to kiss her forehead. "For as long as you want, angel."

[joojconverts]

4T3 Conversion of TwentiethCenturySims' Catalogue

A 4t3 conversion of (most of) twentiethcenturysims' catalogue for all your sims! I truly hope you like it! Enjoy! <3

In this compilation are included sets, mini-sets and standalone pieces that the original creator made! Recolors, posepacks, fantasy items, repeated pieces (things very similar to what I've already converted in the past), and pieces categorized as "timeless" are not included!

This is what I've been working on haha! My last statement for some time... thank you all so much, once again! 💖

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Known Problems:

The trim on the "Wilma Casual Dress" (purple dress with bow) gets a bit wonky at the end of the skirt! I tried to fix it in many different ways, but this is what I got!

The pleads on the "French Hen Dress" also get a bit wonky, same as above!

LIGHTING GLITCHES ONLY APPEAR ON CAS!

* Note that teens and elders have neck gaps. This is sadly the price for having them available! For teens, try using this and this slider by gruesim!

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ALL OG CREDITS GO T​O @twentiethcenturysims! IT’S NOT MY MESHES, AND IT’S NOT MY TEXTURES, I JUST CONVERTED THEM TO THE SIMS 3!

————— —————  

NOTES:

Because TwentiethCenturySims is a great creator, his whole catalogue is quite low-poly and gameplay friendly, so don't worry about that!

All 3 hats are hat-slider compatible and unissex, as always!

The Ida, Annie and Elsie dresses (gingham and flowers pattern) all have 11 presets. First 10 are overlays, having multiple floral options, but with collars, buttons and bows being recolorable. Last one is completely recolorable!

The "baby sweater" (green sweater with black tie) has 4 presets, first two having christmas-like patterns, third one having a knitted pattern, and last one being completely CAStable!

The "baby dress" (red dress with white collar) has 12 presets. 6 first presets have a velvety texture which is recolorable, with 5 flower options to the collar, and one without the flowers. Same applies to the other 6, but they don't have the velvet texture to the dress!

The "baby hat" also comes with 2 presets, one having a velvety texture, and the other one not!

The "Havana jacket" (orange jacket with white shirt) has 31 presets. First one is completely recolorable, and the other 30 are a variety of overlay patterns to the white shirt. The jacket stays recolorable in all of them!

The "Eleanor 1930's Dress" (green dress with bow) has 6 presets. First 4 have overlay patterned presets to the dress, but the bow, collar and trim stay recolorable. The last 2 are completely CAStable!

The "Piper Dress" (kids' dress with blue bow) has 4 presets. The first 4 have overlay patterned presets on the dress, but the rest remains recolorable! The last one is completely recolorable!

The "Goose Suit" (kids' gray suit) has 3 presets. First two have different patterns checkered patterns, and the last one is plain. In all of them the collar is an overlay texture.

The "Ruffles the Clown Costume" has 2 presets, having two different stripe options.

The "Billy Sailor Suit" (Toddler's sailor-inspired outfit) has 2 presets, with two different mask options. The second one has three little recolorable circles on the belt.

The "Darlene Sailor Dress" is the same as the above, but reversed haha!

The "Swan Suit" (houndstooth patterned suit) is totally recolorable, though it may not seem like it lol! I added the houndstooth pattern from CAS, which you can remove and put anything you want instead!

The "Bonnie Two-Piece Dress" (checkered dress with buttons) has two versions: the AF-EF version, as usual, and a teen-age conversion, just because I feel like it'd be useful to you!

The "Viola 1930's Dress" (yellow stripes and brooch dress) has 5 presets. The first, second and last presets are totally recolorable, having different mask options! Third and fourth presets have floral patterned overlays on the dress, but the collar, belt, etc. remains recolorable! The brooch looks a bit off without the accessory overlay, which is the next note!

There is an overlay/color mix accessory for the brooch on the "Viola Dress, which can be found in the socks category. It gives a multiplier (details) to the brooch, as well as making it fully recolorable! If you're going to use the dress, I highly recommend only using it with the accessory activated! It has a separate thumbnail, as seen in the previews!

As you saw on the previews, there are two buy mode objects: a highchair and a potty, both for your babies! They're found where these objects are usually found (Kids -> Baby Furniture). The potty costs §30, and the highchair costs §100!

You probably noticed the 4 skirt thumbnails (with its half options) at the bottom. Because I don't want this post to be gigantic, I'll link to the original post where twentiethcenturysims explains how to use them and their purposes: HERE! Yes, they're found under "accessories"!

I think that's all haha! Now to the download! <3

SimFileShare |  Dropbox

☕  buy me a coffee or become a patron!

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Credits:

@twentiethcenturysims for all the meshes and textures; you can find everything here!

💖 @katsujiiccfinds​​​ @emilyccfinds​​​ @kpccfinds​​​  @xto3conversionsfinds

[jolapeno]

i. to fix a porch

joel miller x f!reader | chapter one of honey stained hands

chapter summary: it’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged. and all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you.

wordcount: 3.5k warnings: typical canon-angst. my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: i am so nervous about this. i hope you like. huge thanks to @guyfieriii + @thetriumphantpanda for holding both my hands.

The world had gone to shit, but the world hadn’t gone to shit.

It still grew, expanded—and changed.

Just as it once had. The grass didn’t stop turning green. The trees didn’t stop rustling, the flowers didn’t stop pollinating between bones and disintegrating fabric.

Nature, in all its immensity, didn’t bow to the cordyceps that stole minds and whispered destruction along roads and grass. Nature didn’t allow the rot to take the seasons, as it had done with so many other things.

The end of times wasn’t allowed to touch the moon’s schedule. It didn’t have an impact on how the daylight grew shorter and the night span longer. It had no bearing on the way leaves turned golden, the dew appeared on tall grass, or how both danced under amber-rising and lemon-setting suns.

The outbreak took souls, but it didn’t rid the craved scents of stews and freshly baked apples—two aromas that flooded Jackson's roads.

Mostly, even if something else thrummed along the ground, and spoke in claimed lives, it couldn’t try and claim to have any effect on the way frost made the morning path glitter—or how it made the world still feel magical.

Fungus had stolen a lot. Had spread its poison across state lines and once happy towns. But it couldn’t thieve the natural beauty that shifted in three monthly turns.

Joel wakes in a sea of sweat, panic and desperation. Forehead clammy. Salt and pepper hair clinging in thin spider-leg lines against the creases of his frown.

Each morning, since Joel has been here, has followed the same pattern. The shadowy nightmares were still there, ever-present—swirling and twirling, not ready to stop their dance. Even if the sun is blasting through, informing them it’s morning—it’s the time their claws should retract and allow him to experience a new day.

They never really do. They remain, hanging in the edges of his thoughts, his eyes—even as sleeping thoughts diluted into the present day.

Just the same as he did yesterday and the day before, his closed fist rubs in gentle circles against his chest—right over his heart. Where it thumps and beats, hammering quickly. Fingers and palm attempting to soothe it, half-wishing he could weave under milk-white bone and release the guilt-wrapped tendrils around it.

It doesn’t matter what his routine involves, it’s all in vain.

Little to nothing alleviates it. Not the circles of his hand over the bobbled t-shirt he sleeps in or the way he wills himself to breathe, to fill his lungs—advice given against his will.

Joel has attempted a lot of things, but the tightness always remains. The imaginary vines forever constricting, all stemmed with thorns, digging in, tightening their hold as he struggled to gasp, never mind breathe. It’s like a fungus of its own, a thing poisoning him, ruining him, blackening what’s left of his soul.

All because he made a choice—one he’d make a thousand times (if given the chance).

Blinking, he slowly sits. Back aching, body groaning as the honeyed sun coats the place he calls his. It flutters over the set of drawers, the flannel draped over the handle of his closet, and the strings of the guitar, gifted by Tommy to keep him busy and out of trouble.

It’s a good place he’s found himself in. A normal place—one found in the centre of moving on and trying to live life. Something he gives enough of a shit not to let it be torn from him and a thing he worries is being tugged from his grip all the same.

One wrong move.

That’s what he hears, even if no one says it. It never leaves their lips, but instead is etched into the faces of everyone he has been introduced to. It was discernible on his sister-in-law's face when he and Ellie appeared; it was poorly concealed by his brother when he’d handed him the instrument.

So much so, that he’s become worried all of this—the safety, the future for Ellie—will be taken from him if he breathes wrong. If he makes eye contact a little too quickly, a little too sternly, too forcibly and not followed quickly enough by a half-smile.

He tries. Not for him, but for her. The same person he keeps his jeans close by and his t-shirt on for—the one that makes him sleep on the side so his good ear can hear a scream of his name—just in case. The same person who manages to shift off the worry, dusting him down without knowing the impact she has on him—the young person who forms him, shapes him into someone half-decent, who is willing to try, who is willing to do things with his hands that isn’t fighting or shooting.

The only time Ellie has shouted for him since being here, though, is for breakfast.

Now, the house is silent—too silent. A smile almost appearing all on its own. An image bubbling, appearing, blanketing over the nightmares that tried to linger. One of her, in her new bedroom—the one she keeps talking about painting—all asleep, mouth open, catching flies.

Joel snorts, swallowing it back. All of the darkness that is weaved inside of him. Focuses on the little flecks of dust that glitter in the glow of a new day, how they fall absently in the space between light and dark—making a choice, one he makes each day, to be here. To try.

His hand slides from his chest, landing on his wrist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his thumb slide over the broken glass of his watch—the one he never removes—another thing he does daily. Another thing that has become a routine.

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in.

Joel had expected something more to be requested from him. Almost braced to be told he would be stationed on the other side of the gate—in a more permanent role than others. But, he wasn’t.

If anything, he was given tasks.

Menial things, but tasks all the same.

Little jobs, all reminiscent of a handyman back before things to fungus and rot. Oddities, bits and bobs. Projects half-finished or never begun at all—assigned, handed to him, chosen for him because he’s there and capable. And not, as Tommy explains, is because no one trusts him.

The first had been his own porch. The wood split, cracked, creaking—an accident waiting to happen (a thing he’d muttered to Tommy when he’d first walked up the steps of it), more so as the days became shorter and the nights loomed closer.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toolbox placed at his feet the next day. A smug look on his younger brother’s face: think it’s time y’fix y’damn porch, brother. A clap on the back to cement it, a promise silently exchanged—that he could ask more of him when he was done.

And Tommy did, just not how he expected.

His breath mists the same as Tommy’s when he sighs, the weather biting as the two hovered on his newly repaired porch: got something else for you to do.

Maybe he should have said something when the silence filled the air when Joel suggested after. That he’d be good on patrol, that he could help in ways that weren’t repairing porches, front of shops and whatever else he brought to his door. If not for the fact he was grateful for the chance, for her—for the girl who is slowly making friends, who is beginning to smile—he may have done. The old Joel would have. He’d have pointed out that his skin isn’t stained with scarlet, that his hands are worn, but not smeared with the guts of those who’d crossed him. That he’d hung up as much of the former demons as he could.

He suspected, deep down, that Tommy could still see them haunting him. Knew that they kept him awake when the world went silent—that Joel didn’t sleep until the moon was at its highest, and woke with them jeering at him, perched on his shoulders, poking holes into his soul.

Joel also presumed that Tommy could see the way guilt had looped itself inside of him, strangling, making truthfulness harder to spill. Even if Tommy had no idea. Even if Joel hadn’t whispered to even the animals, never mind a person, what happened before he and Ellie had arrived.

So, he doesn’t argue, not as he’s handed another task, and another, then another. Days seep into weeks, weeks ticking into another month. Each time, his jaw grits, and his head nods, all well-versed, practised, as he picks up his toolbox and heads where he’s needed.

Except, today, when he’d finished up the fence that contained the sheep, a request came from someone else—a person he had spotted, but never spoken to. They were weary, guarded—approaching with caution as though bracing for him to snap, to become the callous individual they’ve likely heard through the whispers of gossiped stories.

In time, they approach, asking, burying their hands into their pockets as they do, before they continue with their reasoning for the request—one not for themself, but another person in Jackson.

A person Joel realised was his neighbour.

He’d been a good neighbour once, almost a lifetime ago.

Had hoped that it would come to him when Tommy had introduced him to you the following morning after he and Ellie returned. Your hand in his, smaller, but warm, a smile that was inviting, but slid over to Ellie upon Tommy’s introduction.

You usually rose early, that he had learnt when he’d begun to watch the sunrise before the leaves not just changed, but began to litter the floor in an array of shades. A pattern of habits he had picked up when he’d descended his own staircase, finding you already passing his home or your lights were on, already busy ticking off the hours of your day.

Today, he’d spotted (thankfully) the latter. His coat was thrown on, boots stepped into, toolbox in hand before he closed his door behind him and headed over. Your name on the tip of his tongue, all heavy, thick—an array of unsorted letters he’s hoping will shift into something as he climbs the steps to your front door. The syllables there, desperate to form, but in no order when his hand lifts to knock.

Air is what greets him, as the door rips open before his knuckles can even make contact.

Now, he’s standing in front of you—again. Your eyes land on him, brushing over in thick strokes of warmth, and all he can focus on is how you don’t step back in fright or stand a little taller. If anything, you don’t react, don’t move, as though it’s normal he’s there standing, talking to you.

“Oh, hi? It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

It’s kind, sweet, your tone. Eyes wide in a way that reminds him of a surprised, small animal—except, you’re grinning, not spooked. No sign of fear or question sketched across your features, or into the rest of your face, not as he stands, hovering.

It’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged.

And all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you. Something that has remained, that has weathered the storm of whatever it is, and however you came to be. Your smile rises, sliding into your cheeks, as his brain snaps a Polaroid of it and stores it somewhere less dusty in his mind.

“I just have to nip out, do you need something?”

Your hand sliding a jacket—one he’d just noticed in your hand—around your frame. It buries you, smothering, hiding yourself into it as you pull it around, watching, studying him as he does the same to you.

Shaking his head, he glances at your porch. “No, ma’am. Jus’ here to fix your porch.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I make one comment and… anyway, I don’t want to trouble you. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Looking down, you stare around at the porch. Him waiting, watching. “Guess it’s lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on taking it with me.”

It tugs from him, not forcibly pulled, but rather rolling from his mouth willingly: a laugh. It’s gruff, covered in cobwebs and sheets. It’s different, laughing with an adult compared to a pun book in the hands of a child.

“Well, definitely makes my life a bit easier that you’re not.”

Smirking, you lick your lips—a thing he spots, and finds makes his cheeks burn. “Yeah, guessing that following me around the animal pen wouldn’t be your favourite thing… after the other day.”

His eyes narrow, attempting to follow—until it dawns. Until it slams into him.

“You saw.”

“I did. Roscoe is a very boisterous sheep, though. So, it’s more on him than you.”

Cursing under his breath, he dips his head. Trying to stifle the embarrassment, the one rising in him like a phoenix, swarming up.

“Anyway, do you need any tools…”

That’s when he notices how your voice dies, your smile fading. Your words all fall from existence as the warmth around the two of you suddenly chills, as though he’s been plunged into a snowstorm. Your eyes had dropped, landing on the box in his hand.

It’s long, too long.

Almost prolonged, the quietness shifting into awkwardness until you’re blinking, head lifting, chin rising, determined and full of insolence.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Nodding, he swallows. Ignoring, for your sake, that your voice cracks before you’re hurrying past him. Watching, and staring until you’re a blip, a little figure in the distance of the cold morning—unable to forget about it, the look, the one that unhooked something in him.

Because it made him question—made him want to ask.

His hand shifts around the handle of the toolbox, staring down at it—the one he suspects belongs to someone you knew, someone you were close to. One that is in the hands of someone you don’t know, someone you live next to, that you know nothing about.

Except stories.

And fuck, Joel knows the stories can’t be good.

Joel had maybe made an assumption that you’d never speak to him again.

Sarah’s voice, barely discernable, wafting around his mind, assumptions make an ass of you and me, dad. He blamed it on being bitter, tired—or grumpy, as Ellie liked to call him. The kind of qualities he’d rather be known for, than the ones he sees reflected in the eyes of the people living here, wondering the kind of man he was to go back out there and then return.

He’d made the assumption based on the way your eyes flicked to the toolbox when you’d eventually returned home—him halfway done, waving away your offer to help. You barely spoke, and skirted around him, only placing a glass of lemonade on the welcome mat as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He drained the glass, and hated how good it tasted. Keeping in mind to leave the toolbox outside when he rapped his knuckles on your open door to bring the glass back in, inform you that he’s done. You call out to him, eventually coming into view—apron on, doused in flour, cheeks and smile smothered in it.

For a moment, he could almost forget an outbreak had even happened with the way you looked at him—the way you looked in general. Something out of one of those cooking shows that play at ridiculous hours of the night; a thing that’d had a street talking about with sweet you sounded.

“I bake—sometimes,” you announce, hands down your apron, leaving flour-finger strokes against the navy blue.

He could see that. Placing the glass on the side, thanking you—watching you glance around him, likely for that. He almost tells you, informs you it’s outside, left on your porch. But, he waves himself off as a beeping begins, that he’ll get out of your hair, because you’re busy—knowing deep down it’s the right thing to do.

That’s how he left it.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His thoughts sliding to you when he saw you talking to others; his mind unable to rid himself of the way you’d looked at the box he’d been given to be a helping hand.

So, it surprised him when he watched you climb the steps of his porch from outside Tommy’s. Something in his chest narrowing—different from the way it does when he wakes up in the morning. Observing how you’re nervously shaking your free hand, moving from one foot to the other—a thin t-shirt covering your frame (no coat or jacket on your arms) as you try to stand still in the chill at his dark doorstep.

It’s only as he nears that he sees what your other hand is holding. A bottle, the contents from appearing amber in shade. The hesitancy woven into your figure is more prominent as he reaches his own boundary, unsure whether to clear his throat—and only doing so when you knock.

“Heard he’s out fixing more porches.”

Turning, he finds you smirking. Spinning around on your heels, slowly taking a step down—still above him—before your hand gestures for him to take the bottle. “A thank you.”

Thank you, he thinks, staring at it. His thumb catches your fingers as he tries to ignore the twist and knot of his stomach when he eyes the label. It used to help, for all the wrong reasons. It’s why he’d tried not to drink since arriving here, still able to remember how it used to scratch an itch, how it smothered over scabs—ones that never healed.

It unlocks that part of him that worries that they’ll become inflamed again. All raw, hot to the touch.

“Y’didnt need to.”

“Well, it was alcohol or baked goods—and you strike me as a drinker over shortbread.”

Snorting, he lifted his head, swallowing. “I do like shortbread.”

Your face lights up—shimmers—under the slowly setting sun. A part of him wishing you’d brought him a tin of those instead.

Because the main reason he hadn’t been to the Tipsy Bison is that he preferred the version of him that didn’t drink. The one from before all of this happened—the one with a clearer mind. One that isn’t trying to run but rather settle and live—the one that comes out when he tastes something akin to what he shared with Tess.

The bottle in his hand demands his attention—a note attached to it that reads the same as your words. Gratitude humming, rolling from you, all in plenty. The entry at being neighbours suddenly ajar, the door taken from the hinges so it can never be closed again.

“Next time, then?”

You say it purposeful, full of genuine nature. And, it makes him roll his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek. Palm and fingers still clutching the bottle—unsure if he likes this. The neighbour thing—the pretty neighbour thing. Especially one who looks at him with a sweet smile and who makes lemonade just because.

“I should go, don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“Well, the only thing you’re interrupting is whether or not I should open this now or wait.”

You stop moving at that, coming to a stop in front of him, smile broadening, almost turning into a smirk. “

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. “Got another job in the morning. Be a lot on my own.”

“What problems to have, ay?”

He snorts.

But then, he finds you nodding, licking your lips. “How about this, for the safety of the porches of Jackson, I’ll help you with your problem.”

“And what’s my problem?”

“You don’t wanna drink alone—likely worried about what it means if you do.”

You say it nonchalantly, as though seeing through him was a relatively easy task. Your body is still not moving; the cold either not bothering you, or you are faking it all so well.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” you say, slightly more chipper than him.

CHAPTER TWO ->

[phantomrose96]

Savit-e

My host mother is a woman with long twirling hair and more floral-patterned sundresses than I’ve seen in my entire life. She throws open the closet each morning to flick each dress along its hanging rail, sharp squeaks. “What can I even wear?” The dresses sway like summer willows. I sneak in behind her and grab a t-shirt and jeans from my tiny pile at the bottom.

She loves earrings that swing and she loves stain-glass windchimes which clink and muse while she pours me the bitterest cup of tea I’ve ever had in my life. I fill it with sugar and she chides me. I remind her of all the spicy dishes I make that she cannot eat, and she says, “Okay, I’ll let it go this one time.” She sips her tea black. The birds titter at her joke. We’ll have the same conversation tomorrow.

My host mother is Jira and I wonder how closely we might be related every time I catch that glimmer in her eyes like my mothers’. Jira is too tall to be my mother and her hair is not quite dark enough, but I like to believe I see it. I like to believe Jira’s country and mine are related, that maybe her great-great-grandparents and mine were friends before the records were scorched and the lines were redrawn. Or maybe our countries bore no relation to each other. Maybe they were friends anyway. Maybe they were enemies. I’ve heard every opinion.

Jira has a worry-face like my mother, but she uses it for different things, like plum prices at the market and rain clouds blundering through like clumsy creatures. It used to surprise me, since my mother reserved her worry-face for only the dourest things in her mind. I saw more and more of it from my mother before I left. “Baby maybe you should spend the summer home. Maybe you can get your money back.” She said she’d been reading things in the news. I told her not to worry. I would be safe in my travels. I feel stares pressing into my back while Jira leans over the plums. I notice Jira receives the stares too.

She hums a tune and busies herself in the kitchen in a dress I’ve never seen. She’s been in a great mood since her daughter came home this morning. I didn’t get a good look at her daughter at first because Jira swallowed her right up in her arms. But I got to see her better when I helped bring her bags in. Savine is lithe, baby-faced and a head shorter than Jira, and her eyes carry the same arch and slope as Jira’s. She has the same dimples and she moves in the same way, tilted forward, as if to let gravity do the work of carrying her momentum.

Savine is napping from her trip, and Jira seems to have forgotten all the slow and patient syllables she usually saves for me. She speaks in her rapid pace and I jog to keep up. Too many words slip through my grasp. One in particular I hear too many times. Savit-e.  

“Savit-e?” I ask.

Jira puckers her lips as if to think. Her eyes rove. Footsteps tap gently closer behind me, and Jira’s eyes light up as she looks past me.

“Savit-e!” she says, motioning forward as Savine rounds the counter and pulls her mom into another hug. Savine is only 10. She’s been away almost 6 months for school, according to Jira.

A nickname, I note. Savine wears earrings like windchimes as well.

…

Jira has offered to charge me no rent if I babysit Savine for the summer and cook dinner in the evenings. Savine’s summer classes are early and short, as are mine, so I pick Savine up every day at noon. “This is Reb. She’s my mom’s friend this summer,” Savine tells her school friends. I gather that Jira does something similar every year, taking in an au pair while she works the summer.

There is a park Savine likes in particular, with the tall slides and the cold water fountains and all her friends. It takes me a few days to realize her friends are new to even her. Any child at the park becomes her friend by nature of needing two to play the teeter-totter. I meet parents and I practice my clumsy language with them. They don’t stare strangely at me like the man in the plum aisle.

Three times over the summer, I hear a parent at the park ask me. “Who is Savit-e?” I point to Savine every time. I don’t think too much about it, because they always like the answer, nodding along. Savine’s friends do not use the nickname, but I experiment with it here and there. Savine lights up when I do. “Savit-e,” I call to her from the school lawn, and she squeals and bounds forward to wrap me in the kind of hug she gives her mother.

I pick up a copy of the newspaper from the corner store every day on my way to pick up Savine, and I read what I can of it at the park. The newspaper is not a person, and it does not stilt its vocabulary to be simple and clear the way people do when they notice me struggling with the tongue, so oftentimes I gather just the concepts from articles. It is my fourth week of doing this when one article stops me. I see the spelling of what Jira says out loud so often.

Savit-e.

The article is hard, but I recognize the word for murder, and the words for three men. Three men murdered, and Savit-e. I would ask Savine, but I’m afraid the article may be something upsetting.

I ask Jira that night, after Savine has gone to bed.

“A man killed three others,” Jira says, brow slightly scrunched as she skims the paper and distills its contents to simpler words I know. Her eye creases are deep by the evening lamplight. “He is not charged with a crime, because he was protecting his Savit-e.”

This sinks in slowly, and a red flush of embarrassment makes itself known on my cheeks.

“Savit-e… as in ‘daughter’?”

I use my own word for it, since I don’t know Jira’s word for daughter. Or at least, I did not know, until now.

Jira’s brow scrunch tightens, which she does whenever I’ve used one of my words she doesn’t know.

“Like Savine is to you. Savine is your daughter.”

At this, Jira nods slowly, then more quickly as she lets the meaning sink in. “Yes… Savine is my Savit-e… my daughter.”

I thank Jira for the explanation. I lie awake that night thinking too much about the parents at the park who think Savine is my Savit-e.

…

I start to dislike the newspaper. I’m not sure if it’s the summer heat sewing aggravation, or some deeper unrest, or maybe my own growing vocabulary, but more and more I notice articles that leave me unsettled. I read about the arrest of a man who looks like the man in the plum aisle. Maybe there’s no resemblance at all. Maybe any man with those piercing eyes in a mug shot feels like the man in the plum aisle. There are still many words I don’t know, but country and nation come up often. And Savit-e. More articles of someone acting in protection of their Savit-e.

My mother isn’t here to protect me. I walk more cautiously when I’m alone at night, as a woman, as a Savit-e with no parents here to protect me.

I’m in the kitchen with a knife shunking through the angled cuts of scallion. The pot for the noodles is boiling and I’ve halved the spices as I do every night for Jira and Savine. I don’t even hear the front door kick open.

I do hear Savine scream.

My heart is in my throat and my blood is cold, and I move, because in the moment I have forgotten I am a Savit-e far away from home. All that matters is Savine’s scream.

And my sockless feet are light as I snake through the dining room and round the corner to the living room, entering from the same door as the two men who now stand there, backs to me, both eagerly teasing the handles of a gun. One has Savine in a chokehold, and the men stare at Jira, pressed flat against the wall. I realize Jira does have a worry-face she reserves for the truly awful things.

And the men with their backs to me are plum-men, in ways I understand without knowing what fast and clipped words they’re shouting at Jira. The one holding Savine presses the barrel of his gun against her ear, and the windchime titter of her earrings is drowned under her scream of fear. The plum man barks a demand at Jira, and she watches with moon-plate eyes.

He barks it again.

Jira raises a trembling hand. And her digits curl, and her palm pulls inward, and her earrings clink with the slow stuttering shake of her head. She points her index finger firmly against her own heart, and she declares ‘Savit-e’.

Jira runs out through the second living room door.

“Mooooom! Savit-e!!” Savine screams, and her words choke, and she wriggles under the hold of the man. And suddenly sense returns to my body at the sound of Savine’s screams.

I am still holding the scallion knife.

I don’t remember what I do next, but the knife does.

…

There is a drawl of radio static that seems to dominate my ears. The sirens and flashing lights are background noise to me now. They’ve taken Savine away with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. They’ve assured me I’ll be able to see her, but later, once she’s been looked at, once she’s calmed down, once I’ve been spoken to.

“You are not in trouble,” the detective tells me in my own tongue with a slight accent rounding her words. She’s the only one who speaks my language. They called her in when it became clear I didn’t know enough of theirs to give a report. “You were protecting your Savit-e.”

I flinch, a little bit, somehow still capable of embarrassment with a mind that’s gone completely numb. “Savine isn’t my Savit-e.”

The woman detective frowns. I remember we’re in my own tongue.

“I mean, she’s not my daughter. She’s Jira’s daughter. She’s Jira’s Savit-e.”

The woman’s frown lessens some. “Your daughter, no. Your Savit-e, yes.”

I hold my hands near my face. They still smell of garlic and scallions. “The pot’s gonna boil over. I have to go turn off the stove,” I say, urgently, and unhelpfully, as the thought suddenly strikes and I push myself standing.

The woman’s hand is on my shoulder, and she presses me down. “The pot is not boil. The stove is off. It is okay. Who is Savit-e?”

And the question sits weird. I realize she asks it like those parents at the park.

I don’t answer. The detective chews her lip, and I see her eyes searching for a word she can’t find. “Who is your… The Most? Who is your The Above? Who is your The Most of All?”

“My most what?”

“Who is your Protect Over Everything?”

And from her face I can tell she is frustrated with her own words. There is more she is saying that I cannot know in my own language.

Protect Over Everything. I think about the scream that pulled me from the kitchen.

“I think… Savine… is my Protect Over Everything.”

And this satisfies the woman. And she nods the way the parents at the park do. “You are not in trouble. You always protect Savit-e. You must always. There is no trouble for what you did. Good job, that you protect your Savit-e. You will have her back soon.”

I go stiff.

“Jira needs her back, not me. I go home in a few weeks. I only started—” I falter. “Savine is Jira’s Savit-e.”

The detective shakes her head. “Jira is Jira’s Savit-e. Jira does not come back.”

…

I postpone my flight home. I tell my mother it’s because my studies are going long. I’ll tell her more, later, when I’m ready.

I pick up Savine every day from school as always. She doesn’t smile, and she pulls me into a hug that is too tight and lasts too long. She doesn’t want to go to the park. She comes grocery shopping with me, because it’s better than being left home alone. I look over my shoulder whenever I grab the plums.

I cook dinner and I eat with Savine, and we do this at the counter because when I sit us at the kitchen table, Savine looks too long at Jira’s empty place. I tried calling Jira once, after Savine went to bed. Her phone rang from the next room. I watched it ring until it cut to voicemail.

There’s an article about me in the paper. I can’t read most of it. Or maybe I just don’t try to. I see Jira’s name. I see the plum man words. I see Savit-e written 14 times.

I don’t know what happens to Savine if I leave. I’ve tried asking and I get too many words I do not know, and no one who can explain them better to me. But their expressions stay with me. Like the looks of plum-men and worry-faces and now this new look, which is rooted in something deeper about a country which I know too little about. It’s a sad look. It’s something I can maybe understand without the words attached. I tell my mom I might like to extend my study through the fall.

Savine has started calling me “Savit-e.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

good morning!! it's @henderdads' birthday!!!! happy happy happy birthday to youuuu cass!!!

The minute Eddie Munson turned 18, he could see it; the only color he would see until he and his soulmate kissed for the first time.

Yellow.

Rays and rays of warm yellow sunshine, the middle light (and middle light only) of the one stoplight in town, one half of their school colors, the dandelions spotted agross the grass between the trailers, the stubborn daffodils that keep reappearing in Ms. Wilson’s garden though she’s long since passed…

The half-toned things he’s told are green, half yellow, half blue, and that he got lucky his soulmate’s favorite color wasn’t black or gray (then he felt glad he’d settled on a different color than either of those by time he was older, he didn’t want to subject his soulmate to more black and white..

After Steve Harrington turns 18, he can see the color of the lipstick his mom wore in their last family portrait, the color of the punch that gets spilled all over Nancy’s shirt at Tina’s halloween party, the stripes and piping on his godforsaken Scoops uniform, the red of his own blood rushing down the drain beneath his feet.

The dark tone puddled beneath Eddie’s limp body in the Upside Down.

The same color splashed onto Dustin’s arms and legs.

Pressing his hands into it to stop it from spreading, to start it flowing again, Steve presses his lips to Eddie’s once…he hasn’t done CPR since he worked at the pool….twice…”C’mon man, don’t leave him like this.”....

The third time is when it happens.

The feeble beat of Eddie’s heart starting again, the push of breath into his lungs, the sudden flood of cool, dark colors around them. 

“Eddie? Eddie! C’mon man, stay with me.”

It looks like it takes a herculean effort to do so, but Eddie’s eyes open. “H–hey, Harrington. Wh–”

“I’m going to pick you up now, Ed,” Steve says, doing just that, tucking Eddie into his chest and starting for the trailer. “El is keeping the gate open for us but we gotta hurry.”

The four of them manage to get him out through the gate and into the RV, this time with Nancy behind the wheel. 

Having to let him go at the doors to the ER is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, but he manages, Robin telling him over and over again that she’d already called Eddie’s Uncle and that he’d be safe.

While they’re waiting, filthy and exhausted but victorious nonetheless, Nancy says to him: “It’s blue, by the way. The…everything down there has some sort of blue tinge to it.”

Steve doesn’t ask how she knew, just appreciates that he can look at something and she’ll tell him the name of the color. 

The pattern of the chairs is orange and purple, the plant in the corner is green (“All plants are some shade of it for the most part.”), the wallpaper is his favorite though.

“It’s yellow.”

“I guess I know what color Eddie’s been seeing the past few years..” It’s the first and last thing he says until Wayne Munson comes to get them.

“You three need’ta be looked at too. Not jus’ Henderson.”

He leads them back to a room, and Steve recognizes Dr. Owens there waiting for them.

They get looked over, they get cleaned up, and Steve gets a shot of something that’s supposed to help stave off anything those flying rats may have given him.

And for the next week, he stays. 

He and Wayne maintain a constant vigil at Eddie’s bedside. Wayne leaves for his shifts when he has to, Steve is allowed to stay because of his soulmate status, and Eddie wakes up a little more than a week later.

Wayne had left a couple hours ago, so Steve will have to call him at the plant but first: “Steve?” Eddie manages to croak out when his eyes crack open the first time.

“Hey Eds, welcome back to the world of the living.”

Eddie shuts his eyes and huffs a laugh, then cringes, “Still painful as always, I see.”

“Oh yeah? What else do you see?”

Steve watches his brow furrow as he tries to make sense of the question, watches as he opens his eyes again, a bit further this time, and when they widen in amazement as they travel around the room.

“What–? What the hell..?” The heightened beeping of his heart monitor makes Steve feel almost giddy, getting to watch him see this for the first time. “What nurse kissed me while I was out?” He pauses, staring down a painting of colorful wildflowers on the opposite wall before turning back to Steve. “And can they come back so I can get more pain meds?”

Steve chuckles as he stands stiffly from the hospital chair he’d been all but glued to for the last week, reaching over Eddie’s head to press the call button.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, of course.”

“Thank you, I try, but what’d I do this time?”

“It wasn’t a nurse, Eds.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment, confused, “I don’t quite have the brainpower for riddles, Stevie.”

Steve’s stomach flips at the nickname, “It wasn’t a nurse, it was when we were still in the—down there.” he pauses, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Did Eddie want it to be him? His first assumption was one of the nurses… “Someone had to give you CPR.”

He watches as Eddie scrolls through what he can only assume is a roster of their “Team Vecna”; Nancy? It’s been known that she’s been able to see in full color since she and Jonathan got together. Dustin? Yeah..no. Ro–

“And it wasn’t Robin.” Steve says when he sees Eddie’s lips curl into an ‘R’.

“Then who—”

It dawns on him at the same time the summoned nurse arrives with a new shot of whatever it is he needs.

She leaves with an excited “We’ll call Wayne!”, and Eddie drops his head back to his pillow.

Steve’s stomach twists anxiously. “Eddie?”

“So you’re telling me that the one and only Steve Harrington gave me the kiss of life and also the gift of colorvision, and I wasn’t conscious enough to experience it properly?”

Steve ducks his head, scratching behind his ear nervously. “Uh…yeah…? Sorry Eddi–”

“Can you do it again?”

His head snaps up again, “Huh?”

“And preferably before I lose the battle for my consciousness?”

Eddie’s face is soft and open, a smile quirking the pink of his lips and crinkling those dark eyes of his…Who is Steve to tell him no?

He smiles softly in return and stands.

Leaning forward with his weight braced to one side of Eddie’s head, the other hand coming up to cup his uninjured cheek, Steve kisses him properly for the first time.

The first of many many many more to come.

eeee i hope you liked this little thing!!! i've never written anything w soulmates before!! 🥹 i hope you have the most bestest day today, friend!! 🫶🫶

[syoddeye]

siphon, part three

john price x f!reader part one | two | three | four ~2.6k words cw: kidnapping, implied stalking, dubcon/noncon, intercrural sex

Another week passes.

John told the truth. You sleep in a bed. His bed, as predicted. You join him for three square meals a day. Make eye contact, respond when he talks to you, listen when he talks at you, and pretend not to scrutinize every square inch of the cabin when he's not looking. 

The morning after your punishment, he presents you with clothing. It's the wine all over again. Everything fits and is unnervingly similar to your usual wardrobe, albeit a quarter of the size. He returns your jeans, washed, but keeps your bra, t-shirt, and underwear you wore while confined. You glimpse familiar cotton in one of his drawers. Sicko.

He tries to instill domesticity, but his fantasy and your reality do not meld. He orders you to scrub the kitchen from top to bottom, then casually retrieves a handgun from the locked utility closet and cleans it at the table like he's reading the paper. Makes you help with cooking. Gathers you into his thick arms for a dance when he likes the song on the radio, moving you like a marionette. Forces you to cuddle during whatever movie he pops into the DVD player.

Through it all, he hasn't fucked you. He fucks with you. 

You've grown to expect his touch and don't fight as hard as you did the first time—as hard as you should, probably. But your body is regaining strength, and you can't risk another stint in the kennel, not with escape on the horizon.

So you're not surprised when John spreads you over the table after breakfast to eat you out or ignores the movie to finger you. You're angry. You're…sickly hopeful. Because while he brings you to the edge, he doesn't let you go. It always ends the same: you writhing on the closest solid surface, incoherent, and he simply pulls your underwear up and continues with his day.

It isn't for lack of trying. John slaps your hands when you try to reach your clit as he eats you out and hides the blankets when you read or watch movies. Cuffs your hands palms together at night and doesn't give you an inch of space in bed. At least you can use the bathroom with the door closed now, but there's a limit there, too. You silently time it; it's somewhere between a minute and a half to two before he bursts in.

He's waiting for you to ask. It's his whole thing. In a fucked up way, you edge each other. Different types of sexual frustration. Nevertheless, you traipse around in his shadow, transmogrifying into your own breed of pent-up monster. 

John breaks the pattern in the shower. The last three times, before he washes you, he pushes you to the knife's edge until the already tepid water runs cold. This time, though, there is no half-assed foreplay with a washcloth. You automatically brace your hands on the tile and wait for the inevitable...but a quiet grunt compels you to look over your shoulder.

The shower is small. Enough for you both to fit, but you must take turns under the water. So, while you cannot see him stroking himself at this angle, that is what he's doing. His face says it all. With the spray hitting his back, his eyes are half-hooded, mouth a firm line.

"Spread your legs a little."

This is new.

You carefully shuffle your feet apart. It's finally happening. He's going to fuck you. Here, in the most inconvenient of places, just as you're starting to freeze–

His cock slips between your thighs with a groan. He ghosts his hands down your sides, tapping each leg to slowly press back together, enveloping him, snug, flush to your pussy. "That's my good girl. Let me have this." As if you have a say.

He starts slow. Thrusts deliberate, pushing through your squeezed flesh until he's as close as he can possibly get. A hand migrates north, dragging up your belly to massage your breasts, tweaking and tugging your nipples into firm peaks. Pinching and grunting when the bit of pain makes you whine. 

It's maddening. With each glide of his cock, there's enough pressure for your body to respond. What seeps down is scorching compared to the few droplets that make it past the sheer wall of John's body. You cling to it as your body grows cold outside the water's reach, gooseflesh appearing along your limbs despite his thrusts' arduous yet smooth track. Your head lolls forward when his hand leaves your breasts and descends.

"You like this don't you?" John breathes as his fingers creep down, barely caressing where you're almost joined. He adjusts the angle, catching your pussy with purpose. One shift is all it would take. He means this, the roll of his hips, as empty but delicious threats. A conquest meant to fail at the gates. You hate that your body seeks it like a lock wants a key. You want to be opened, for him to just finally fuck you without making you ask. Because if he did, if he lost control, it would absolve you of the sick twinge of desire.

A finger pushes into the tight enclosure of your legs to find your clit. The skin drags a little. At the slightest brush, you whimper.

"Fuck," He groans, nose dragging along your scalp. "That sound…goes straight through me," He ruts between your legs, finger meanly circling your nub. Wet slaps echo off the shower wall. "I reckon I could listen to it all day."

Although your pleasure is clearly secondary, it follows his touch obediently when he rings your bell. As much as you try to bite them back, your soft gasps and whines snitch.

"You gonna come like this?" He asks, the honeyed tone a bad and blatant fake, "Just from my cock rubbing this sweet little cunt?" His hand departs your hip and darts into your wet hair, craning your neck. Two pits of cobalt, hints of an undertow that'll drag you out if you let them. He grits out, beseeching, "C'mon, sweetheart. Don't be so proud."

He rips his hand off and anchors it on your hip when you fail to ask, tsking when you wail and curse in frustration.

In the end, the water is markedly cooler by the time he comes. He releases your hair violently, shoving your head forward to watch his spend splatter on the tile, like rubbing a dog's face in it. His body pitches over your back, and he rocks a few moments more, muttering something into your hair. It's a minute before he pulls his softening cock from your thighs, shuts off the water, and lets out a luxuriating sigh. He pats your rump, crowding you into the corner as he steps out of the shower.

"Clean it up–ah, didn't say with a towel, love."

~~

He parades around for the rest of the day, humming that gratingly chipper tune. He scribbles notes on a legal pad, loosely chaperoning you as you make sandwiches. You avoid looking at the stack of tuna tins under the windowsill, standing sentinel.

It's been…two weeks? Either your employer thinks you walked away, or human resources reported you missing. You sincerely doubt the latter. There's probably a termination notice waiting in your inbox. You don't want to leave your chances to your landlord, either. You need to distract or incapacitate John.

Without thinking, you rummage through a drawer for a butter knife and only realize your mistake once he grabs your wrist.

You apologize embarrassingly fast, letting him press you into the counter's edge. "I'm sorry, just want a butter knife to cut mine in half."

John's mouth tightens beneath his beard, eyes flinty, deciding whether he believes it. The song on the radio transitions into the next. It's an opportunity to get on his good side. You take it.

As though approaching a skittish animal, you gingerly lift your free hand and take his shoulder. Trapped, you can't lean into him, but he understands after a second. He relents with a chuckle and sweeps you into a dance.

You build on the momentum and strategically initiate over a few days. You feed him forgeries of affection. While you read, you lay your head on his shoulder. Brush a hand over his back. Comment on the weather. It's a partial success. The blankets return to the sofa, and he lets you pick a movie. And even though he's on the other side of the glass masturbating, he allows you to shower alone.

You test the development.

In bed, you intentionally shift for the umpteenth time.

"Why're you squirming?" He asks, turning a page.

"Can I sleep without these, please?" You lift your cuffed hands. 

The silence stretches long enough that you think he's angry before he closes his book and sets it aside with a thump. A hand gently skims your side, then squeezes.

"On your back." 

A frisson of excitement shoots down from the base of your neck to your core. It shouldn't. You do as instructed.

John traces a path along your body to where your cuffed hands rest. He unfastens, then tosses them over his shoulder. He plants a hand on the other side of your body and hovers. It reads as an invitation rather than a demand. Another chance to take. All a part of the plan. You worked up to this. You tug him down.

He groans into the kiss and swiftly claims dominion over your mouth. You kiss back with equal measure, dead set on convincing him you want it, and he slots himself over you. Eventually, he pulls back to scrape his beard on your neck, leaving wet kisses and burns. His hand rucks up your shirt, and he grinds down, his erection pressing, dagger-like.

It's working. This is a win-win, better than a straight loss. This isn't giving in. It's a tactical surrender, a Faustian bargain.

"Think I don't know what you're doing? What you've been up to?" John rasps into the hollow of your throat, pinching a nipple. "Trying to butter me up."

Of course, the devil's a step ahead. "No, I–"

"Make it easier on yourself," He advises, heading south to suckle and roughly knead your chest.

Ask for it. All you have to do is ask.

No. You need to keep trying.

"Not yet?" John smirks, mouth pressing to skin. "We'll get there."

After a while, your pajamas pile on the ground, and his head latches between your thighs. You clutch the sheets as he alternates, gorging himself on both holes, the liquid heat of his tongue relentless in its explorations. His beard is wet when he comes up for air.

John laves his tongue around his fingers, gaze zeroed in on their destination. This is going to be the most awful one yet. You're sure of it.

Things will get worse before they get better, you remind yourself. 

When he toys with your cunt, he looks detached, clinical. He draws precise, tight circles over your clit, lazily scissoring two fingers to prep for something that won't happen unless you invite it in. 

Your eyes flutter shut at the push of a third.

"Twenty-two," He murmurs.

The stretch slurs your words. "W-What?"

"'S how many times you could've come by now."

Your mind's caught in quicksand, lagging in its comprehension. "You–You kept track?"

"I track everything, darling," John accelerates the pumping and rolling of his wrist. "Tracked you, your routine, everything about you," The words are insidious, spoken with tenderness, but there is nothing kind about the set of his jaw or the possessiveness in his eyes.

You tense and he misreads it. 

"You're a fucking psychopath."

"And you're grippin' my fingers like you never want them to stop."

John laughs on his way down, the sound resonating through your skin when he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. 

He brings the count to twenty-four before he relents. He reclines on his haunches, tugs his sweats down, and wraps a fist around his cock. Stroking leisurely, he briefly watches you grapple with your choices and lost orgasms. He licks his lips, eyes darting from your breasts, stomach, and holes. The head glistens.

He shudders when he catches you staring. The need plain on your face.

On your back in limbo. A soul delivered without resolution. Your lips part, but it's his breath that hitches.

"Yeah?"

He told you the number on purpose so you'd feel the ache of two dozen would-be little deaths at once. Dull your mind but whet your senses. The emphatic, plotting voice in your head grows quiet.

"John…"

John's hand slides to his base and closes in. He looks as wrecked as you feel, slicking himself in your folds. His cockhead nudges your clit, probes, and it's enough. Your ticket out.

"Please, fuck me?"

His expression hardens instantly, but he grits his teeth and pushes in a few inches before you can question it. Groaning, he bucks shallowly, working his way in deeper and basking in the clear discomfort written on your face. He's thick, unforgiving, and it's no wonder he stuffed three fingers into you. He knew you'd give in. How could you not? Fucking bastard.

His voice rumbles when he sheathes himself completely within your depths, and his grip tightens. "Ask and you shall receive, sweetheart."

With each thrust, he claims new territory and finds new space to fill — ripping up whatever peace was left to stake a claim. Shocks skitter up your spine when, with a deft roll of his hips, he hits a new angle that punches a moan out of you. Grinning, he rides it hard, dogged in his pursuit. 

"Thiiiis," He hisses, "Is the only place you're gonna come. On my cock or not at all."

You know he means it.  

He plays you like a fiddle in more ways than one, effortlessly hauling you, kicking and screaming (clawing, whimpering, begging) to the edge, and holding you over with a fist. He knows your pussy after torturing it for days on end. He tracks everything, after all.

"Please, I need it!"

He hinges and drops closer. An arm bends to support his weight, and the other cups the underside of your face, pushing your head back on the pillow.

"You can't imagine how good it feels to hear you beg like that, sweetheart," John kisses you with teeth, nipping. "But since you asked so prettily…" He slips his hand back between you.

Yes, yes, yes. You'll kill him if he stops. 

Warm, fat tears roll down your face, obscuring John's face as he finally, finally lets go of you. You clench with a wail, seizing tightly. It's molten, caustic even, and burns off every edge you have.

"Fuck, knew you'd–Christ–you'd feel like a dream," John grinds out. With your walls fluttering around him, it doesn't take long for him to follow. He sinks into the hilt, warmth blooming in the last place you feel alive. "I love you."

The pleasurable haze surrounding you is not enough to insulate you from the words. You flinch like he's slapped you.

"Not yet?" He drawls, echoing himself. "We'll get there."

John whispers your name and praises you. When he softens, he pulls out, only to 'clean you' with his mouth. It's ouroboros. 

"A man's got to take care of what's his." You know where that's going.

Now that he's fucked you, he can't get enough. He's hard when he crawls up and starts the cycle anew. 

[20dollarlolita]

The differences between EGL and Loliable (with fewer cats).

For the version with fewer facts and more cat, please click here.

One of the biggest problems with doing handmade or offbrand lolita fashion is that it's very difficult to understand exactly how detailed a piece needs to be to pass as a lolita fashion piece. As we'll get into here, you generally need to have a detailed piece, and then put details on the details, and then maybe add a couple more details onto those details.

Not every single piece of a coordinate needs to be 1000% standalone lolita. There's lots of offbrand pieces that you can use in a coordinate, which we generally call "loliable". The really important component to remember is that, if every piece of your look is loliable and not lolita, at the end of the day, you're not wearing lolita fashion.

And, if your goal is to wear lolita fashion, building a look that isn't lolita is not accomplishing what you want.

When I was thrifting a while ago, I found this blouse, which has nearly the same construction as one of my lolita blouses. This felt like a really good chance to show the difference. Both of these blouses could be worn in a lolita coordinate, but only one can stand alone as lolita fashion.

So both of these are blouses with short, puffed sleeves with button cuffs. They're both fitted at the waist. They both have a front bib detail with a ruffle around the edge. They both close in the center front with buttons.

The Innocent World blouse (the lolita blouse) has a peter pan collar, and the offbrand blouse has a stand collar with a ruffle. That's their major construction difference. The other difference is that one has a cat on it.

Let's start our comparison with the cuffs. The Innocent World blouse is gathered into the cuff. The cuff has a lace applied flat onto the cuff. It also has a ruffled tulle hanging off the edge, making a frill. The offbrand blouse has a plain cuff.

We're going to compare the bib detailing by tucking the blouse into a high-waisted skirt. This lets us focus on this detail instead of getting distracted by fit.

We're going to start with the ruffle around the edge of the bib. This is really the only main detail that the offbrand blouse has. It's a cute little ruffle, and it draws attention to the bib. The ruffle is the same fabric as the blouse. It's totally fine.

The IW blouse uses a gathered lace as the ruffle around the edge of the bib. This is more detailed both because there's a pattern in the lace, but the lace itself is a different fabric from what the blouse is made of. Incorporating coordinating textures that are not identical is incorporating additional levels of detail.

The IW bib also has three lines of ruffles on each side of the bib itself. Two of those are the same lace that was used on the bib, and one is a small ruffle of the same fabric the blouse is made of. Again, incorporating different textures into an area increases the amount of details. It also allows you to put more detail into a piece without it seeming crowded.

Finally, the IW blouse has some large, elegant buttons that have a lovely texture on them. They're not just functional; they're also nice to look at. The offbrand blouse has those standard faux-pearl white shirt buttons that you get in every mending kit every stocked in a hotel room. They are about as generic as buttons can get.

If we're going to add another note, it's that the Innocent World blouse has details on the bottom edge. There's a button at the bottom to keep the blouse closed, and it has a little ruffle. Not pictured, but there is a tie on the back of this blouse, so that fit can be adjusted a little bit. That tie also adds a nice detail to the back of the blouse.

Let's talk about fit for a second. Full disclosure, the offbrand blouse does not fit me very well, and that's not doing it any favors in this regard. The IW blouse is also a tighter fit for me, but the button spacing and the interfacing on the front placket really help with the fit. The offbrand blouse doesn't have any buttons past a certain point, so the bottom flares open in a inverted V.

In addition to the button spacing, the Innocent World blouse is fitted with front and back princess seams, and then also with a dart on each side. It's specifically cut so that the bottom of the blouse can cover the waistband of a lolita skirt, and then flare a little for the skirt. While you can find nice princess seams and darts on offbrand blouses, it's really only on lolita blouses that you'll see them cut to fit a lolita skirt.

The offbrand blouse is fitted with dart tucks. A dart tuck is like a normal dart, but the ends are left open. This is intended to provide fit at the waist, but then leave the rest of the piece open. The downside of dart tucks is that, if the piece isn't loose and open and billowy, they will never sit flat. There will always be that pleat area in there. It will just be stretched flat, the way it is on the picture of me up there.

This is not to say that pieces with dart tucks can't be used for lolita fashion, but it's a really good example of how something that loliable can be different from something that's lolita. As you can see in the top pictures, with a high waist skirt covering the dart tucks, the blouse works pretty okay. However, when it's in the open, it starts to look really disheveled. You can't wear this blouse at the tightness that you usually wear a lolita blouse and still have it look lolita. Clothing that fits well enough to look professional and extravagant is a bit part of the lolita concept, and you don't want a garment that looks messy.

So, in conclusion, 1) you can probably put more details on that garment, and as long as it doesn't look messy, it probably makes it look more lolita, 2) you can probably put more details on those details, and as long as it look not messy, you're probably fine, 3) blouses are only like $35 on Amazon and if you're making your own garments, adding a truly lolita blouse can really elevate the look and help you from having your coord overcome with loliable pieces and trending away from actual lolita and 4) if the blouse doesn't fit you and isn't really lolita then there's no crime in giving it to the cat.

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 11

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), smut?

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

“Hey, Y/N.” A soft whisper brushed your ear and wrapped itself around your waking mind. “Hey, hey…” A gentle touch slid across your cheek, pulling out of sleep the remnants of consciousness fighting for further rest. Your lungs involuntarily filled with a bigger load of air; you opened your eyes, and they immediately found Bucky sitting beside you. He gave you a tender smile, his thumb relentlessly stroking your cheek.

“What?” you asked without much thought. Bucky seemed calm, so you saw no reason to panic either. His touch, this time instead of helping you stay awake, was pushing you towards falling asleep again. Your eyelids drooped, and you had little control over it – it was entirely his fault.

“Hey, stay with me,” Bucky ordered right away, his voice still soft, as if, contrary to the words spoken, he didn't want to disturb you at all. 

“But it's so warm and comfortable here…” 

His hand, which until then had been resting on your face, slipped under the covers. It touched your thigh, and though your eyes remained closed, the rest of your body was awakened by an explosion; a memory of the previous night. Bucky's hand moved higher and turned unexpectedly, his fingers unceremoniously pinching your cheek. You moaned, more in surprise than pain, then looked at Bucky with innocent reproach – he'd used something against you that you definitely liked, and you knew he wouldn't do anything about it. He had aroused not only your mind, but especially your body, and would leave you aching and craving again. But there was also something on his face that might indicate a different turn of events; the same rawness that you had observed the first time he appeared in your house that day had returned. It was as if your innocence and exposure were driving him into some kind of wild, nevertheless controlled madness.

Bucky pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. He swallowed hard at the lust you had also raised in him, and took his hands away. He got up from the bed and it was only then that you noticed he had already his clothes on. “Get dressed,” he grunted. “We have to get back to New York.”

You sat up on the mattress and glanced at the window – it was still dark outside. You grabbed your phone; it was almost three in the morning. You returned your gaze to Bucky, giving him a questioning, confused look, but he paid no more attention to you, too busy gathering up his stuff. “...Is something wrong?” 

“Timothy called,” he replied, and when he did, you already knew you had lost him. You'd lost smiley, relaxed Bucky; when you got to Vegas, he'd come back to life amongst the warmth, sunshine and all the softness you had for each other. And then all it took was one, probably cold and spiteful phone call from his uncle to destroy it; to kill that side of him. 

“Alright…” You nodded slowly. “And he wanted you to come back?”

“He said he needs me. Got a job for me.” He threw his sweats and t-shirt on the bed. “Put this on. Please,” he urged, thereby letting you know that he didn't have time for the rest of your questions. And you weren't quite sure what you should actually feel, but you weren't hurt. You were probably prepared for this; for life alongside a gangster. Bucky was now your husband, and although you had married on your own terms, your society had established a pattern that was imprinted in the two of you as well - however good you intended to be to each other; however much Bucky wanted to make you his equal, he was your husband – a specific, meaningful figure in your world – so you had to follow him, do everything he demanded and expected of you. And you weren't going to fight back, because you trusted him. Maybe not entirely – you still needed time – but you kept believing in his whole “Maybe my heart is in the right place. Maybe I want to do some good.”

It wasn't hard to guess that time played a key role, but you were only confirmed in this belief by the fact that you were returning to New York by plane, sent by Timothy. You still didn't know what he wanted from Bucky, but the matter seemed serious if he was taking such measures. And probably for the first time you realized what your mother really meant when she repeated to you like a mantra: Never marry a gangster. 

Because you were worried. You were worried about your husband, and you weren't sure how to deal with that feeling. It was so... unexpected. Or rather, the fact that it involved Bucky; tied to you in this untrue, loveless marriage. It turned out that you had a softer heart than you thought.

When you landed, a car was waiting for you. The driver, on Bucky's instructions, took you to an address you didn't know – one of New York's apartment complexes. You felt more and more lost, because you had the impression that instead of receiving information that would help your mind to function undisturbed by stress, you knew far too little. You could have asked – you could have asked anything, but you didn't want to throw Bucky off balance. You could see he was irritated enough and was doing his best not to unload on you. You weren't going to make it difficult for him.

Still, there were questions you couldn't keep quiet about. “Where exactly are we..?” You furrowed, watching Bucky turn the keys in the lock. 

He opened the door and let you through. “At my place,” he answered, closing the wooden lid behind him. He put your luggage on the floor, because although this time you managed to declare to him that you could handle your bag, he turned a deaf ear to it.

“Right…” You looked around hesitantly. For some reason, you didn't think he had his own place; mostly you'd find him at his family house, moreover, he had never mentioned having his own place before. Admittedly, he didn't mention owning a casino either. He didn't actually talk about anything until it came to the surface by itself. 

“Look…” Bucky murmured, checking something on his phone. Shortly afterwards, he turned it off and lifted his gaze to you. “I gotta see my uncle. Can you wait here for me?”

“Sure.” You smiled slightly. Apart from the fact that you didn't really have anywhere else to go, you wanted to stay here; to get to know better the space that belonged to Bucky. 

And he managed the same pained rise of the corners of his mouth. He only nodded, and after a moment he left the apartment. You didn't resent him for this at all – you knew there were priorities in your world, besides, in reality you and Bucky didn't function as a typical married couple, but more like co-workers. So, in theory, you didn't need to know; it should have been enough for you that your deal has been working; that it has been protecting you and your father's business. However, you couldn't help but feel that in all this you were also looking out for Bucky's wellbeing. Or maybe you cared mostly about that. And some part of you wanted to know everything; including how he felt.

Despite your suspicion that caffeine would fuel your anxiety, you decided to make yourself a coffee. You hadn't slept a wink on the plane, and now you didn't feel like sleeping either; the tension accompanying you, while draining you additionally, didn't allow you to rest. 

When the boiling coffee machine announced it was finished, you wrapped your hands around the cup, slurped a sip of the hot drink, the smell of which had already spread throughout the kitchen, and went for your rounds. You didn't particularly care if your behavior entered the territory of being nosy; the place belonged to your husband; the same one who had left you alone in it. So you gave yourself every right to search any corner if you wished.

Just as with the car, the apartment reflected the owner in some way; once you crossed its door, every choice seemed perfectly understandable. First of all, dark colors that were pleasantly soothing to the senses – deep shades of gray on the walls; anthracite or graphite, sometimes black, like the tiles in the kitchen; solid wooden panels in a cool shade of chocolate on the floors; mainly black furniture, silver, gray or dark blue accessories. The spaces were brightened only by large windows looking out largely onto other, equally tall buildings.

You finished your coffee, glancing around the interior of the living room, and thoughts were racing through your head – unanswered questions to yourself about whether this was where you would be living from now on, mixed with concerns about Bucky; was he safe? He was supposed to be with his uncle, but you didn't trust Timothy. What did he want from Bucky? Is he going to contact you or will he do what Timothy asks him to do without a word of warning? How long is it going to take? Is it really something serious? Dangerous?

Never marry a gangster.

You shake your head, as if that's going to help you clear up the chaos; as if that shake was going to sort out the whole mess. Back in the kitchen, you put the cup in the dishwasher, then headed to the bathroom. 

You felt a little better, washing off the hours spent on the plane; as streams of warm water ran down your sore, tired body. You reached up to a stone shelf, and came across more bottles than you thought you would; in addition to shower gel and shampoo, you found a hair conditioner.

You wrapped yourself in a fresh towel found in one of the cabinets, then left the bathroom with the intention of finding something to put on. However, you didn't manage to get to your bag; the door to the apartment opened and Bucky burst in. You didn't know if he had noticed you; he didn't even look in your direction, just grabbed his baggage from the floor, and without stopping, went to the bedroom. At first you stood there speechless – Bucky's abruptness caught you off guard; you also weren't sure if he had ignored you on purpose. But maybe it was better that way; you preferred not to get in his way. Nevertheless, after a moment, you followed him. 

Bucky walked from the bed to the wardrobe and back again, repacking his bag.

“What are you doing?” you spoke, but your voice sounded so weak and quiet that you weren't even sure if those words had actually left your mouth. Especially as he still wasn't paying attention to you. “Bucky?” you asked a little more firmly, and he glanced at you over his shoulder. “What’s going on? What are you-”

“I have to leave.”

Your lungs suddenly ran out of air, your eyes widened.

“Timothy wants me to monitor business in Italy,” he answered, nervously shoving some folded clothes into his bag. “Somehow, strangely enough, he suddenly stopped trusting our men there.” He almost snorted. 

Your lips parted involuntarily as you stared at his back. You barely consciously moved from your spot and approached Bucky. “For how long?”

“Few weeks, few months. I don't know. When he'll be satisfied enough with my work.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and stuck your eyes into the floor. “And you can’t say no.”

Bucky pressed his lips together. “I still owe him a debt. Besides, debt or not, my uncle is the head of the Family. And I crossed the line by marrying you behind his back.”

Your gaze tentatively returned to him. “He's punishing you for it..?”

He said nothing at first. He zipped up the bag, and for a brief moment you had the feeling that he was about to slam it against one of the walls.

“He'll make me break every promise I made to you,” Bucky claimed. He looked at you with what you could call fear if you knew the reason for it. One thing you were sure of – the tearing pain in his eyes. He regretted something; probably the fact that he had dragged you into this. “But I need you, Y/N.” Having stood between your legs, he dropped to his knees, his hands on your hips. “I fucking need you on my side.”

“Jamie-” You instinctively tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear in a soothing gesture. “I am on your side.”

“I don't know when I'll be back,” he repeated. “What if you'll have enough time to hate me?” His mouth twitched in a sad smile.

“I won't hate you,” you protested. “It's not your fault that you have to go. Our world is just built that way. And I get it.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head with clear disappointment; towards himself and the whole situation. He shifted slightly, then rested his head against your stomach, snuggling into your body. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You slid your fingers into his hair and brushed it tenderly. “It’s okay, Bucky. Really,” you whispered. He pulled back just enough to look at you. As your fingers rubbed his scalp with affection, his thumbs stroked your hips. “What if you’ll have enough time to find someone else?” you asked after a moment of silence.

“Y/N-” Bucky sighed with resignation.

“You know we are not with each other because of love,” you reminded, trying to talk some sense into him. “You want to be a good husband, and that's really great, but-” You gasped. “I don't want to get in your way. I don't want to stop you from finding what would really make you happy.”

Bucky's forehead furrowed, giving his face an offended expression. “So what? You're giving me permission to go there and cheat on you left and right?” His hands left your body and slipped on the mattress. 

“That's not what I said,” you objected right away. “And you told me practically the same thing. In your uncle’s garden.”

Bucky stared at you without even blinking. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip and shook his head, looking away for a moment. Shortly afterwards he gazed at you again. “Okay. Have it your way,” he replied. “You will be the first to know. But now I'm only yours. And you are mine as long as I am here.” He raised his hand to your cheek. Soon, however, he moved it to the back of your head to draw you closer; he pressed his lips to yours with a longing you already recognised; he kissed you for the first time since last night. And you weren't even taken aback; the gesture seemed so natural, so familiar and right.

Bucky rose from his knees, and as if by instinct you climbed onto the bed to make space for him. The mattress bent under his weight as he took the spot right in front of you. He laid another, this time a more tender kiss on your lips, then took off his sweatshirt; he didn't need to do that – the sudden desire was strong enough that you might as well satisfy it instantly, without unnecessary delay. But you were wearing only a towel, which was about to fall; Bucky craved to feel your naked skin against his own; to keep you company in total exposure.

You kissed him – slowly and sloppily – meanwhile reaching for his belt and managing to unbuckle it, wanting to assure him that you needed it too; that you were completely comfortable with the closeness he was initiating. 

Bucky pulled down his trousers and kicked them on the floor, and as his body pushed against yours, his lips traced a chaotic wet path on your neck. At one point, you even felt him grab a piece of your skin between his teeth; he sucked on it hard enough that you let out an involuntary whimper, and then irritated the sore spot with the tip of his tongue.

He sized you up with his eyes; your body stripped of its covering. You didn't feel as insecure as before – you weren't used to Bucky like that yet, but you were too absorbed in putting out your burning needs. “Fuck what I said earlier,” he rasped. “I'm not sharing you with anyone. And if that anyone happens, I'll fuck them out of your pretty little head.” He stretched his lips in a smirk, then leaned down and nuzzled your nose with his. “I can't get enough of you, baby,” he added, sinking into you without any warning. You both parted your lips; Bucky's breath stilled in his throat, and your back arched as you felt his whole cock inside you. 

His heated, heavy body brushed against yours; slowly at first, lazily even, so that he could watch your face, drinking in every little expression. And you looked at him – a little helplessly against the control he had over you, and with a hope, perhaps even a silent request, that he would be the one to fulfill this hunger he himself had aroused in you. And you knew; you could see it on his face, feel it in his every movement, that he had set himself just such a mission.

Soon his hips began pounding fast enough that your clashing, naked, sweaty bodies made that characteristic, heavenly sound – it filled the whole room, mixing with your moans and Bucky's panting. If at all possible, the combination was turning you on even more, intensifying the sensations his dick was giving you, sliding in and out in that rapid rhythm, his wet, hot lips wandering on your skin. You felt his hand suddenly clench on your hair, his teeth hooking lightly on the edge of your jaw; if he could, Bucky would absorb every bit of your body.

You didn't even know at what exact moment you wrapped your hand around Bucky's biceps; you realized this when you painfully dug your nails into it – painful for both of you, but also somehow releasing the sensations that had been building up inside you. They were piling up, and you weren't going to fight them this time either. As that seemingly familiar but actually new feeling exploded in the pit of your stomach, you tightly hugged Bucky and pulled him closer. You uncontrollably sank your teeth into his shoulder, and pure pleasure spread across his face.

With his head on your chest, Bucky was slowly climbing down from his high. You stroked his arm carefully with your knuckles, then brushed your fingertips over the mark of your teeth. 

“You’re a biter,” he murmured, feeling your touch in that spot. From the tone of his voice, you figured he was smiling while saying it. 

“Apparently,” you admitted with a little amusement. “How much time have you got?”

“Why? You want to get rid of me already?”

“I don't want to give Timothy any reason to punish us more than he already did.”

Bucky sighed heavily. He supported himself on his elbows, pulling his head away from your chest, and looked at you. You'd started the topic of Timothy again, and expected worry; that unsettling nervousness. Instead, Bucky stared at you with a gentle smile. “I wouldn't be myself if I didn't fuck with him at least a little,” he stated. “Besides…” He shrugged. “I'm saying goodbye to my wife, aren't I? And judging by his desire to have an heir, my uncle strongly respects family values.” He squinted, smiling insincerely.

You laughed, biting your bottom lip, then lifted your hands to his face. “And that's what you're going to tell him? That you were late because you were working on an heir?”

“Maybe,” Bucky said casually. Watching him with a tender grin, you stroked his cheeks with your thumbs, then carefully moved your finger down his nose; from bridge to tip. The expression on Bucky's face firmly softened – to some extent he even seemed surprised that someone had treated him with such gentleness. “Say it,” he whispered. 

“What?” This time, your thumb caressed his chin.

“That I'm yours. I need to hear it. I need to know that when I come back, I'll come back to you. To my girl.”

There was something painfully shattering about seeing him embraced by such helplessness, uncertainty about his own worth; about how you perceived him.

“I don't want to lose you,” he continued. “The thought of you, of you being there for me, is the only thing that will keep me sane, I-”

“It's okay. It's okay.” You smiled reassuringly, your hands returned to his cheeks. “You are mine, and I'm not going to look for anyone else, I promise. I'll wait for you as long as it takes, okay? I am not leaving you, Jamie.”

Bucky nodded. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips, immediately followed by another, much more filled with fear, insecurity, vulnerability. 

“I'll miss you,” you muttered into his mouth.

“And I will miss you. Very much.” He trailed his pecks down to your chin, your neck. One of his hands found its way between your thighs, parting them; without protest you spread your legs wider and he settled between them again. You felt his hardened cock rubbing against the inside of your thigh. You never imagined that you would affect someone so much, and knowing that you actually did put Bucky in a slightly different light; it created a new connection between you, based on intimacy and desire for each other. 

His length thrust into you again, and you whimpered as your eyes rolled back in your skull.

You got out of the car – a little sore and tired. Bucky grabbed his bag from the back seats, then reached for your hand, locking your fingers together. He didn't let it show, but you could sense that he was nervous.

A plane was already waiting on the large, empty lot; the property of the Barnes Family. Timothy was standing not far from the heavy machine, talking to the pilot; Steve was also there, but as soon as he spotted the two of you, he walked towards you.

“Y/N.” He nodded to you; you waved at him in response, plastering a slight smile on your face. 

To greet Steve, Bucky chose to drop his bag rather than let go of your hand. He put his free arm around Steve and patted him on the back. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”

“I will.”

Bucky released your hand, but only to move his arm down your back and pull you closer. You bumped against his body, resting your hands on his chest. “It'll be fine. Hmm?”

You wanted to believe it, but couldn't. That's why all you were able to do was smile sadly and press a tender kiss on his lips. Bucky rested his forehead against yours.

“I'll be waiting for you,” you said quietly, making him smile as well.

“I know.” He kissed your forehead, leaving his mouth there for a little longer than necessary. When he pulled away, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, then handed you the keys to the Mustang. “Here. Take care of it, alright?” 

“Alright,” you replied almost silently, lowering your gaze to the keys in your hand. As you lifted your eyes back to Bucky, you caught his stare. He looked at you with a soft smirk. You didn't say anything. Soon, however, he once again joined your lips.

“I gotta go.” He placed a kiss on the back of your hand, having brought it to his mouth, then pulled away and headed toward the plane. You pressed your trembling lips together, watching him. And again you felt that unpleasant coldness of being left alone.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz @loustan90 @kandis-mom @abaker74 @gabshouse @casa-boiardi @globetrotter28 @fand0mskullfa1ry @iateall-yourcookies @swordofawriter

[nebuladreamerrr]

Kylian Mbappé imagine where he’s so nervous to meet your family. Especially nervous for your parents. Your family isn’t really a football family they’re more into basketball. They’re not that impressed by him.

Oooo and maybe when you get to meet his family,

And his mom tells him to the side that she has a real good feeling about you

I hope you enjoy it 💗💗

Lakers fan | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: Despite being a confident man, Kylian can't help but feel insecure and nervous about meeting your family. But will everything turn out okay?

Warnings: English is not my first language

Kylian couldn't stop mentally going over all the plans he had been mapping out for months. When you mentioned that you wanted to spend your vacation in the United States so that your family could finally meet him, his mind started working overtime. He couldn't stop thinking about everything he needed to remember: not to mix up French with English, not to forget the gifts for your family (soccer jerseys for your younger brothers, flowers for your mother, and a bottle of wine for your father), and to make sure not to address your father too informally. All of this seemed like a simple plan, but the fact that everything was in English made Kylian very nervous.

From the moment you met him, you didn't hesitate to tell him that his English was very good and that he should be proud of mastering a language that wasn't his mother tongue. Still, a few lessons with you were enough to turn him into a professional in the language.

But this wasn't what made the French footballer nervous. It seemed unbelievable that before a match against the best players in the world, he had the strength and courage not to doubt his abilities. There's no denying that the young Frenchman is one of the best players in the world, but even the biggest stars tend to get nervous and review the matches of the stars they are going to face. However, Kylian wasn't like that. He could play in a big stadium with millions of fans chanting his name, and in his mind, it was as if he were playing a match with his childhood friends.

Without a doubt, that's what made you fall in love with Kylian: that ability to make even the most exclusive and extravagant events seem like a simple gathering in the park after school. Kylian always showed you that side of himself whenever he could, whether it was when you entered a clothing store and he mentioned how he used to have a shirt with the same pattern when he was little, when you ate at different restaurants and he always compared them to the ones in his hometown (which obviously always won), or even when he had a very important meeting with his representatives and afterward told you, "Phew, I almost fell asleep. For a moment, I was transported back to when my school principal gave talks that were supposed to last ten minutes and ended up lasting 100 hours."

But having to navigate in another language and meet your parents and entire family made him extremely nervous. Especially since he discovered that they weren't big soccer fans; in fact, they rarely watched soccer matches. Instead, it was rare for the TV not to be showing an NBA game. Kylian was a basketball fan too, but with so many matches, training sessions, and competitions, he couldn't watch all the basketball games he wanted or keep up with the big stars and promising future talents.

Kylian wasn't just worried about his own nerves; he was also focused on making sure you felt comfortable and happy. Although the United States was your home country, you hadn't been back in a long time. Since moving to Paris and more recently to Spain, your sense of home had spread across these three places. He knew you'd be thrilled to reunite with your family and make plans with all your friends, but he also understood it would be strange to return to a home that had changed since you last saw it. That's why Kylian planned every detail of the trip to the United States meticulously.

Kylian worked hard to learn a few phrases in English that might impress your parents and practiced how to behave in social situations that might be different from those in France, like not greeting your parents with the typical three kisses. He knew this visit was important to you, and he was determined to do everything possible to make it a success.

Additionally, Kylian had organized a special surprise for you. He had reserved a dinner at an elegant restaurant atop a skyscraper, with stunning views of the city. This was the perfect place for you to reconnect with all your childhood friends—those you had shared moments with since kindergarten, those you had spent so much time training with through cheerleading routines, and, most importantly, those you had shared countless laughs with. He wanted your family to see how much you meant to him and how much he valued every moment with you. He also thought it was a great opportunity for them to understand that he didn't want you to isolate yourself from your friends.

Furthermore, he had prepared a speech with the help of your best friend to express his feelings and gratitude for welcoming him into your home. This would demonstrate his commitment and dedication to both you and your family, making it clear that he had made a genuine effort to integrate into your life and roots.

On the day of departure, while waiting at the airport, Kylian took your hand and looked at you with a calm smile. "Everything will be fine," he confidently assured you. "We've planned everything, and most importantly, we're in this together." His words gave you the reassurance you needed. Together, you boarded the plane towards a new adventure, confident that whatever happened, you would face it with love and mutual support.

The arrival in the United States was emotional. Your best friends welcomed you with hugs and tears of joy, and Kylian introduced himself with the kindness and respect that always characterized him. The first few hours flew by with laughter, memories, and the joy of being together. However, you quickly headed to the hotel you had reserved for your stay to recharge for that special evening.

You had slight suspicions when Kylian warned you to dress elegantly that night because you were going to dinner at a city venue. You thought he might have something up his sleeve, but you quickly dismissed the idea because these spontaneous dates were normal in your relationship. Often, these getaways were the best way to relieve Kylian from stress.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, the waiters guided you to a reserved area. Your suspicions grew when you saw this area was covered by a curtain. Upon opening it, a loud "Surprise!" rang out, and you were greeted with a multitude of hugs and questions about how your recent years had been. Meanwhile, Kylian quickly adapted, chatting with some of your friends he had met that morning or conversing with their partners.

The dinner at the skyscraper was a resounding success. Your friends were surprised to see Kylian, and he quickly won their affection with his warmth and simplicity. The speech he prepared was emotional and sincere, eliciting applause and tears from everyone present. In his words, you could clearly see how much he loved you. He thanked you for following "this crazy head" and for never doubting him, even in his wildest plans. He promised to always make you the happiest person in the world, to take care of you, to be your unconditional support, and above all, to plan your future together with both of your interests in mind.

Kylian felt much more at ease knowing that your friends had accepted him. However, the great challenge of being accepted by your family still lay ahead. He had tried his usual routine to calm his nerves: a cold shower in the morning, a light breakfast, and an intense gym session. But it didn't seem to work today. So, when you informed him that you were going to take a shower to start getting ready, Kylian didn't hesitate to call his mother.

She had always been there for him, not only as a professional and great agent capable of negotiating with major clubs but also emotionally. She was the person who had been by his side during his first breakup, and luckily, she had already had the opportunity to meet you.

"Hello, mom," Kylian said softly as he sat on the hotel bed. "I need some advice… Today is the day I'll meet y/n's family, and I can't help feeling nervous."

His mother, with her usual wisdom and affection, reminded him that being himself was the most important thing. "They will love you for who you are, Kylian. You have shown yourself to be an incredible person, and take the opportunity for them not to be your fans but to fall in love with the real Kylian and not the superstar. Besides, y/n loves you deeply. Trust in that."

His mother's words gave Kylian the reassurance he needed, knowing that everything she said was true. Ten months ago, Fayza had the chance to meet you at a gala organized by Mbappé's association. She was completely captivated seeing you interact so naturally with young children, showing your genuine interest in ensuring everyone was happy and enjoying the day. When you finally made sure all the children were content and had received a small bag with the association's logo, including coloring books, crayons, and a soccer ball, you approached Fayza, apologizing for not being able to do so sooner. So when a child clamored for your attention again, Fayza discreetly approached Kylian to make sure to tell him that she knew you were the love of his life.

After hanging up, Kylian felt more prepared for the meeting. At the end of the day, it wasn't just about impressing your family but showing them how much you meant to him.

When you arrived at your parent's house, your mother opened the door with a big smile, politely greeting Kylian and enveloping you in a warm hug, welcoming you both into your childhood home with her natural charm. Entering the living room, you spotted your siblings with your father. After the initial greetings, you all managed to sit in different parts of the room before Kylian handed out the gifts he had brought, carefully considering your family's preferences.

It's true that your younger siblings weren't big fans of soccer and hadn't heard of Kylian before, but they knew he was a great athlete. Above all, they had seen in recent videos his dedication to the sport and the good values he promoted on the field, so they didn't hesitate to excitedly rush to put on their jerseys while shyly hugging Kylian.

Your mother was delighted with the flowers he had given her and asked about the florist where he had gotten them before quickly running to get a vase and put the flowers in water. But your father was different.

He had always been like this: very affectionate but also very overprotective and, above all, a joker. He had always taken every opportunity to scare the boys you brought home.

"A bottle of wine, Kylian, huh? Interesting. I hope this isn't an indirect way of wishing me to kick the bucket soon, young man. And I also hope this isn't in your regular drinks, because if it is, I'll doubt your sporting abilities."

Nervously, Kylian began to stammer, "Monsieur, I mean, sorry, sir, it wasn't my intention, I…"

"Dad, stop making him nervous and behave yourself. We have a cellar at home, I don't know who you're trying to impress," you replied annoyed, giving Kylian a reassuring look.

The tension had already set in, and even though you tried to calm Kylian by gently caressing his hand, you understood that this wasn't entirely calming him. With each passing minute, his discomfort became more evident.

A few minutes later, your father insisted again with another uncomfortable question: "So, Kylian, tell us, what makes soccer the best sport in the world for you?"

"Uh, well, there are many good sports and I appreciate several of them, but soccer has always been the sport I've practiced. I just enjoy it like a little kid when I play with my teammates. I really enjoy playing a team sport," nervously replied Kylian.

"Well, I value your opinion, but let me question what you've said. I'm not sure if you've considered that soccer is a sport where many people win titles, but only one player from the team stands out. That doesn't happen in basketball. Everyone must stand out, whether as a team, training hard individually, and respecting the coach's decisions. The latter you've had a hard time with in the last year, haven't you, Kylian?"

Kylian didn't know where to put himself. He didn't expect his girlfriend's family to criticize his sporting actions. He agreed that many times he hadn't had the best reactions, but he was working on that. "Yes, sir, I know it's something I need to work on and…"

"Dad, stop it. It's the last time I tell you," you responded firmly, with a challenging look.

"But if we're just having a conversation, right, Kylian?" your father said.

"Yes, yes, calm down, honey," Kylian replied, trying to smooth over the situation.

Taking advantage of the uncomfortable pause, your mother entered the room with a tray of refreshments and some snacks, trying to ease the tension. "Let's relax a bit, okay? We're here to have a good time and get to know each other better," she said with a smile.

Grateful for the change of subject, Kylian dove into conversation about some childhood memories and funny anecdotes from his career. Your younger siblings, fascinated, started asking him lighter questions about his training sessions and encounters with other famous athletes.

The evening continued with ups and downs, but gradually everyone relaxed. Kylian took the opportunity to show his more human and approachable side, which slowly won over your father's sympathy.

The tension continued to build in the room when your father, with a cunning smile, asked, "And tell me, Kylian, are you a fan of any basketball team?"

"Yes, sir, I'm a big fan of the Lakers," Kylian replied with a tentative smile.

"I can't believe it, the most wretched team of the season. Do you really support a team like that? If you consider yourself a great player, which I'm still not convinced of, you should support a great team like the Celtics," your father replied, not hiding his disdain.

Kylian had lost all the energy he had. He felt mentally exhausted and didn't know what to say anymore. He lowered his head, ashamed, feeling like he had failed to impress your father.

"That's enough, we've had enough. Kylian, let's go," you said, getting up quickly. Kylian was astonished, not expecting you to take his side and confront your father.

"No, honey, it's okay," Kylian tried to calm you, though he clearly appreciated your support.

At the end of the night, when the atmosphere had calmed down, your father approached Kylian with a softer expression. "You know, soccer may not be my favorite sport, but I see how hard you work and how much you mean to my daughter. I just want you to know that you have a family here that will support you, as long as you make her happy."

Kylian touched and shook your father's hand firmly. "Thank you, sir. I promise to do everything I can to take care of her and make her happy."

When you finally retired to the hotel, Kylian looked at you with a mixture of relief and happiness. "It's been a tough day, but I think we passed the test."

You smiled, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders. "Yes, we did. Together, as always."

That night, as you prepared to sleep, Kylian was reflective. "You know, I always knew meeting your family would be a challenge, but I didn't expect it to be so intense."

"My father has always been protective, but over time he'll see how amazing you are," you replied, gently caressing his face.

"I hope so. I want them to know how much I love you and how much you mean to me," said Kylian, with renewed determination.