Latest Posts by axescryinwater - Page 8
he's so cute when he's goofy
bro before i fell asleep yesterday i was thinking about riding jason while he looks all cute sliding his glasses up and nervously trying to know where he should put his hands #needthat
bestie I wasn’t sure if this was a req or a thought but I had to write this it’s so…..
nsfw below the cut!
——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
poor jason.
it’s unclear where he should be placing his hands. on your hips perhaps, guiding your movements as you ride him? digging into the skin of your ass? kneading your tits perking in his face? or perhaps hold the sheets?
for now, he struggles keeping his glasses perched upon his nose as they slide off repeatedly. his fingers shakily push them up again, before ultimately deciding on resting against your hips.
the sight of you is nearly enough to have him ascending to elysium. your skin soft beneath his touch, hair cascading like waterfalls over your shoulders, your head thrown back in pleasure— eyes closed, and his cock fitting perfectly inside of you.
while on the other hand, jason was only hoping he didn’t look too much of a loser beneath you, with his glasses fogged and falling and his hands nervously splayed on your skin.
though, most worries are diminished as soon as they come with the overwhelming feeling of you on top of him, riding out his early morning hardness lazily. you felt too good around him, like somehow you’re some kind of greek goddess in the body of a mortal.
but, your looks are just as ethereal so maybe you’re only simply lying about being half god.
jason guides his own hips into yours, cock further outstretching your gummy walls. it feels euphoric to have such a pretty girl treat to him like this, like christmas came early this year.
your name leaves his lips involuntarily, actually, the only thing that had ever been able to fall from his tongue since the moment your panties came off.
and that was a half an hour ago. the poor guy, so nervous.
Bucky with a breeding kink is a dangerous man,,,, he aims not to give you one kid, but triplets to get that big family he’s always wanted ❤️ surely you’ll be willing to if he’s pounding away at your needy cunt
thats the thing about this man. he uses his big body and sex against you, babes... he's pushing his cock as deep as it can go, arms wrapped around your entire body as he fucks into you. your legs are hooked between his big biceps as he fucks into you from behind— properly folding you.
he's spitting out the nastiest shit in your ear, before it just— snaps.
"i'm gonna fuck a baby— no, no— babies— into this fucking cunt."
your mouth falls open in a large sob after he says it, nearly cumming on the spot— cream frothing around the base of his swollen cock.
"wanna make me a daddy, sweetheart?" he asks, pressing a kiss to your ear as you huff and moan with no way to respond but mindless babbling.
"gonna take that as a yes."
｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──
the apartment was quiet in the best way. the kind of silence filled with low music from an old record player, the occasional thump of alpine leaping off furniture she wasn’t supposed to be on, and the rhythmic scrape of a whittling knife against wood. you sat cross legged on the couch, a bowl of cherries balanced on your knee, fingers stained just a little red. alpine was curled beside you, batting lazily at your sock with one paw between quick cat naps. you plucked another cherry from the bowl and popped it in your mouth, letting the sweetness distract you from anything else going on in the world.
across the room, bucky sat in his favorite chair, hunched over a block of wood he’d been shaping for the past few days. his brow was furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together in that way he did when he was deep in a project. you weren’t entirely sure what it was going to be, a bird maybe? or a wolf? but whatever it was, you could already see the quiet pride in the little details he carved.
you watched him for a moment, chin propped in your hand. his hair had fallen in front of his face again. you knew he’d huff and push it back soon, probably without even realizing. it made you smile.
eventually, he looked up, catching you staring.
“what?” he asked, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.
“nothing,” you said innocently, though your voice gave you away. “just admiring the view.”
bucky snorted and set the carving down, brushing wood shavings from his jeans before making his way to the couch. alpine immediately stretched and climbed into his lap like she owned him—which, to be fair, she kind of did.
he leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “you’ve had, like, ten bowls of those."
you plucked another one from the bowl and held it up like a peace offering. “they’re good.”
he rolled his eyes fondly but took the cherry anyway, biting into it with a soft crunch. you watched him chew, then reached for another, tongue fiddling with the stem like you’d done a dozen times already.
“hey,” you said, glancing sideways at him. “did you ever hear that thing about cherry stems?”
he raised a brow. “what thing?”
you smiled, trying to sound nonchalant. “supposedly, if you can tie a knot in the stem with just your tongue, it means you’re a good kisser.”
bucky blinked. then he smirked a little. “oh really?”
you nodded, biting back a grin as you held up a stem. “wanna try?”
he plucked it from your fingers without hesitation, eyes glinting with mischief. “watch and learn.”
you watched as he worked the stem between his lips, brow furrowed in concentration again, but this time, it was entirely for your benefit. alpine chirped softly, as if judging the performance.
a few moments passed, and bucky pulled the stem out, tied in a surprisingly perfect little knot.
you stared. “okay, show off.”
he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop a little. “guess you’ll have to test the theory now.”
your breath caught just slightly, heat blooming in your cheeks. “maybe i will.”
he was still smiling when he kissed you, it was slow and warm, the cherry bowl nearly tipped off your lap, but neither of you really cared.
from the corner of the couch, alpine meowed in protest.
bucky smiled lazily while kissing you, his hand fisting into your hair in an instant, tugging you even closer. the cherry bowl hit the floor with a thump, but neither of you paid attention. his lips move against yours like a slow burn, he pulled you closer, one of his legs sliding under you to bring your body against his own, the warmth of him spreading through your entire body. he tugged at your lower lip with his teeth, gently, before he finally pulled back with a soft gasp of air. he murmured, “enough proof for you?”
you hummed out a soft laugh, tilting your head in order to brush your lips against the underside of his jaw. “maybe,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, one of your legs slinging over his hip. “but it wouldn’t hurt if you wanted to provide more. just to be sure.”
he chuckles, and you feel his free hand slide up your back, his palm tracing your spine. he pressed his lips to your neck, his breath warm as his lips grazed the sensitive skin just behind your ear. “well, i’ve always been something of a overachiever…” he murmured, his mouth moving slowly down your neck. he slid his hand under your shirt, his fingers a warm brand against your skin, as his mouth found the hollow of your collarbone. you let out a soft sound, arching against him, as he traced the line of your collarbone with his kisses, his fingers dipping lower, the touch a slow burn against your stomach.
his lips moved against yours, slow, lazy and warm, his hands moving to your hips, gently guiding you to straddle him. you tasted like the sweet, tart flavor of the cherries you'd been eating. as his hands drifted upward under your shirt, fingertips tracing their way over your back. he murmured your name, his voice low and a little rough, against your lips, and when he pulled back to meet your gaze, his cheeks were flushed.
his lips were soft and warm, the kiss slow and deep, your mouths moving together in a gentle rhythm. your hips pressed against his, and his fingers traced a slow path up your bare spine, his kisses grew just a little more insistent, his tongue slipping between your lips as he tugged you closer. the hand at your back slid under the edge of your bra strap, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below, the touch sending a cold shiver through you.
the kiss heated, his tongue slipping into your mouth, exploring the wet heat of it, before coaxing your own tongue into his mouth, tasting you with slow, lazy strokes. he let out a soft groan, as you pressed your hips down against him, his hands gripping your waist to guide your movements. you felt the hard muscle of his thighs against you, the tension in his body a clear sign of his desire. he was beginning to kiss you desperately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your stomach flip, lips moving against his in a messy and needy kiss. palming your waist gently.
he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a little breathy. “do you believe me yet?” he murmured, his eyes half lidded as they roved over your face, taking in the way your lips were still slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.
you hummed out a laugh, rolling your hips again, feeling a little thrill of satisfaction when his expression shifted, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he let out a low groan. “i don’t know,” you murmured, “i think i might need a little more convincing.”
james seeing remus start to transform: “uh oh. going beast mode.”
remus, actively in agony: “i am literally begging you to stop”
scarily sleep deprived and the concept of james potter unironically using the phrase ‘beast mode’ has reduced me to tears
james: sneezes once
also james: “moony you have to name your firstborn after me. james jr deserves to live on.”
james potter the type to shrug of physical injuries (broken bones, broken rips, …), but act like it’s his last day on earth when a mild cold hits him
me reading fandom drama while eating expired ramen
Ngl I totally forgot fandom discourse was a thing. I don’t care man, I have car payments
suddenly i believe in chiropractic care and violence based love languages
YALL LOOK WHAT I MADE. I RECREATED THE MEME AND I CANT STOP LAUGHING 😭😭
reference below:
｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──
the walls were humming again.
old brownstone in brooklyn, refurbished under tony’s sardonic generosity, always kept a low electric thrum in its bones, like the ghosts of forgotten circuits whispering secrets only bucky could half understand. you stood in the kitchen, brewing chamomile tea, because caffeine might nudge him too close to that frayed edge. and tonight wasn’t about vigilance. tonight was about the slow reassembly of someone who’d come apart in the public square.
"you're up," you said without turning. you knew his footsteps by now, they were measured, controlled, like a dancer trained by violence. the tea kettle clicked off. you didn’t look yet, you didn’t have to.
"didn’t sleep," came the reply, low and rough, as if spoken through gauze. there was a lilt of apology buried in the words, though he would never say sorry for something he couldn't remember.
"nightmares?" you asked, pouring two mugs, yours black, his with a generous slosh of milk. bucky didn’t answer right away. you finally glanced at him.
his face bore the aftermath, not of a battle, but of the war within. a gash, hastily closed with someone else’s field kit, reopened across his temple. the left sleeve of his shirt was torn and soaked dark from shoulder to elbow. blood. his or someone else's, you didn’t ask yet.
he looked at you like you were a mirror he was afraid to believe in. "i—" he began, then faltered. the words, you imagined, must have choked like wires tangled in the gears of his mind.
“it wasn’t you,” you said, not kindly, not cruelly, just truthfully. that mattered more.
bucky lowered himself into the old leather armchair, tony’s, once, back in the MIT dorms when he'd had enough ego to furnish a living room like a billionaire. you smiled faintly at the memory. tony had been your friend first. before the fame, before the arc reactor. before everything.
"you heard what happened?" bucky asked.
you nodded. “i did.”
it had started three days ago, a hidden hydra outpost in the carpathians had released a dead protocol, something ancient and buried in binary. a psychic landmine, they called it. bucky, standing too close to the detonation, had turned before anyone could react. in twenty minutes, he nearly killed sam, cracked nat’s ribcage, and left steve unconscious in a crater the size of a van. the winter soldier had returned. perfect, brutal, remorseless.
he’d disappeared afterward. the avengers had looked, of course. you hadn’t.
you knew he’d come here.
“i thought i’d locked it away,” he whispered. “i thought it was done.”
“no one ever locks anything away,” you said, handing him his tea. “not really. we just learn to live beside it.”
bucky took the mug with his left hand. the vibranium fingers trembled just slightly.
you knelt in front of him, grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the table, white with a red cross that had faded to a tired pink. like most things in this house, it carried the wear of use and memory. your hands were steady as you pulled gauze and antiseptic. his eyes followed your movements, but he didn’t flinch. not at the alcohol, not at the sting. that was its own kind of progress.
“tony would’ve been pissed,” bucky said, voice flat.
you smiled softly, not looking up from where you were dabbing at the gash above his eye. “he would’ve had you in a magnetic net before you blinked. then he’d get drunk and make you apologize to his suit.”
bucky chuckled, barely, but it was a laugh, however hollow. “you miss him?”
“every day,” you said simply.
there was a silence then, not empty but full. the kind of silence that grows between people who don’t need to fill it to know it matters.
the fire crackled in the hearth. outside, snow began to fall in soft, unhurried spirals. in here, there was warmth. in here, he was just bucky. scared, wounded, healing. and you were here too, mending more than wounds.
he looked down at you, hair falling into his face, lips slightly parted as if to speak but afraid of the shape of the words.
“thank you,” he said, finally. two syllables, but they carried centuries.
you finished with the bandage and sat back, legs folded beneath you on the rug. “don’t thank me yet,” you said. “we’re not done. i’ve got soup and a lecture on post traumatic mythologies lined up. you don’t get to brood until we finish both.”
he looked at you like you were light seen through fog. dim, far, but steady.
a/n: literally wrote this at 3:00 AM so cut me slack 🙏 hope u enjoy regardless tho
the kings are up 2-0 in a playoff series for the first time since 2012 when they won the stanley cup.
i'm gonna jump
you can’t let a game slip like that!! especially with landeskog making his return. 2–1 OT loss to the stars and now it's a 2-1 lead. need to bounce back HARD in game 4
brock nelson just took a stick to the nose... safe to say he's seeing stars... i'm funny right?
DAMN the KINGS oiled them UP
the KINGS are really OILing up the oilers rn
the KINGS are really OILing up the oilers rn
incredible. absolutely no notes for earthdayposting ringo
HERE'S.... FYNOR!
i use she/her/hers pronouns
i'm a kansas city royals fan, colorado avalanche fan, and a mercedes fan.
you don't need anybody to tell you who you are or what you are. you are what you are.
the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame
i'm your friend, fynor.
tags meaning below
#loop de shoop♪ — all reblogs
#fynor chirps⋆˚࿔ — anything hockey related
#much to ponder — mostly just me talking about religious stuff
#SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP — literally just me posting and or rambling about random stuff
moodboards.
Happy Webbonso Wednesday to all who celebrate!
warm enough ⋆₊˚ ࿔⋆
pre-canon qz!joel miller x fem!reader | masterlist |
1.7k words | joel miller before ellie so he’s distant but not too bad, fwb to lovers, kissing, unprotected piv sex. — still trying to cope with his death:,((
summary- in the Boston QZ, survival comes first—but when you’re sharing smokes, running jobs, and ending up in each other’s beds more often than not, lines blur fast. Joel’s older, guarded, and dead set on keeping it casual. She’s younger yeah, but tired of pretending it’s nothing. It’s not love. Not exactly. But it’s warm.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
It wasn’t supposed to happen again.
It never does.
But somehow you’d ended up tangled in his sheets anyway, your knees brushing his under the thin blanket, the air between your bodies too warm, too full. It was always like this—frenzied, wordless, fleeting. A way to survive the way the world pressed down on your chest like a loaded weapon.
But this time was different.
You hadn’t woken up alone.
Joel Miller, the man who never stayed, was still there.
You stirred first. Sunlight cut through the cracks in the boarded-up window, slicing across his bare shoulder. You studied the soft line of his jaw, the way his brows stayed furrowed even in sleep. Like he couldn’t let go of whatever ghosts lived behind his eyes, even when unconscious.
You turned over, pulling the blanket up. Hoping maybe he’d shift and mumble something. Maybe you’d pretend it didn’t feel real. But then—
Footsteps. The bed dipped. Joel sat up and rubbed a hand down his face.
He didn’t look at you.
Instead, he stood, tugged on his shirt, and wandered into the kitchen—if it could be called that. A hot plate. A kettle. Cans lined up like trophies. You listened to him move, the scrape of the metal lid opening, the glug of water.
And then… coffee.
You blinked.
Joel never made coffee after. Hell, he never let you stay long enough to see what he did after.
When he came back in, he was holding two chipped mugs. He didn’t meet your eyes as he handed you one. “Still hot,” he muttered.
You sat up, blinking at him like he’d handed you a map out of this place. “You made two.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
You cupped the mug in both hands, let the heat seep into your fingers. It smelled like burned grounds and survival. But something about it settled your heart a little.
Joel sat back on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, watching the floor like it had something to say.
You broke the quiet. “Feels kinda normal, huh?”
His shoulders tensed.
He didn’t answer for a long beat. Then:
“Don’t get used to it.”
His voice had been soft, but it cut through the quiet like a blade. Not sharp enough to draw blood—just enough to remind you where the lines were.
You didn’t say anything. Just wrapped your hands tighter around the chipped mug and took a slow sip. Bitter. Burned. Warm.
He stood across from you, back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest like he was bracing for something.
Maybe your silence.
Maybe the truth.
You glanced at him over the rim of your cup. His gaze was fixed on the space behind you—somewhere over your shoulder, like if he looked you in the eye he might not be able to keep the mask on.
So you tried to keep it simple. “It was good coffee.”
That earned you a flicker of something—wryness, maybe. A tiny twitch of his mouth. “Tastes like shit.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, “but it’s warm.”
Another long silence passed between you. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… full. Like both of you were waiting for something else to rise to the surface.
You caught yourself wishing the moment would stretch out a little longer. That he’d lean back against the counter like he belonged there. That he’d ask you to stay—not just to kill time until the next run, but because he wanted you there.
But Joel didn’t ask for things.
And you didn’t know how to ask either.
So you drained the rest of your coffee, set the mug down gently on the counter, and stepped back toward the door. Your boots scuffed against the worn floorboards.
“I should go,” you said, quiet.
Joel nodded. Still not looking at you.
Your fingers brushed the doorknob, cool metal under your skin. You hesitated.
“Thanks for… letting me stay.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Then, just as your hand started to turn the knob—
“Didn’t mind it.”
The words came out like they surprised him too. You turned halfway, your heart catching.
Joel’s eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t look away.
“Didn’t mind you bein’ here,” he said again, slower this time. Like maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to admit.
You smiled, small and warm. “Okay.”
Then you opened the door and left.
But your chest felt lighter.
A Few Days Later
The next few days are back to normal.
At least, mostly.
You go on a few jobs—runners, small deliveries. Joel doesn’t say much, but he sticks close. Always just behind your shoulder, scanning rooftops, watching your back like it’s second nature.
You try not to read into it.
But every time your eyes meet across a crowded alley, or in the back room of Tess’s hideout, there’s a flicker. A pause.
Like maybe something changed that morning, and neither of you knows what to do with it.
You hadn’t meant to end up there again.
You told yourself it was just muscle memory—your boots turning corners like they knew the way. That the pull in your chest wasn’t about him. That the ache wasn’t for him.
But the lights were out in your building. Your neighbor was crying again. And your bed was too cold, too quiet.
So you stood outside Joel’s door for almost a full minute, heart knocking against your ribs, before you lifted your hand.
You didn’t even knock.
He opened it before you could.
Joel stood there in a threadbare shirt and jeans, barefoot, with sleep-soft eyes and stubble smudged along his jaw. His brows furrowed, but not with surprise.
Like he’d been waiting.
A sixth sense.
“You alright?” he asked.
You nodded. “I didn’t wanna be alone.”
That was all you had to say.
He stepped aside.
Inside, the room was warm—barely. The radiator hissed. You shrugged off your jacket while he watched from the other side of the room, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
Joel always looked tense. Even now, under the soft glow of the table lamp, he stood like someone expecting a fight.
Or a confession.
You took a slow step toward him. “You ever get tired of pretending this doesn’t mean anything?”
He didn’t move.
“‘Cause I do,” you whispered.
Joel’s eyes searched yours. There was something rough and unreadable in his face, like he was trying to swallow back something too big for words.
“I don’t know what to call it,” he admitted, voice low, thick. “I don’t even know what it is. But when you knock, I open the door. Every time.”
Your throat tightened.
“I keep tellin’ myself I ain’t got room for this. For you. But you show up and I—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I want you here. That’s the truth.”
The breath you didn’t realize you were holding finally left your lungs.
You stepped closer. Close enough to see the flicker of hesitation behind his eyes, the war he was fighting with himself.
“But you’re scared,” you said softly.
Joel’s jaw flexed. “Damn right I am.”
You reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. “Then let me show you something good for once.”
And that broke him.
He kissed you like he needed it to stay alive.
Not hurried or rough like before—this was slow, devouring, like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go too soon. His hands cradled your face, rough thumbs grazing your cheekbones like he was trying to memorize you.
You slid your hands under his shirt, fingertips dragging over warm skin, the curve of old scars and hard muscle. Joel groaned into your mouth, deep and low, and pulled you closer by the hips.
“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he murmured against your lips. “Always walkin’ around like you don’t know what you do to me.”
You smiled into the kiss. “I know exactly what I do to you.”
He huffed a breath—half a laugh, half a growl—and walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.
“Lie down,” he said, voice gone dark and soft and commanding.
You obeyed, heart racing.
Joel stripped his shirt off, slow and deliberate, like he wanted you to watch. Then he knelt over you, kissing a trail down your neck, your chest, your stomach—taking his time, learning every inch of you like it was something sacred.
“Y’know how many nights I think about this?” he murmured against your skin. “Think about you.”
You arched under his touch, eyes fluttering. “Then why don’t you let it be more?”
His hands stilled for a second. Just long enough for you to feel the weight of the question.
Then he leaned up, kissed you again—softer this time. Sadder.
“I’m tryin’,” he whispered. “I don’t know how, but I’m tryin’.”
When he finally sank into you, it wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was slow, intense, real. His forehead rested against yours, breath hot against your lips as your bodies moved in rhythm, like this wasn’t something you stole—it was something you built.
Joel didn’t hide from it.
He kissed your knuckles when he held your hands above your head. He murmured your name like a promise. He stayed.
When you both fell apart together, it was quiet.
No words. Just warmth.
He didn’t let you go.
Later
You rested against his chest, legs tangled under the blanket, heartbeat slowly finding its way back to calm.
His hand moved gently along your arm, over and over, like he didn’t want to stop touching you even if he didn’t know what to say.
You turned your face up toward his.
“What now?”
Joel exhaled, thumb tracing the inside of your wrist.
“Now we sleep,” he said, voice husky.
“And tomorrow?”
There was a beat.
Then he kissed your forehead.
“Tomorrow, there’s coffee.”
yeah yeah im feeding yall ik
whenever you take too much time to write something know it is because stephen king has been stealing your life force
thinkin about how BUCKY BARNES would use that metal hand on you in so many ways. fingering you to overstimulation with those cool, metal digits. those nipples hardening under the cold touch when his fingers meet them. that hand wrapping around your throat hard enough only to feel your pulse. lord save me i need him so bad ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა
pricefield au but max is steve and chloe is garrett from the minecraft movie
FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
MICHAEL AFTON
delicate frames — fluff, one shot.
unpacking silence. — angst, one shot.
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
WILLIAM AFTON
btw i’ve decided michael afton wears glasses. he doesn’t like wearing them. in fact, he’s self-conscious about it. and he only wears them occasionally to work and when he’s alone with you!
see drabble below ↓
the clock on the wall ticks past 2:45 am when you hear the faint sound of the door creaking open. michael’s home. you don’t need to ask how work went; the tired shuffle of his boots is enough to tell you it’s been a long night.
you’re sitting on the couch, a worn-out book in your hands that you’ve probably read a hundred times already. the house is quiet, save for the distant hum of a fan, and the way the dim light from the hallway filters into the living room. the air feels heavy. when michael steps into the room, you can tell he’s exhausted. his hair is messier than usual, his shoulders a little more slumped, but what catches your attention immediately is the pair of glasses perched on his nose. the same glasses he rarely wears outside of when it’s just the two of you. he looks... a little too good in them. "hey," you say, glancing over the top of your book. “haven't seen those in a while.”
he gives you an unreadable look, but you can see the subtle awkwardness in the way he gently pushes them up his nose, like he's trying to make them disappear. "yeah, well, i don’t really like them," he mutters.
you raise an eyebrow, setting the book down in your lap, "they're cute."
he doesn't respond. crossing the room, sinking heavily down onto the couch next to you. you can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and sanitizer on him, his technician’s outfit looking a bit rumpled. he keeps his gaze fixed on the carpet, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “long night?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. he sighs heavily, slouching back against the couch. he rubs at his face with one had, glasses pushed up onto his forehead. “the longest,” he mumbles.
you hum sympathetically. he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze flicking over your face. "how was your day?" he asks, though his words are more of a formality than a genuine question. you know the day doesn’t really matter to him, but you tell him anyway. about work, about the book you’re reading, the mundane errands you ran, whatever pops into your mind. michael sits there quietly, just listening. he’s been so tired lately; it’s been weighing down on him heavily. “you doing ok?” you ask abruptly but gently, after a long pause. he gives a noncommittal shrug, still looking at the ground. “m’fine,” he mutters, though he’s anything but. you study him closely, and you can see that the bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual. his shoulders are tensed. you set your book on the coffee table, shifting your body and kissing his cheek.
michael leans a little into the touch. the tension on his expression eases just a little, though there's still a frown on his face. he glances at you. “that all i get for coming home so late?” he says, his voice teasing. you laugh breathily, almost like a sigh. kissing the corner of his mouth. he can’t help but crack a small smile as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the action so familiar to him. he lifts a hand, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. “missed you,” he murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "mm. missed you." you kiss him in a slow way, a lingering press, more comfort than passion. he lets out a soft sigh as your lips meet his, he kisses you back, gently and unhurried, as if the world outside the walls of your home didn’t exist. he tastes faintly of nicotine. he deepens the kiss, his mouth moving against yours in a familiar rhythm.
he shifts on the couch, angling his body towards yours, and pulls you closer. he kisses you a little harder this time, his hands skimming over your hip. he’s always been affectionate when he’s tired, and the exhaustion from his shift just makes him all the more needy. he breaks off the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. he’s so close that you can see the tiny freckles across his nose, the tired bags under his eyes. “stay with me,” he murmurs against your lips, hands finding their familiar place on your waist. his thumb rubs idle circles on your body. he sounds tired. “i don’t want to be alone right now.” you pull away slightly, your thumb tracing his cheekbone as you study him closely. he can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, eyes averted, and you can tell there’s something weighing on his mind he’s not telling you.
(okay this is a sidenote but omg imagine the SL ending when mike opens his eyes and he has glasses on...... like he just got scooped but i #needthat....... i think i'm ovulating.)
nathans life after jail would be chaotic mess (bro still has scrawny ass, something that will never change)
kate's future daughter, someone stuck gum in her hair during the school bus ride, the cycle of bullying goes on and on-
her daughter will be reminded of her own past i think it would be brutal to see her child go through the same pain she suffered
shed probably go with "i do understand more than u know" and wont bring up her ugly past bcs her daughter still too young to understand so she'll just comfort her instead
my kokoro is itai :(