#Not that I am against the shouting out but sometimes they just really single out various categories of people for no reason

[forlix]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes. 

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

#hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #hyunjin imagines #k-labels #skz imagines #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids x you #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #skz #*minific #*writing #I LOVEEED writing this dynamic more than anything i've been wanting to play around w/hyunjin's personality more and this satiated me so bad #i might write more of these two tbh. i adore them already

[sanjisboyfie]

yandere zoro headcanons

male reader of course <3 also this is actually a very soft yandere zoro, nothing super duper hardcore...i think

yandere ! zoro . . . just expects you to know that he likes you. it's so annoying. he does the bare minimum and genuinely thinks that's enough for you to know. he's held the door open for you one time and equated that to a love confession. because he's not gonna ever blatantly confess to you, so he does these other minuscule things to get your attention and make it "known" that he likes you.

yandere ! zoro . . . will be at your beck and call. he will do whatever you ask of him. he'll act like its annoying, but he is more than happy to do whatever you ask him. it's undeniably a really sweet gesture that he does, but sometimes he gets really pushy and aggressive with it. the reason why is because he wants you to completely rely on him, even for your own basic needs. he wants to be doing everything for you for the power-trip and control it gives him.

"give it to me," zoro gruffly said, taking the bags from your arms. you were more than capable in carrying the groceries, but zoro took them off your hands. he knew you could handle them, but he felt the need to aid you.

"i am more than capabl-"

"shut up, i'm doing you a favor," zoro rejected your want to carry the bags, shaking his head.

"fine, thanks, zoro." a flash of your gentle smile was enough to send him into a flustered, crimson red blushing state.

yandere ! zoro . . . kind of going hand in hand with ^ that one, zoro would easily kill for you. the amount of dead bodies you'd be responsible for would be uncountable. every single man or woman thats hit on you has - unknowing to you - have been murdered by zoro. he doesn't take people trying to take you away from him lightly. to him its serious enough he needs to take their life. and he has and he will continue to.

yandere ! zoro . . . is very pushy on affections. it may sound out of character, but zoro never thought he'd get lucky enough to find someone like you. so now he's found you, he's gonna be selfish about, as far as he can go.

zoro had a nasty habit of physically taking you away from conversations. it would be out of nowhere - when you're just playing games with chopper and then you're suddenly being thrown over zoro's shoulder. you could try fighting against him all you want, but he easily overpowers you.

and when you're finally dropped onto the crow's nests floor, you berate him, "what's your issue?! chopper and i were talking you know!"

"i know," zoro says, not bothered one bit by your shouting.

"so?" you say expectingly, not enjoying how nonchalant he was being about the whole situation.

"if you're my boyfriend, don't i have the right to spend time with you?"

"i can still have friends though,"

zoro yawned, taking you into his lap and trapping you in hie arms, "come on, let's just sleep. we don't have to keep talking about stupid shit like this,"

"you can't just-"

a hand on the back of your head made you crash into his chest and effectively shut you up, his chest silencing you as you were smothered (suffocated) in it.

yandere ! zoro . . . has two sides of his personality - one he uses with you, and only with you, and then the side he shows everyone else. he never speaks as softly as he does with you as he does with other people. he's hyper aware that he looks intimidating to others, but he goes out of his way to be softer with you. it's sweet, honestly, but it's terrifying to see it happen in real time.

zoro had an arm drapped around your shoulder, simply following in whatever direction you took him to. whenever he saw something that he'd think you'd like, he pointed it out to you with a hidden smile.

"wait, look, do you like it?" zoro gently asked, picking up the ring and examining it in the natural light, "i can get it for you, if you want?"

"but it's pretty expensive-"

"don't worry about it, i can afford it," zoro shrugged, enjoying the way your eyes brightened. if only he could keep that for himself completely, hide you away from the rest of the world.

the two of them walked up to the vendor. zoro's soft smile was wiped away in an instant, looking gruff and annoyed at the man, "this one."

"what a lovely ring, you two are-"

"could you just hurry up? our crew might leave without us," zoro lied, already so annoyed with the innocent man who was just doing his job. you slapped him on the chest, shooting him a look.

seeing the disappointed expression on your face, he faltered in his glare a little bit. and an embarassed blush came onto his face, looking to the side and forcing himself to not glare at the vendor.

the man looked grateful for your intervention, quickly taking the exchange of beri and handing you the ring. a quick thank you left your lips before you walked out of there, zoro in tow.

"you're such an asshole," you murmured in annoyance, shrugging off his arm from your shoulder.

"babe, c'mon, don't-" but he shut up immediately when he saw the look you shot him, a warning look. it worked and he kept quiet the rest of the walk to sunny.

he practically grovelled for forgiveness the rest of the night, only gaining it back when he gently put the ring around your finger and peppered kisses on your face.

yandere ! zoro . . . is really only nice and doting to you - he doesn't give a shit about anyone else but you and makes it known. it earns him a scolding but he needs you to know that everyone that isn't you doesn't even cross his mind. you're the only person he thinks about and will continue to think about - everyone else isn't even worthy of being as important as you are in his head. you are the only thing he cares about, he devotes his entire strength in making it known he is at your disposal.

#≡;- ꒰ ° yandere headcanons ꒱ #≡;- ꒰ ° yandere series ꒱ #ok i think i might have written this a bit too soft #SORRY BUT YANDERE ZORO would so definitely be the type to be soooooo nice to you his darling and an asshole to everyone around him #so nice to you its almost out of character but stop he just wants to make you love him as much as he loves you #yandere zoro #yandere one piece #yandere imagines #roronoa zoro imagines #roronoa zoro x male reader #male reader imagines #x male reader #zoro x male reader #one piece x male reader #one piece imagines #zoro x reader

[scribblesofagoonerr]

The journey to recovery begins now.

Heres the next part! ✌🏼

Let me know what you think? I have a lot of time on my hands currently unable to move much, so this is the result!

Credit to @alotofpockets for giving me the courage to continue to write!

Pairings: beth mead x teen reader, vivianne miedema x teen reader, arsenal wfc x teen reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You never truly appreciated how much you took your knees for granted until it was too late, leaving you to confront the stark reality of their absence during the grueling weeks that followed after your surgery.

The initial stages of your rehabilitation post-surgery, each day felt like an uphill battle against the constraints of limited mobility. Every single step was a painful reminder of your body’s fragility, which left you teetering on the edge of frustration.

The simple tasks you once took for granted now felt like insurmountable challenges, even the thought of walking a few steps sent a wave of discomfort radiating through your knee, serving as a constant reminder of your newfound vulnerability.

Reflecting on the moment that led to this predicament, you can’t help but regret it as your knee injury could have been avoided. Perhaps if you had chosen a different path that fateful night, the outcome would have been drastically different.

“Where are you off to?” Viv’s concerned voice broke through your thoughts, she had virtually been watching over you like a hawk since your return from the hospital.

“I’m just going to the toilet” You muttered, struggling to get up from the sofa but you were just too stubborn to ask for any sort of help.

Vulnerability was something you’d never dealt well with, it was a trait that was deemed unacceptable in your previous harsh upbringing. Weakness was a luxury that you couldn’t afford, it was a lesson that had been ingrained in you from childhood.

You could practically hear the stern cold voice of your biological father as if he were standing directly behind you, whispering into your ear.

“Do you need a hand?” Beth’s offer was laced with genuine concern, finding it difficult to watch you struggle unwillingly.

“No” You snapped, the frustration bubbling to the surface; You hadn’t meant to be so horrible, it was just sometimes easier to revert back to a defensive coping mechanism that you had been conditioned to over the years as you grew up.

“Just know I’m here if you need me” Beth’s reassurance hung in the air, a lifeline amidst the uncertainty.

“Just shout for us if you need anything, okay?” Viv chipped in, reminding you as she watched you limp off in the direction of the bathroom, although there was a weight of worry lingering incase you somehow hurt yourself in there.

Beth noted her girlfriends’ vigilant gaze and softened her expression, “She’ll be alright, Viv. She’s only gone to the loo, remember?” she joked, amusedly.

“I know, I am just worried in case she aggravates her knee or something” Viv admitted her concern, anxiously biting her bottom lip, “She really needs to be cautious” she added.

“It’s okay to be worried, but we have to let her do things for herself” Beth replied, offering comfort to alleviate her girlfriend's anxiety about you, “If needs help then she’ll shout, remember?” she reminded her.

Viv folded her arms, still visibly worried for you as she tried to listen out in case there’s a sudden slip in the bathroom, “I just can’t help but feel anxious, Beth. What if she hurts herself in there?” she repeats her worries.

“I understand, liefje” Beth placed a comforting hand on Viv’s shoulder, “But we have to let her have some independence too. We can’t smother her with our concerns” she explained to the Dutch woman.

“You’re right, I just need to remind myself of that– I just hate that she is going through this. It’s not fair” Viv mumbled, shaking her head.

Beth gently took a hold of Viv’s hand and squeezed it, “It really isn’t fair, but we’re going to do all that we can to support her, every step of the way, no matter what” she declared.

Deep down, you knew your injury wasn’t anyone’s fault, yet your reflex was to just continuously push your loved ones away once more. 

Despite your attempts, it seemed futile, especially with surprise visits becoming a regular occurance.

Apparently, today was no exception.

Unable to start your rehab anytime soon, you found yourself wrapped up in self-pity on your bed, cocooned in blankets and lost in a Netflix TV show that you had zero interest in but since your remote has gone AWOL, it left you with no choice but watch it, but at least Myle was there for company.

“Y/N/N/! We’re here!” Kyra’s unmistakable voice cut through the air, announcing her arrival.

“Kyra, she might be asleep” Alessia’s voice followed through, a touch of caution in her tone.

“Well, she might not be” Kyra retorted, barging into your room with her usual typical energy to find you awake, “See, Less? Told you that she wouldn’t be asleep!” she grinned back at the blonde.

“Wouldn’t have much chance with the way you’re shouting” You mumbled, acknowledging both of their presence.

Alessia offered an apologetic smile, “Hey, Y/N/N. We just wanted to come and see how you’re doing” she explained.

“Oh, you know? I’m fantastic” You words are laced with sarcasm.

“Well, we brought snacks” The blonde attempted to lift your dampened mood, gesturing to the bag of the treats that they had brought you.

“Wonderful” You barely entertain the idea of the sugary treats as you keep your gaze fixed on the ceiling, disinterested.

“I can tell she’s definitely excited about that” Kyra mocked your enthusiasm, taking hold of the bag from Alessia’s hands.

Alessia shot Kyra a warning look before turning back to you, concern etched on her face, “Hey, Y/N/N, are you okay? Truthfully?” she questioned.

“Just fuckin’ peachy” You sighed dramatically, still refusing to meet their gazes, dismissing them with a wave, “How’d you guys get in, anyway?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Beth let us in before she left” Kyra explained, perching on the end of the bed.

“Oh” You mumbled in agreement.

“Someone’s feeling grumpy today” Kyra teased, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she started to delve through the bag and pull out a packet of sweets.

You snatched the packet away, tearing it open with unnecessary force, “Wouldn’t you  be if you couldn’t walk with out assistance?” The frustration was evident in your tone of voice.

Kyra raised her hands in mock surrender although the mischief still sparkled in her eyes, “Noted. I’ll steer clear of touchy subjects” she quipped, exchanging a glance with Alessia.

Undeterred, Alessia took a seat beside you, mindful of your injury, “I get it that you’re frustrated, Y/N/N” she said softly, attempting to connect with you.

You rolled your eyes with the irritation simmering, “Well, excuse me for not being in the mood for a pep talk” you remark, your tone sharp.

“Come on, lighten up, mate” Kyra interjected, reclining against the bed’s end with a playful grin.

Ignoring her, you continued to sulk, stuffing more sweets into your mouth  with unnecessary force, not in the mood for conversation.

Alessia sighed as her concern deepend, “I just… I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to. We know what you’re going through is difficult right now” she ventured cautiously.

“I don’t want to talk about it” You snapped, your frustration boiling over, “I just want to talk, that’s all I want. I want to be able to get out of this damn bed and feel normal again!”

“Well if you’re looking for a miracle, I think you’re in the wrong place” Kyra couldn’t resist a quip to wind you up.

“Kyra” Alessia’s reprimand was gentle but firm, signaling an end to the teasing.

A tense silence settled over your room, broken only by the sound of your frustrated sighs and the crinkle of the sweet packet that Kyra continued to help herself too.

“Listen, Y/N/N, we’re here for you, okay?” Alessia told you with a gentle voice, “Whatever you need, whether it's someone to talk to or just in silence together, we’re here” she stated, determinedly.

You met her gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and gratitude, even if you were sometimes way too stubborn to admit it, “Thanks, Alessia” you muttered, the harshness of your voice starting to dull as you realised that it wasn’t any good to take your anger out on your team mates, who only wanted to help you.

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Kyra leaned forward as her playful demeanour was replaced with genuine concern, “Seriously mate” she said, her voice uncharacteristically serious, “We hate seeing you like this. Is there anything we can do to help?” she asked.

You hesitated to answer, you were torn between your desire for independence and the comfort of having your friends by your side, “I don’t know” you admitted finally, your voice wavering slightly, “I just… I just hate feeling so helpless, you know?” 

Alessia reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as she gently pulled you into her embrace, “It’s okay to feel that way” she said softly, “But you’re not alone in this. We’ll all help you get through it together” she promised you.

For a moment, the weight of your injury felt a little lighter, the burden now shared amongst your friends who refused to let you face it alone.

“Thanks, Lessi. Thanks, Kyra” You mumbled, burying your head in her chest as you allowed yourself to lean on them for their support, knowing no matter how tough the road ahead might be, you wouldn’t have to walk in alone, “Could one of you please pass me the remote? I don’t know what I’m watchin’ but it’s so boring” you muttered, complaining which made the two of them laugh.

© scribblesofagoonerr

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso one shot #arsenal women x reader #beth mead x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #scribblesofagoonerr

[katiexpunk]

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry. 

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting. 

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep. 

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were. 

And then you met Joel Miller.  

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there. 

And you did the same for him. 

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived. 

This is that story. 

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out. 

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf. 

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back.  It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here. 

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes. 

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice. 

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes. 

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession. 

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments. 

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal. 

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor. 

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face. 

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer. 

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing. 

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud. 

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response. 

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind. 

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy. 

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits. 

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened. 

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way. 

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room.  You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing. 

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.”  Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over. 

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see. 

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them. 

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together. 

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on. 

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options? 

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel. 

Maria lets it slip to Tommy. 

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker. 

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher. 

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal. 

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to. 

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point. 

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited. 

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face. 

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes. 

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness. 

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete. 

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now. 

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it?  You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t. 

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years.  You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating. 

But you aren’t. 

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create. 

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing. 

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest. 

It was nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night. 

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning. 

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now. 

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber. 

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware. 

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too. 

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it. 

After all, it’s just a peek. 

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret. 

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat. 

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness. 

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.” 

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice. 

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink. 

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face. 

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back. 

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke. 

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality. 

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables. 

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils. 

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist. 

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse. 

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more. 

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says. 

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened. 

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him. 

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it. 

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips. 

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say. 

“Tell me something,” he says. 

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact. 

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond. 

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him. 

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old. 

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon. 

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble. 

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it. 

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening. 

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain. 

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now. 

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground. 

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you. 

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones. 

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. 

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words. 

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue. 

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it. 

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled. 

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to. 

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn. 

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him. 

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing. 

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”  

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit. 

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap. 

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face. 

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. 

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind. 

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might. 

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked. 

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock. 

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa. 

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now. 

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations. 

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream. 

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later. 

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks. 

“Deal,” you promise. 

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again. 

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning. 

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more. 

A new beginning. 

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence. 

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.” 

But that’s a different notebook. 

END 

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As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #katiexpunk answers #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[suuuupernovaaa]

Taxi Cab

Hobie Brown x f!Reader

She would never hurt anyone. He would hurt anyone for her.

Before Hobie, nothing very eventful ever happened in my life. I grew up in a happy home, went to a good school, and decided to become an art teacher. I got good grades, I made life long friendships with people similar to me, and I kept my head down and minded my business.

Though it's been nearly half a year since he came rocketing into my life, I still can't put my finger what exactly drew Hobie to me. We don't have a lot in common. Where I am passive, Hobie is active and fierce. Where I am lenient, Hobie is harsh. Until Hobie, I had never listened to punk music, considered anarchy, or pierced a single thing on my body.

Well, I still haven't done the last one. Besides my ears. Needles are too much for me. Sometimes I get nervous that the spikes on Hobie's wardrobe are going to stick me.

Hobie is a force. He's dangerous, he's passionate, he's larger than life. Being near Hobie is addictive. He has a gravity around him that draws people in, but it tends to spit them out at much the same rate.

For some reason, I've been able to hang on. Sometimes it feels like clinging for dear life, until he reminds me how much he cares.

Even though he can do that in odd ways.

Like tonight.

Ever since I met Hobie, trouble seems to follow me around. I've been mugged twice, had my tires slashed, and even had to move because someone broke into my apartment and trashed the place.

My parents are becoming increasingly alarmed, only satisfied in the fact that Spider-Punk always seems to be nearby. They don't necessarily approve of Spider-Punk (I mean, most don't), but they do at least appreciate that he seems to be looking out for me.

Which is so weird! Hobie can't figure it out either, but he says Spider-Punk is a narcissistic asshole who only saves people to get attention for himself.

He might just be mad that I said I thought Spider-Punk seemed like he'd be cute, under the mask.

I was hoping my luck had turned around and I wouldn't need to run into Spider-Punk again for a while, but I guess that was just silly optimism. On my way to Hobie's with two large bags of groceries in hand, I'm stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk when a taxi cab crashes directly into a fire hydrant.

The fire hydrant lets loose a typhoon of water in my direction, and I scramble to the right to get out of the water, but it's too late. I'm soaked.

"Oi!" I hear the unmistakable sound of Hobie yelling. He was heading my direction after I told him the bags were getting heavy, and arrived just in time to witness the crash. He wrenches open the door of the car and pulls out the taxi driver. He seems unharmed, a little shaken up, with heavy bags under his eyes and a wobble in his step.

Drunk or high.

"You could've killed someone!" Hobie is shouting, looking over at me and then back at the driver. "I ought to kick your fucking arse." He pushes the man against the side of his cab as the water continues to spray. I drop the groceries, mostly ruined now, and approach Hobie.

The man is muttering something under his breath, and as I reach them, I can smell the liquor coming through his pores.

I grab Hobie's arm. "I'm okay. Come on."

"No, I saw it, he nearly killed you, Y/N. Just a few feet over, you'd be gone. Then I'd have to fuckin' kill him!" Hobie slams him against his car one more time, and I pull on his arm harder.

"But he didn't. The cops are on their way. Let's go. I need help carrying the groceries, and it's too cold for me to be all wet."

Hobie looks at me finally, really looks at me, and then with one more burning glance at the inebriated taxi driver, gruffly releases his collar and turns to me.

Effortlessly, he scoops me up into his arms, bridal-style, and I gasp. He strides with ease over to our drowned groceries, and bends down, picking them up in his hands.

"Jesus, have you been working out?" I ask.

His face is too tense for a smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch. Despite my protests, he carries me into his building and up three flights of stairs, only setting me down once we are safe inside the walls of his apartment.

Without me asking, he goes into his room and brings out a pair of leggings I've left here before, and one of his t-shirts. I change in the bathroom, drying my hair as best I can with a towel, before going back to the kitchen to see what can be salvaged of the groceries.

"I think I can still do something with this! The bread is gone but, homemade bread crumbs aren't like, necessary. They're just fancy." I turn to see Hobie leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, still scowling. "Uh, or I can go to the store, if the homemade bread crumbs were like, important."

I let out a yelp of surprise when Hobie pushes himself off the counter and strides towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders and bringing me to him for a rough, passionate kiss.

In moments, I meld into him, wrapping my arms around his waist as his fingers find their way into my hair, and his tongue enters my mouth.

This kiss feels different. Urgent, feverish, desperate. He holds me tightly, pressing me so close to him it feels like he wants us to be one person, like he would climb right into my skin.

I pull away for just a moment, gasping for breath. "Are you okay?" I say on an exhale.

Hobie stares down at me intensely, his hands still in my hair, his eyes wild and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he says flatly. "There's no limit to what I'd do."

I bring my hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, nodding. "I know, Hobie."

"I would have killed that man if you hadn't stopped me."

I know he's exaggerating to make a point, but a chill runs up my spine a the way he says it so calmly, with no hint of irony. I remember his chest heaving, the wild look in his eyes as he held that drunk man up against his own car.

He looked out for blood.

"I'm okay, Hobie. So are you."

"Move in with me. You hate that new place. Stay here."

We've only known each other six months. We're barely adults. I make no money as a new teacher and I honestly haven't figured out how Hobie seems to make so much money off the gigs he plays. It's too soon to move in together. It's not smart.

But I love him. And he loves me. We haven't said it yet, but I don't know that we need to. I can see it in his eyes, feel it while he holds me, taste it on his lips.

He loves me.

"Okay."

"Today. Like, we can get your stuff later, but don't sleep there anymore. Stay with me."

I nod and lean forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. His hands finally leave my hair, and wrap tightly around my shoulders. I listen to his heartbeat - rapid at first, but as we stand there, silently clinging to each other, it begins to slow down.

He's pressing soft kisses to the top of my head, humming quietly, and I've never felt more in love.

I've never felt more cared for, more loved in return, more safe.

Six months or sixty years. I don't think it matters.

#hobie brown #Hobie brown x reader #Hobie brown x you #Hobie brown fluff #Hobie brown fic

[weirdmorefics]

So Very Basic- Spencer Reid X Reader

A/N- This may have just been an excuse for me to infodump about Pride and Prejudice but I swear the fic is still good! Reader is also very Autistic coded but I am Autistic so that happens a lot when I write hope you don't mind.

Pronouns- She/her

Tooth-Rooting Fluff

Word Count- 822

Summary- Spencer judging your book tastes on the jet back home.

Spencer and I have made it a habit of sitting next to each other every flight home. We usually talk about the recent books we have finished or are currently reading. Sometimes we just sit in silence and read together. These are my favorite moments in my life I never feel calmer in the jet with Spencer by my side or across from me. This time it felt different though Spencer's eyes have not left me once I swear he hadn't flipped a page of his book.

"Hey Spence, What's your book about?" I say trying to hint at the fact that I can obviously see he has not flipped a single page.

He seemed startled by my sudden question but proceeded to tell me the entire synopsis of his book.

I slam my book shut and shout, "You have read that book already!"

He seemed perplexed by my reaction "There is no rule against rereading books I think authors would prefer you reread their works."

I groan, "There is when you spend the whole flight staring at me distracting me from my book."

Spencer flushes and I am one hundred percent sure I am right now.

"Hotch the children are fighting again!" Rossi shouts like a mother making me shake my head at him.

"Hotch Spence is poking meee," Emily teases in her best Y/N impersonation. JJ of course joins in playing the role of Spencer, "I am not Y/n." She draws out my name.

Spencer and I look as red as two tomatoes and my safe space has turned into an inescapable nightmare.

He leans in and whispers in my ear, "You know this is your fault for picking the most basic Jane Austen novel."

I gasp dramatically which of course just causes more stares from the team.

Derek sighed knowing this Y/n gasp all too well, "Pretty boy what are you doing offending Y/n? Do you want to listen to another one of her defensive rants for thirty minutes?"

"I quite enjoy them," Spencer smiles.

Rossi rolls his eyes, "You would."

I stand up, "Pride and Prejudice is beautiful from its book, it's movie, and it's BBC Special!"

JJ sighs," Here she goes."

"The drama in the book is spectacular as it delves into each sister's feelings about marriage and how at the time it was their only option. Don't even get me started on the twenty-seven with no prospects speech! Oh my goodness Darcy is the perfect match for Elizabeth with them both being so headstrong makes for the best enemies to lovers! Speaking of Darcy in the film when he does that hand-clench thing it was not even in the book! It wasn't even scripted! Which made me feel he was the perfect actor for Darcy he understood the role perfectly!" I ramble out putting my hand on my chest the rest of the team is annoyed at another one of my outbursts but Spencer is looking at me like I am the only person on the plane and I flush when I meet his eyes.

Hotch shouts at me, "L/N would you sit down we are about to go into a patch of turbulence." He of course says this too late and I embarrassingly fall on top of Spencer.

I immediately try to scramble off Spencer but he holds me there. I look away from him trying to hide my flushed face and he asks if I am alright.

"Yup, just mortified but everybody needs a good daily dose of that am I right." I smile trying to play it off but I play with my hair a common tell of mine that everyone in the BAU knows by now.

"You know I have never seen the Pride and Prejudice film," Spencer says slyly.

My eyes light up "You must see it! It's on Netflix I have seen it over a hundred times! I can probably quote all the words by now."

"I actually don't have Netflix I don't really watch television," He rubs the back of his neck.

"That's fine I could totally bring my laptop to you to watch it! Or we could watch it at my apartment!" I ramble out coming off more excited than I meant to.

"That sounds great," Spencer smiles, "Do you really know all the words you could recite some now?" He teases.

I turn the deepest red I think I have ever been in my life and of course, Derek has to jump in.

"Oh pretty boy has moves," he whistles.

Spence rolls his eyes "Shut up Morgan."

"Could we all shut up? Some of us like to rest so we can actually focus on work when we get back." Hotch says in his typical annoyed-with-us voice.

"I guess reciting Pride and Prejudice to you will have to wait," I whisper into Spencer's ear it was finally my time to make him blush.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[luvhughes43]

tornado warning | nico hischier x reader

summary: every summer nico comes back home to Switzerland and resumes his fling with yn even though she knows it’s not good for her.

lyrics: "don't understand how quickly we get right back in our rhythm without missing a step, and logically the last thing i should have on my mind but i want you there sometimes"

"i guess maybe thats why im lying to my therapist, i keep saying things like "i never saw him and we never kissed"

word count: 1.1k

you and nico were kind of a thing before he moved to the us for hockey. it was the average high school relationship, hand holding and late night talks on the phone. it was never supposed to be how it is now. you weren’t together, but every time off-season hit, Nico was back in Switzerland and you were suddenly calling out for him and he was there, every single time. 

Don't understand how quickly we get

Right back in our rhythm without missing a step

And logically, the last thing I should have on my mind

But I want you there sometimes

he had just gotten back in the country less than 24 hours ago, and your mind was already reeling with how quick everything was already going. he was in your bed shirtless, arms slung around your waist as soft music played in the background. you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your side, and you could feel his soft hair against your fingertips as you let them brush across his scalp.

“Ni?” you whispered, unsure if he had already fallen asleep.

“Yes?” he replied groggily, not bothering to move so he could look up at you.

you debated on asking him what the two of you were, what you were even doing. you knew that when he inevitably left you again at the end of the summer you would be a wreck, and despite yours, your friends, and your therapists advice, you couldn’t quit Nico. 

I guess maybe that's why 

I'm lying to my therapist

I keep saying things like 

"I never saw him and we never kissed"

your lovely therapist knew all about your relationship with Nico. It was a topic that came up regularly during your hour-long sessions. 

“I just don’t know what i’m going to do about this, like… we always fall back into how things were, and i just don’t know if i can do it anymore,” you went over your dilemma for what seemed like the hundredth time. your therapist nodded her head slowly as she listened to you once again reiterate your issues. 

she set her pen down against her notepad before looking into your eyes, “be honest, have you seen him since he came back?” she questioned and you tried to still your fidgeting. 

“No, i never saw him. I’ve just heard from friends who’ve seen him around,” you lied smoothly, shifting a little on the couch you were sitting on. If your therapist knew you had kissed him too… multiple times… you knew what she’d say. she wants you to move on but how can you when Nicos at your doorstep and is asking for you? you just can’t seem able to get over him.

I think he's onto me every time I say

"I'm over that son of a bitch"

“I am so over him,” you slur to your friends who all give each other side glances. you’ve been telling them the same thing for years, and it seemed like Nico had a sixth sense when it came to you trying to get over him. Every time you declared you were over him, he was calling or doing something to pull you right back in.

“yn honey, why don’t you-” your friend started but you eagerly cut her off.

“no like seriously this time, how dare he come back to me! like he thinks he can just come back into my life every damn time!” you practically shouted, getting up off the couch to really make your point clear. You pointed in the directions of each of your friends and continued, “next time he calls, guys i swear just take my phone and block him because i am never, and i mean never! talking to him again!” you slurred your words and your friends just nodded at your new attempt to rid yourself of Nico.

not even a minute later he was calling your phone, your ringtone blaring through the material of your jeans as you urgently fished it out. “yn who is it?” one of your friends asked as she moved to stand next to you. 

a goofy smile took over your face once you saw Nicos contact. The rest of your friends didn't even need to peek at your phone to know who was calling. “i’m just going to answer it,” you giggled a bit, pulling away from your small group of friends.

“yn no! you just said you were never going to talk to him again!” your friend jumped off the couch and rushed over to you, trying to grab your phone out of your hand before you accepted the call. 

she was too late. you shielded your phone from her and quickly accepted, smiling into the phone once you heard Nicos voice on the other end of the call.

“Ni!” you giggled into the call, all of your previous sentiments ignored the second you heard his voice asking for you to come over. all of your friends watched you walk out the door and into his car, all of them groaning when you two drove off.

I'll drive you home

You drive me crazy

But that's not gonna stop me

I'll call you out

You call me "baby"

it was nico’s last night in switzerland before he was catching a flight back to jersey. you were driving him home after a late night at your apartment, not having the urge to turn him away when he called saying he wanted to properly tell you goodbye.

“you drive me crazy, Ni” you sighed, watching him unbuckle himself out of your passenger side. 

“what are you talking about baby?” he asked, seemingly unaware of the effect his words had on you. 

“I’m not your baby” you admitted softly, turning around so you can face him full on. his brow furrowed at your words. you desperately wanted to say something to him, bring up your feelings or how conflicted you were about this whole relationship-that-wasn’t. but you guys were never the ones to sit and chat about all your feelings, so you let it all go. 

“I’m sorry, i think i’m just tired” you tried laughing it off but it sounded a little strained. 

“well we had a busy night,” Nico laughed as you felt your face heat up, turning around so he could face you properly too.

you smiled at him, painfully aware that this was the last time you’d be seeing him in months. you felt the lump grow in your throat, and you painfully swallowed it back as Nico reached for the door handle. 

Nico opened the door. he halfway outside before he seemingly realized something and leaned back inside, kissing you softly on the lips over the middle of your console. 

he pulled away too soon, and then you sat watching him walk away. The lump in your throat getting more painful with every step he took. you had no idea how you were going to get him out of your mind this time.

#sabrina masterlist #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fic #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #nhl fic #nhl imagine

[banquetwriter]

Paring: Season1!Daryl Dixion x (implied) fem!reader

Word Count: idk girlies 😔

Warning: shitty writing, use of y/n, death of animals, cannon typical violence, reader shoots a gun 🤑

A/N: hey hunny bunnies i have not written in 5 months and plus this was written on my phone however i wanted to make a fluffy slow burn with our fav red neck

part 2

He was sharpening his knife. The repetitive scraping noise is what caught your attention. You let your fingers come to a slow on the bracelet.

You eyed his flexing muscles as he continued to scrape. He was very attractive. There weren't many singles in the group of survives by the quarry. Glenn, Shane, and Andrea were really the only ones that came to mind but, they weren't really your type. Daryl was.

It was almost shameful of you to admit how much you wanted to make him laugh or smile. It was silly. Especially when his brother Merle was just about the worst thing since Satan fell and hell opened up.

But you couldn't help your wandering eyes. You just couldn't. You really tried to keep your eyes and thoughts to yourself but it was difficult. Since you were also an able-bodied adult you were sent to scavenge, sometimes with Daryl.

Apparently letting your mind wander had caught the archer's attention. “What ‘r you staring at, girl?” he grunted out, his eyes narrow. Your eyes pulled up to meet his, slightly startled at his voice.

“Nothing Daryl sorry. Just got lost daydreaming,” you say with a small smile trying not to creep him out any. You look down trying to resume the jewelry. “Well quit your starin’,” he says walking off. “Yup. No problem,” you say, mostly to yourself as your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Realistically it wasn't a big deal, had it happened with Rick or Dale you would have laughed it off but no. It had to happen with Daryl.

You knew he was an ass but you couldn't help but feel like he had a softer side to him. But who are you kidding? He wouldn't save you. He didn't care about you.

You tried to push your sad feelings down and finish tying up the bracelet. You push up on your knees and walk over to the kids and Lori. “Here Sophia! You said you liked mine so I thought to make you one of your own,” you said handing her your creation.

Lori and Carol both smiled at each other as Sophia smiled picking it up in her hands. “Thank you, Ma’am!” Sophia chirps putting it on.

“Call me y/n honey, I ain't that old.” you laugh out placing your hand on her upper back. She smiles up at you showing off her new look. “That's mighty nice of y/n isn't it? Now back to math both of you.” Lori tuts smiling and the kids. You smile and walk away.

Hearing Carl asking to see her new bracelet. You walk up and to the main area with the campfire observing the hot sun that was just getting hotter. It had to have been around 11 am, rounds were going to be started soon.

You decide to get ready pushing your hair back and loading your gun, pressing the soft button for safety. You set it in its holster grabbing your knife from your tent. You step out adjusting your gear.

“Hey, we're paired up! We're leaving in 2 minutes. Hurry your ass up.” Daryl says his drawl showing. “Ok! Be right there!” you shout in an attempt to be nice.

You sigh rolling your eyes. Just because you like him does not mean he likes you.

You both set off just tracking the perimeter of the camp. Suddenly you both heard a twig snap. Your eyes meet his, he pushes his finger against his lips. You nod letting yourself slowly crouch down.

You both stayed silent, as another twig snapped. You pointed in the direction of the noise. He nods slowly tip-toeing towards the noise. Best case a rabbit your squirrel for dinner.

Worst case a walker or another person. Daryl holds his bow in front of him, your attempt to step forward is blocked by his arm going across your chest. You eye him. “Down!” he whispers, pushing down on your chest.

Without hesitation, you follow suit. Once again letting your knees fall.

It was a deer. An almost full-grown one too. You clasped your hand over your mouth, attempting to make no noise to not scare it away.

You watch as it nibbles away at the shrubbery. Your hand subconsciously falls on Daryl's arm, pulling him slightly closer. The creature was beautiful. But what was going to be even more beautiful was all the full bellies it would provide.

Daryl shoots an arrow in its stomach then its eye then another in the torso. The creature struggles for a second and then inevitably falls.

“Damn! Look at us, girl! We are gonna have ourselves some venison!” Daryl says with a giddy smile. Oh, and there goes your heart puttering away.

He just shot a fucking deer and your swooning over his smile. “Good job Daryl,” you say smiling, walking over to him and the food. He has an impressed smile, as he looks at you.

He would be a bald-faced liar if he said you were ugly. You were damn beautiful. Funny too. And annoyingly nice. You were nice to the kitties, to Dale, and to him. Hell, you were even nice to Merle, as long as he hadn't pissed you off that day.

You bent down plucking an arrow from the torso of the beast and handing it to him. “Thanks,” he grunts out nodding his head and pushing the arrow back into his sack. “Don't mention it,” you say with a smile.

To say everyone was happy with your catch was an understatement. This would feed the group for a good few days. More if they were able to get salt to preserve it.

“That was a real find y/n,” Dale says stepping behind you. “Sure but thank Daryl, he found and shot it,” you said pointing to the man currently dressing the animal. “Yeah and carried the damn thing back too,” he said nodding at you.

You playfully roll your eyes at him, striding over and sitting down next to him. “I offered to help carry it,” you said with a grin, picking up a knife and helping him. He rolled his eyes.

“Ain't no way I'm making a lady carry back a dead animal.” he shoots back with a contorted face.

The two of you continued to dress the animal taking all the useless bits away and prepping it to cook. You stayed mostly silent just observing the man in front of you and the group as they chatted about how excited they were for the meat Daryl (and you) caught.

You sat next to him again during dinner which was odd for both of you. You usually sat with the group chatting and giggling with everyone. Daryl sat off by himself maybe his brother would join him but even that was rare.

You munched on the meat which, even with little to no seasoning, was still one of the better meals you've had in a while. “God this beats squirrel any day of the week,” Daryl says with his almost all-eaten plate.

You chuckle at him, “Oh yeah. Nothing beats food before all this shit though. I miss normal food.” you mumble shoving more food in your mouth.

“Nah this is about what I did before too,” he said. “Huh, really? I guess you do strike me as the outdoorsy type,” you say wiping your mouth off.

“Yeah, and you peg me as the sissy city girl type,” he says with a grin. You feel a shocked expression. “Now wherever did you get such an idea?” you say with a faked Southern accent, placing your hand on your chest.

Daryl kicks a little pebble with his foot that disappears in the darkness outside of the firelight. You sit up pick up your plate and Daryls for no particular reason.

You figured it was the nice thing to do. You set the plates down in the dirty bin wiping your hands off. What you don't see is Daryl’s lingering eyes on you.

The moonlight mixed with the fire’s embers was creating a warm scene. If it was the end of the world you just might have been excited about it. You needed a walk. After checking to make sure your gun is still on you, your feet take you a ways from camp.

You hadn't told anyone that you left. Stupid idea. It was getting later, you needed to head back. You stop for a second admiring the forest scenery.

You turn around only to be met with a horrifying creature. A walker. Half of its face was gone, and flesh dripped off of the bone. You gasped stepping back. “Fuck.” you mutter as he grunts and lunges towards you.

All the moments you've been prepared for have flown out of the window. You step backward fiddling to find your gun. The creature continues its lumber at you.

You point the gun and press the trigger. The walker's head explodes on impact with the bullet. The sound rang throughout the quarry. You needed to get back to camp immediately.

Shane is gonna rip your head off. You started jogging back, every slight sound making you more and more paranoid. You run back into camp as everyone's eyes are on you.

“Where is Shane?” you ask as people flood up to you. “Where were you?” Lori asks in a scolding tone. You choose to ignore her. The implication of a walker being within walking distance of the camp was cause for concern they had never gotten that far before.

“Rick where is Shane?” you say moving close to him. “He went out after the shot, he and Daryl both did,” he says eyeing you up and down with a scowl.

“Fuck.” you mutter catching your breath your hands resting on your knees. “There was a walker not far from camp,” you say to the worried-looking crowd. Sophia clings to her mother, “It's ok honey.” she says with a worried face, embracing her daughter.

“Was that shot you?” Rick asks pointing his finger at your chest. “Yes, that was me. We have to be ready the shot could ring around the mountains and draw more of them here,” you say slamming your small handgun on the table.

“What makes you think there are more? Could have been a one-off.” Dale says stepping up. “We have never had a walker that close to us ever before in camp, food is getting scarce minus that deer Daryl shot today. I'm worried that they have finally moved on from the city,” you say packing more ammo.

Rick wipes his mouth and jaw. “Ok we need to fortify, Lori, Carol get the kids outta here,” he says. Carol nods holding Sophia close. “Rick you are not going out there,” Lori says through gritted teeth.

“We have a community to protect, we have a son to protect, I have to protect you,” he says to her pulling her close. Her eyes closed leaning into the hug. “Please be safe,” she mumbled against his chest before taking Carl off to a tent.

Glenn walks up to me and we both stare at Rick. “Glenn you stay here, keep everyone calm, and stand guard. Y/n you're coming with me, take me to the spot where the walker was.” Rick says picking up his gun.

“We can't wait until the morning?” Juan says stepping closer to you and Glenn. “You willing to sacrifice the life of your kids for that chance?” you ask. He steps back nodding his head no.

You take off after Rick, determination and fear flooding your veins.

#daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl x female reader #daryl dixion fluff

[pepperonidk]

IDK Single || c.sc

MASTERLIST

Pairing: s.coups x gn!reader

Summary: you and Seungcheol have broken up and although you try to hide it, you just don’t know how to be single.

Warnings: angst, mostly. mentions of alcohol.

Word Count: 1081

a/n: inspired by the song idk single by loote (crossposted on @pepperonijem)

 Thump. Thump. Thump. Was it the bassline of the song or was that the blood pounding in your head?  Was that a pair of hands snaking around your waist or was it just the alcohol taking a toll on your liver? Honestly, at this point, was there even a difference? Every sensation was dulled down and reduced to nothing.

The only music you heard was when he was speaking, and the only time you felt electricity was when he was touching you, but he took all of that away with him when he walked out of your life. Unfortunately however, he was still your neighbor, so most of your nights were spent trying to get away from him and getting him out of your thoughts. So here you were, at some random party at some random club trying to start over with the random guy who was grinding against you right now -- it definitely wasn’t him. But you wished it was. Deep down, you really did. You tried to swing your hips with the beat and focus on the drunken whispers being spoken into your ear, but it was no use, because it wasn’t his voice. And well, you can’t help it. You just don’t know how to be single.

“I guess this is it.” His voice was tired. Tired of shouting, tired of calling out to you, tired of trying. It wasn’t sadness that laced his voice anymore, it wasn’t even anger. Emotion had left him weeks ago.

“I guess so.” The voice that escaped your lips was not your own. It was the voice of a broken person, and you were done trying to hide it. “Goodbye, Seungcheol.”

That was the end of almost a year of sleepless nights and spontaneous dates and whispered I love you’s, but unfortunately not the end of your feelings for him. It had been over a month since you last saw Seungcheol. He was a man of routine, and you were thankful for it because it made it so much easier for you to avoid him. 

You spend your days holed up in your bedroom watching Netflix with your headphones in so that Seungcheol wouldn’t be able to hear you watching The Princess Diaries for the 26th time, and you only leave your apartment when you knew he was in his. You often go out to clubs and parties every night in other parts of the city to avoid him and his friends, and only come home after 3 am when you know Seungcheol is deep asleep. Sometimes, you swear you can hear his faint snoring through the thin wall that separates your bedrooms, and the sound makes your heart skip. You would mentally curse yourself, but then stay up for another hour reminiscing and missing the feeling of Seungcheol’s skin on yours. 

You think about that night constantly. His voice still rings in your head, drowning out the upbeat music that washed over the club. You step away from the dance floor, having to pry the guy’s hands off your waist, and head towards the bar. The lingering thoughts of Seungcheol were a sign that you are not intoxicated enough. You sit down on a stool and flag down the bartender.

“Give me a double of whatever your strongest thing is here,” you ask. The   bartender gives you a concerned look but then slides over a shot glass. You down it quickly and savor the burn of the alcohol down your throat. You spin around in your stool to look around at the sea of people and all of a sudden you feel trapped. Part of you wants to fool around, find someone new, but the other part of you just wants to be alone.

In another club in another part of the city, Seungcheol leans against the bar counter, sipping on a beer. The alcohol was not giving him the effect he wanted, but he liked the illusion of warmth it brought. He looks around, and sighs. “God, it’s crowded,” he says aloud. 

He turns around, expecting to see your face, but instead sees an empty bar stool. It’s the fourth time tonight he’s done that, tried speaking to you but forgetting you were gone. He makes eye contact with Jeonghan who stands across the room with his arm wrapped around a pretty girl. He looks back at Seungcheol with concern in his eyes, but Seungcheol smiles and raises his beer up in an attempt to pacify him. 

Seungcheol’s smile falters once out of Jeonghan’s gaze, but he hopes it’s enough for Jeonghan to think he’s doing okay. This is the third party Jeonghan brought him to in the last two weeks, but each one seemed even more draining than the last. He really thought that after two weeks he’d feel better, over you even, but if he was being honest, you had him fuc-- Seungcheol was distracted from his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder. 

He turns around quickly to see an almost familiar face. It was almost yours. He pastes a smile on his face once again and smiles at the stranger who is now speaking to him. He has absolutely no idea what they’re saying, as all Seungcheol could think about is if their nose was just a little bit different, or their eyes just a little bit brighter, he would be looking at you. 

So Seungcheol nods in response, just to be polite, and is honestly surprised when all of a sudden there’s a napkin with a phone number stuffed into his hands. The stranger is gone again and Seungcheol looks down at the number. He stuffs it into his pocket, but he knows he isn’t going to be calling her any time soon. He almost feels guilty about it, but he knows it wouldn’t lead anywhere and he didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. He really thought that by now he’d feel different, but he still misses you. 

He looks up to see Jeonghan walking over to him with the same girl he was with earlier and smiles as he pats him on the back. “I saw you talking to someone earlier, Cheol.” Jeonghan teases with a nudge. “Did you get their number?” 

Seungcheol looks down and lets out a sad chuckle. “Yeah, I did,” he replies. He intentionally of course leaves out the fact that he won’t even bother to call them. Jeonghan playfully punches his shoulder in congratulations. “And who’s this lovely lady?” he asks his friend.

“This is my new friend,” Jeonghan introduces with a playful look in her direction as she blushes back at him. Seungcheol rolls his eyes at the sight of it. She reaches out and shakes Seungcheol’s hand politely. “We’re about to head out, maybe take a walk.” Jeonghan wraps an arm around her and she looks up lovingly at him. “Do you have money for a taxi tonight?”

Seungcheol nods in response. “Yeah, no worries, you two have a good night.” 

He waves goodbye to the couple as they make their way out of the building. He looks down at his watch and sees that it’s already 2 in the morning. He follows the couple out to the street and quickly hails down a cab, giving the driver his address and asking him to step on it. 

Seungcheol doesn’t mind being home late, really, but he knows how you think. He knows that you don’t like coming home until he does because you’re trying to avoid him. He could very well be out until dawn, but you’ve always hated being out past 3, because you thought it was the haunted hour. Seungcheol had always teased you for your superstition, but he had taken your fears to heart. He also knows that you try to stay out after him because it helps you to feel like you were winning. Even now, after losing you, he still wanted you to win.

Within a few minutes he’s back at his apartment. He unlocks his door and walks in, enjoying the quiet and the stillness of his home but missing the way you would greet him as he walked through the door. He changes into sweatpants and a t-shirt and plopps down on his bed. He folds his arms under his head and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for the sweet release of sleep to take over.

You stumble your way back to the bar, demanding for another shot of tequila, which the bartender denies. “Sorry, but I gotta cut you off, you’ve clearly had too much,” the bartender reprimands. You huff in response but don’t argue. “I’ll call you a cab, it’s almost 3,” she says. You nod in defeat and wait on a bar stool until she lets you know that the cab is waiting outside. You hop in and manage to give the driver your address, despite slurring your words. You doze off in the car but wake back up when the driver comes to an abrupt stop at your building.

The stairs are your next obstacle and you were doing fine until you began to feel like they started moving like in Hogwarts. By the time you make it to your floor, it’s well past 3 am. You manage to pull out your keys and try hard to jam them into the lock. Unfortunately, you are way too intoxicated to have any control over your fine motor skills and you relent to just banging against the door in hopes it would just magically open.

Well, in this case magic was real, because after several minutes of desperate banging, the door opens. 

“Seungcheol?” Your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. Even though the alcohol blurs your vision, you could recognize the scent of his cologne and the width of his shoulders anywhere. His presence being so close to you overwhelms your senses and you begin to sober up enough to realize that you had been banging on the wrong door this whole time. 

You clear your throat and look at Seungcheol apologetically. “I-I’m sorry I thought this was my door, but I guess I was knocking on yours. I’ll just—“ you turn to walk over to the door beside Seungcheol’s, and pull your keys out once again. 

Before you could unlock your own door however, Seungcheol grabs hold of your forearm, sending shivers through you and making you pause to look back at him. For the first time in weeks you see something in his eyes: pain. Dark circles rim his eyes and what used to be washes of gold in his irises were dulled down to a darkness and you feel a sting in your heart at the sight. 

His eyebrows furrow together as he begins to speak. “Please,” he begs. “Come home.”

taglist: @yksthings @coveyland @xuimhao

can't tag: @2baddies1girl @aikisbbq @seungcheolswife

#caratwritersclub #seventeenweeklyarticle #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen x reader #svt x y/n #svt x reader #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scoups #seventeen #svt scoups #scoups smut #scoups x reader #scoups #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x you #seungcheol smut #svt drabbles #svt fic #svt au #svt seungcheol #kpop x reader

[baileys-3]

The Secret Datin Era - NEW Chapter (#32) now online on AO3

First thing first. Thanks to you @himynameiscookies for beta-reading again ... until the middle the night. No definitly after the middle of the night. You are crazy :)

Thanks for alle the comments and kudos. And wow ... over 40.000 klicks on the story. I am blown away. And something other is crazy too. I am nearing the 200.000 word mark. Actually I am at 198.000 words. Never imagined this story will be soooo huge. And we are not even near the end. Puh.

So I hope you enjoy this chapter. I think you will ... perhaps. I hope so. Feel free to let me know in your comments.

Sneak Peak:

Lucy has a date night on Saturday. Which wouldn’t really be a problem, but it’s not with him, it’s with Angela and Nyla. At a SINGLES NIGHT party. Holy shit Angela. Holy shit Lucy. He doesn't know what to do with this information right now. He's absolutely certain that Lucy somehow got roped into this thing. If you know Angela, you know that sometimes you have absolutely no chance against her. And he also knows that he has absolutely no reason to be jealous or anything else. But that doesn't mean he has to like the fact that Lucy is taken on singles night by Angela. Together with Nyla. Holy shit.

All of this is going through his mind as he stands on the Grizzlies' practice field, where he's supposed to be coaching his baseball team. He sees Lucy eyeing him. For about the fifth time. But she hasn't said anything yet. He gives her a few more minutes. He knows his girl.

It doesn't take long for them to set up the boys with an exercise that keeps them all in motion and requires minimal correction. Standing next to him, they exchange a look, and he simply says, "Singles night? What the fuck Lucy."

He didn't want to bring up the topic so bluntly, but that's just the way it is. He had intended to be more composed and cooler, without turning it into some kind of accusation. He rolls his eyes at himself mentally, while Lucy actually rolls her eyes at him.

"I swear I couldn't help it. You know Angela... Well, she was being Angela. And there was no way to escape it. Believe me, I tried."

Tim notices that one of the boys believes he can ease up a bit just because his two coaches are engaged in conversation. He almost has to commend him for his keen observation. But before he can address it, he hears Lucy's shout.

"Hey Simon, again, half speed doesn't count."

Tim's face lights up with a wide grin. Lucy can be tough, and it's amusing how their roles seem to reverse when they're on the baseball field. Typically, he's the tough one - on the job anyways - but in baseball, she holds a higher standard. Lucy has a competitive drive; she wants to win and slacking on training will not led to win.

But back to Lucy. Who is going on a date at a singles night event.

"So, I'm not going to see you on Saturday because you're going on a date … nice." He emphasizes date like it's a contagious disease.

"I'm not going on a date. I'm going out for a drink with Angela and Nyla. In a bar where there happens to be singles night."

"Sure. And Angela and Nyla won't spend the whole time trying to set you up with someone. What was it Angela said? Trying to find Mr. Right for you? "

In response, Lucy shifts her gaze toward him, arching her eyebrows. "Really Tim? Don’t be such a drama queen!"

#chenford #lucy chen #the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford x lucy chen #archive of our own #tim x lucy #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #chenfordsource #ao3 link #lucy x tim #lucy and tim

[crissiebaby]

The Padded Palace Act IV: Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, crossdressing, inappropriate language, humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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“H-How am I feeling?” said Connor in a hushed tone, repeating Riri’s question back to her dumbfounded. However, it wasn’t long before his befuddlement soon gave way to annoyance, “You called me over here…in the middle of the night…to ask how I’m feeling? Tired, sore, and a little hungry to answer your question.” His eyes glazed over near the tail end of his sentence; a product of his exhaustion. Sliding his butt back, he leaned against the bars of the crib and sighed to quill his accelerated heart rate.

Lowering her head, Riri wasn’t off to the greatest of starts. “Sorry, I thought you might wanna talk about stuff. It was a lot to throw at you in a single night. And while Miss Big upstairs would love to think of herself as a capable caregiver, she doesn’t know the first thing about genuine aftercare,” she said, dropping all pretense of being Little despite their attire and surroundings.

As Riri’s words sank in, Connor could feel the pressure radiating off her inquisitive stare, compelling him to take another stab at her inaugural question, “Okay…okay, how am I feeling?” Resting his head between a pair of crib bars, he could practically feel the blood pooling in his cheeks as his brain relentlessly cycled through the event of his first AB slumber party. “It’s kinda hard to put into words. I want to say I feel…ridiculous? No, that doesn’t feel quite right. Um…what about you? How are you feeling?”

“Nuh-uh, no shifting subjects,” said Riri, scrunching her lips into a judgmental pout as she shook her head, “Answer the question, or I’ll see to it Ellie wakes up. Then you’ll be in real trouble.”

Connor peered over his shoulder at Ellie in response to Riri’s ultimatum. Narrowing his eyes playfully, he knew his hands were tied. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk. Just let me think for a second,” he said, buying himself some time to come up with an answer that would please Riri. He wasn’t sure what she was fishing for but it was clear as day that she had something on her mind. Was she gauging his interest in ABDL for future play sessions? The answer to that should be pretty apparent by this point. Although, he supposed making him blush as he owned up to his newfound interests was probably the point, “Okay, I don’t suppose I can deny it anymore…”

Riri’s diaper crinkled as she leaned forward, excited to hear what Connor was about to say. As much as she wanted to keep a lid on her reaction, she couldn’t help that her anticipation was growing too rapidly to control. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, desperate to suppress herself for Connor’s sake. He didn’t need any more craziness on this night.

“...Okay, here it is…” said Connor, sucking in air sharply through his nose, “...I think I have a diaper fetish.”

*SLAP!*

Riri’s palm immediately made contact with her forehead, her self-flagellation filling Connor with concern and confusion. Perhaps she had expected too much without any sort of prompting, though it wasn’t as if she could just ask him outright. That was a big no-no that often led to impulsive answers. Her hand slowly descended her face, stretching her skin as she snickered in awe, “Oh, wow? Really? I NEVER would’ve guessed. Tell me, did you figure that one out on your own or was it sometime during the ten or so orgasms you had?” She knew sarcasm probably wasn’t putting the best foot forward but she just couldn’t resist.

No surprise, Connor’s redness increased twofold. “S-Shush it! You’re the one who asked me-MMMM!” he shouted, his defense halted by a pair of soft hands pressing into his mouth and cheeks. He briefly wanted to shove her hands away on instinct but quickly realized her reasoning as Ellie’s snoring took auditory prominence within the nursery. He had forgotten himself entirely. Nodding to Riri as he relaxed, his mouth was slowly uncovered, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Riri sympathetically, backing off now that Connor had been calmed. Maybe trying to hash this out in the middle of the night wasn’t her brightest idea. That being said, she’d already come this far. Plus, Connor would be undoubtedly annoyed to be sent back to his crib at this point, “Sorry for the teasing. I wasn’t trying to make you defensive. I just…I dunno. I guess I didn’t expect your answer to be so…vanilla. You really are, like, new-new to all of this, aren’t you?”

Averting his gaze, Connor could tell his internal shame meter was steadily on the rise. He supposed it was funny. Most adults wouldn’t lament over not being ABDL enough. In a way, that small asterisk hanging over his diaper kink was more isolating than the idea of becoming the horniest diaper lover alive. He laughed through the pain as he replied with a question of his own, “How it is that, even amongst diaper lovers, I can’t stop feeling like there’s something wrong with me? You all make it look so effortless. Meanwhile, I needed my brain to pretty much break for me to get out of my own head. Why is it so hard to say what I want?” Memories of his seemingly simple yet dangerously open-ended response to Latasha’s big question from his first week at the Palace resurfaced. In a way, asking her to take away his right to choose was the biggest cop-out of an answer he could’ve given. It spared him from the difficulty of owning up to specific wants and desires. Unable to cope with all the intrusive thoughts bearing down on him, he curled his leg into his chest and buried his head between his knees.

“Shhhhhh. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” said Riri, hiding her concern as well as she could as she gingerly approached Connor and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. So much about what he was going through was obvious to her. The needless self-repression, the internalized shame, the lack of confidence; there was no doubt in her mind that Connor was dealing with a boatload of unresolved traumatic experiences. For his sake, she decided to set aside her curiosity pertaining to his “Con-con-nie” comment. Someone with the inability to self-actualize this badly wasn’t ready for that can of worms, at least not yet.

Initially resistant to Riri’s reassuring touch, Connor cautiously allowed more of himself to be soothed by her until he fully collapsed into her arms. However, while he did gradually come to accept her kindness, the one thing he couldn’t do was allow himself to cry in front of Riri, or any of the girls for that matter. Whatever respect he carried within the Padded Palace had already been demolished enough for one night. He snaked his arms around Riri’s torso, letting his mind drift away from troubling thoughts as his fingers traced the smooth fabric of Riri’s nightie.

The diaper-clad pair held their embrace for several minutes. It got to the point where Riri believed he might fall asleep in her lap, something Stacy would be almost certain to give her an earful for. Mercifully, he did eventually break from the hug, appearing far more at ease than he had been when he first arrived at her crib. With her limbs now free, she knew exactly what she needed to do. Connor was in desperate need of an outlet for his new kink, and she had a decade and a half of diaper perving experience to educate him with. “Wait here for me, okay? I’ll be right back,” she said, hopping out of the open crib and sneaking to the wardrobe on the opposite end of the nursery.

Left to watch as Riri searched through the free-standing closet as quietly as possible, Connor wasn’t sure what she was up to. That didn’t stop his brain from running wild with huffy ideas. Was she going to put him in something else to wear, or send him to bed with a vibrator stuffed down his diaper? With all their crazy antics, he wouldn’t put anything past these three ever again. Those assumptions proved they couldn’t be further from the truth as Riri retreated from the wardrobe with Connor’s male clothes bundled up in her arms.

“Sorry, it took me a second to find where Stacy stashed them,” said Riri, sitting down and laying the shirt and pants combo atop the crib mattress. She then dug her fingers into his pants pockets, retrieving his cell phone before tossing it into his lap, “Open your browser and pull up DeviantArt. It’s high time someone gave you a crash course.”

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“But you said you loved me!”

“I never loved you! I only loved the idea of you!”

Laying across Latasha’s bed on her tummy with her eyes fixed upon the television, Stacy couldn’t recall feeling more bored than she was right now. There weren’t even any good cartoons on right now. Nothing but annoying animated shows for boys that were 80% toilet humor. After scanning through all of Latasha’s channels twice over, she ended up stuck watching poorly acted porn on Skinemax. She fidgeted with the back of the TV remote, wishing her body would feel tired already. All this Big excitement had her restless.

Thankfully, it looked like things were finally heating up in this crappy porno. She observed as the six-pack-wielding man lifted the girl who was playing his former lover into the air. Within seconds, he had slipped his phallus inside her while remaining standing. Even Stacy had to admit it was quite an impressive feat. She could feel her lower lips moistening as she watched the busty blonde girl on screen be split by the monster between her partner’s legs.

*CRACK!*

All of a sudden, Stacy’s eyes abandoned the screen as a loud, snapping noise drew her eyes downward. “Fuuuuuuuuck,” she said, holding the broken tab of the remote’s battery hatch in her hand. Given that every remote in her home looked like this, she realized too late that she probably should’ve avoided playing with the remote in the first place. Hoping to avoid getting caught for breaking something that wasn’t hers, she quickly pieced the remote back together and placed it in the top drawer of Latasha’s end table. This was just perfect. Now she was both horny and anxious.

Lightbulb!

Leaning over the end table, Stacy causally prodded around the small, wooden box, curious if she could sus out where Latasha had stashed her adult toys. There was no doubt in her mind Latasha owned at least one for personal use. So long as she washed it before and after, who would know or care? Sadly, the top drawer proved fruitless, causing her to move her search to the next drawer down.

Lo and behold, what Stacy found inside the bottom drawer of Latasha’s nightstand left her frozen in place. Zapped of all tiredness, she blinked her eyes rapidly as if expecting what she saw to disappear. To her shock and utter amusement, the half-used package of Megamax diapers refused to vanish.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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#diaper art #diaper stories #crissiebaby #little space #ab/dl #ab/dl stories #ab/dl art #ab/dl sissy #diaper sissy #sissybaby #diaper humiliation #md/lg #dirty diaper #diaper messy #wetting diaper #crissbabydiaperco #the padded palace #thepaddedpalace

[faircatch]

It really sucks being afraid to speak to people because I don't know how they are going to react if I let it slip out that I am Jewish and Israeli.

I don't know if I will get support or attacked (not necessarily physically, but verbally). I can't express my feelings about the situation my people and family are in, but can only listen to others and try to insert facts as carefully as possible...

Watching how Jews are being singled out and harassed by Pro-Palestinian protesters makes me nervous about revealing I am Jewish.

And sometimes the support from others is nice, but it can lead to vitriolic sentiment from non-Jews and non-Israelis which I also don't want.

I don't want innocent civilians dead. But I support Israel defending itself against Hamas who uses innocents as shields. But there is no way to have a civil conversation about it.

Not when I have seen people, even on this platform, say "Tear down those 'Kidnapped by Hamas' posters, because fuck Israel!" because they support innocent civilian Palestinians, but will not support innocent civilian Israelis. And they don't see how fucked up that is.

They don't see that months ago, when talking about right wing politics they used phrases like, "If Nazis are marching with you, maybe you're the bad guy." But don't see that at Pro-Palestinian marches there are Nazi flags and antisemitic shouts and cries from the people among them should make them question who is arranging and attending these protests.

There's so much I see, and I don't feel safe. I never fully felt safe. I have faced enough antisemitism in my life when people have found out I was Jewish, that I always knew it was around. Added bonus for being born in Israel. But seeing how people have been so vicious, spreading lies and propaganda from Hamas without ever researching it or actually looking into anything - going so far as to say things like Oct. 7th never happened and there are no hostages, even though Hamas has proven itself that it has done all the horrible things and will continue to do so - and will believe Hamas' lies about Israel even when proven to be false... How can I trust anyone?

I don't scroll through Instagram anymore because it makes my stomach tense, hoping I won't see something posted that is a lie or pushing an idea that will only make things worse. And its hard to scroll through Tumblr because suddenly there is "Fuck Israel!"

I know there are people who understand what it's like to not feel safe in the world... To worry where an attack may come from. To worry when someone is going to say something that is messed up or fucked up around you - especially if they don't know who or what you are. It's a constant tension. I low level always had it because it happens to me from time to time, but there is no where safe. Not even online. And I could unfollow people, but I don't want to isolate myself or judge people or disconnect... I don't want to live in an online echo chamber where all the information is the same... I just wish it wasn't so hateful.

So, yeah... I am afraid to speak and constantly watching what I say. Listening to conversations around me seeing lies and misinformation spread on social media, and feeling isolated by places I once felt connected to.

Sorry... it's early and I'm rambling again.

#Israel #jewish

[undertale-writing-times]

"can't believe you really got me all of this, you didn't need to!" With King?

This one took me so long ;3;

When you woke up this morning, it felt strange because King wasn't in the bed beside you. Normally, even if he woke up before you, he would be there snuggling up against you and would argue about getting up because he was comfortable. You knew that it was just because he wanted to cuddle with you more.

Cute dork.

So yeah, waking up without him in bed was... strange. "King?" You mumble, looking around. What the heck? You push yourself to get out of bed and shiver when your feet hit the ground.

Cold.

When you walked down the hallway to see exactly what was happening, you heard King talking, "Yes! I will gain Y/n's approval with my wonderful gifts. I know that they will love it." Then his normal laughter. Alpha makes a hum sound, which was just loud enough for you to hear.

He got you gifts? Aww, he remembered what day it was! How cute. You got him some gifts too. You knew that he said that he didn't want anything, but you also knew your datemate and knew that he would be upset if he didn't get a single thing. He just wanted to say that for whatever reason.

You and King have been datemates for a while now; he was the one to ask you out, which was a little funny. Sometimes he wasn't the best at being in a relationship. You've found out a lot of ways to get around it, though, so you weren't too bothered.

"King?" You say, walking into the kitchen. You saw him at the stove, making pancakes, and he looked over at you with big sockets.

"Ah! Y/n, I did not think you would be awake yet." He puts his hand to his chest, smiling as he spoke, "As you can see, I am making you breakfast. I have already finished a few things. Brother, do the thing." Alpha pulls the string on one of those party poppers, which blasted out red and pink confetti. Then King looks at you, smiling. He seemed excited for your reaction...

He always had a knack for overdoing things...

"You're so cute." You respond and laugh, walking over to kiss his cheek. "I love you so much." He chuckles, leaning into the touch, his cheeks flushed with his magic.

The two of you had breakfast, with Alpha doing his magic shortcut away to go and most likely hang with his 'girlfriend' as he called it. "Now! Gifts. You should go first," King told you. You laugh and nod, going to get the gift.

It was a silver chain necklace with a picture of you and him together in the heart shape, as well as some chocolate and a stuffed teddy bear. He seemed to REALLY like the necklace, putting it on right away with his tail wagging, and he looked at you, smiling, "Thank you for the gift..." His voice was shockingly soft. You liked it whenever he acted like this; it was like a thing that only you were really allowed to see.

"Now!" He stands up and starts to walk off, pointing forward. "Wait here for my return, Y/n!" He shouted back, and you heard the door open and close. You look down and sip from your tea.

He was nice to make you tea, too.

Honestly, King wasn't the best cook! Even if he wasn't, however, he was still kind enough to do it, so you weren't going to say anything about that. You wondered how Alpha felt about you? He seemed kind of weird.

"I am back!" King hurries back in, carrying a bag, and he sets it down in front of you. "I told you that I would get you a gift. There are so many things that I wanted to get you, but I had to deal with this." You look at him, then down at the huge bag that he gave you.

"Uh..." you let out a little laugh. "I can't believe you really got me all of this; you didn't need to!" You shake your head, holding up your hands. "I don't think I deserve all of this." He gave you a look and stuck out his tongue, which he literally had to summon to do so. "Don't say that. You are worth everything that I do for you! Now gift." he points at the bag, which makes you roll your eyes, smiling.

Man...

You really had the best datemate.

#undertale alternate universe #undertale alternate timeline #undertale ask blog #undertale au #undertale headcanons #Swapfell #Swapfell Sans #King #King X Reader #Reader X King

[strawberriescherrieskiwi]

Sick little bugs

Anon Request: Can you write something with Harry being really unwell from the amount of work of tour and he’s been starting to feel ill throughout the week but just thinks it’ll pass until it finally all catches up to him and he gets a stomach bug and can’t stop being sick and needing love and very clingy as he does his best to get through studio work and concert prep while being so ill

A/N: I hope this is okay, I changed it a bit.

Wordcount: 1.8K+

Warning: Fluff, dadHarry,Unedited.

“Harry, you need to slow down. You need a break. Your fans will understand,” you urged your husband from your place at your breakfast bar. Harry had been going nonstop since his third album came out. He’s been at the studio, doing interviews, and concerts for two weeks straight. He barely had time to sleep and you were worried about him, but Harry said he was fine. The only time he had ever lied to you.

“I am fine, Lovie. I promise, if I start to feel overworked, you’ll be the first to know,” He said tiredly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. He only arrived home from New York a few hours ago and was already off to go to BBC for a mini-concert. 

“That’s the problem, H. You never knew until it is too late,” you said, turning in your seat to pout at him. You didn’t want to fight and add to his stress level, but he needed to take you seriously. He could never see when he was pushing himself too hard.

Harry chuckled, cupping your face, and kissing your pout. “I love how you look out for me, but I am fine, perfectly fine and it’s only for a few more weeks,” He assured you.

“Yes, a few more weeks on promo, and then your tour starts again and you will be working and doing shows every single night. No breaks and you will get sick, don’t act like it hasn’t happened before, bug.” Your hands covered his, kissing his palm.

“I won’t let it get that far, I promise. I’ll take tomorrow night off, we will have a movie night, the two of us, no work, just you and me,” Harry whispered against your lips.

You kissed him back, letting him win this time, believing his words when they come true. After being married for 4 years and having a child together you knew that Harry was a passionate and perfectionist and sometimes, all the time, he put that above his health and well-being.

“Be back soon, lovie,” He said, kissing your forehead and the curly-haired toddler sitting next to you, that’s been happily eating pancakes this whole time. “Bye-bye little Shadow,” he said to your son.

Turning at his nickname, your son grinned at his father before shoving his sticky hands into Harry’s face, “Bye, papa.”

“Bye, Bug. Have a good day, drink lots of water and please eat something,” you said as he left the kitchen to put his shoes on. 

“I will. Love you both,” he shouted before the front door opened and closed.

Sighing you looked at your sticky boy, “What are we going to do about, papa?” You said, causing your son to shrug, making you laugh.

It was after 3 in the morning when you felt Harry crawl into bed with you. He sniffled and wrapped his body around yours, nuzzling into your neck. Groaning softly, you turned in his arms, pulling him closer to you.

“Hey, how was work? Are you not feeling well?” You asked, pushing his hair back.

Harry shrugged, kissing your neck. “Tired, just need sleep and you,” He mumbled sleepily.

“It’s late, did you eat something,” You pressed softly as he cuddled him into your arms. You can already tell that he pushed it too far today.

“Yeah, had a sandwich this morning, member?”

“That was barely a few bites? You didn’t eat after you left?” You said, starting to get out of bed to get him something to eat.

“No no, don’t go.” He whined, tightening his arms around your waist. “I’ll eat tomorrow, promise, just want to cuddle with my lovie.”

Sighing you tightened your arms around him. “Fine, in the morning you are going to eat a big breakfast and barely leave this bed, do you understand me?”

Instead of speaking, he just nodded against your chest. Your fingers continued to comb through his hair long after his breathing evened out. You were getting more concerned, but you would make sure he took care of himself tomorrow.

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed. Your phone told you it was only 8:30 in the morning. Harry definitely should still be in bed and your son normally comes into your room at 8.

Quickly getting out of bed, you grabbed your robe and walked downstairs. The home was quiet and your kitchen looked like a small hurricane hit it. After searching the house upstairs and the main floor, you went to Harry’s home studio.

Your son sat on the sofa with a bowl of fruit and a plate of pancakes happily eating, while Harry sat at his keyboard in headphones, sniffling still. Frowning, you matched over to your husband, tapping his shoulder. 

He jumped, before taking off his headphones to look at you, over his shoulder. “Morning,” he smiled lazily, leaning towards you for a kiss, but you just crossed your arms. 

“Harry, you were supposed to take a break today. You are still sniffling, have you eaten?” You asked, pressing your hand to his forehead, but he quickly ducked your hand standing up.

“You looked so peaceful and we didn’t want to wake you, so I thought I could come down here with him while you sleep. I made him breakfast, Harry said.

“You’re sweet, but I could have made breakfast. You needed to sleep more than I did.”

“I’m his father. I can do it, I’m taking a break from work, not my family, don’t be upset with me,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“You never answered my question. Did you eat as well?”

He was silent for a moment before nodding.

Narrowing your eyes you turned to your son. “Did papa eat with you?”

“No,” he said, popping a grape in his mouth.

Grinning, you went over and kissed his forehead before looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“I was going to eat with you,” he said.

Scoffing, you grabbed your son and his food walking out of Harry’s studio. You didn’t like arguing in front of your son and if Harry didn’t want to take your concern seriously, you weren’t going to make him.

“Lovie, I’m sorry,” He said following after you.

“Don’t be sorry, just take care of yourself, H. You spread yourself too thin sometimes,” you said, putting your son on the sofa, and walking to the kitchen, starting to clean up.

Harry’s arms wrapped around your waist a few minutes later. He pressed kisses to your neck. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like disappointing my fans, or my family. I’m sorry, I mean it, lovie.”

“I know, bug. You care so much, you have such a big heart. It’s one of the things I love the most about you and one of the things I hate about you sometimes. You are burning up and overworked, you don’t have to lie to me about it.”

He was quiet for a moment before he nodded against your back. “I feel a little down, nothing more. Just want you to hold me, and cuddle.”

Finishing with the dishes you turned around in his arms. “Bed now, don’t even think about leaving it, or I will tie you down.”

“I’m a little under the weather, but if you want to be on top, I won’t stop you,”  he teased.

Slapping his shoulder, you laughed. “You aren’t sick enough, I see. Now go,” you said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You heard Harry scoop up your son before going upstairs. You shook your head at your impossible husband, sending a quick text to Jeff that Harry was taking a much-needed personal day. Harry was already passed out with your son cuddling close to him when you arrived upstairs.

Snapping a picture, you kissed both of their heads, frowning at how much Harry was burning up. You knew he was probably still downplaying how sick he was.  With both of them asleep, you decided to go to the store and get some medicine and ingredients to make soup.

The boys were still sleeping when you got home. Quickly you got to work on making clam chowder, it always made you feel better when you were a child and you’ve made it for Harry a few times as well as your son.

Tiny footsteps alerted you to your son coming down the stairs. “Mama, my tummy hurts,” He whined.

“My poor baby,”  you said, picking him up, and kissing his cheeks. “Seems you got papa sickness.” You said pushing his sweaty curls away from his forehead. “Don’t worry, the Soup is almost done. I’ll get you some juice, why don’t you go cuddle with papa some more.”

He nodded, you grabbed his bubba, which he only wanted when he was sick, putting it in his mouth, before putting him back down. His little footsteps echoed around the house as he ran up the stairs back to your bedroom.

Grabbing a tray, placed bowls of soup, a sippy cup, a glass, and some crackers. You went to join your family in bed, after putting some extra blankets under your arm as you made your way upstairs.

Harry was awake, sitting against the headboard with a sobbing toddler in his neck. He smiled softly at you when you came into the room. “Seems you have to put up with two whiny and cuddly Styles today,” he teased.

“I would happily take care of the two of you. My cuddly little bugs,” You smiled, placing the food on the nightstand and the blankets on the bed.

“Look, Little shadow. Mama brought blankets, why don’t we make a fort, yeah, and then we can all eat, cuddle and watch your favorite movie.”

Sniffling, your son’s face left his father’s neck. “We watch Coco?” He asked softly, looking between you two.

“Yes we can, but let’s build our fort first,” you said, grabbing a blanket. Standing up on the bed, he nodded excitedly.

You all quickly made a fort to cover your bed, grabbing more pillows from all over the house. After everything was set up, you crawled into the middle of your bed with the tray. Instantly, both of your boys cuddle close to your sides.

“Does this smell amazing, mama is the best isn’t she,” Harry said to your son, kissing your cheek.

“Mama is the best,” he repeated, taking his cup of apple juice when you gave it to him. “Feed me,” he said, looking at you with big eyes. Laughing, you agreed, feeding him some soup.

“What about me, lovie,” Harry complained from your own side.

“Two big babies,” you teased, starting the movie and holding the spoon up to your husband’s mouth.

“We love you, though. And you love us,” Harry grinned, and opened his mouth, grinning

#harry styles imagines #harry styles x reader #Harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles fluff #harry’s house #dadharry

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

My favorite books (and audiobooks) 2022

ID: “Lancelot” by Giles Christian

An epic retelling of the story of Lancelot - the most tragic figure of the King Arthur saga. The first half of the book focuses on his youth and upbringing as a warrior on a remote island where he meets Guinevere when they’re still both kids. In the second half, we get to see him as a fully grown knight, his friendship with Arthur and his fatal love for Guinevere.

It’s a beautiful, patient, sometimes gritty and sometimes poetic novel that culminates in a heroic and tragic showdown. Its only flaw is a rushed last quarter, as if the author needed to squeeze too much story into the last 200 pages. Maybe this should’ve been a two-parter instead?

ID: “Die Diplomatin” by Lucy Fricke

A wry, cynical novel on the privileges, grey areas and limits of diplomacy. We follow a German consul from her peaceful post in Uruguay to a much less serene post in Istanbul where politics are in a fragile, incendiary state. And managing a crisis turns out to be the most disillusioning affair our protagonist has ever faced.

A very contemporary, very apropos little novel that’s written with a glimmering scalpel.

ID: “The Darkness Outside Us” by Eliot Schrefer

I almost dnf’ed this one after eye rolling my way through the first hour of teenager-y gays-in-space. But then my jaw began to drop as this YA sci-fi took a very dark turn.

Two young astronauts from enemy countries, stuck on a spaceship together, band together against insurmountable odds, and if you read this you won’t see coming what’s gonna hit you. The most surprising, wrecking read I’ve raced through in a long time. And the audiobook narrator is really, really good.

ID: “A Psalm for the Wild-Built” by Becky Chambers

A tea-monk and a robot become BFFs on an ecotopian moon. That’s it. That’s the plot. An uplifting, touching and heartwarming read that both brought me to tears and gave me so much comfort.

“What do humans need?” That is the big question this quietly philosophical little Solarpunk story revolves around. And there are no simple answers.

Becky Chambers single-handedly invented “cozy sci-fi”, and I am so grateful she did! Part two, “A Prayer for the Crown-Shy”, is just as good, btw.

ID: “Anna” by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

Full immersion into Russian history, culture and geography in the early 1800s is what you’ll get from this underestimated historical romance novel.

We follow English governess Anna from Paris to Russia where she’s in the employment of the very attractive (and very married) Count Kirov.

Surprisingly, their love story isn’t what’s so beautiful about this book - it’s Russia herself, her landscape, culture and many different people. Anna spends time in glittering St. Petersburg, in majestic Moscow, but also in the wild Caucasian mountains. We meet Tartars, Kosaks and Mongols; counts, peasants, horsemen and warriors. We learn about Russian folklore and superstition, about traditions and rituals.

It was an eerie experience to read this book while Putin invaded the Ukraine, but what happened IRL also made “Anna” an even more valuable read. Parts of the story take place in what’s now the Ukraine, in Kiew. Back then, it was the other way around from what we’re seeing today: Napoleon invaded Russia, and Moscow became a victim of fire and flame. “Anna” taught me quite a bit of history I’d never learned in school.

In the end, “Anna” is a beautiful, sweeping saga from which I emerged reluctantly and wistfully, wanting more.

(Fair warning: the edition I read was obviously a reprint and riddled with printing errors to a degree that sometimes made it hard to read. Such negligence puts a really good novel to shame which it really doesn’t deserve. So please check which copy/edition you’re getting if you want to read this!)

Special shout-out to @hobbeshalftail3469 who recommended this book to @vgriffindor who then gave it to me as a gift!)

Your turn, bookish people! What were your favorites of 2022?!

#my reading #best books of the year #best books of 2022 #best audiobooks of 2022 #my favorite books #lancelot #a psalm for the wild built #giles christian #becky chambers #die diplomatin #lucy fricke #eliot schrefer #the darkness outside us #anna #cynthia harrod-eagles

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

Someone said I was invalidating the experiences of abused children today and I got angry and I got triggered and I wrote a 705 word short story on my personal experience of being an abused child so here’s that.

Obvious trigger warnings for abuse and shit.

I am scared of street signs. 

Specifically the ones that tell you the speed limit. 

It didn’t matter much when I was younger. I could read a book or play with my Barbies and I was none the wiser to which street signs we passed on our drives. 

It got a bit more complicated when I started driving on my own. Operating a vehicle was stressful enough without the overwhelming panic that set in every time I had to look for the speed limit. I had to get one of those fancy cars with the screens that told you what the speed limit was, simply because I couldn’t look at the signs on the side of the road like a normal person. 

We couldn’t afford it. But my mother saved up all her money, and helped me get a loan, and she made it work like she always did. Instead of being excited, I felt bad the day she pulled up in my shiny new car that was more expensive than anything she’d ever bought for herself. 

It wasn’t her fault that I was so scared of something so stupid. 

I’m scared of a lot of stupid things. Most of them have a story behind it, but some of those stories I can’t even remember now. It’s funny, because most of the things that terrify me are things I used to love. 

Wild flower fields, nightlights, television remotes. Diving boards, showers, ashtrays, beer cans. I’m scared of the smell of cigarette smoke and pink dog collars and Christmas-tree-patterned wrapping paper. I’m scared of exercise machines, I’m scared of eating too fast, I’m scared of street signs, and I’m scared of him. 

I used to love most of those things. The things I’m most scared of. Or, at the very least, I thought I did. Maybe my brain just blocks out some of the reasons they terrify me so much now. And sometimes it’s easy to think that they don’t scare me. That I’m only being dramatic. 

But then I remember the car, and my mom, and the feeling of absolute panic when I so much as think of a speed limit sign. I’m not being dramatic. 

It’s not her fault, though I’m sure she blames herself. I blamed her for a while. But I didn’t tell her until I was 12, and I didn’t let on to just how bad it was until I was 18 and he legally had no claim over me anymore. I didn’t want to deal with any more Child Services Agents and I knew she would make me. He’d already given up visitation rights, anyway. 

Oh, yeah: I’m scared of Child Services Interviews. 

I’m sure my mother blames herself, but it wasn’t her fault that she had a kid with a monster. She didn’t know. She couldn’t have. I had made sure she didn’t. 

I often wonder if all kids in my situation have so many irrational fears. I wonder if they remember the reasons behind those fears. I only remember half of my own stories, really. I tell people I was too young to remember. My therapist disagrees - she says I probably just blocked out the trauma. 

All of my irrational fears have a story, and every single story relates back to my singular rational fear: him. 

But this story is about street signs, and I do remember that. 

This story starts in a PT Cruiser. There’s a five-year-old bouncing in her seat with her hand out the window. She has known pain at this point, but she luckily doesn’t remember. This story starts with laughter, and the desire to be helpful, and a called out “35 miles per hour!” to which Mamma laughs along. 

This story ends in a Dodge. There is an eight-year-old crying in her seat with her head against the window. She has known pain at this point, and the new bruise on her cheek will not let her forget. This story ends with tears, and the burn of a cigarette on skin, and a shouted “I know the damn speed limit” from a father who does not know the monster he has started to create. 

This story ends with a fear of street signs.

#so that's my story #so glad I could help invalidate the abused youths #I write things #I misgendered myaelf but it’s fine #short story #I guess