#. ｡ . : ☆ ( pen in hand i find my strength. | ic. )

[mochatsin]

THE BROTHERS ACCIDENTALLY INJURING MC (mildly)

Despite all their efforts to technically baby-proof the house, the school, or even the entirety of Devildom if they could for their human… accidents do happen after all. They’re just glad that you’re not more hurt than they initially thought!

MC is not gravely injured! Just some scratches and bruises at most. Not sure if I’ll write something for more serious injuries scenarios but we’ll see, that will be definitely super angsty for sure.

------------

Lucifer

He was not having it that day. Stacked reports full of complaints in regards to Mammons behavior, property damages caused by Beel’s hunger, and his pen cursed by his brothers to wail and cry whenever it’s used, Lucifer can feel himself about to explode at the next sign of inconvenience in the house while he replaces the pen to go back to work.

It’s when he hears a loud crash in the living room does he feel like he’s going to snap the pen with just his fingers. “I swear when I get my hands on those idiots…” he basically stomps his way to the door before slamming it open.

He heard a loud THUMP! From the door, but not against the wall as he expected. He paused and closed the door only to find you on the floor, rubbing your forehead. You were on your way to see how the eldest was doing and just as you were about to open the knob, the door slammed against you with enough force to make you fall back. 

All that anger immediately dissipates when he finds you and immediately kneels down on the floor to check on you. “MC! Are you alright?!” Thankfully the impact wasn’t too much to draw any blood, though you’re certain you’ll get a bruise and it still hurts like hell that it’s making you dizzy. 

Lucifer doesn’t want to be the cause of your tears. He helps you up gently with a worried look on his face “Come, rest in my office chair. I’ll get that treated before it starts to bruise.” it hurts him more if you struggle with standing straight.

He’ll come back with an ice pack in hand, locking the door behind him as he goes next to you to inspect your forehead and how much damage he indirectly caused. Of course he didn’t mean it but he still feels bad regardless. 

He makes up for that by treating it, and he’s very gentle with you when he slightly dabs the ice pack on your forehead. His words are soft as he asks if you were okay before placing a kiss on your head. 

“How come you locked the door though?” you would ask and before Lucifer can even speak, you hear the brothers banging on the other side when they heard you hit your head. “... Ah”

Mammon 

There’s not a quiet day in Devildom when Mammon is always stirring up things. Demons and witches are always on his tails until he pays any of his debts that he never seems to have the money for. 

There was one particular incident where you were trying to look for him in school since you have so much schoolwork to do, and Mammon was the one who insisted you both be partners for this project. Yet he’s nowhere to be found. 

Of course he was running away from a few students who owed a few Grimm from. He’s grateful for being really speedy since he can use this to his advantage, but when he’s got his eyes on the coins on his hands it’s hard to pay attention to where he’s going. 

He takes a sharp turn by the halls and he accidentally bumps into you, who was carrying all the project materials. Given his strength, you stumble back harder than you thought and drop everything on the floor. 

“ACK! Shit– MC?! Come on, they’re on our tails!” He held your hand so you both could start running but you winced. Mammon paused and gasped when he saw the scratches on your delicate soft human skin from when you hit the concrete floor. 

Mammon had no choice but to carry you all the way while avoiding the demons running after you both. When it was all safe, he checked you in case of more wounds head to toe. Would panic if there was any blood. Luckily you just got a few minor scratches on your hands and nothing too bad.  

“Asmo’s gonna kill me if he saw what happened to your hands… ya okay though? Tell me if it still hurts and let's find em angels to patch ya up” he would beg Simeon not to tattle on the brothers, since they would not let him hear the end of it if they found out you got hurt. Lucifer would punish him for this happening under his watch (and his actions), even if it was an accident.

If your skin can get so damaged from just falling, Mammon can hardly imagine the worst case scenario. He keeps a close eye on you whenever there are large crowds, making sure you hold his hand the whole trip so he’s sure you won’t fall like that again. 

There are times you can feel his thumb brush against the skin of your palms where it was previously damaged. You know he feels a bit guilty for that, so you intertwine your fingers as a way to reassure him. 

Levi

Levi has been waiting for this package and now that it’s by his doorstep, he’s absolutely ecstatic. It was a VR set complete with this game from one of his favorite franchises. He hasn’t stopped talking about it for weeks at all and his brothers can finally get some peace and quiet in the house… they were wrong. 

One would say that Levi looks a bit silly walking around the house with the headset on. The VR game was about slaying demons (ironically) but he gets to interact with the characters in 3D so whenever he sees his favorite, he would let out an excited squeal. 

Lucifer instructed you to follow him while he plays to make sure he doesn’t wander off somewhere or break anything. You just have to make sure to gently turn him to the right directions or hide the glassware away from reach. 

It was doing fine for a while until you took your eyes off him for a second and he’s already walking dangerously near the stairs. You know that demons can survive a stumble like that but that doesn’t mean you’ll let that happen to him! So you dive in, grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie and yanking him away from the steps. 

Unfortunately, you both lost your footing and fell backwards on the floor with Levi landing on top of you. Levi was surprised and a little disoriented as he took off the headset, only to find himself above you. “W-WHA—!! MC?!?! What’s going on?!” 

You hit the back of your head hard with that fall and he noticed with the pained expression on your face. That embarrassment was switched to worry. Levi helps you up and after you explain everything to him, he assists you to the kitchen to find some ice to numb the pain. 

“I-i um… I'll make sure that I play this game somewhere safe, s-so you won’t have to worry about me!” Levi promises next time, already planning on searching any equipment or set up he needs to make his gaming experience much safer. He doesn’t want to burden you more than he already has.

He’s clumsy with the ice pack because he’s too nervous of hurting you more than he already did. What if he presses too hard? What if he’s doing it wrong? You’ll have to hold his hand to guide him on what to do or where to place it, and he’ll need all the self-control he needs to stop trembling from your touch.

Satan 

Even from the outside of the house, you could hear all the commotion and rapid footsteps. You thought you could leave them for at least one hour while you went out to grab the groceries, and apparently they already started fighting in your absence. 

It started when Satan bought a limited edition book signed by the author himself, with only 50 signed copies available. Mammon found the package first before Satan could and decided that maybe he could sell it, but he was caught before he could make any Grimm. In an attempt to get it back, Mammon accidentally tore a few pages. Now they’re both in demon forms running around the house. 

“I WILL TEAR YOUR LEGS OFF YOUR BODY WHEN I CATCH YOU” Satan snarled as he tried to capture the one that ruined his precious book. Unfortunately their speeds leagues apart and only Lucifer ever has the power of catching up to his no-good older brother. 

In a desperate attempt, Satan throws the book towards Mammon and hopes that maybe if he’s lucky enough it would hit him in the head and slow him down. But that wasn’t the case here. 

Mammon saw the incoming projectile and took a sharp turn to avoid it. The moment you opened the door to see what was going on, you weren’t really prepared for the flying book and next thing you knew, it hit you straight to the face. 

The force was enough to make you fall back, dropping all the groceries at hand. You expected to hit the floor, but you felt two hands hold you to stop you from falling. 

Satan saw the moment you got hit square on the face with the book he threw and ran to catch you before you could fall and hurt yourself further. You open your eyes only to see his eyes completely filled with worry. All his wrath was completely over washed with concern for you. 

“I-i’m so sorry MC! Come on, I'll get that treated quickly” He would carry you to the living room, groceries be damned, and cast a small healing spell to ease the pain and discomfort. 

Satan makes sure to be more aware of your presence. Just because his outbursts can get intense doesn't mean he'd want you to get involved in the crossfire. Never does he wish to be the cause of your pain, accident or not. It took you quite some time to reassure him since he didn’t mean that in the first place. 

Asmo

Asmo was excited to find that the shoes he wanted for so long had finally been released and he’s been dying to try them on. The shoes made him a few inches taller and he loves that since he was the smallest brother in the house. The heels were crafted perfectly when decorated with gems and glitter, it’s practically made for him! 

One would find him strutting down the halls with his heels or putting on all kinds of glamor and clothes to match. Asmo could’ve knocked your door down with all that giddiness when he entered your room to show off his new shoes.

He makes running in heels look so easy and you listen to him go on for a while on how the color matches his eyes. By the end of his speech, he grabs your hands and practically wants you to twirl him around like a princess in the spotlight of the ballroom. 

With the excitement in each step, Asmo was not careful enough and accidentally stepped on your foot. Normally it doesn’t hurt you but the sheer cheerful energy Asmo had brought about enough force to make it painful. And what’s worse… It was heels. 

You wince and take a step back, letting go of Asmo’s hand in the process. He looked at you with a pout until he saw you were in pain, clenching your foot “Love? Oh gosh– Did i?”

He immediately sits you down and checks how hurt you were. Since humans are so fragile and squishy, he worried if he broke a bone or even worse! But you assure him that you’re alright. 

“The reddening skin says otherwise! This is not good. We should go get that taken care of in a spa! We can get you those luxurious foot scrubs while I get a pedicure to match my new heels! Come on, I'll get your clothes ready!”

Whether or not you planned to go out today, Asmo is already rummaging through your closet to find the perfect outfit for you in the salon. You can’t exactly say no to a day off to relax, plus he won’t let you stay cooped up in your room like one of his older brothers. 

The spa really was rejuvenating and the scrub made your skin so smooth. You’re not sure if this was his way of apologizing or just an excuse to bring you here but it's a win either way right? 

When he brought up how you should also wear heels like his to match, you immediately decline with no room for negotiation. 

Beel  

Beel has brought home some rolled cigar cookies for you and Belphie to eat. They were a new flavor being sold in madam screams, Beel had already eaten several boxes and he’s made sure that he doesn't end up consuming all of the cookies he bought for you guys in one go. 

He knew that these sweets would go perfect with some devil’s hot chocolate so he wanted to brew some before he brought them up to the attic. 

He had two mugs at hand with the box of cookies in his arms. It’s taking all his concentration to not eat and drink all this food in his reach, especially when his stomach is already empty by the time he left the kitchen. He was so focused on trying to take his mind off his hunger that he failed to see you around the corner. 

By accident, he bumped into you and one of the drinks spilled on your arms. Thank god that Beel made sure that the temperature was safe enough for human consumption (since they could probably drink at hotter temperatures), though it still hurt you regardless. 

The cookies and drink was left forgotten at the nearest table he can place them as he tends to you. No blisters at least, but your skin started turning red from all that heat that Beel kept panicking as he took you to the sink to get it treated. 

“I-I just wanted to bring you some hot chocolate… sorry MC” he has that sad puppy look on his face that makes it hard for you to be angry, not that you were ever mad at him in the first place. Beel spent his time running your arm by cool water to treat it, and even asked Satan to take a look at your skin. 

As sweet as he was, if the burns on your skin were actually that bad then expect that he will never let you near any sort of hot drinks. He treats it as if they were poison to you. Your morning coffee? Now it has ice. Your hot chocolate? It’s iced chocolate. It took your brother’s intervention so he doesn’t ruin the soup for dinner for your sake. 

Belphie 

Belphie was by your side as you watched a local Devildom film in the living room. At first it was both of you watching together since the movie date was his idea, but he fell asleep for the first 20 minutes. To be fair, it was his longest record of keeping himself awake. 

There are times that he sleeps so well that he unknowingly shifts into his demon form. It’s just his powers responding to his own dreams, and he’s having a really nice one at this point since it has you and Beel in it, two of his favorite people of all the realms. 

You paused the movie to use the restroom for a while when that happened. While he was sleeping, his tail popped up and you didn’t know it until you tripped on it when you came back to the living room. 

It wasn’t the feeling of someone stepping over his tail that woke him up, but it was the sound of your pained groans that got the youngest born open both his eyes quickly as he shot up from the couch. 

If it were any of his brothers he would’ve been laughing, but he cares about you a lot. So seeing you in pain on the ground brought back some… ‘unpleasant memories’ from before. He goes to your side so check if you’re injured or hit your head too hard when you fell to the floor.

After the incident at the attic, Belphie tried his best to make sure he won't hurt you. He promised you that when you both forged a pact, and it took so much time to gain your trust again after all! Much like Beel, he is all over you in making sure you’re okay. Belphie wants to keep you safe, even from himself. 

“I don’t want to watch the movie anymore… Can we just cuddle instead?” He says with a cute pout on his lips. The twins really got the same puppy eyes, making it really hard for you to say no to his naps. This time, Belphie lets your head rest on his beloved soft cow pillow to compensate for what happened. 

Takes notes from Satan on how to keep his tail still, since the older demon has more control over it by keeping it wrapped around his leg. Belphie never usually worries about shifting into his demon form, but he just wants to make sure this time!

[multi-fandom-lunatic]

Message in a Bottle - Percabeth Oneshot

“Sometimes you’ve gotta sit back and enjoy the waters. Right, Perce?” My mother said, her soft voice blending with the waves. She tilted her head upward, and it looked like she was glowing, haloed by the evening sun.

The sand was grainy and light as I let it slip between my little fingers. It was too dry to build a sandcastle, though. I ran down where the waters met the land, planting myself a small distance from the waves. I liked the beach even then. The soft crash of waves on the sand, the wind whipping my jet-black hair, and how the waters matched my sea-glass eyes. I began to pile the sand into towers, building a mansion for the insects and crabs that roamed the sand. I dug a moat around the castle, allowing the waves to gush and fill the moat.

Even today, in perfect beach conditions, wrinkles etched by stress aged my mother's face. It was clear, especially when her face morphed from the carefree mom who bought me ice cream on weekends to the wife she had to be for Gabe. Even the beach couldn't cure that.

I turned away from my sandcastle as a wave washed over my feet, bringing a small glass bottle and a scroll wrapped up inside. I uncorked it and turned it upside down, spilling the paper on the sand with a small pen I hadn't seen earlier. It was blank. I pondered, drumming my hands against my face, about who had sent this note for a few seconds when my six-year-old brain kicked in.

I grabbed the pen with force, uncapping and scribbling on it, illegible handwriting filling the pink paper. I balled the paper and pushed it into the bottle. I capped it and threw it into the sea, channelling all my strength. I waved goodbye to it, watching the waves carry it somewhere.

My mother turned to me, eyes crinkling as she smiled. "Probably time we head back, Percy." She said. Her smile was beautiful, but it was hard to ignore how she longed for this place. It was hard to ignore how much I longed for it.

I nodded, picking myself up and clasping my hands in my mother's. I looked up, the height difference between us becoming apparent, as she dragged me to our car. I stole one last glance at the ocean, hoping I could convey how much I'd missed it, as I strapped into my booster seat. My mother sighed, turning on the ignition and pulling me away from the landscape.

***

We were in the same spot again, my mother relaxing on the sand and me running helter-skelter as the crisp morning air filled my lungs. I plopped down and began my plans for a new sandcastle, bigger and more ambitious than last time when a wave crashed against my leg. I turned to catch the cool, smooth object that washed up with it. The same old Pepsi bottle, but this time with a pink post-it note inside.

I rushed to undo the lid, hardly able to contain my excitement. The note from months ago had reached somewhere! I eagerly eyed the paper, my ADHD scrambling to keep up.

I got your note. I like the beach too. I don't like spiders. I'm Annabeth.

-Annabeth Chase

I squealed, causing my mother to finally look up at me. She eyed the bottle and whispered. "What did you find, Percy?"

I recounted the story to her as efficiently as I could, which was not efficient at all. She struggled to keep up, but her eyes widened when I finished talking. She looked even more excited than I was, and I couldn't understand why.

"Oh, Percy. Quickly, write back!" She said, pulling out a post-it from her bag. I wrote as fast as possible, proud to display my slightly improved handwriting. I slipped the note inside and my mother sealed it shut.

I sent it to the sea and turned to look at my mom when it was out of sight. "What if it doesn't reach Annabeth?"

She simply chuckled. "The sea has a mind of its own. But it also has a heart."

***

The sea acted as my texting service, dutifully carrying my messages to Annabeth, and right back. She always wrote in the messiest handwriting. It was like a puzzle, trying to decode what she said. But usually, the content was the same. Homework, learning, lack of friends and repeat. I never understood why she was lonely at school. She was probably one of the most amazing people I knew.

My mother just giggled every time I brought her up. She always ruffled my hair and offered me a blue cupcake. I brought Annabeth up every day.

Now I was twelve. I thought of myself as mature, but sometimes I doubted it. Sure, the childlike curiosity vanished when I hit the age, and the saturation had turned down. But sometimes, I still felt like a kid, waiting for Annabeth's messages by the sea.

I did end up with one friend, though. Grover Underwood. He was a nice guy, with bushy red hair and a personality almost as great as mine, but not Annabeth's. Grover teased me whenever I brought up my pen pal, but whatever. He didn't know Annabeth like I did.

Our peaceful life bunking schools and failing classes only lasted a while. I've always seen things differently, whether it was magic horses on buildings or monsters on the streets, but it was all too real when Mrs Dodds morphed into a monster and became my nightmare. Grover helped me fight her off, and she screeched like a harpy when she was killed. But I knew. I couldn't stay here any longer. I had to leave.

The drive to Camp Half-Blood was stressful. Grover and I clung to each other (as best bros would) as the car jerked, struggling to leave behind the raging minotaur.

But the battle was a losing one. I knew it when the monster grabbed my mother and crushed her into nonexistence. And I could see the flicker of hope and determination in her eyes. And that only made it worse.

My first day at Camp Half-Blood was a blur. Green fields stretched miles and merged into strawberry ones, and the lake was a mirror to the clear sky, but I was in my head about losing my mom. I couldn't even crack a joke all day. A gentle buzz rang in my head, reminding me that my mother was gone.

I clutched the violet bead on my neck, a gift Annabeth had made for me and sent it through the bottle. I made her the same one back, and I pictured her wearing it every single day.

A girl bumped into me. She scoffed, barely looking back, but I caught sight of her neck. The bead, just as violet as the one around my neck, with a sloppy lilac on its face. I grabbed her hand, too stunned to speak. She turned around, an angry remark written all over her face, but it faded as her eyes trailed down to the bead she gave me. We locked eyes for a moment and said at the same time, "You!"

"Annabeth?" I whispered. She swallowed and nodded.

"Percy?" She said, and my heart fluttered at the sound of her saying my name. She said it so perfectly, as if the name tasted sweet on her tongue like she never wanted to let the name go. I clung to the feeling.

She was different than she was a few seconds ago. And she was beautiful. I had a rough idea of what she looked like, curly blonde hair and grey eyes, but it was nothing like seeing her in person. Her hair formed in ringlets and blew in the breeze. Her eyes were like magnets, drawing me nearer to them. I shook away the thought.

Annabeth was by my side for everything. When I journeyed to the Underworld, and even when Grover had to sport a wedding dress. She was there when Luke . . . I might not finish that sentence.

It wasn't long before I asked her to be my girlfriend, and it was only a fraction of a second for her excited "Yes!". We'd shared many things before, a satchel, a quest, but only then did I share a kiss with her, underwater.

I was kicking my feet, sitting on the dock of Long Island Lake, the water swishing as I swung my legs. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. The sun dipped into the horizon, waving us goodbye, and I could imagine Apollo blowing kisses in the air as he drove his chariot. the grass looked greener than usual under this sun, and I planned to share a hearty meal with Annabeth that night.

I looked down as a bottle hit my feet. Heart racing, I picked it up, feeling like a six-year-old again. I uncapped the bottle like I did with Riptide, and unfurled the note inside.

It was always meant to be and I knew it most. You're very welcome. Hope you and Annabeth are doing alright. I'm just a message in a bottle away.

-Poseidon, your dad

With shaking hands, I held the note close, feeling tears in my eyes. Of course. It was him. It was always him, passing along those notes. I didn't even question it as a kid, just allowing myself to trust the sea. And mom knew too, didn't she? All along, Annabeth and I were written in the stars, by none other than the sea.

I smiled. All of it started with a message in a bottle.

---

HOPE YOU LIKED IT YALL

[deeplyridiculouslyinlove]

My favorite Moiraine moments in The Eye of the World

EOTW only spoilers below the cut

1. “[The mist] follows the river as if drawn with a pen,” Moiraine was saying in satisfied tones. “There are not ten women in Tar Valon who could do that unaided. Not to mention from the back of a galloping horse.” (Chapter 12)

This is "Siuan Sanche waits for only one woman" energy right here.

2. “I suffered more injury to my pride than anything else,” the Aes Sedai said irritably, plucking at her cloak blanket. She looked as if she had been a long time ill or hard-used, but despite the dark circles under them, her eyes were sharp and full of power. “Aginor was surprised and angry that I held him as long as I did, but fortunately he had no time to spare for me. I am surprised myself that I held him so long. In the Age of Legends, Aginor was close behind the Kinslayer and Ishamael in power." (Chapter 51)

Not babygirl being surprised (and a bit self-satisfied) that she held off a powerful Forsaken for so long BUT ALSO her pride being wounded that she couldn’t do it for longer.

3. Even Aginor seemed stunned. Then his head lifted, cavernous eyes burning with hate. “Enough. It is past time to end this.” “Yes, Forsaken,” Moiraine said, her voice as cold as deep winter ice. “Past time.” The Aes Sedai’s hand rose and the ground fell away beneath Aginor’s feet. Flame roared from the chasm, whipped to a frenzy by wind howling in from every direction, sucking a maelstrom of leaves into the fire which seemed to solidify into a red-streaked yellow jelly of pure heat. In the middle of it, Aginor stood, his feet supported only by air. The Forsaken looked startled but then he smiled and took a step forward. It was a slow step, as if the fire tried to root him to the spot, but he took it. And then another. “Run!” Moiraine commanded. Her face was white with strain. “All of you, run!" (Chapter 50)

"I'm as strong as I have to be" 😭

4. In Algomar’s private garden, under a thick bower dotted with white blossoms, Moiraine shifted on her bed chair. The fragments of the seal lay on her lap and the small gem she sometimes wore in her hair spun and glittered on its gold chain from the ends of her fingers. The faint blue glow faded from the stone and a smile touched her lips. It had no power in itself, the stone, but the first use she had ever learned of the One Power as a girl in her royal palace of Cairhien was using the stone to listen to people when they thought they were too far off to be overheard. (Chapter 53)

Obsessed that her version of the all-knowing Merlin character is an affinity for eavesdropping--maybe it's mystical wisdom, maybe it's being a nosy bitch (affectionate)!

5. Her eyes fell on Mat as she stepped through the doorway and she hissed as if she had touched a hot stove. "Get away from him!" Nynaeve did not move, except for turning to stare at the Aes Sedai in surprise. In two quick steps Moiraine seized the Wisdom by the shoulders, hauling her across the floor like a sack of grain. Nynaeve struggled and protested, but Moiraine did not release her until she was well away from the bed. The Wisdom continued her protests as she got to her feet angrily straightening her clothes, but Moiraine ignored her completely. The Aes Sedai watched Mat to the exclusion of everything else, eyeing him the way she would a viper. (Chapter 41)

Sorry I didn’t hear you I was distracted thinking of canonically tiny Moiraine dragging Nynaeve across the room like one of those mothers who finds super strength and lifts the car off her kids.

6. Moiraine climbed down from Aldieb's back. Calmly she removed something from her pouch, unwrapped it. Rand glimpsed dark ivory. The angreal. With angreal in one hand and staff in the other, the Aes Sedai set her feet, facing the onrushing trollocs and the fade's black swords, raised her staff high, and stabbed it down into the earth. The ground rang like an iron kettle struck by a mallet. The hollow clang dwindled, faded away. For an instant then, it was silent. Everything was silent. The wind died. The trolloc cries stilled. Even their charge forward slowed and stopped. For a heartbeat, everything waited. Slowly the dull ringing returned, changing to a low rumble, growing until the earth moaned. The ground trembled beneath Cloud's hooves. This was Aes Sedai work like the stories told about.... Abruptly Moiraine wavered, and would have fallen had Lan not leaped from his horse to catch her. "Go on," he told the others. The harshness of his voice was at odds with the gentle way he lifted the Aes Sedai to her saddle. "That fire won't burn forever. Hurry! Every minute counts." The wall of flame roared as if it would indeed burn forever, but Rand did not argue. They galloped northward as fast as they could make their horses go. The horns in the distance shrilled out disappointment, as if they already knew what had happened, then fell silent. Lan and Moiraine soon caught up with the others, though Lan led Aldieb by the reins while the Aes Sedai swayed and held the pommel of her saddle with both hands. "I will be alright soon," she said to their worried looks. She sounded tired, yet confident, and her gaze was as compelling as ever. "I am not at my strongest when working with earth and fire. A small thing." (Chapter 18)

She's ridiculously proud of her fog along the river and then just a few chapters later channels EARTHQUAKES and WALLS OF FIRE like she's not one of the last Aes Sedai of a dying age and SHRUGS IT OFF.

7. "The The Wisdom won't help. She says she can't. But the stories--" She raised an eyebrow and he stopped and swallowed hard. Light, is there a story with an Aes Sedai where she isn't a villain? ...

She used the staff to pull herself to her feet. “Take me to your father, Rand. I will help him as much as I am able. Too many here have refused to let me help at all.” “They have heard the stories too,” she added dryly. (Chapter 7)

Rand is lucky he's the Dragon Reborn or he and the Two Rivers folks would have been met with some wasps.

8. Thom Merrilin stepped forward grandly and held up one empty hand, turning it slowly. Suddenly, he gestured with a flourish and a dagger twirled between his fingers. The hilt slapped into his palm and, abruptly nonchalant, he began trimming his fingernails. A low, delighted laugh floated from Moiraine. (Chapter 12)

This peek at the girl who watched court bards at the Sun Palace in Cairhien is so cute it makes me almost willing to ship her and Thom in the books.

9. “The Dark One is after you three. One or all. And if I let you go running off wherever you want to go, he will take you. Whatever the Dark One wants, I oppose. So hear this and know it true. Before I let the Dark One have you I will destroy you myself.” It was her voice, so matter of fact, that convinced Rand. The Aes Sedai would do exactly what she said if she thought it was necessary. He had a hard time sleeping that night, and he was not the only one. Even the Gleeman did not begin snoring until after the last coals died. For once, Moiraine offered no help. (Chapter 13)

This is controversial but I personally adore this speech where she threatens to kill them all and then acts petty about healing them just because she hears Rand talking badly about Aes Sedai.

10. “Do they have sheep in Tar Valon? That's all I know. Herding sheep and growing tabac.” “I believe,” Moiraine said. “That I can find something for you to do in Tar Valon. For all of you. Not herding sheep, perhaps, but something you will find interesting.” (Chapter 48)

I giggled.

11. Rand made ready to put Cloud to a gallop right away, and everyone else settled their reins with the same urgency. Everyone except Lan and Moiraine. The Warder and the Aes Sedai exchanged a long look. “Keep them moving, Moiraine Sedai,” Lan said finally. “I will return as soon as I am able. You will know if I fail.” Putting a hand on Mandarb’s saddle, he vaulted to the back of the black stallion and galloped down the hill heading west. The horns sounded again. “The Light go with you, last Lord of the Seven Towers,” Moiraine said, almost too softly for Rand to hear. Drawing a deep breath, she turned Aldieb to the east. “We must go on,” she said, and started off at a slow, steady trot. (Chapter 18)

11. I can't help but think how much they've grown since New Spring when I read this and it makes me want to cry.

Bonus: Every scene of Moiraine greeting the cats at Basel Gill’s inn. (Chapters 41 & 43)

Bonus Bonus: The way Rosamund delivers Moiraine's "it will be as the wheel wills" in the audiobooks after Loial says he is worried the bridges in the Ways are breaking and they might be trapped in there and die. (Chapter 45)

[neonscandal]

So, if you asked to write your top 5 fav characters each from JJK & BNHA, what genre will you put them (or you agree that they should be in shounen)....

My asks are getting funnier. 🥰 As always, thanks for asking, lets dig in.

Look at these knuckleheads.

JJK Top 5

I've seen people make really funny observations about how every character in JJK belongs in a different universe but was shoehorned into a horror battle shonen and it delights me to no end. I'm not sure if Gege Akutami actually penned characters that are typical of other anime genres, in a sense, but do believe we all collectively just want our faves to have better odds of survival. At this point, Gege looks at fan polls like a dead pool. I think a story where characters are so obviously not meant to be there would be hilarious if done intentionally, camp even.

Satoru Gojo - The duality of a man who is "The Strongest" in universe while maintaining a girly pop facade to circumvent feeling othered by his strength? Two of my favorite things about Gojo are that he is 1) traumatized 🤪✨ and 2) down astronomically for the days he spent with Suguru Geto. Put this man in a shonen ai, stat.

Nobara Kugisaki and Maki Zenin - Yuri. I feel like I don't need to explain myself here except to say that I put them as one item on the list because I didn't want a list of 6 (I have so many faves). Both iconic, both bad ass. No notes. On the other hand, I would never want to rob Maki of her revenge story so... grain of salt if she stays in universe.

Kento Nanami - I was going to say "this man wants to be in an office sitcom so bad" but, truthfully, would not find the overdone gags and antics palatable. Nanami deserves to rest at an even, dulcet tempo. Traumatized in his youth, he really only returns to jujutsu because office work is unfulfilling but imagine if he were in an office shojo with a found family that he had to provide for? I'm not saying this anime is particularly good but plop him in something cozy like "The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague" but with the home life of "Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid". He'll work for the money because it provides for someone else, you know? Let him suffer fools in peace.

Yuji Itadori - Sweet baby angel. Yuji follows the "best of both worlds" phenomenon that we see in other horror anime like Chainsaw Man, Tokyo Ghoul and Attack on Titan wherein he is both human and curse (avoiding further spoilers). But his disposition, his resilience, his pure physical prowess before he ever ate Sukuna's finger? Put this boy in a sports anime and let him thrive. While he'd absolutely body in a fighting sport, what if he was plopped into "Blue Lock"? Sports anime with a dash of horror aesthetic. He'd crush while being as upbeat and hilariously chaotic as Bachira.

Suguru Geto - Baby Girl is one of the most compelling villains we have. I'd say across multiple anime, honestly. He's what happens when a good person, someone who aims to be so morally upright, is faced with the reality that being good actually guarantees you nothing. With someone so unwavering, someone who can't live in shades of grey like Gojo, he can't bend. So he breaks. Honestly, it adds a layer of complexity to the overall story where... can we really, as the viewer, fault him? I feel like he wouldn't have this evolution anywhere else and that there's something to be said as to whether Geto was always doomed by the narrative.

There's never not been a good time to celebrate this frame, honestly.

BNHA Top 5

What's cool about BNHA is, it is authentically a shonen manga/anime while subverting a lot of it's tropes. BUT, we see this really interesting progression in the art that drifts into horror. Not aiming to spoil anything that's to come in season 7 (body horror, it's body horror. Bones better come through) but you see the beginning of it with the change in vigilante Deku's appearance. If Horikoshi felt inclined to do a horror anime post-BNHA, I'd definitely read.

Katsuki Bakugo - Hilariously, Bakugo wants to shonen so bad but is actually so damsel in distress/love interest coded that it almost undermines his role as Midoriya's rival. Almost. Shonen, shonen ai, I don't think he's out of place in either.

Shoto Todoroki - Todoroki's entire personality and character arc being so intrinsically linked to his family is honestly so amusing given the universe. Like, people have real life superhero powers but awful parents are very much still a thing. So it's interesting to expose the complexity of their family dynamics in tandem with the overarching story because, in every way, the Todoroki family are very much members of the Have's of BNHA society but they are still hopelessly miserable. TBH he could be in a slice of life just experiencing and resolving family trauma. "Kotaro Lives Alone" comes to mind.

Shouta Aizawa - I would cast Aizawa in "Life Lessons with Uramichi Oniisan" but he wouldn't have the decency to show up to work without a sleeping bag. I'm not saying it wouldn't look out of place in universe but do better for the kids. Joking. He's honestly both the perfect teacher but also a big ole hypocrite. He condemns Midoriya for his recklessness and self-sacrificing (re: breaking bones to use his quirk) but didn't think twice about hacking off his own leg, logical though it may have been. I know All Might is cast as the quintessential mentor in the shonen dynamic but Aizawa is the real MVP when it comes to mentoring and guiding the Class 1A competently. Shonen all the way.

Izuku Midoriya - I can't say Magical Girl Anime, I can't say Magical Girl anime. I appreciate Midoriya's similarity to eponymous crybaby hero Sailor Moon, tbh. She too was OP and with the fate of the world on her shoulders, just saying. He falls in line with the shonen trope of eating something and powering up (re: JJK, One Piece, Attack on Titan) but has emotional range that is not typically seen in shonen which, honestly I love. He is masculine while still being aggressively expressive (even if he struggles to articulate his feelings). His character and subsequent development is another way that Horikoshi subverts shonen tropes and I can't wait to see how his story wraps up.

Dabi - This crispy piece of bacon is a walking, talking and dancing personification of resolute rage. He is quite literally a vendetta held together by staples. Later chapters especially, he just gets unrelentingly grosser and more unhinged and it's both disgusting and emotional. To be honest, between him and Shigaraki, they are undeniably horror fodder by design. In fact, the reveal that he was a little misogynistic extremist radical was particularly wild of Horikoshi. Like, basically if he hadn't self destructed on that mountain he'd have been some incel plotting violence on the deep dark web? I'm trying to think of what to plop him into (maybe not his charred body but just his general... maliciousness, conviction and extremism). I feel like something horror, psychological with a sprinkle of thriller? What comes to mind is a dark series on my TBR but the name escapes me about a kid getting revenge one by one against sadistic bullies though its unclear where Dabi falls on that spectrum.

[chuuyahoo]

Zhongli x Childe

Café au fluff one-shot (1970 words)

♥------------------------------------------------♥

♥------------------------------------------------♥

" Hey there Zhongli !! how are you doing today ? i hope im not too early for class" greeted Ganyu

"Im doing doing just fine and no you are right on time" Zhongli replied with a kind smile.

Ganyu, a busy med college student, very sleepy but extremely hardworking.

"Come driving rain or winds that churn, I shall return, by blade alone, armed, if barefoot, to my home.. good evening Mr. Zhongli" Kazuha said with a polite smile as he took his seat on the counter of the empty cafe.

"Good evening Kazuha , you are as poetic as always"

Kazuha, a middle school student with a way with words.

"Arataki "Numero Uno" Itto, here in the flesh! Hahaha... *cough*"

"Good evening itto .. er are you alright ?" Zhongli asked with a concerned smile

"Yeah im chill gramps"

"well thats good to hear" Itto took his seat besides Kazuha and started chatting away about beetles because "They're so cool little dude you have no idea"

Arataki Itto , an animal enthusiast and Earth science major, hes very excited most of the time.

"Good evening Zhongli !! Ei is finally free from mid terms so she's able to join us today!" Miko, freshly graduated, works in a publishing house.

"Hello." Ei or Raiden , she's in her last year of college doing business studies.

"Greetings Miko , Ei , im glad you could join us today !

We'll be making Bento cakes. They are the size of a bento(lunch box) but the rest is exactly the same as a normal cake."

All the "students" were standing at their own stations, which were just the cafe tables put together. They had a small notebook and pen in their hands ready to write down what notes Mr. Zhongli aka their teacher gave. A few actually wrote notes while some doodled "Beetle shaped icing supremacy"

Zhongli is a college graduate from Liyue College of Teyvat. He graduated in Business studies and culinary arts . Wanting to become a chef from an early age he had a clear dream in mind and was currently living it by owning a small yet popular cafe called Cafe Rax (named after his pet cat morax). He owned a few other places aswell but spent most his time here. He often gave lectures at LCT , being an alumni there.

baking lessons after the cafe closed was an impulsive decision but a good one since he found many friends. All the people came for different reasons.

Ganyu : "I feel like im too involved in work and i wanted a new hobby!"

Kazuha : he works at the cafe as a part timer "so why not, i wish to see where this path leads me"

Itto : "im gonna bake delicious stuff for granny, she's done so much for me !"

Miko : "itll be good seeing you everyday my friend , plus me and Ei can bake together"

Raiden : "for Miko"

The strength on the so called baking class was small but they were a happy lot.

"Firstly i want you all to tie your aprons and wash your hands"

Everyone in class had an apron of their choice , all of them had specific designs sewed onto them , Zhongli's had a small whale , Ittos had a little brown dog , Kazuha's had a purple and white electro sign , Ei's had a pink fox and Miko's had dango.

"Okay people now take out the following ingredients

2 eggs

1 egg yolk

Dark muscovado sugar 60g

Maple syrup 15g (1.5 tbsp)

1/2 tsp salt

All-purpose flour 50g

Dark cocoa powder 10g (1.5 tbsp)

("Thats sugar itto not salt"

"Pffftttt ofc i knew that haha-")

__________________________________________________________________________

He ran with a smile on his face and cheeky but slightly vacant eyes as water splashed around his feet and all of his clothing became drenched. If he didn't quickly find shelter, all of his books would be a tangled mess of soggy pages. In the distance, he could make out Cafe Rax. He debated whether or not to enter the coffee shop because there was a particular person there who gave him feelings he had never experienced before. He was motivated to genuinely live, to get up, and to improve by the person inside. If only the person was aware of him, things might progress if they did.

. . . . . . Okay maybe that was a little dramatic, they were best of friends but Mr. Ginger went ahead and fell in love .

Tartaglia had known Zhongli for at least four years, first as a senior in college, then as an alumnus delivering speeches, and last as a friend and his own personal barista who provided him biased discounts that no one had the courage to point out.

The bell jingled loudly, signalling the entry of a person into the cafe. Tartaglia came here every day at the same hour, so no one needed to turn their heads to see who it was. Zhongli looked up from where he was removing his mittens to see his best friend, whom he secretly adored staring at. Wet, vivid orange hair clung to his forehead, blue eyes flashing brightly, and a broad smile with all teeth and heated cheeks. Seeing his best friend in this state made Zhongli's heart race. He grabbed a towel and ran over to the ginger, grumbling about how he'll get sick if he continues forgetting his umbrella . "You should be more careful Childe , how many times have i advised you to carry a raincoat or an umbrella-"

He stopped abruptly when a hand came up to his face and a dainty finger grazed his cheek. His cheeks flushed at the contact, he barely managed to keep his composure .

"You had flour on your cheek" said Childe

Childe brushed his thumb again on the brunettes cheek , his touch was feather light .

It was flawless. Zhongli had a whale apron on, while Childe had a towel over his head and messy hair, all raw and domestic. Zhongli's eyes followed the tiny water droplets trickling down the ginger's face as they exchanged glances.

Zhongli extended his hand to touch Childes. He then closed his eyes and relaxed, savouring the sensation of his best friend's palm brushing across his cheek. Childe admired and loved him with all of his heart, hoping Zhongli could see how his eyes shone at the thought of the other man. The rest of the room was silent until Itto's cough shattered the tension

(his face was red from holding in the cough "dude." "sorry little guy i tried my best" "drink some water")

When the trance was broken, Zhongli returned to work with a flushed face, and Childe started doing his assignments as usual on Zhongli's desk. Both of them were focused elsewhere.

How could they focus on work when that just happened. Childe was getting tired of this 'routine'. He really wished for Zhongli to see him in a different light. Not as a friend but something more. He wanted to mean to Zhongli what Zhongli meant to him. He wanted to watch the sunset with him , hold hands , kiss him and be his forever and ever .

He distracted himself with algebra and soon enough his thoughts were lost in numbers and variables . He was so laser focused on his work that he didn't hear several ovens and the rustling of people walking out the door with the jingle of the bell.

("Cya little dude , now imma let granny taste this !!" "farewell for now my friend , i wonder how scara will like this" "Lets have a movie date ei" "of course")

Zhongli cleaned up the counter thoroughly. He collected all the bowls and other utensils used and kept them under the sink , then putting away all the extra ingredient back to their places.

He took out the freshly baked bento cake and started icing it. He had a variety of colours from which he chose blue , orange and little bit of red. He somehow managed to draw a chibi childe. He was happy with his creation. But he was also nervous because today was the day he was going to do it . Risk it all . Confess.

Zhongli had thought of the most extravagant ways to confess to childe but then he settled for the most familiar and meaningful way to do it. By baking. the cake had both his love for baking and for his dearest childe. He gazed at the ginger sitting at a desk , scratching his pencil on paper , eyes narrowed in concentration as her did his work. He couldnt be more proud , remembering the struggle the other had went through to reach this level of calm. The leg shaking had lessned and the focus had increased , his eyes were just a smidge brighter . Knowing he played a small role in the happening of that was just elating .

He grabbed the bento and softly kept it on the gingers desk which made him look up. He noticed?the cafe to be empty and all cleaned up.

"Sorry for intruding !! i should get going Zhongli"

"Its alright , i have to talk to you. Have this first , its- uh i made it for you"

(aww man he even looks professional while stuttering thought childe dreamily)

"For me?? im flattered , truly. If i may , what is the reason for such a mmmm delicious present?"(from a delicious man like yourself )

Zhongli took a deep breath as he took Childes hands in his, he could feel the roughness of his fingers , the warmth of them. He was feeling a different sense of calm. He was relaxed as he looked into his best friends eyes and dared to say the words harboured in his heart.

"Tartaglia, my darling I'm grateful for every minute you've spent with me. I'm always afraid that I won't be able to repay you. I adore you more with each passing year that we remain friends. I've never felt such intense feelings for someone before you. You came into my life and lighted it up. Your ocean blue eyes and beautiful hair never cease to amaze and entice me. I love you. With my entire heart. I would like to court you if you allow me to , beautiful. "

Zhongli looked up from where he had his eyes fixed on their conjoined hands. Blue eyes shone with unshed tears. He panicked for a second before relaxing at the sight of a smile making its way up to Childes face. There was a lot of crying as the younger shoved his face into Zhonglis chest and held onto him like he would never let go. Childe was just so happy to have his feelings returned.

After crying and blabbing out response to the confession, Zhongli looked at Childe and he looked ethereal even with red rimmed eyes and a puffy red nose . He cupped his face softly as he stroked his cheek with the pad of his thumb. They looked into each others eyes "Yes. You can court me Zhongli" said childe with a smile. They dont know who closed the distance but with the feeling of soft lips on each other , their minds went blank. They shared a single innocent kiss , till it became 2 then 3 and then countless. The love was visible in their every movement . The way Zhongli held the youngers face , the was Childe wrapped his arms around zhongli and into his hair and finally the way their lips moved against each others , something fresh and new that could never get old ....

Miko walked back to her house with a smile on her face as the sun shone down on her giving her an ethereal glow..."guess i'll get my notebook tomorrow , at least they got their shit together"she laughed and went her way...

END

♥------------------------------------------------♥

an : Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed :D it was really fun writing this, it's my first time posting here so this is new . Don't hesitate to point out mistakes!! Love y'all <3

Drink water!!

[raelhbishop]

The False Vimalakirti

Chapter I

CITY CENTER MUSICOM, 05:52 local time

Musicom is quiet in the wee hours of the morning, and its City Center isn't any different. Containing most of the city's amenities - a stadium, a convention center, customs, the town hall, a bowling alley, just to name a few - it's about the only place folks visit in this backwater town.  

As the sun rises, a man eagerly struts into the City Center, scanning a press pass and taking in the sites. He's an amateur journalist, satchel in one hand and outdated camera in the other. 

He prowls the wide, grey corridors with a mischievous smile on his face - and a strange ring on his finger.

Taking a seat on a bench, he looks around, eying the few people that walk past. He spots an athlete walking slowly into a bathroom.

The journalist opens his satchel and thumbs through prints. He finds one with the athletes' profile on it, and smiles. 

He follows the athlete inside. He waits for the athlete to wash up, then approaches him. 

“Are you K-Sage?”

The athlete nods. “Indeed, I am.”

“Well, it’s an honor running into you here! Say, I’m with the press for a local news crew-"

“Sorry, can’t take any interviews right now.” He motions his hand to the journalist. “Contract policy. Got a busy day ahead of me.”

“Oh, alright then...” As K-Sage heads to the door, the journalist asks, “...but do you think you sign a photo for me? My sister’s a big fan, and she would just love an autograph.”

K-Sage thinks on it for a second. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” He smiles. “But keep it a secret, OK? I’m not allowed to give these out for free.”

Pen in hand, K-Sage signs the photo. While doing so, the journalist presses a concealed button on his ring. Spikes appear, breaking the skin and sending a pulse of electricity through his hand.

The journalist pulls out his camera and hits it. As the camera flashes, the journalist kicks K-Sage in the groin, knocking the athlete to the ground. Reflexively, he throws a blow with unnatural strength, hitting the camera and shattering it to pieces. The journalist manages to duck in time, before jabbing the spiked ring onto the side of K-Sage's forehead. 

A surge of electricity passes through both of them. K-Sage and the journalist are frozen for a few seconds. Time itself seems to freeze for them.

Then, the journalist passes out in the bathroom. He lies on the floor, completely unconscious. 

K-Sage rips the ring off his hand and pockets it. He takes the journalist and props him up in a stall, satchel in hand. The deed being done, K-Sage walks out of the stall, striding with the journalist’s mischievous smile on his face. 

He begins plotting where to go next: take K’s ebike, drive into Port, get a hotel room on the way... use a hotel attendant and travel further into the city... wreak havoc at the casino, escape through a janitor... wreak havoc at the beach, escape through an unsuspecting touris-

“K! Where have you been?" 

Lost in though, he bumps into his coach - a short, but intimidating man who emanates "no nonsense." 

"The warm-up starts in an hour, we need you at your station!” 

K-Sage is taken off-guard and stutters, before remembering who he’s in. “Oh, right, sorry. I just, uh, went for a walk this morning, to clear my head, y’know?” 

The coach shakes his head. “You’re going to be doing plenty of that today! You’ve got the all-linker triathalon to attend, for crying out loud!”

K-Sage puts his hand behind his neck. “Y’know, coach, I’m just not feeling all that great right now. Do you think we could, uh, call it off?”

“Call it off?” The coach is baffled. “What’s the matter with you, K? You were fine passing through customs an hour ago!” 

The photo slips out of K-Sage’s attire and hits the floor. The coach picks it up, inspects it, and gives K-Sage a steely look.

“It’s... uh... for a girl I’m dating. A gift.”

“Since when did you stop being gay?”

“Since, uh, since five minutes ago. I’m bi now. Yeah! Bi! I mean, why just try one flavor of ice cream, y’know?”

The coach's face contorts into that of pure bewilderment. 

He looks at the time and groans.

He puts a hand on the athlete's shoulder and walks him to the locker room. “Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you this morning, but we’ve got a lot riding on this game. I’ll give you some time alone after the game, but you’ve gotta go out there and do it. This is your only chance out of Podunk, kid.”

With a firm push, K-Sage enters the locker room. “Now go out there and kick some dust!” 

K-Sage gulps. 

========

BUBBLING BROOK, 14:47 local time

In the midday sun, a delirious prospector stumbles towards a small town. She is dying of dehydration, clothes drenched in sweat, and mumbling incoherently.

A few yards away, a girl paces frustratedly on the outskirts of town. Her mind is a maelstrom of anger, disappointment, wasted time, and broken promises, further fueled by the unbearable desert sun. 

Watching from the distance, a man of metal stands underneath a water tower. The shadows conceal his otherwise blinding shine.

The prospector and the girl cross paths. The prospector calls out to the girl but can barely speak. The girl, caught in her thoughts, ignores her. She yells out again, but gets no response. Desperate, she walks right up and tries to stop her. The girl loses it, and cold-cocks the prospector in her tracks.

She's taken aback by the force of her own throw. The figure in-front of her is unassuming; heavyset, blue shirt, grey pants. She has no idea who this person is.

She has no idea who this person is. She looks at her fist, then at the prospector, then back at her fist. It feels cathartic. It feels good. Without thinking, she leans over and prepares to take another shot, when her arm is seized in the air. 

A hand grasps her arm, made of cold metal. She turns to look at the body it came from – an equally metallic figure, slender and humanoid, with a visor for eyes emitting a soft red light. It’s the figure of a robot ranger, one of hundreds of machines created to “keep the peace” in this lawless land. To her, it’s nothing more than a soulless bureaucrat, a force to make life harder than it needs to be.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the ranger says matter-of-factly, “my name is Ranger Atticus, and I would like to know why-“

“Ex-CUSE me, did you just call me a ‘ma’am’?” The girl is seething.

“Affirmative, my apologies. I didn’t mean to cause offense-“

“Who gave you the right to call me a ‘ma’am’? Do I look like a ‘ma’am’ to you?” She retracts her hand from the ranger’s clutches.

“It’s merely common courtesy where I’m from.“

“How old do you think I am? Huh? Do you know who I am?”

“No, I am afraid not.“

“Listen you bag of bolts, you have NO idea what kind of day I’ve been through-“

“Ma’am, if you would please-”

“HERE YOU GO WITH THIS ‘MA’AM’ STUFF AGAIN!” She screams and flails her hands in the air.

“I need you to calm down, miss.”

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT KIND OF-”

“Miss, I need you to calm down."

“-DAY I’VE BEEN GOING THROUGH? OF COURSE NOT, YOU-“

“Miss, if you won’t co-operate, I’m afraid I’ll have to-“

“WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND, YOU PENICL-PUSHING, HIERARCHY ENFORCING TITANIUM LOAD OF BULL-“

He smashes her hands together and puts them into a handcuff.

“…detain you.”

She refuses this condition, screaming obscenities. “You can’t do this to me! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“You punched a civilian in broad daylight, unprovoked.”

She hesitates. “You can’t prove that!”

His visor changes to display a recording of his sights. The prospector can be seen sluggishly approaching her, running up, and getting clobbered. Even the moment a devilish grin crosses the girl’s face can be seen, as Atticus gets closer. The girl couldn’t believe she was that same woman in the recording… but then again…

“Well, I mean, she was probably just some drunk wandering around. Look at her! Clumsy, a real klutz! Drenched in sweat! Nobody just walks up to someone unprovoked, unless you’re a con-artist or a drunk or robber or some other slime!”

During her defense attempt, the ranger walks over to the downed woman and checks her vitals. He pulls out a flaskfull of water from an anterior compartment and pours it onto their face, then down her throat. He recognizes the face from before, but scans for ID just to be sure. 

“Why are you even saving that bozo, anyways? If anything, you should be applauding me! Hah! Yeah." With some effort, the girl crosses her handcuffed arms, smiling smugly. "Scum like them shouldn’t be attacking our townspeople.”

As she talks, the ranger notices her hands move rather fluidly. Too fluidly, in fact, for most humans. 

He brushes his hands (a preprogrammed anti-static measure) and heads back to the girl. “Even if that were the case, that’s assault, and we don’t tolerate that here in Zone AR-1. But that wasn’t 'some drunk'.” 

He displays the prospector’s ID card on his visor, and the girl turns pallid. 

“That was Mackenzie Schuster, a head prospector in this area. If I know her, she’s likely on a water-hunting excursion.” 

She knows the implications of such an assault. Even on high-tech worlds, that’s a crime with a hefty bail she can’t afford. She tries defending herself, lying her way out, only to end up where she was beforehand: defeated. 

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Mitra”, she says deflated, “Mitra Aldegreen.”

He scans for ID, and finds it matches the name. Though he conceals it, reading her profile gives him a surprise. He motions for Mitra to follow him over to Mackenzie, and takes them indoors. Mackenzie slowly comes to her senses, and Atticus explains the happenings. 

“Prospector, may I ask how you ended up that close to death to begin with?”

Mackenzie tries to regain her thoughts. “Well... I was out in the wastes with my bike and some light divining equipment. Then in the distance I see someone, hooded, on a flashy bike, driving toward me going probably... a hundred, hundred-and-fifty kilos an hour." 

She stops to regain composure. "They pulled over and shot my own bike out, then robbed me blind. They shot my PDA too. The first thing they headed for was my canteen, which they chugged vigorously and pocketed. So there I was, stranded, unable to call for help and unable to guide myself. I remembered seeing the town on the map a bit west from here, so I decided to head over and try and get help.”

Atticus listens intently. Mitra stares blankly, though bits and pieces of Mackenzie’s story trickle into her head.

“Tell me, Mac”, Atticus asks, “could you tell if they were a linker?”

Mackenzie thinks on it for a minute. “I can’t say for certain... Come to think of it, they did try stabbing me with a ring at first.”

Atticus’ visor lights up, signaling interest.

“You don’t think it’s them, do you?”

He rubs his hands together. “It just might be. You two stay here, where it’s nice and cool.” He hands Mackenzie a spare PDA. “You said this was due west of here?”

She nods. Atticus gives a two-fingered salute and heads off into the wastes. He finds Mackenzie’s muddled footsteps. Fusing his mechanical legs into a cycle, he rides off into the distance, gliding across its contours and calculating its twists and turns.

========

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

hubris 3

hello dearest heretics/ it’s been so long since i’ve seen you/

collected en masse/ i’ve had the company of a mean few/

but not in such numbers/ that this heat might see last/

the summer sticks to my skin/ in the manner of years past/

for it’s June once again/ for it’s pride month my friends/

there is cheer and discomfort in the passage of time/

of clear understanding/ in hindsight/ alone/

violent skies air the grievance/ of hearts worn o’er cruel mouths/

carrying silently threats/ of unspeakable crime/

nails barbed through the seat/ of that seen as a throne/

it has been a tense year/ for you queers made of stardust/

dense of fury and fear/ for those of mud/ and of rain/

and though with blood in my fingernails/ that does not belong to me/

i have seen harsher ruin/ fall to those under god’s trust/

and i would shoulder the weight/ of those smiling through pain/

there is no shortage of horror for those willed into search/

no shortage for those/ who will receive without call/

no pride will restore those who have been taken/

in a year filled of mercy/ on loan from the church/

no joy will find purchase in that slaughter/ at all/

i have taken heart in hand/ the only way i know how/

painted art cross my chest/ to force embalming fluid out/

sculpted meat to machine that bleeds from bone rivets/

i have lined scars in ice/ and put blades to my brow/

and stood snarling up to maggots/ singing songs of devout/

so with a pen in my hand/ and my skin coating teeth/

with kindness and anger cooling blood-brown on dirt/

i’d raise a toast to the peaceful/ the hurt/ the bloodthirsty/

those grieving in wounds long tucked underneath/

of a skin shaped like theirs/ practiced ease to assert/

i’d beg a moment of your time/ if you’d let me/

never stop screaming/ for a past laid in anguish/

never stop screaming/ as the future unfolds/

never stop screaming/ from support left to languish/

never stop screaming/ should good morals behold/

love that cries rivers/ and leaves banks underfoot/

sex that bites all but bared teeth/

bodies that curl outwards in wordless expression/

life that screams anger/ and joy/ and safe dreams/

there is euphoria to be found/ in cloth and new faces/

there is loss that resounds/ in wounds left forgot/

there are sins sat awaiting/ the grasp of their wielders/

there is hatred to snarl wild at/ begged servants to rot/

in short/ it is Pride Month/

in short/ we’re alive/

it is time to shed pretense/

it is time to connive/

we are messy/ and human/ and trying our best/

we are lovely/ and broken/ and free/

we are vicious/ and kinked/ and far more than the letters/

that should offer family/ and hope/ 

over spotless decree/

i greet all/ still are with me/

with borrowed strength and wide eyes/

i have known peace/ in found labels/

and the pain it supplies/

queerness is fire/ desperate and cruel/

it could bring nations to a halt/ bring poetry to a funeral/

it is spite and euphoria and frantic/ frenetic proof that we were alive/

we were/

herebreathingbleedingsingingscreechinglovingfuckingqueer/

home//

[belamuse]

How we can Save the Planet with Loving-Kindness: an Earth Day Meditation.

Spending time in nature always leaves me feeling amazed, inspired, and deeply grateful.

However, it also breaks my heart a little, because I see the trash on the side of the road, the black exhaust wafting into the atmosphere, and the cleared lots where trees used to be— and I can’t help but wonder: what for? Another shopping center?

When I see this, I want to scream, hoping the wind will carry my voice to anyone who will listen: “Stop it. Just stop it!” All the things I’ve been wanting to say— bottled up while watching the news or driving by that new construction site— rush through my mind all at once.

It comes down to this: we need those trees. And those birds. And the leaves, and bees, and ice caps, and forests, and butterflies, and tigers, and turtles.

My heart breaks— but I get angry too. And then, I feel empty and lost.

When I get like this, I can feel the negativity radiating off of me; and it’s not that the terrible things happening in the world aren’t worth getting angry about— but adding more anger to the planet isn’t what I want. What I want is healing… for us and Mother Earth.

I want to act from that place in which I felt so grounded and grateful. I want to change what I’m putting out there— from my ecological footprint, to my aura, and everything in between. I want to pay back the planet for her love, with love.

Anger has never been my strength anyway. I get flooded with emotion and cry— and then forget everything I wanted to say, until days later when I can’t get it out of my head.

It was in one of those moments of heartbreaking anger that I thought of the Tibetan Buddhists hanging their prayer flags over the fields and mountaintops to send their prayers of compassion, peace, and vitality to all beings through the wind.

Yes, this is what we need more of right now: good will.

We need more peace— and the compassionate strength that brings healing to the planet and all who live here. And, I may be just one person, but I have a whole lot of heart— and I’ve decided to share that heart with the planet… and you!

If you’re hurting over the state of the planet and don’t know where to begin, you can always begin with loving-kindness— and this Earth Day-inspired meditation. All you need is a few minutes— and perhaps a pen and paper, if you’d like to process the experience when you’re done.

To begin, find a place that allows you to be fully present. To deepen your connection to the earth during the meditation, go outside or play ambient nature sounds in the background— think babbling brooks, ocean waves, or rainfall.

Sit wherever you’re comfortable, placing your hands over your heart or palms up on your knees. Close your eyes, or find a quiet place to rest your gaze.

As you breathe, feel the air as it enters and leaves your lungs. Thank it for the good will it carries from all others practicing loving-kindness and from Mother Earth herself.

Call to mind the image of your home or neighborhood, and say to yourself:

>> Breathing in, I receive good will from my home and all who reside here.

>> Breathing out, I send my wishes for the health, safety, and well-being for my home and all who reside here.

>> May my home be healthy, clean, and safe.

>> May all who reside here be healthy, safe, and loved.

You can use these exact phrases or incorporate your own wishes for your home. Repeat this as many times as you like before moving on.

When you’re ready, extend your awareness to your hometown, city, or state— and say to yourself:

>> Breathing in, I receive good will from my hometown and all who reside here.

>> Breathing out, I send my wishes for the health, safety, and well-being for my hometown and all who reside here.

>> May my hometown be healthy, clean, and safe.

>> May all who reside here be healthy, safe, and loved.

Repeat these phrases as often as you like, before extending your awareness to your country or continent:

>> Breathing in, I receive good will from my country and all who reside here.

>> Breathing out, I send my wishes for the health, safety, and well-being to my country and all who reside here.

>> May my country be healthy, clean, and safe.

>> May all who reside here be healthy, safe, and loved.

Repeat this until you’re ready to extend your awareness to the most remote land you can call to mind. Even if you’ve never been there, picture it in as vivid detail as you can:

>> Breathing in, I receive good will from the most remote areas of the world and all who reside there.

>> Breathing out, I send my wishes for the health, safety, and well-being for the most remote areas of the world and all who reside there.

>> May even the farthest corners of the world be healthy, clean, and safe.

>> May all who reside there be healthy, safe, and loved.

Finally, extend your wishes for health, safety, and love to the whole planet and all beings:

>> Breathing in, I receive good will from the earth and all beings who reside here.

>> Breathing out, I send my wishes for the health, safety, and well-being for the earth and all who reside here.

>> May the planet be healthy, clean, and safe.

>> May all beings be healthy, safe, and loved.

Send as many personal prayers or wishes for healing, health, and safety of the planet (and her inhabitants) as you like.

For example:

>> May the earth heal.

>> May the trees grow strong and tall.

>> May the rivers flow with clean, life-giving water.

>> May all creatures have a safe habitat.

Stay in this place of loving-kindness for as long as you like, and notice what feels different. When you open your eyes, notice how things look from this new place of healing intention.

If you have a pen and paper handy, process this experience and write down one concrete thing you can do for the planet.

If you feel called to donate or volunteer with a charitable cause related to environmental and wildlife protection, here are a few ideas to get you started:

>> Earth Day Network

>> Charity: Water

>> Ocean Conservancy

>> Coalition for Clean Air

>> Nature Conservancy

>> World Wildlife Fund

>> Rainforest Alliance

~

4 Things I Learned from a Tree. {Earth Day Offering}

[inside-the-tardis]

Back again, to drop the hottest tea of my life on a blog that I never want people to read

So I don't know the person I am, okay.

Like objectively, if one had to find oneself, I never would be able to pin point my issues and draw a conclusion. I'm simply too close to the subject and always biased.

However, within my limited understanding of an appraisal, I shall now proceed to appraise myself in a paragraph followed by a tabulated demonstration.

I believe, and I don't know how much the reader can rely on this, but I'm about 5' 3", lean, skinny and wheat ish. I have medium length hair, always unruly, sometimes unkept. I wear baggy clothing, shirts that fit me too big or baggy jeans and pants, a lot of hoodies and sweaters and one black coat that needs to be lint rolled. I never get around to it. My room is many times in constant and differing stages of disarray. Things that you will alwyas find on my bed are: my ash tray, a pack of cigarettes, plsatic baggies, lighters, for every 1 that works, there are 3 that don't, and some sort of dessert. Today it is maple and pecan pie with peanut butter cups. I love snacking and I love sweets. On my bedside table is always, two glasses of water, empty ice cream cup from yesterday, pens (for every 1 blue pen, there are 3 black pens), potpurri, my lamp, three candles of different shape, size and colour and a reed diffuser.

My other bedside table holds a Taurus crystal ball, fairy lights, another lamp , seashells and rocks I picked up from Blackpool, potpurri and two scented candles. When you enter, you can hear background music, right now you'd hear the Haider playlist, Aao Na by Vishal Dadlani. I wonder how long before I also myself begin talking to a skull for company. Arre aao na ki thak gayi hai zindagi

so jao, Followed by SOAD's chop suey, and truly one of my favourites,

I cry when angels deserve to die, in my self-righteous suicide You would think I'm constantly perterbed.

And I am indeed, by many things. This human vessel, that requires constant looking after in many separate ways, all of which I've grown more mindful and consistent about, (nutrition, hygiene, hydration and exercise). These human connections and relationships, all of which I find cumbersome and quite a handful. The human condition of needing to work for fulfillment, for wages, for something to do and worry about, and having a livelihood and so every week for 4 days I set out to make money as a health practitioner.

I also have, this house for which I pay rent, bills, tax and upkeep. Much of the maintainence, sorry, all of the maintainence and upgrades are always mine. The way I like it.

I also like gadgets, I have this phone that keeps buzzing and usually holds bad news more than good, (everybody to keep in touch with, a chore, and sometimes looking at the things everyone is doing, a true evil), a laptop where I can make magic, another laptop to churn out productivity, a digital camera and a TENS machine.

I have gym equipment, yoga mats, weights, resistance bandsz and glute bands, alot of exercise related papers and notes neatly arranged in files and organised digitally. Laundry is everywhere, mixed in with good clothes and bad, too many to name, too close to give away, and too precious to really discard. They mooch off of space like nothing else. A coat hanger with a bunch of coats, more scented candles, alot of trash papers, some old flowers, stationery of all kinds, artsy stuff, there are paintbrushes, acrylic and water colours, a paint by numbers potrait, anothesr three paintings handing about my room and three 1000 piece puzzles, all packed up. Many books line the floor, too many to name, I love to read. Bits and pieces of everything else that I liked, picked up or found somewhere all live on here. God alone knows how I will muster the strength to move out when I do, or how even would I transport all my stuff. For all these evils and many more (consumerism, capitalistic tendencies, the evils of over-spending, hedonism, or god forbid, we have some fun), I find myself leaning more and more towards the idea of minimalism.

Having said that, it is a glorious Friday and I have begun my day with glorious joint and strawberry and mango tea. I believe some chores are in order and Imust get to them . Teeth cleaning everyday twice should be mandatory. I eat the maple and pecan pie. Echoes by Pink Floyd plays in the background. It is important to remember that your thoughts are not you - whatever they may be , they are dynamic and in a state of flux. All thought processing in order for objectivity should be observation. No attachment, (no criticism? ) .

Adding important gems of learning, or pointers that I pick up day to day,

I get up a use the bathroom, i look around and roll another joint, and another. Until its 1pm. I've been smoking since 8 in the morning, relentlessly.

This habit of mine should be investigated, deeply and soon.

For now, I look around and it does not spark my attention. I;m sure this last joint will fix my mood, but what then?

Let us smoke and find out. Though nothing will change but all in my mind. As it usually is the case. Nothing will change except my willingness to do the same old chores, which i could do now, still tripping balls, or I could smoke some more, abuse and misuse my privilege and continue to then do the same old bullshit. Nothing matters, ish. I ran out of marijuana and then ordered some more. It is about 9pm now. I have spent the day: dozing off, watching multiple youtube videos, I cooked myself some fried garlic pepper egg rice, ate a whole can of peach slices, bought oat and honey bread and had three slices with sunny side up eggs, and now as the over pre0heats, I get appetised for my spinach and ricotta pizza coming up. I have chicken and fish in the fridge, with butter and jam of all kinds. I've eaten two croissants today, and almonds and Brazilian nuts side at my bedside table to snack. A single Sprite I keep in the fridge for myself. My kitchen is in dis-array. I have cleaned two shelves, two cupboards, one drawer. Two cupboards and one drawer and miscellaneous chores persist. I have also done laundry, washed and changed my linen, ironed all my work clothes and decided my outfit for once I do shower. Folded and packed all my clothes in neat piles and made myself a sweet cup of coffee. I then went downstairs to run an errand and check the post. All good news. The kitchen is in dis-array as I left my cleaning halfway to enjoy my coffee and take a break. I'm happy with the progress achieved today. I must make sure to get some reading done and prep for work tomorrow. March ends on a peaceful note. 31 March is number 4, same as my birth number. I continue watching podcasts on youtube as I smoke another joint. I've made oat and honey loaf croutons with hot creamy spicy tomato soup.

[shop-korea]

Watch "aespa 에스파 'Next Level' aespa Company ver. Dance Practice" on YouTube

SCENARIO

'THIS - IS - APRIL O'NEAL - YOUR -

FAVORITE - REPORTER' -

'I'M - ON - THE - NEXT - LEVEL ' -

(SINGING - DANCING)

IT - MADE - ME - LAUGH - LOVE -

THIS AESPA - DANCE PRACTICE -

VIDEO - 5:06P - MON - (20 MAR) -

GARFIELD CAT - MONDAY -

NO - MESSAGE - SPANISH -

SPEAKING - FEMALE - YES -

MANAGER - YOMALI - I'M -

OLDER - TUES - DAY OFF -

AT LEAST - WEDNESDAY -

TEXTS - GOOGLE FI - AS 2 -

GOOGLE -

2 DAYS - THEN CHARGED -

ADVERTISING - $65 - NOT -

THE - LATE CHARGE - 7% -

TAX - HUGE - FEES - SO -

MIIAMI - FL - NO STATE -

TAX - FEDERAL - CAN B -

CLAIMED - ANOTHER - FORM -

TAX - FREE - WAGES - SALARY -

WEEKLY - PAYCHECKS - RARE -

NO - REPLY - PAPA JOHN' s -

50% - PIZZA - ALL - FOODS -

NO REPLY - MARY BRICKELL -

VILLAGE - KHAN SUSHI AND -

LOTS - OF - INFO - JUST 2 YES -

HAAGEN-DAZS

NO - ' THERE's - THE - LINE - MISS'

'RESPECT - THE - LINE' - BUT SHE

ORDERED - ME - 2 - GET - TABLE

OUTSIDE - POINTED - WHERE - &

SHE'LL - BE - OUTSIDE -

$11 - INCLUDES TRASH -

UNIFORMED - SHIRTS -

SHARED - SNOW - THE -

HAMPTONS - NEW YORK -

3 WHITE - FEMALES - SOLD -

WHAT - THEY - BAKED AND -

MORE - THAN - 1 MILLION -

SMALL - CHOCOLATE US -

CHIP - COOKIES - SO - MANY -

REVISED - WOW - LIKE THEIR -

ACCOMPLISHMENT - BUT DID -

NOT - DO - THE - MATH - EACH -

NOT - SOLD - 4 - $1 .00 - PER -

COOKIE - SO - 3 - WOMEN NY -

MADE - MORE - THAN - TAX -

PAID - $1 MILLION DOLLARS -

WE'RE MAKING - I SHARED -

0 CALORIES - CHOC - CHIP -

COOKIES - IN - FUTURE AS -

HAAGEN-DAZS - WILL - BE -

0 CAL - ICE CREAM - AND -

IMPLIED - SUNDAES ALSO -

0 CALORIES - LIVING - RELATIVE -

LIVING - NEAREST - MALES - OF -

BUCKINGHAM - PALACE - THE -

CHANGING - OF - GUARDS - AS -

FRONT - OF - INSTRUMENTS AS -

THEIR - WALKING - BAND -

REVISED - ON - HORSES -

AND - MORE - ANAZON - FIRE HD -

AMAZON - APP - FREE - IN FRONT -

OF - ME - 5:38P EDT - PALESTINE -

BLK - HAIR - THEY'RE NOT - INDIA -

DOGS - SPEAK

'BARKED'

SHE - HIT - HIM - GLUTES - AREA

TWICE - ILLEGAL - IN - USA

BATTERY

PETNA - SOS - PETNA - SOS

MIAMI - BRICKELL CITY CENTER

EIGHT STREET

FELONY - CRUELTY - 2 - ANIMALS

MONETORY - FINE

PETNA - ZARA - SHOPPER

MURDER - OF - HENS - CITIES -

OF - FLORIDA - PER INCIDENT -

$500 - FINE

MAX - 6 MONTHS - PRISON

ROOSTERS

PETNA - 'A MAN's - BEST FRIEND'

DOGS

CARMA - WHAT COMES - AROUND

PETNA - STOOD - UP - 2 - HER - XO

BACK - LIKE - REMOVED - DUST -

FROM - SANDALS - TONGUES -

AQUA - EYES - WHITE - FOX US -

DOG - EDGES - OF - CHAIR - A -

TIGER - FOCUSES - SO - HE -

DNA - FOXES - TIGERS - TO -

SMALLER - SIZES - QUITE -

BEAUTIFUL - ONE - BITE -

FR - HIM - NO - TETANO -

SHOT - ONE - DEAD FEMALE -

TEETH - GRINDING - BLOOD -

COMES - OUT - EXTREME -

FEVER - LIKE - A - HORSE -

SHOT - WITH - SILENCER -

EUROPE - ASIA - THEY - EAT -

DOGS - CATS - PETNA - SOS -

AMAZON - FIRE - HD - LIKE -

YOUTUBE - B4 - NO - LOOP -

ALWAYS - MIDDLE - CLICK -

WHITE - BACKGROUND - NO -

DARK - THEME - VOLUME -

BOOSTER - HARD - 2 - YES -

WORK - COULDN'T - FIND -

LATE - FEE - GOOGLE - FI -

AMAZON - FIRE - TABLET -

$73.15 - PREPARED - ME -

19TH - COULDN'T - GET -

MONEY - GAVE - 22ND - AFTER -

50GB - USED - SOME - VIDEOS -

UGLY - NOT - VERIZON WIRELESS -

DON'T - PANIC - PUBLIC - WI FI -

HOW - U - STARTED - NEW YES -

UNLICKED - AMAZON -

SAMSUNG - GALAZY - S23 ULTRA

WITH - S PEN - $1, 999.99 - TAX - 2

GOOGLE FI - SALE - $599.99 - THE

LAVENDER - U - WANT

HAVEN'T - SLEPT - SINCE -

'YESTERDAY' - THE BEATLES -

SUNDAY - 10P EDT - 7:14A ME -

RESTED PASSED - 7:45A -

7 MIN - LATE - 0900 - 9 A -

DR SONG - FEMALE - CHINA -

ACUPUNCTURE - ARTHRITIS -

SINCE - CHILDHOOD - FEET -

ESPECIALLY - L - L LEG AND -

NOW - R HAND - I HAVE -

PARKINSON's - DISEASE -

EXTREME ARTHRITIS AS -

IN - PAIN - WHY DOESN'T -

AFFECT - LONGEVITY PH -

TOLD - DR SONG - MY ANCESTRY -

STILL - NATIONAL - TREASURE OF -

CHINA - BEIJING ACROBATS AND -

MY - ANCESTORS - ALSO - FROM -

ANCIENT - CHINA - SHARED THE -

BIBLE - 'THE STRENGTH - OF - A -

PEOPLE - THE - STRENGTH - OF -

THEIR - WALLS' - CHINESE -

FEMALE - DR SONG BORN -

IN - CHINA - LIVED THERE -

ALSO - HAVE ARTHRITIS -

R SIDE - OF THE - WAIST -

CONTINUING -

MY - REPLY - 'THE GREAT -

WALL - OF - CHINA' - NOT -

THE - WALL - AROUND THE -

GREAT - WALL - OF - CHINA -

RESTAURANT - IN - BEIJING -

THE - REAL - WALL - OF - CHINA -

THE - LONG - ONE -

ITZY - 'BLAH - BLAH'

MIAMI - FLORIDA - STORAGE UNIT

BLDGS - FIRE - INSURANCE - LIKE

$40, 000 - EACH - BURNT - 2 - YES

DEATH - INCLUDING - FRIENDS -

KIDS - THEREFORE MANAGERS -

HAVE - GAIN - ALL - SIGNS -

'USE - STAIRWAYS - EVENT -

OF FIRE' - NOT ELEVATORS -

EXTRA SPACE - STORAGE

FRANCHISE - & - OTHERS

PICTURE - PARKING - LOT

FIRE - SINGLE - ENTRY -

NOT - OPWNING LOOK -

ABOVE - BLK IRON - LONGER -

THAN - SAME - SIDE - R SIDE -

SMALLER VERSION - SAFEST -

SMOOTH - IRON - ILLEGALLY -

DIRTY - WHAT - OPENS - FOR -

VEHICLES - LIGHT - HERE NO -

ADJUSTMENT - 4 - TIME - YES -

CHANGE - VISIBLE - SO - GATE -

PERSON ENTRY - NOT OPENING -

BUT - MOVING - TRUCKS - CARS -

FUEL FIRE - FLAMMABLE -

VEHICLES - EXPLODE - IN -

PARKING - LOT - 2 - ADD 2 -

8 FLOORS - ONLY - ESCAPING -

FIRE WHAT - WAS - SOLUTION -

STEPS - ON - GATE - CLIMB GO -

UP - STEPS - GO - DOWN - BUT -

STORAGE - BLDG - ELEVATORS -

4, 500 MAX - WEIGHT - DUFFLE -

BAGS - WITH - WHEELS - AND -

NEAR - BRICKELL - STATIION -

APP - ANOTHER - WEBSITE -

HOTELS - CHEAPER - THAN -

TRAVELICITY - WILL SHARE -

IHG - HOTELS - APP - CHEAPER -

THAN - APP - HILTON REWARDS -

PROGRAM - BEAUTIFUL -

HOTEL - INDIGO - NEAR -

STATION - FR - FIRE - AT -

L SIDE - WENT UP - LIKE -

BACKPACK - ORDERED - 2 DAYS -

HOTEL - INDIGO - AFTER - THAT -

MUST - BE - AGE 21 AND OLDER -

RECALL - FORMER - 'DARIA' -

CARTOON - MTV - PAPER TOWEL -

HER - DAD - KITCHEN - FIRE - AS -

INSURED - FREE - MOTEL - WAS -

EASY - 2 - LEAVE - 7:51P EDT -

LEAVING - SOON - THUS -

53.com

FIFTH - THIRD - BANK

11 STATES

$300 - MY - ADVANCE

2 - BUY - $15 - THUS

DON'T - FEAR - GOOGLE - FI -

MAYBE - LATE - FEE - $10

THEN - U - BOUGHT - FL

$73.15 - FOR - $10

UNLIMITED PRO - $65 - MIAMI -

FLORIDA - 7% - TAX - LOVE TO -

TRAVEL - 50 GB - FREE - 5G -

AFTER - LOWERS SO - UGLY -

UNLIMITED - DATA - INTERNET -

MOVILE - HOTSPOTS - FREE - 4 -

YOUR - TAVLETS - 5 FREE - SIM -

NANO - CARDS - FREE - SHIP & -

HAS - FREE - TOOL - EACH -

1 YEAR - FREE - PREMIUM -

NO - ADS - YOUTUBE AND -

APP - BIG - IMPROVEMENT -

BOTH - VERY - HAPPY -

FIRE - STORAGE BLDG -

FINGERLESS - GLOVES -

4 - GRIP - FASTER - MOVEMENT -

10P - ELEVATORS CLOSED -

AFTER - HOURS - DENIED -

ENTRY - STAIRS - GIGANTIC -

SOUND - 2 - RESCUE MORE -

ITEMS - THUS - MUSIC - ON -

NO - ONE - ALLOWED - 2 C -

STAIRS - CEMENT -

IF - ANOTHER HAI -

ANGELINA JOLIE -

TOOLS - 2 - REACH - BOTTOM -

FASTER - SPECIAL - MARINES -

BULLET - PROOF - HELMETS -

SMALL - BOOTS - FLIES - US -

AS - WE - FLY - BY - STAIRS 2 -

FIRST - FLOOR - BOOTS - FLY US -

UP - GLOVES - CARRIES - 5, 000 -

LBS - THUS - PAPERWORK AND -

STUFF - RESCUED - READY FOR -

HOTEL INDIGO - SW 11 ST -

GOD - PROVIDES ESCAPE -

'HEY - ABOVE - IS - THE -

FAVOR - OF GOD' - AND -

'MONEY ANSWERS ALL' -

SPECIAL - MARINES

SPECIAL AIR FORCE

SPECIAL - NAVY

AUTO - FLIERS

JESUS - IS - LORD

HOORAY USA - 'IN -

GOD - WE - TRUST' -

DISNEY

'K.C. UNDERCOVER'

'KIM POSSIBLE'

[glitchesexe]

“ moni, i love your voice. ” she has her head on other’s shoulder, eyes closed & lips curved up into soft smile. “ it’s so nice & soft, have i ever told you that before? ” small sigh as she opens her eyes to look up at her, smile wider. “ & it’s so /pretty/. ” // gay prep rights !

 ❛         rachel ….   ❜    .  ｡  . :  ☆  DOKI   DOKI   !     (    EMERALD   HUES   FLICKER   WITH   ADMIRATION ,  she’s   never   been   one   to   recieve   compliments   outside   of   how   hot   she   was —    people   are   so   unoriginal   with   their   flattering   nowadays —  but   it   seemed   rachel   was   not   following   that   noticeable   trend.  a   visible   blush   spreads   across   her   face   as   her   lips   slowly   curve   upwards   into   a   wide   smile  —   she   really   does   appreciate   it —  &   if   she   could   then   she’d   have   hearts   in   her   eyes   right   now.   )   

❛       ahah …   that’s   the   sweetest  thing   anyone’s   ever  told   me …  !      ❜      .  ｡  . :  ☆  DOKI   DOKI   !     (    HAND   REACHES   UP   ,   cupping   her   face   as   she   feels   the   blood   in   her   face —   ah ,  how   embarrassing —   but   honestly   does   she   mind   ?   she   trusts   rachel   more   than   that —   to   a   point   she   can   be   so   open   like   this   with   her.   )       ❛     you   really   are   the   greatest …   i   love  how   sincere   you   are   you   know   that …   i   just ..   love   you   so   much  —    !      ❜  

❛       ahaha —   is   that   —    ?   was   that   too   much  ?  .   ❜    

[worldsover]

The Wrong Person ft. Heejin

Co-written with @kaedewrites

words ✦ 11231

genres ✧ cheating; road head; Daddy kink; doggystyle into pronebone; breeding (of course); shower facefuck; just a stranger!Heejin

Thanks to @v1ntrix and @ggidolsmuts for the feedback as usual!

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Wipe the glass. It’s already clean. Wipe it again. It’s still clean. You’re staring at the woman walking toward you. You’d say your gaze is intense, but her allure is more so. You’d say she’s walking toward the bar to which you’re tending, but her eyes connect with yours for a split second—the target is you. You’d say something.

But you can’t.

She looks away. Again, you can’t.

Why can’t your eyes find the strength? Is she really that fascinating? Chalk up your small fixation to the phenomenon of the recurring stranger. Everyone has one or two or a few in their life. It’s more than déjà vu. Mutual. Coincidental. Should be inconsequential. You’ve seen her over and over, enough that stranger becomes a misnomer in a manner. Somewhere. Somewhere. Even if your glance is innocent, guilt sets in—after all, the woman isn’t your girlfriend Hyunjin. The woman is the wrong person.

“Hey.” Her greeting cuts through the bassy music well enough, even if her voice has similarly low frequencies that should clash. She sits on the stool in front of you. 

Though the headcount is lower than usual, the clubbers on the dance floor are as soulless as usual and the DJ plays the music just as loud. You should invest in earplugs. You see all kinds as a bartender at a club. Everything from women in stuffy suit jackets to guys who definitely should have been kicked out for not wearing a shirt. But something about her casual outfit—the loose plaid blouse, the tube top, the denim shorts—throws you off more than most.

Still staring. It’s dark, yet your eyes keep snagging on the defined lines of her abs. Even when you peel away from her middle, you’re raising to the subtlest cleavage, then lowering to her equally toned, meaty thighs. Earplugs won’t help here. Do your job.

She waves, giggling to herself. “Hello? I’m Heejin.”

“Oh. You’re not ordering?” You set the glass aside. “Oh. You’re… uh.”

“Heejin, yes. And I am ordering. I’ll have a strawberry daiquiri.”

“Of course.” As you rummage for the rum, you say, “I was going to say, I know you from somewhere.”

“Ooh, really? Where do you think?” Cutely, Heejin holds her head in her hands and tilts her head.

You retrieve strawberries and citrus soda from the fridge, then mix them with ice in a blender; its whirring is annoying. After grabbing some scrap paper and a pen, you write down the word “earplugs” with a big underline.

“So I should know,” you say. “Dammit.”

“Yeah, you should.” Heejin harrumphs, her arms crossed.

The more she throws you off, the more you have trouble finding the words. However you knew Heejin, it seems to be trouble, or at least some sort of alarm is going off in the back of your head. You should finish making her drink, deal with a couple more customers, so you can finally go home to—oh, right, Hyunjin. She’s away, back at her hometown for the week. You wouldn’t consider yourself a clingy boyfriend, but the expectation of coming home to Hyunjin has just been so entrenched in your mind ever since she moved in with you. 

“Hey.” Heejin waves in front of your face. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” You realize you’ve just been frozen in thought, rum bottle in hand.

“Seems like you have something going on.” Her voice lulls you into a false sense of security. Or maybe it is genuine and you’re thinking far too much about a small interaction. You thought you had these nuances ironed out having worked at this bar for long enough.

“No, no. It’s just that work is almost done and my girl—Ah! Right, I remember! You go to the same gym class as Hyunjin!”

Heejin has a weak smile on her face. “That’s all? She doesn’t talk about me? Well, for your information, we hang out too.”

“Yes, yes, of course. You’re her friend. Sorry, just slipped my mind.”

“Tsk. Meanie.”

You can’t follow Heejin. One moment, she acts cool, then the next, she plays like she’s as cute as a button. Again, a weird, subconscious alarm goes off. It’s her body language, how she’s leaning over and inching closer to you. 

“Can you help me out? You seem like you’re good with girls,” Heejin says with an undecipherable low tone. Her stare is not directed at you but inside of you. Your initial reaction is to draw the line right in the middle of this countertop—you’re too slow, so she continues, “Your girlfriend won’t stop talking about how good you are to her. S-so I just thought maybe you could give me a hand.”

Think about it deeper. What’s wrong with talking to Heejin? She’s just a friend of a friend, maybe a tad tipsy, maybe a bit bizarre. You’re doing your unwritten job description as a bartender by entertaining the woes of your customer.

“Uhh. Um, like… No, I’m not. Not good with girls. Really.” You’re coming out of the gates swinging with your sage wisdom. Good job. Pour out the strawberry daiquiri and garnish it with a lime. Why are you stumbling? This is the easiest drink to make. “I just got lucky.”

Heejin takes the glass, brushing your fingers. That was purposeful. But you notice more the lightest scrape of her long nails against the back of your digits, and that shouldn’t raise the hairs on your arms to their ends.

It does.

“Oh. Lucky?” Heejin takes a sip. 

Though a bar counter separates the two of you, her charismatic pull removes any perception of space. People on the dance floor are grinding into each other, and it feels like there’s more distance. Okay, so Heejin is flirting. Now that you recognize the dangerous situation, you can disengage, back up, not get sucked into her gravity. All you have to do is—

Heejin takes your frozen hand. Once again, her touch is soft, near imperceptible: her thumb just rubs a small circle on your palm. The heat from her hand turns you into ice.

“Do you want to get luckier?” she whispers.

You hear it. Loud and clear. The club’s blaring music can’t challenge a single decibel.

Heejin backs away, sensing your discomfort. She sits straight, and with the pout on her lips, it’s like she’s a whole different person again. “See, I’ve been having trouble with guys.”

You shake your head. “I-I can’t help you.”

“Sure you can. You’re a bartender.”

Just leave. Lose out on the tip. Who cares? Hyunjin finds out you were cold to one of her friends. Better yet, tell her the truth. Say you were a good boyfriend and rejected Heejin’s advances. You don’t want to ruin one of Hyunjin’s friendships, though. Or maybe you should ruin this friendship—Heejin is bad news.

However, your feet are planted. More than anything else, when a customer asks for advice, you help them out. You’ve dealt with much worse such as rowdier and more violent drunks before. Heejin could be messing with you; she seems the playful type. She could just be touchy. Your life is filled with misunderstandings leading to problems—for example, you could’ve asked out Hyunjin months earlier but didn’t because you heard she wasn’t ready to commit (turns out that was about work)—so it’s best to assume people’s sincerity.

Heejin raises her brows, her eyes wide in anticipation. Seems that she really needs the help.

You relax your shoulders. “Okay. Fine. What sort of boy problems are you having?”

“Geez, you really like to stiffen up when you stare at me.” Heejin laughs to herself, maybe more of a soft exhalation out her nose.

“Uh.”

“It just seems like every guy I meet wants to fuck me. It doesn’t even matter what I wear. But I guess I can’t blame guys for staring at my abs or my thighs”—Heejin grins when she catches you doing just that—”when I try to wear something casual like this.”

“I’m sorry, I’m—”

Heejin plows on through with her point; you can’t seem to get a word in edgewise. “I want someone committed, you know? Someone with real experience in a relationship. It’s so fucking sexy when a guy is just so devoted to a girl.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what? You’re all jittery even though we’re just talking.” Once more, you didn’t notice until she pointed it out, which is more of an indictment of your overwhelmed thoughts considering how carefully Heejin is speaking. She sighs plaintively. “But I heard Hyunjin was going to miss this week’s gym class. Why didn’t you go?”

You don’t have to tell her. You tell her. “She… she said she wanted some alone time.”

“Alone time? Ha!” This is Heejin’s biggest smile, a blinding light in the dark club. Her fingers rap against the countertop. “I’m lying about the commitment part to be honest. But… maybe I’m not the only one lying about commitment.”

You want to hyperventilate. The sheer thought of Hyunjin hours away with another man makes you want to throw up.

Heejin has the most pitying look on her face. “Aww. It’s okay. See, I can at least be honest about myself. I said I lied, right? I did. I don’t want a committed guy. Well, I do, but not just any guy. I want the kind of guy who would give me presents every day. The kind of guy who would show off his relationship on Insta even if she doesn’t really like to post couple pictures.”

Any sort of survival instinct you had has been burned off by possibility, by innuendo, by thoughts of adultery that should be so far from a man standing and a woman sitting across from him, but you can’t ignore the truth of the present tension.

Heejin downs her pink icy drink. “The kind of guy who gets nervous at the mere thought of other girls is so hot. I’d let him do so much to me. I would suck his dick whenever we drive home from dates. I’d let him fuck my face, then pound me until I become part of the bed. I’d warm his cock while we cuddle. All that just because he’s such a nice guy. Isn’t that funny?”

You lick your lips. Everything you do is a mistake. It’s not that funny—you can’t even retort out loud anymore.

“Do you know any guys like that?”

At your silence, your stillness, Heejin stands up. Bending over the bar, she grabs you by the collar of your dress shirt. There’s so much strength in her grip—not even physical, but her mental hold on you. This whole time, you’ve been looking away from her eyes, and that only leads down her legs. Of course, Hyunjin’s thighs are just as rippling. So why are you comparing now? Is the grass greener? Keep asking questions. That’s what makes you you. That fundamental shakiness in your core that you forgot about stops you from stopping Heejin—your heart joins the stopping train as her eager mouth presses into yours, catching a bit of drool. Violets are a symbol of love and honesty; Heejin smells like them. Do Venus flytraps smell like this too?

“Mmm,” Heejin moans into your mouth. A simple kiss feels far too good. It feels far too good to taste the drink you made her. As if you made your own sugar-tinged death.

Stop her. 

Push her off of you. 

Do it. You have to. 

You have to not fall into the soft, slick embrace of her lips now mixed with the slithering temptation of her tongue. 

You can’t.

Hypocrite. What are you thinking?

Heejin wraps her arms around your neck.

Other bargoers are cheering. Luckily, this isn’t the kind of place to have regulars since new people rotate in and out all the time, but you’re hoping that none of your coworkers are watching too. You never shut up about Hyunjin. 

Your priorities are wrong.

“Do my lips taste good, Oppa?” Heejin says in the cutesiest voice.

“Yeah.” The honesty slips past a ragged breath. Heejin’s lips are like candy and they’re luscious and they will be your perilous new addiction because you’re falling right back into her mouth without a second thought.

When Heejin lets go, a flimsy saliva thread drips. “She doesn’t let you cum inside her, does she?”

You nod dumbly.

Heejin brushes through your hair one last time, then gives a small tug on the strands before she releases. “Let’s go then. I can do at least one thing she can’t.”

When you leave your spot to get your keys from the staff storage, the same bargoers that cheered you on are now booing.

As you collect your personal effects in a rush, your coworker Jaehyo joins you in the small room. You wave weakly at him. “Perfect. Man the bar for me.”

“Oh, thank god. I thought you weren’t ditching early this week. Honestly, you should just give me your job at this point since you’re always—Hey! Why are you sprinting so…”

Heejin is taking selfies in the parking lot. As you point out your black sedan, she gives you a pretty smile.

Your head is spinning when you get in your car. You’re the one who’s been serving drinks tonight, yet it feels like you shouldn’t be driving. Your body is moving on autopilot, commanded by Heejin’s every word.

“Drive.”

Drive.

Seatbelts click. Engines roar. You thought you were done with loud music, but you turn your stereo up to drown your thoughts which have been led so astray today that you’d rather they just sink to the ocean floor; their weak bones can rot in the water, fine. The song’s lyrics might as well be gibberish in your ears. Your overwhelming car speakers might as well be a piddly Bluetooth toy. You put the whole weight of your being into driving. 

At these speeds, you shouldn’t look at your phone screen, but the notification in the corner of your eye draws your attention—Jaehyo. 

“Hey,” Heejin says, twisting the volume knob, “he says there’s a bunch of tabs that haven’t been closed and he doesn't know who bought which drinks.”

“Text him back for me.”

“Of course.” She grabs the phone from the mount. “Uh, PIN?”

“Eleven fifteen.”

Heejin scoffs. “I could’ve guessed that.”

“Tell him I’ll pay for all the drinks.”

“Wooow, Mister Big Shot over here.” Heejin types away. “Alright. Sent. Wait a minute, does that include mine?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. You still have to pay me back.” You realize how flirty this comes across when you shouldn’t be flirting with the idea of flirting.

“Wow. You’re a liar. You look so conflicted and anxious like you're fighting demons. Yet here you are, saying pickup lines like a porn star. I know how you can pay this rent,” Heejin says in a purposefully low and exaggerated voice. Her similarly deep giggle disarms you by making you laugh. Then you’re quieted by Heejin once more. “What do you really want? I think I know. You want me to fuck my face on your cock in this car, bring my lips to the bottom of your dick, hit the back of my throat with a sticky load.”

You manage to temper your erection during Heejin’s advances, though that’s not so easy when her lips are next to your ear, whispering breathy, sweltering nothings.

She fondles your crotch over your pants, and you’re doing everything to hold back—everything short of turning the car around, dropping Heejin off in the middle of the road. You should do that. You should really do that. 

Your foot is made of lead.

Heejin unzips your pants, fishes your soft dick out. Her eyes widen.

“It’s that long? Even when it’s not hard? I am mad at Hyunjin. You know that? Wasting such a beautiful cock.” The bassier notes in her voice tingle from your ear straight to the inside of your brain.

“Don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, okay. I have one way of keeping quiet.” Heejin takes off her seatbelt—you’re in no place to teach her safety. She leans over the center console and places her striking visage a hair’s breadth from your flaccid shaft. The light grip of hands weighs on your thighs like anchors, digging, tickling. You want to laugh.

Heejin has an unwavering resolve to keep her eye contact despite having to twist her neck to look at you. She runs her spit-wet mouth up and down along the underside of your shaft, puckering and kissing. Still twisted sideways to face you, a hand gripping the base, Heejin pops your cockhead in and out of her lips; each pop leads to a small bead of pre-cum happily slurped up by Heejin.

“Do you like it when I play with your cock like this? Or should it be my throat milking your cock instead? Mwah. This is for… proper payment.” 

“You don’t have to keep talking.”

“Good point. I should just be your oral fuck hole, right?”

“That’s not what I—”

Heejin swallows your length in two motions: halfway down, your dick hits the back of her mouth, causing a gag and pause and a glob of saliva to spill, and then she breaks a barrier, your erection gliding in so easily.

Soon, you’re freed from the beautiful confines of her throat, though your sensitive tip is still nurtured by her lips. 

“Ghah, I thingh…” Heejin mumbles, “klh, you meant like thih. See? Gooh, blph, good fuck toy. Nhm.”

Heejin puts her hands behind her back. Now the only thing keeping her lips from kissing your crotch is your cock, and why would she let that get in her way? With much less control, subject to the whims of the car’s shakiness, she has to choke herself down your length. When Heejin goes up, thick spit strands fall from her giggly mouth. 

Control is slipping away from you too; in particular, it is wrested away by the choking grip of Heejin’s throat around the tip of your dick. A dangerous game, considering you’re in the driver’s seat. Truthfully, it’s a miracle you even made it this far without crashing, and luckily, you’re not too far from your destination—you’re not that far from home either. Four-lane wide roads become narrow streets leading to your neighborhood. There is no real race happening since Heejin can’t even see much past the tears in her eyes as she bounces her gorgeous face up and down, ruining her gentle makeup. However, it certainly resembles a race. The ending is obvious. The LED of the dashboard, streetlamps, headlights far behind and ahead of you. All pales next to the blissful light of…

To the blissful light of…

To the bliss…

An audible smooch as Heejin releases. “Now, now, not yet, Oppa. Didn’t I promise you something earlier?”

“You, you, f-fucking—”

“Well, we’re at your place now, silly. No matter how much I wanna taste this cum, I’m not gonna do it here in this parking lot.”

Oh, but you’re okay with your head bobbing up and down for other drivers to see? That’s what you would say. Instead, you’re silent. How is your car in your driveway in one piece? You certainly aren’t.

Heejin wipes her mouth with her forearm. “You almost hit a light pole! You’re lucky I was holding the wheel.”

You don’t even look at Heejin as you get out of the car. At the club, you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. This infinite doubt is your downfall. You worked so hard to fix this worst trait of yours.

That was with a different woman.

Years of memories in this house. The front yard where Heejin’s lips flatten against yours is the same place you and Hyunjin had picnics, fed birds, planted new flowers—these get trampled as the two of you clumsily inch toward the entrance. Whenever you came home with Hyunjin, you had this dumb little game where you took turns knocking on this very front door even though no one answered. Every knock-knock joke that followed was even dumber, but you savored every second with your beautiful girlfriend. 

That’s not knocking; that’s the sound of Heejin being pushed again and again against the front door in your impassioned kiss. You fumble for keys somewhere under your phone inside your pocket; it shouldn’t be this hard to fish them out; it shouldn’t be this hard to figure out access to your own home—your dick shouldn’t be this hard pressing into Heejin. Hope the neighbors aren’t watching.

After too long, the door is slammed open. You savor Heejin’s tongue like you’re starving as she stumbles backward. The lingering scent of bread defining your domicile barely hits your nose. You throw your keys to the coffee table. A cat-eared mug you bought for Hyunjin as a random gift, a photobook she made for your birthday. You remember the rare makeout session on the couch instead of the bed (half the passion), you remember movie nights with Hyunjin in your living room when you fished out spilled popcorn from between the sofa cushions (found some coins too), and you remember... 

Nothing.

The lovely moments with Hyunjin are swept by. They’re not solid islands; they’re crude rafts—the ocean’s cruelty prevails. You’re pulled along toward your bedroom by Heejin, and everything passes. 

Heejin jumps on you, legs clinging to you while her fingers ruffle your hair. Her lips have yet to release for a breath. Your back slams against the hallway wall as Heejin is grinding against your clothed cock so desperately that you can feel the warmth through her own pants.

Your sigh is sharp, and your heart races when Heejin finally hops off of you and onto your bed. Though the light of the lamp you turn on is dim, you take in the sight of Heejin splayed on your bed. She’s sloppy. Her hair’s a mess; no doubt yours is too. A shiny trail of spit from the fiery lip lock starts at her lips, falls past her chin, ends between her cleavage. The warm light shines too on a thin layer of sweat on her pearly skin.

There’s no way to defend anything that’s happened since your lips touched Heejin’s lips, probably even earlier than that. But some irrational part of you makes you take out your wallet and pull out the condom you never use. (Hyunjin never wants to have sex anywhere other than this very bed, plus a whole candle-lit ritual just to get going.) You feel silly. As if this protection were the last bastion from infidelity. Ridiculous.

Absurdity has yet to stop you. While Heejin is distracted taking off her clothes, you sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. You strip down too, though you’re trying your best to discreetly put the thin condom on with your best sleight of hand. 

Once your deception is complete, you pull Heejin, sitting her up next to you. 

Heejin tilts her head. “You don’t want to watch me strip?” 

Your vocal response is empty. Instead, your lips smack against Heejin’s neck and shoulders as your hands run around her bare body. It’s quite the intimate lesson on her curves, but you can’t believe it anyway. You recall Hyunjin’s complaints about the intensity of Heejin’s routines in the gym. They’re paying off right now in this bedroom.

Shuddering, Heejin flips her legs over yours, straddling your lap. She rocks into your thigh, and the slickness from her labia rubs off on it. Your digits dig into the ample meat of her ass.

Now that you can appreciate Heejin’s perky tits to their fullest, your sequence of kisses continues lower down her chest. Her boobs are just enough for your hands to play with while your lips suck on her tautening nipples. That floral scent is muskier, something more primal in your mind. You let your teeth graze on her sensitive tips, drawing out tiny whines before you head back to her mouth again.

“Mh.” Heejin releases first. “You’re a good kisser. I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

Her smile weakens your heart. The question of whether it will beat again is silly given its unmatchable rhythm right now, but you can’t help but wonder the rhetorical anyway.

“Finally. After all this time. I’ve been waiting so long and—” Heejin looks down and scowls. “Are you fucking—no, I didn’t come all this way here to feel some rubber. I’d just use my dildo and think about you like I always do.”

You concede. Dumb plan. Still, you trace a line that should’ve been drawn much earlier. “I don’t care,” you say curtly.

Heejin gets off your lap and pushes you onto the bed. “Fine, I’m done then.”

“Awesome. Great. Leave.”

The two of you stare at each other, heavily breathing. Your dick is twitching in need.

“I said I don’t care. Go.” You’ve never sounded less convincing in your life.

“Stop me. Stop me right now.” Heejin smirks, bending down to place her face by your crotch. You back up until you can’t anymore, your pillows bunching up at the head of the bed. She crawls to follow your dick like a pet and its toy. Her breaths are heavy; you can hear them but can’t feel their warmth. Then, the tip of her tongue darts right under your condom-covered cockhead, giving arduously gentle licks. She draws a line up your length. What should be the most sensitive part of your body feeling the most pleasure barely registers as a blip of a touch.

Your body is as uncooperative, motionless as your mind.

“I said stop me. If you don’t want to pump my warm and perfect pussy with your seed until Hyunjin comes home, then just say the word and I’ll stop.”

The line is just a metaphor after all—useless, a waste of time. “P-please.”

“Please, what?”

You can’t look at Heejin. You can’t look at the picture frame on the bedside table with you and Hyunjin on your second date. How can you possibly look at yourself in the mirror when—“Please take off the condom.”

Heejin does just that with a triumphant smile. It’s a simple motion: the upward stroke of her hand brings the protection along with her fingers. After throwing the condom straight to the trash, she sits on you again. She rubs her wet pussy lips back and forth your length a couple times, then backs up and presses your rock-hard dick against her tummy.  

"See how warm it feels?" Understanding how intensely you’ve been staring at her midriff, Heejin slaps your cock against her abs, then places her palm on top of your tip like she's measuring something. “See how deep you can go?”

Your cock approximately reaches her belly button.

"Oh my god, that's gonna hit my fucking guts. Like this." Heejin keeps slapping your cock against her toned midriff, rubbing it left and right. “But from the inside! Fuck, you’re gonna mix my guts up. Without that stupid condom, you’re gonna shoot your load straight into my womb.”

While maintaining eye contact, she lets a stream of spit fall the way down from her lips, right between her cleavage, straight to her midriff. Using your shaft like a tool, she spreads the spit across, getting the definition of her muscles nice and shiny. She traces every subtle groove with your cockhead and lathers both you and her with saliva. You admire the evidence of time and effort Heejin has put into herself, though her good shape would not affect you as intensely if her face weren’t as adorable; it reminds you of Hyunjin—here we go again.

“Gonna need some lubrication for this monster to fit in me raw. I know I'm already dripping for you, but a little more wetness can't hurt right? Ptoo." Heejin spits again, then twists her slick hands around your length. “God, are you going to fit inside me? I have to use two hands to handle it properly.”

One more time, Heejin presses your cock against her abs, but this time, she squats up and down, sliding you against her firm muscles. It’s not just the externality of touch lighting your fire; a vivid hue saturates your every sense as the deep tingly pink dances around your thoughts to subsume all that isn’t the promise of thrusting your dick inside of the tight temptress now.

“No, I don’t care if it fits. Break me. Split my little pussy in half.” 

After one more upward motion, her pussy is aligned right above your tip; drops of slick drop from her slit before she drops too, her hands squeezing down on your shoulders.

“Oh, fuck, y-you’re going to have to help me, push me down. Too, too tight.”

You hold her taut midriff with both hands and squeeze her down into your cock. It’s not just an exaggeration of the novelty or the discomfort: gravity itself isn’t enough to pull Heejin around the width of your shaft. Up, then down a bit further. Despite all the nudging and the rampant lubrication of her pussy, it still takes a full minute, probably longer, to work your entire length inside of her tightness. You’re not so much fucking Heejin as you are wearing her slowly around your cock like a fitted tee.

“Ahh! Yessss, it, it, I think it’s hitting so, so deep. Is that my cer—ouwh, god.”

Eventually, Heejin acclimates to your cock’s size, her soft, soaking walls sculpting on your dick, and a visible bulge that still fails to disturb her perfect abs. There’s such a genuine eye smile on her when your cock’s fully disappeared inside. A simple bliss wracks her whole body. You feel the same way: you could stay like this until your girlfriend comes home—

With your eyes wide open, your mind racing with regrets once again, Heejin squats and pulls herself back up, your shaft glistening. You’ve never felt more stupid at the flash-moment relief you felt since it is taken away—along with your breath—when Heejin pushes her ass down into your crotch again, faster this time, but still needing to work it in. 

Then the rhythms truly start. A heartbeat, a series of blinks, the ticking of a clock. There’s nothing so predictable, so countable in how Heejin fucks you. And it is undoubtedly Heejin fucking you, not the other way around. Every thrust in her slick walls not only erodes your morality but also your inhibitions. You couldn’t deny that your girlfriend was much meeker in bed, and so you only ever matched that energy. Her pussy devours your cock whole yet again; she ceases all movements while letting out a prolonged groan. Maintaining eye contact this whole time, she has you in a chokehold that is almost as suffocating as her immaculate tightness. Shivers run down your back as she traces a finger across your chest. With teeth carved into her lower lip, Heejin’s sultry gaze continues to pierce through your eyes. 

“Oh god, you're stretching me so fucking well.” Her mouth goes agape as she rocks her hips to and fro. “You like how tight I am? And how you're molding my pussy into the shape of your cock? Here, hold me”—Heejin brings your hands on her waist—“and use me like a proper fucktoy. Your fucktoy.”

Swallow that spit stuck in your throat. Holding Heejin in place, you start to thrust upwards into her pussy, and each time you exit her entrance, her tightness rejuvenates. You still have to struggle nearly as much the first time to pry her folds apart again, and every time her insides clench around your length, you let out a hiss. While you’re receiving sensual satisfaction like you’ve never experienced before, she’s frowning—maybe it's your slow pace, or maybe it's that your cock does not always disappear completely in her.

It's probably both.

“Fuck. Me. Harder!” Heejin confirms your suspicion and then finds support on your belly to get your entirety out of her. A strand of mixed stickiness is left hanging for its dear life; a sudden wave of coldness replaces Heejin's incredible warmth, leaving you in shivers. “With a cock this amazing, you should be fucking my brains out already. Do you go this slow with Hyunjin? Maybe that's why she doesn't let you finish in her.”

“D-don't mention—”

“Shut up.”

With your mouth sealed by hers, you find yourself backed against the bed frame. Heejin grips your cock firm—something she almost failed to do thanks to her own slickness—and positions your tip for a re-entry. Her legs extend, one forward to land beside your waist, the other backward. 

“I know you’re always thinking about her. I want you to forget about her completely. It’s just me. This bed. This perfect, perfect cock inside of me. God, this is going to go so, so fucking deep in me.” Heejin licks her lips in excitement as she sinks down on your tip.

You growl, and then you yearn for more—of Heejin's heat, of Heejin's body, of any semblance of control. With one hand on her beautifully arched back, you seize a stiffened nipple into your mouth and immediately begin nibbling on it, and the other lands on her equally well-defined ass. In one fell swoop, Heejin completes the frontal split on your cock. One hundred eighty degrees is the angle of her legs, give or take ten or twenty as she rises and falls to the force of your thrusts.

While you’re heady with pleasure from her tight and flexible body, Heejin is first to be aquiver, pulsating from her core. She is not so much bouncing as she is grinding her pussy against your crotch while your dick fills her up to her guts. 

You’re done holding back your inner desires, your most wanton fantasies. For as much as you denied Heejin, she told only the truth, at least when it came to sex. The rest of the truth is that you want to last one minute longer to savor the brain-melting grip and wetness of her cunt. 

Therefore, one hand grasps Heejin's midriff tightly while the other pins her by the neck, freezing her in place with half your shaft inside. Her legs shake, and her eyes, interrupted from rolling back into her head, are distraught. Gingerly, you peel her off your cock like a wasted condom—her labia clenching your shaft in need, her legs shaking from the splits—and then you sit the pouting, babbling girl in front of you.

With the dangerous high of power (or maybe that’s just the warm smell of sex getting to your head), you chuckle. Heejin seems too far gone to notice. 

“Call me Daddy,” you say. “if you’re going to be such a clingy cockholder.”

Right. You’re the one at the edge of the earth, frayed and alone. Far from anyone. The furthest from your lover.

“Oh. Oh, god, your dick, so, oh, fuck. I miss… I need… why did you have to… F-fine.” After gathering a mote of composure and then slithering up to your ear, Heejin whispers, “Actually, that’s very easy. Ahem. Daddy.” 

You can’t hide the grin on your face. Not in a million years would Hyunjin…

“Pwease, turn Heejin into your baby bunny cum pocket? Heejin will be such a good girl for Daddy, I’ll cum all over Daddy’s cock so you can stuff my needy pussy with your sticky load and—”

You’re already overwhelmed. Not so gingerly, you lift Heejin by the waist and then deposit her onto your cock to resume her ride.

“Fuck! Daddy!”

You slap Heejin, adding one more smacking sound to the drumbeat of her ass against your lap. “I told you to call me Daddy, not call me like a phone sex operator.”

Heejin nods, eyes watery; the corner of her lips raise.

She already won long ago, so don’t humor her small victory. As you fuck your cock up into her, you cover her mouth, restricting her air. Her tongue darts at your hand between her lips, and you let the tiniest puff of air pass as her tongue pushes between your fingers. You pinch the wet, pink tip, drawing out more of her ragged moans.

Everything wrong is perfect. Everything perfect must be wrong. You’re in a true position of power for the first time in what feels like forever—then your phone vibrates from your bedside table.

Bvvt. Bvvt. Bvvt. Bvvt.

Hyunjin.

Many times tonight, you thought you had seen your nadir. It could be overacting, overthinking. Yet, the shadows snuck, crept in the crevices of the window cracked open, letting the whistle of the wind in. Yet yet, you feel the weakest you’ve ever been, the darkest inside, when your first inclination is to ignore the call. 

You’ve never done that. 

You’re always the first to call. 

Fuck. 

You were supposed to call her.

Heejin grabs the phone and picks it up for you before slamming down into your cock even harder. You have trouble catching up as you hold the phone by your ear; god forbid, you drop the device and record the squelchy noises of your illicit intimacy.

“Hey, babe.” Already, by her gentle tone, you know Hyunjin is giving you the benefit of the doubt. Though you’re usually meticulous, you’re not perfect, and it’s not that crazy to miss one phone call.

It’s not like you’d do something crazy like—Heejin is bouncing on your dick at such a delirious rate that the parting of words from your lips is impossible.

“Hello? Busy at work? You sound like you’ve run a marathon.” Hyunjin giggles.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s it.” You can barely breathe it out. Shudder; oh, do you shudder. “Hgh, I-I had to carry a bunch of… of, of heavy boxes. A lot of new drinks.”

“Ahh. Well, I miss you.”

Oh, she does? You could’ve just gone on the trip with her then. None of this would have happened. 

Now, you have Heejin planting kisses all over your sweaty torso. Now, you have your cock swaddled up and down. Now, you’ve hesitated.

“I…” You can’t even get past yourself, each exhalation obviously stifled.

Hyunjin gasps. Heejin too. How different can two puffs of air be? 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hyunjin asks.

“I’m fine, I just—”

Heejin snatches the phone out of your hand and puts the call on speaker.

“Ahh, shit!” You glare at Heejin, a sly grin fastened on her face.

“Babe, do you need to go to the doctor or something?” From the speaker, Hyunjin’s concern reverberates throughout the room. At least at this juncture, you’re sure she’s missed the continuous sounds of sex, in part to Heejin’s small mercy in slowing down to… grinding halt is only half-correct. Her hips are rocking, but there’s certainly no rigidity to her motions.

Yet, you’re stammering, unable to find an excuse because you’ve never needed one before. 

Heejin does a jerking-off motion with her hand; you raise your brow. She points to the phone. 

Ah. Fuck it. Better than nothing. “Fine. I-I was mas… masturbating. And, and I dropped the phone.”

“Really?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Th-thinking about… me?”

“Who else would I be thinking about?”

Heejin grins at your rhetorical question, knowing she’s the answer wrapped around your dick. “Tell her you miss fucking her,” she whispers—her voice is soft enough, but you still tuck the phone away out of sheer instinct.

You aren't going to always obey her. “Y-y'know babe, I really miss you.”

“And you're saying that while masturbating to me?” Hyunjin scoffs. 

A genuine smile flashes across your face. “No, I just really miss you. I know I put too much pressure on you, and I'm—”

“No, no. Keep all that for when I get back. You sound really tired, so you should go take a rest. Dream about me in the meantime, will you?”

“I… Um. Yes, of course. I will. I love you. Goodnight.”

“I love you too. Mwah.”

The call ends, and the phone finds its rightful place back on the mattress. Despite the other woman coating your cock, the only thing you feel at this moment is embarrassment.

Heejin is sitting calmly on your dick. “Look at you. All in thought again. All backed up because of Hyunjin.”

You gulp as she slinks her hand underneath to paw at your balls. “You’re—you, you didn’t let me cum in… ugh, the car.”

It’s not even a full giggle, just a small blow of air from Heejin’s nose. “Right. Of course that’s what you’re thinking about.”

You have no retort but to provide some force in your waist, snapping upward to drive your length deeper inside. That's less than a retort. Full surrender.

As the bouncing intensifies, hands stop roaming when she interlocks her fingers with yours. Of all the sensual touches, this feels the most intimate. Thus, the most forbidden. And so, the most captivating. Upon a missed beat of your heart, you let go. That free hand strikes her ass crashing down into your waist, and the sweetest whimpers and hottest moans come out viscerally. More than the sweaty warmth in the air, your scent is filled with Heejin. Flowers from another garden.

You start letting your lust out in words between the slaps on her buttcheeks. If you’re going to wither, might as well satiate more of your held-back fantasies.

“So you’re a fuck bunny, huh? A needy animal in heat who can’t even control herself.”

Look how ridiculous you sound. Who’s the true animal here? Who really lost control? 

Heejin nods, putting her highest pitch into her “mms” and “mhms”.

“I’m going to fucking breed you, then. Just like you’ve been begging for, huh? Stalking me, watching me from afar. As if you were a hunter. God, ff…” Your words die when her back arches in pleasure, her hands behind her on the bed, her waist gliding smoothly to lather your length with slickness. “You’re not a hunter. Not, not at all. You’re prey, you’re a little creature, a stray, and you’re gonna take all my fucking cum inside you.”

“Yes! Oh, Daddy, fuck, yes! Heejin… Heejin is your breeding, agh, bunny!”

Heejin is not so much riding you as she is making snappy, jerky motions with her hips while her arms and legs are wrapped around you in a tender hold. It’s an unsustainable rhythm because neither man nor woman could possibly outlast the bubbling pressure. The two of you are less than either. Animals. While she is making no concession to hold back her climax, you want—substitute this word for need on all occasions—one final win. Something. Anything.

However, her walls are tighter than ever, and more importantly, that tightness is coming in growing oscillations. The rising tides are in time with your own demise, a spiral fall into the infinite depths of earthly delight. To the magma core. Unbearable heat.

You’ve certainly stained her insides with pre-cum already, but you feel the first shots of semen, the last remains of regret replaced with a surging buzz.

By the looks of Heejin’s eyes finding the back of her head, finding some god of lust hidden in her brain, she’s feeling the same high. Despite all the loving intimacy you’ve had with Hyunjin, even the times you’ve made her cum during sex, you’ve never been able to cum at the same time as her. Simultaneous orgasm is one of those rare, tricky things to actually pull off. Yet here you are. A stranger. Is chemistry just a game of chance?

Were you always meant to be with Heejin in some other life?

These are the questions that curse you when your mind isn’t working right and letting you feel momentous ecstasy for infidelity. There’s not a correct choice you’ve made, yet here is paradise, its undesired reward abundant.

You and Heejin are two warm, slow-moving, intimately combined figures, slowly returning from the abstract gratification of mutual orgasm to the sticky, sweaty reality of this bed. Your cock is slowly softening too, though you have yet to pull out, slathered in both your lewd juices. Heejin looks tired but clearly isn’t since she’s still slowly swaying her waist, still searching for the last bursts of pleasure she can find in your slumping shaft. Maybe friction, maybe heat.

“D-done? Right. Of course.” Heejin can’t hide her disappointment in her pout.

Your head is shaking.

That’s disappointment too, right? When you shake your head, it’s disapproval. A lingering distaste in your mouth at yourself, that’s what makes sense.

This is a senseless place.

“No,” you say, your voice low. Obscene sloshing noises as you pull out of her snug pussy. Get up from the mattress. “I’m not done yet.”

Heejin is in awe. She must have expected you to turn over and fall on the bed tired. To be fair, you expected the same too.

But you're energized by the bunny. Heejin lays before you, drenched in sweat, her subtle makeup smeared. While her body in motion redefines perfection, steals the very meaning for herself, so too is her body in stillness. As she sighs, her pert chest rises and falls with every cycle of inhalation, exhalation. Her abs tense, showing their strong lines, and semen leaks out from her pussy with each visible clenching.

Heejin portrays many expressions in the shocks of climax. Her flawless jawline screams pride, her parted mouth lust, clearly slothful fatigue in those frowned eyes. You wonder how much deadlier can she get.

“Hah. You're staring,” she says between each labored breath.

Heejin then looks to the side; her chest still heaves, but slower. Place a palm on the facet of the gem that is her face, you could spend hours admiring her side profile. Maybe even write an essay on her nose bridge.

It's your turn to shower her chest with kisses. Her tits aren't bigger than Hyunjin's, though still perky enough. Each peck spells a rippling wave on her delicate flesh; the saltiness of her sweat glazes your lips.

Heejin moans to your many touches while blood rushes to your groin once more. Flip her over, off of her back, and onto her tummy. You glimpse shock in her face when she looks back.

The sin of wrath—worthless vengeance—on your visage must be painted too faithfully.

Feeling Heejin’s nipples and the heft of her breasts, you wrap an arm around her torso to lift her up so that she’s on her hands and knees. You spread her thighs, her asscheeks, admiring the glisten, the glow, the glamorous stickiness with whatever is left of your dripping creampie, then pull Heejin back so that you can align your already concrete-hard dick with her entrance. 

How her long hair falls, how the flesh of her butt ripples, how all the muscles in her back create such a drool-worthy image—target. Whatever the cause may be, you’re surprised how hard your erection is. Even with the most erotic session with Hyunjin—oh, she let you try a position other than missionary, how scandalous—you’ve never had a sequel.

Keep comparing. That’ll do you good.

There’s nothing to compare when you start to pull Heejin’s hair while you push your tip, parting her cunt’s creamy lips. With one hard snap of your waist, you bury your cock completely in Heejin. The both of you moan, you out of the tightness and her out of the sudden impact. 

You run your palm along her arched back to find yourself on her neck, then trace along her skin and give it a firm grasp; Heejin starts to struggle for air. In the renewed momentum of this one thrust, her tiny figure is propelled into the welcoming mattress, and your shaft somehow finds its way deeper into her cavern. Take a moment to admire how your cock pins Heejin down, how more of your previous load oozes out onto the sheets, how Heejin groans at this sudden intrusion. 

"Mmh, Daddy, you're even deeper in me." Heejin could barely squeeze words through her gritted teeth, but she's still relentless in tickling your arousal. 

Heejin is right, of course. The new prone position affords you the deepest penetration you’ve ever achieved, slick tightness totally overwhelming your pleasure points; she, on the other hand, finds herself in discomfort yet delight simultaneously. Though struggling for air, her lustful mewls are louder than ever, and she’s fucking back into you as best as she can while trapped under your weight. The literal chokehold you have on Heejin mirrors the euphoric chokehold she has on you at this very moment—in her submission, complete triumph. 

Not wanting to lose this war of attrition, you loosen the grip on her throat to focus on pounding into her creamy cunt. Her unintelligible noises become words.

"Grrgh, guh, god. Yes, can you feel it, Daddy? Feel how deep you really are in Heejin? It's okay if you can't, because Heejin definitely can. You're so close to my womb right now it's driving me crazy. Please cum for me, Daddy, please. Cum inside Heejin. Fill whatever gap there is between you and me with your hot, warm seed. Give me a baby bunny, please. Heejin is begging you here, please, just like how you wish that ungrateful bitch would, just like how that unthankful bitch would never. Don't hold back daddy. Please. Please. Please—"

Without a sign, Heejin reaches her second peak. Her body shakes in violence to add to the creaking bed, though all are silenced by her orgasmic cries. Lean forward, and your chest now connects with her back. Slick and slippery is the texture between your skins while the entirety of your length stays hidden within her folds. 

You maintain the speed at which you were ravaging her insides. Heejin pumps herself backward to hit two birds with one stone—to match your pace and to ride out her high.

Her screams are getting too loud; you can't risk waking the neighbors. Shove two digits past her spread lips, and Heejin immediately sucks on the makeshift gag. Turning back, she tries to meet your eyes with the pleading gaze she has so perfected. 

No, you are not falling prey to her trick. Shove her face down between the pillows, and you get a good sample of her earlobe while you chase your peak. 

With one hard thrust, you feel your tip smash against her cervix. Pull back out, and Heejin's walls desperately clench around you—her desire to milk you is strong. Your lips move down to suck at her neck.

Yet another hard thrust, you slam into her core at an insane trajectory; Heejin's womb sucks you in—

“Owh, gawd, you're gonna cum so much deeper”—you bring your fingers to the back of her mouth—“mmh, I can ph-pheel iiit—”

—as if begging you to fill her womb. The fistfuls of bedsheet fail to provide enough resistance; the floodgate unlocks.

“Take my cum, you fucking slut.” You pair your words with animalistic growls as you pound her hard enough to squeeze your seeds through the needy opening of her womb. “You're nothing but a pathetic cockslut. Look at how your womb is sucking me in. I bet that's the only thing your worthless pussy is good for—to be bred by taken cocks.”

You expect her to protest; she doesn’t. You spread her cheeks apart, spitting between them; it’d be rude, but it’s aimed at her tight, winking asshole. Again, you expect more of a response when your thumb toys at the ring of flesh. Shaky breaths through her breathing orifice while all the others get filled, she indulges in her cock-drunkenness—capable of doing nothing but pitiful whimpers. As you hammer her down hard enough that she’s become part of the mattress, your thumb hooked at the temptation of her rear entrance, you fall into indulgence too.

“Fucking, fff, filling you, ugh, up!” With a sense of finality in this thrust, you turn Heejin’s womb into the promised creamy mess. Her asshole has wholly swallowed your thumb. Grasping the sheets as hard as you grasp her asscheek, she is silent as she endures the endless spurts of warmth in her tummy. 

Keep pumping. Don’t stop till you're as devoid of your seed as your soul.

At the same time, you retrieve your thumb and your cock from her two greedy holes. Your cum is leaking out of Heejin’s slit, between her thighs, onto your sheets. Her asshole dilates, contracts. Those two facts alone nearly drive you to continue the madness; maybe you could collect the slick semen as lube for anal. However, despite your dick in hand, tip rubbing against her asshole, you stop yourself.

With a resolve like you’ve never seen (or at least one you haven’t had in hours), you sprint your way to the shower. Any cure to your sickness. But this shower will fix a shattered mug as readily as it’ll fix any other problem. Fatigue sets in, claws deeper, and no amount of scathing hot water on your skin gets rid of it. You switch to cold—you shout—that wasn’t worth it either.

Your world falls apart like warm streams splitting against you. How cruel the accuracy in its manner. Look into the wall. A faint, blurry reflection of you off the wet surface. The reflection clarifies: you’re a dumbass. This heat does nothing it’s supposed to, not a tinge of mollification in its heat.

“Hey, Daddy—”

You did not notice Heejin sneaking into the shower, but the change in her hairstyle is certainly apparent. Now flaunting a ponytail—Hyunjin’s signature and a personal favorite of hers—you hate to admit that Heejin looks equally as alluring, if not more so. She’s only in her panties, and those must be semen-coated. Sure enough, when she strips them onto the bathroom floor, she’s still dripping pearly and sticky fluids from her crotch.

“How could you leave for the shower alone, I have to clean up too, you know?”

She takes up the space between you and the wall, and she quickly finds herself on the ground. Her legs wide open, Heejin fingering herself is now a scenery you’re forced to enjoy. One digit deep, then another joins the fray—she slowly fingers your cum out of her swollen cunt.

“It’s not too late to stop me,” Heejin smirks as she is relentless in teasing you. “Unless you really want to put a baby in me.”

Now with eyes shut and mouth agape, she cherishes the pleasure she’s bringing to herself. The unoccupied hand finds itself on the ground for support as she buries her fingers deeper inside her folds. Heejin’s hedonism elevates; her tongue sticking out in the air is the proof.

The droplets bounce off your body to land on Heejin's features, and for a moment, she looks adorable as she shakes the excess moisture off, giggling. But then, she’s right back, immersed in her masturbation.

Your cock finds its vitality again at such a lewd sight; Heejin need not open her eyes to realize it. Further extending her tongue to reach the thing sheltering her from warm water, she licks your tip as if encouraging you to follow the motion of her pink muscle. So, you do just that. However, she clearly isn't ready for the intrusion, her teeth grazing against your skin as you head straight for her throat.

The damned downward frown, again, and this time it's here to stay. Pressing on with the pattern of showing no mercy, you rock your hips to properly violate her mouth. The warmth from the shower pales in comparison with her cavern, and her tongue tickles the bottom of your shaft better than the water droplets bring relief to your figure. Her sloped brows scream starvation just like her pleading eyes. This isn’t a matter of wants—you have to feed her cock. As much as she can swallow. Even if it means her gagging and sloppily eating the meat.

“Guhk—your cum—guhk, musht taste as guhd as your cohk—didn’t, ghlk, get to eat earlieh”—her tears fuse with the shower water and the drool out the corner of her mouth past your shaft—“I, I, glk, need more. Need more, more, mo—”

At this point, you're already used to her insatiability, fixing it with a yank of hair. Ponytails are amazing, especially when they're presented like this as a perfect handle for you to hold on to as you fuck her face rough. Each time your cockhead hit the back of her mouth, giggles mix obscene swishing and gurgling noises straight from her throat, and her cute tits ripple softly at the force. 

There's no room in her mouth for air, so it's only natural that she opts for the natural way of obtaining oxygen. She inhales through her nose with your cock still hidden in her mouth, making her throat do swallowing motions and squeeze around your shaft. The water splashing down on her face makes her breaths uneven and struggled since she’s trying to breathe down your dick in the same motion, but she embraces the challenge since there’s nothing more important than the cock down her throat anyway.

“Oh fuck—” You groan at the random fluctuations of tightness. “You’re such a good fuckdoll. Good oral fuck hole.”

You’re not sure where you got the verbiage from, though Heejin has the closest thing to a smirk she can manage with her lips around the root of your cock. Regardless, you can tell that she’s happy with the new nickname—her tongue moving with more furiosity makes good supporting fact.

Heejin’s looks are out of this world—even when there’s a cock in her mouth. You even feel a new pang of guilt: she’s too pretty somehow for your seed to cover her features. The pangs of guilt are quickly overtaken by pangs of impending orgasm. On her face? In her mouth? You would decide, but there is no decision. Keep your tip down her throat. The pleasure is getting too intense, and orgasm soon hits. It makes sense that she wants to savor your cockmilk, but her twirling tongue proves to be too much overstimulation for you. Your body jerks, so you instinctively eject from her eager mouth to spray the rest of your load on her face. This climax ends quickly; it’s your third one after all.  While you are regaining your composure, Heejin is busy creating a composition of your cum that was all over her visage, collecting with her fingers and tongue and then finally delivering it beyond her lips.

“So fucking tasty,” she comments after one big gulp. “Now let’s really clean ourselves up.”

The following minutes are filled with mutual silence—you do your cleaning and she does hers. No further touching. You’re in quiet denial—not of the unfaithfulness up to this point but of the surprising comfort you feel in the silence only broken by the splashing of water.

You both finish washing at the same time, so you shut the shower off. Stare at Heejin. Water droplets drip off her silky smooth skin. You can’t be staring yet again; that’s going to lead to an n-th round of sex. Forget morals, you’re not going to have a rigid bone left in your body if you keep fucking Heejin. Your mouth rounds to a circle while she smiles at you. 

Without worrying about the faint trail of water you’re making in your hallway, you speed off to the bedroom to look for some extra underwear and clothes to lend to Heejin. On second judgment, how absurd the concept. Surely, Hyunjin is going to notice the missing clothes, and surely, Heejin is going to wear the missing clothes the next time they meet.

Raising your hands, you fall onto your mattress. You’re naked. Didn’t bother looking for your own clothes. Whatever. Why even care about Heejin at this juncture at all? If she wants to leave naked, then so be it, or if she wants to wear her used panties sticky with your creampie, then so be it too.

Sure enough, she walks calmly into the room, semen-stained underwear and all, a towel around her head to dry those damp locks falling past her shoulders.

You curl up in the bed, refusing to examine Heejin further.

“This pillow belongs to someone else, I'm not sleeping on it.” Refusal will never stop Heejin’s low voice from worming its way past your ears straight into your brain.

Rather weak reasoning, sure, but you're in no place to object given everything that's happened tonight. With a sigh, you turn to face her and extend your arm; Heejin lies on it, filling the emptiness between her neck and the mattress just fine. 

“Mmh, it's comfy this way,” Heejin murmurs as she curls her curves into you. “Does she do this with you after sex?”

Silence fills the room for seconds; she nudges you for an answer that she knows she shouldn’t expect.

“Ha, didn't think so.”

That’s not even true, of course. Intimacy after sex isn’t an entirely new concept to you—that’s the one thing that stands out with Hyunjin in bed—but it’s so foreign with a different person. Sniffle her hair; it’s rosy. You wrap your free hand around her waist; she’s significantly smaller in your arms than Hyunjin. Usually, Hyunjin kept her back facing you, and though you adored having her as the little spoon, something was always missing. Details, details, details. So your silence continues all the same.

“You’re enjoying this,” Heejin whispers, “aren’t you?” 

Heejin turns around to face you, her delicate fingers tracing along and tickling the bare flesh of your neck at the same pace as her breath. How can the delicate touch of air be a chokehold? Yet, that’s exactly what Heejin has on you.

“Now why don’t I make you feel better, Daddy?”

Lifting your leg over her hips, Heejin has your half-erect shaft between her thighs, her slick slit shows haste in lathering you with her juices. All the recollection you’ve been doing, every hard-fought bucket of water you bail out of the hole-ridden ship, yet you forget your whole relationship in an instant. You doubt even Heejin understands the harshness of such a simple action, dragging any hope back into the ocean, cruel mistress. Moan into her mouth, and she returns the same. Finally, undo the seal on your mouth; you continue fucking her soft muscles in a telegraphed motion.

“Heejin is gonna sleep, she’s exhausted.” She smirks, that damned smile damning you to do more unspeakable things to, and with, her. “You can use Heejin’s body all night long though. I am your good little cocksheathe, after all.”

This is the actual biggest difference when you cuddle Heejin. Your cock slips inside her creamy slit so easily. It couldn’t have been an accident, yet Heejin is as motionless as sleep can make her. So is it your fault? No. It couldn’t have been. There’s no way you would have thrust yourself inside the addicting, delectable, squeezing hole for one last savoring. Right?

You must lay still as Heejin’s seed-stuffed hole continues to seize your half-hard shaft. Too sensitive, too sore, too spent. But not enough to leave. You’d think that by now, you can’t have any energy left to keep your erection lasting, but her walls warm your cock just well enough that you’re helpless to the loving embrace. If you did try to pull out of her possessively grippy pussy, you’d probably spurt another few drops, simultaneously milking your last breaths out of you.

So, pulling out is as much an option as the sun failing to rise in a few hours.

When your eyelids are yanked open by that inconsiderate light, you are alone in your bed. 

Your first instinct is to check your wallet. All your cards, your cash, a random Subway coupon. Down one condom though. Stretch, and your body disagrees. The only evidence is the sheer exhaustion in your muscles. And your balls.

 You didn’t drink.

You’ve never had a worse hangover.

No, no, it was all a dream—you wish. You could get away with being scolded for your dreams. This was a whole different beast.

Your focus is pulled by a buzz by your legs. Reach for your phone.

One. One. One. Five. A date. Naturally.

Heejin started following you. 

She’s not even in the same room as you. It’s so easy to ignore.

Then again, it’s just as easy to open the messages and type away.

Hyunjin won’t be home for a few more days anyway.

Say you sent it to the wrong person if need be.

Or you were with the wrong person to begin with.

No.

There is no wrong person.

Only the person in the wrong.

You.

Sent a message to Heejin.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Thank you again to the wonderful @kaedewrites for working with me on this one! You don't understand how much I enjoy every collab. They always drive me to write way more than working alone. Writing is always a collaborative affair, after all. It's just annoying whenever the only person I have to work with is my dumb past self, who refuses to finish these stories for me.

:chuupeek:

[mellowswriting]

I saw that requests are open! would it be possible for you to write a follow up to Second Chances with javi and reader? Maybe you have another kid and this time javi is able to be there for you throughout the whole pregnancy, and get to experience the first kick, you giving birth, etc (I am a sucker for domestic!javi if you can't tell haha) I think it would be really cute!!

From the Beginning

pairing || Javier Peña x afab!Reader

summary || Javier gets to experience the chaotic excitement of welcoming a new baby to the family.

word count || 6,466 

warnings || kid fic, pregnant reader, non-graphic childbirth, some spiciness but no smut, dad!Javi being adorable 

a/n || I can’t even express how much I love writing about the boys as dads, especially Javier! I really hope you all enjoy this, it was so very much fun to write.

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Early spring mornings always had a special quality about them. The air was never too hot, pleasantly warm with a hint of a cool breeze that still lingered from winter’s sharp grip. Plants were beginning to bloom, the trees regaining their bright green foliage that ruffled in a symphony with every pass of the wind. Spring was the bringer of warmth after the ice and snow, the nurturer that coaxed seeds to sprout and flourish, the guide for new life and hope.

Ironic, then, that those very qualities you had grown to love were the ones causing you so much inner turmoil that you couldn’t even enjoy the gorgeous morning happening around you. You hadn’t even realized what was happening at first. Mother nature hadn’t exactly gifted you with a cycle that could be easily followed and predicted. Instead you had the supreme pleasure of having to carry around menstrual products everywhere you went and having to replace your underwear far more often than usual. So when you went two months without the waves of cramps and frustration of your period, it wasn’t all that remarkable.

It was when you were doing some last minute grocery shopping the night before that you realized something was off. Well, more off than usual. The sight of the shelves of tampons made your stomach bottom out with realization. You must’ve made quite a sight as you stood in that aisle with a cart half full of food, just staring at tampons with dread. Two boxes of pregnancy tests got tossed in with the various other items in your cart and you hoped that Javier was too tired from work to insist he help you put away the groceries.

For once, the universe appeared to be on your side. Your husband was sitting on the floor with Elianna, a spread of coloring books and crayons scattered on the living room carpet, and he actually listened to you when you waved him off to carry the bags in yourself. The tests were tucked away in the bathroom behind your tampons - ironic, yes, but it was the one place Javier really wouldn’t be poking around.

Honestly, a part of you felt bad for not telling Javier right away. He had more than proven himself as a great father and husband in the nearly two years since he returned to your life. Those irrational little fears of him leaving you and little Ellie had been crushed into nothing in the wake of the role he readily took on with his daughter, but this was different. Maybe it was pretty naive of you to not have that conversation with him, but it was something you thought you still had time for.

The plus sign on the pregnancy tests told you the time for that conversation was now, apparently. You were grateful for the timing of your little realization. Saturday mornings saw the standing trend of your sister whisking Ellie away for some ‘auntie and niece time’, and you really didn’t want her to feel the tension you were carrying. She was such a perceptive little girl that had an eye for everything.

Javier was still asleep. You usually slept in with him on the weekends, but you were restless to find out if your period was just pulling a fast one on you or if you actually were pregnant. Now you had four positive tests sitting in front of you and a sleeping husband who you couldn’t decide whether or not to wake up. Luckily, you ended up not having to make that choice since two sharp raps of his knuckles against the bathroom door snapped you out of your trance.

The door opened a millisecond after you snatched up the tests and hid them behind your back, not so unlike Ellie when she was hiding a treat she wasn’t supposed to have yet. The difference was that you didn’t know if this would be a treat to Javier. He was still half asleep, his thin pajama pants slug low on his hips and his eyes squinted against the bathroom light.

“G’morning,” He grunted as he moved to shuffle past you. “Move over, I gotta piss.”

You were rooted to the spot, though, your brain floundering to gain control of your muscles. “Uhm…”

“What’s wrong?” Javier slowly perked up through his sleepy haze at the realization that you looked downright terrified. He put his hand on your bicep and squeezed slightly. “Is Ellie okay?”

“What? No, yeah, Ellie’s fine. She’s with Amelia.” You spluttered, cringing at your inability to function.

“Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Javi pressed. There really wasn’t any hiding things from him. Ellie must get that sharp eye of hers from her father. “What are you holding behind your back?”

You tried to swallow down the thickness that enveloped your throat to form some sort of words, literally anything to convey to him what the hell was going on, but your body was seized with fear. So you held out the tests wordlessly. His eyebrows furrowed as he took the bundle of tests from your hand, staring at them with a split second’s confusion before it dawned on him. “This…? You…?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. The worry in your voice must’ve been obvious because Javier was on you in a second flat, his arms crowding you into his chest with a crushing strength.

“You’re pregnant?” Javier croaked into your neck and the dam of emotion in your chest crumbled. His voice was full of excited disbelief, and relief crashed over you.

“Yeah, I am.” You said with a tearful chuckle, winding your arms around him to burrow yourself even further into his chest. “I know we never really talked about having another kid but… is this something you want, Javi?”

“Fuck, this is ironic.” Javier laughed quietly and when you looked up at him, he avoided your eyes with an almost bashful look. “I was gonna ask you today if you ever thought about it. Do you have any idea how many times I went over it in my head?”

You couldn’t help it - you cracked up laughing. The whole thing was almost ridiculous - the both of you worrying despite wanting the exact same thing. Tears of relief and laughter soaked into his t-shirt as you both broke into chaotic laughter, fingers clutching at each other’s shirts as you tried to catch your breath.

“So, uh… are we doing this?” Javier sounded nervous, his hands rubbing up and down your back as if to reassure himself. “You really wanna have a baby with me? Again?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was choked with a tense mix of emotions, so you cleared your throat and tried again. “Yeah, I do.”

“I can’t… fuck, I can’t believe you - you’d… thank you.” He babbled, nearly unintelligible in his scramble to convey how fucking grateful he was, but you knew. It wasn’t the first time you had heard the desperate need to spit words he couldn’t really find, the words that matched the swell of emotions in his chest that still wasn’t used to voicing. “Fuck, Ellie’s gonna be such a good big sister.”

That choked you up more than you expected. She really would be, you knew that for a fact, but it was a dream you had boxed up and shoved on a shelf with all your other unrealistic dreams for your future. Never in your life did you let yourself really think you could have the whole package deal - the loving (albeit gruff) husband, the big house, the sound of little feet chasing each other through the halls…

“Wait, how long have you been…? Or do we have to see a doctor first? Oh shit, we have to find a doctor for you, what the fuck are they called..? A fucking... obstetrician!” Javi rambled in a mix of nerves and excitement, breaking from your embrace to pace the length of the bathroom. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help, because -”

“Javi, breathe!” You calmed him with both hands out to stop his walking and braced your hands on his shoulders to rub at him firmly. “We have plenty of time, okay? Let me go make some coffee for you and we can sit down and make a plan. First, didn’t you have to go to the bathroom?”

“Oh… yeah.”

----------

Javier couldn’t stop bouncing his knee. It was a subconscious thing, something he stopped the moment he realized but soon found it moving of its own volition all over again. He really was trying not to let his nerves show even though he knew that you could tell. It was all so new to him, which wouldn’t be a problem if the reminder didn’t gut him every goddamn time. He couldn’t imagine how alone you must have felt the first time around when you were pregnant with Elianna, especially in these cold, sterile doctors offices.

His grip tightened on your hand. The feeling of your fingertips pressed against the top of his hand kept him grounded, helped him remind himself that there was no going back and changing everything else that happened. All he could do was be there this time around, be the best version of himself that he could be for you and his kid - well, kids now. Plural. The excitement was almost enough to drown away the guilt. Javi really could barely believe that he was getting the privilege of experiencing this with you.

“I’ve seen files on drug lords shorter than all that.” Javier nodded at the pile of forms and paperwork you held in your lap and you laughed brightly. He preened a little at the sound. It was something he could never get enough of, that laugh of yours. “I love you.”

You looked up at him, the pen in your hand stopping its constant scratching for the first time in forever, and gave him a lopsided smile. “I love you, too.”

There was no way he wasn’t going to kiss you after that adorable little display. Your cheek felt soft against his palm and the little sigh of relief you huffed against him was addictive. Just knowing that he was an anchor for you made Javier feel so incredibly loved and important and all he wanted to do was imbue you with that same sense of security. He held you close, his hand slipping back to the back of your neck to keep you right where he wanted you, and gave you those soft little kisses that never failed to make you melt.

“Mrs. Peña?” A nurse called out and he had no choice but to let you go with one last peck against your lips. He followed you and the nurse into the exam room, nerves and excitement soaring even higher in his chest.

It was kind of fascinating, watching you answer the nurse’s barrage of questions. Questions about your medical history, how many pregnancies you’ve had, all about your menstrual cycle. The two of you went back and forth for at least fifteen minutes, tossing questions and answers back and forth like a tennis match. The nurse left with the promise of the doctor being in momentarily for an ultrasound.

“Come hold my hand?” You asked, and how could he deny such a sweet request?

“Of course,” He pulled a chair from across the room and settled himself next to the exam table, both of his hands wrapping around one of yours as he brought it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “So what happens now?”

“The doctor will give me an ultrasound. She’ll probably want to run some blood tests, too.” You sighed, obviously uncomfortable at the thought of needles.

“I’ll hold your hand then, too.” Javier promised.

“It’ll be good practice for you, ‘cause once I’m in labor I’ll probably break your hand.” You teased and yeah, broken fingers didn’t sound all that great but fuck, he was more than ready to let you do just that. Javier wanted to be your rock, wanted to support you through it all - especially since he couldn’t the first time.

Two quick knocks sounded against the door made Javier straighten up hastily. The doctor came in with a smile and a large machine wheeling in behind her. “Good morning, mom and dad! How’re we feeling?”

“All good here, Dr. Hall. A little nauseous, but still… good.” You gave Javier’s hand a little squeeze before letting go to unbutton your jeans and fold the waistband down, followed by pulling the hem of your shirt up. It was hard to believe that the beginning of an entire new life was right there between your hips.

“Good to hear!” Dr. Hall fiddled with the ultrasound machine for a moment before turning to you. “So today we’re going to take a look and find out how far along you are, make sure mom and baby both look healthy, okay?”

“Okay,” You and Javier said in unison, and he took your hand again, needing to feel you there with him.

The gel must’ve been cold based on the way you hissed slightly. Javier watched the screen as Dr. Hall trailed the wand over your belly, lips parting at the sight of the black and white image. It was hard to make out what exactly he was seeing at first, but the image shifted slightly and he could make out the tiniest, vague shape of the newest edition to his little family.

“It looks like you’re about ten weeks along.” Dr. Hall murmured without taking her eyes off of the screen. “Baby is about the size of a plum.”

Javier squeezed your hand lightly, the both of you sparing a glance at each other before staring back at the screen in wonder. The doctor pointed out the baby’s head and a little foot as she took her measurements, reassuring you both that everything looked perfect. He gave a rushed “yes, absolutely” when she asked if he wanted the ultrasound photos - there was a spot in his wallet that he had in mind for it already.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been in situations that left him shocked before. This was Javier Peña, after all. Life and career experiences had given him plenty of moments where his mind was completely washed blank with surprise, but never had it been such a good thing. There were so many times that the shock was accompanied by grief or anger, but excitement? Gratefulness? That was new to him, left him reeling the entire drive home, all throughout dinner. Something in the back of his mind nagged at him that he couldn’t be like this when Ellie got home the next day. She was smarter than he could’ve imagined any kid being at three years old and even though he agreed with your assertion that no one should know about your pregnancy for a few more weeks at least, Javier was certain his daughter would be able to needle it out of him.

Those expert interrogation skills must be hereditary.

It wasn’t until he was getting ready for bed that it really hit him how real it was, that you really were sitting in the bed you shared with him, pregnant with his baby and making plans for the usual Sunday brunch and park visit you all did every week. As he set his wallet on the nightstand, he couldn’t help but pull out the little ultrasound picture. He had a feeling he would be doing that a lot, especially when the new cadets were driving him crazy at work. It all swelled up in his chest, the appreciation and excitement and disbelief, because holy shit, how did he get so lucky? One finger traced the little image in his hand, and he couldn’t help but blurt out, “Thank you.”

The confused look you gave him made him flounder for the words.

“I just… I know everything was fucked up the first time around but I swear, it’s going to be different this time. I am not going anywhere.” Javier slid closer at the sight of the tears in your eyes, easily welcoming your arms around his neck as you practically drug yourself into his lap. He held you close to his chest, trying to instill the certainty and promise of it all. “God, fuck, and I thought I couldn’t get enough of you before…”

“Javi…” You croaked, laughing wetly into his neck.

“I’m serious! You’re gonna have to tell me to fuck off when you want space because I can’t keep my hands off you.” Javi teased, relief washing over him at your seeming acceptance of his promises. “And now like this, growing my baby… fuck, I am in this with you. Me and you and Ellie… and our little plum.”

That night, Javier fell asleep with his head on your shoulder, his face buried in your neck, and his hand tucked into the waistband of your sweatpants to cradle that precious space that held his newest child.

----------

Ellie couldn’t stop touting her new title to anyone who would listen.

“I’m a big sister!” She told the cashier at the grocery store, the other kids at the park and their moms for good measure, and even the mailman when they came by each morning. The brightness in her eyes when she said it made your heart flip in your chest. You had expected some sort of confusion or even for her to be upset at the idea of a new sibling, but she launched right into a story about how her friend from playgroup has a baby sister, and you knew that she would be just fine.

With your sixteenth week rapidly approaching, you couldn’t be more grateful that Ellie was excited for the new addition to the family. It was one less thing for you to worry about amidst the chaos of bringing a new person into the world. The fatigue was something you definitely didn’t miss about pregnancy - it washed over you without warning, left you nodding off wherever you sat. Thank god Javier was such a hands on father. He had no problem herding Ellie off into the backyard or off for a walk to let you get some much needed rest.

You hadn’t expected him to be such a hands on husband, though. Sure, you knew he was excited and you knew he already loved everything about your body, but he really wasn’t lying when he said pregnancy made him want you even more. Every night, Javi’s hands gravitated to your body to ease the kinks out of your muscles, to rub your feet until the aches went away, to cheekily offer you an orgasm if you were up for one. It made you feel cherished, something you sorely missed the first time you were pregnant.

“Thank you, Javi,” You groaned lowly as those strong hands of his worked at your lower back. He easily hitched your thigh up slightly to ease some of the pressure on the new swell to your belly. There was a slur in your voice when you said, “Feels so good.”

Javier chuckled behind you, moving on to rub your feet. “Be quiet, you don’t want to wake Ellie.”

“Did you ever see this being our life?” You murmured though your voice was muffled by the pillows you buried your head in. “Telling each other not to wake the kids, making bacon smiley faces for a toddler’s breakfast?”

“I didn’t think I’d actually get it, but I wished for it. Dreamt about how pretty you’d look all full of me.” Javi placed a teasing kiss to the inside of your thigh. “The real thing is so much better.”

You could only groan under his praise. His thumbs dug into the arch of your foot and rubbed in methodical circles, drawing another pleased groan from you that you muffled in your pillow. The pain slowly melted from your tired muscles under his thorough ministrations, leaving a pleasant warmth in his wake that made you all pliant and drowsy beneath him.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Javi asked as he rubbed his hands up your calves and you smiled. You knew exactly what he was gunning for.

You eased yourself onto your back and reached out for him with both arms, bringing him forward with grabby hands that he could never refuse. Javier settled between your thighs, a knowing smirk on his face, and leaned down to kiss you deeply. “‘M feeling good, Javi.”

“You know I love making my girl feel good,” Javi murmured as he kissed down your neck, one hand trailing back and forth over your hip and thigh lovingly. “Can I make you feel even better?”

“Please?” You asked breathily and your husband was more than happy to oblige. The loose tank top you wore was the first to go, followed quickly by your shorts and underwear.

Javier set about lavishing your neck and chest with affection, his touch more gentle than usual on your oversensitive breasts, and once again you were struck by the surrealness of it all. The fact that this had begun in Colombia all those years ago as two coworkers using sex for stress relief and had blossomed into this beautiful life you shared together was a thing of dreams. But there you were, with Javier Peña making love to you, quietly as to not wake your daughter and gently as to keep you and your baby safe and happy, and you could barely believe it.

“I love you,” You choked out through the tears that sprung into your eyes and Javi sat up to look at you with a concerned expression.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes roaming all over to find the apparent source of your tears.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You tried to pull him back down to you but he didn’t budge, the concern unwavering.

“Then why are you crying?” Javier brushed a thumb under your eyes to wipe away the evidence of your strong burst of emotion.

“Because I love you,” You chuckled as you held his hand close to your cheek and pressed a kiss to the middle of his palm. “And I’m pregnant, so everything is a thousand times more intense and you don’t get to tease me for that.”

“I would never,” Javi muttered but the mischievous grin on his face betrayed him. “Let me make you feel better, baby,”

“I’m already better, Javi - oh,”

----------

Two o’clock in the morning was not an ideal time to wake up, especially since Javier knew that Ellie would be awake and full of energy by seven, but something felt off. Even in his unconscious state, he could feel the absence of you in bed and his mind nagged at him to get up and find you. The hardwood was cold beneath his feet as he wandered from the bedroom, finding the bathroom empty before he made his way down the stairs. You often would rest on the recliner in the living room when your back was bothering you particularly bad, especially since your center of gravity had so drastically changed the further along you got in your pregnancy - but you weren’t there either.

Before Javi could start really worrying, he heard the refrigerator open and found you peering into the illuminated fridge in search of… something. A pint of ice cream was already in your hand, a spoonful of it hanging from your lips as you browsed with a frustrated look on your face, and honestly… Javi loved how you looked. It was so domestic and sweet, the sight of you in your pajamas that barely covered your belly as you raided the kitchen.

Thirty-six weeks and four days. He could barely believe how much time had passed since he saw those positive tests. It felt like forever and the blink of an eye at the same time, and he was beyond excited to meet his newest little one.

“What are you looking for, sweetheart?” Javi asked after a moment of watching you helplessly search around.

The sheepish smile you gave him made his heart swell in his chest and he automatically opened his arms as you shuffled over to bury your face in his chest. “Your kid is driving me crazy with the cravings.”

Javier hugged you tightly, relishing in the way you relaxed against him. “Well, if they’re anything like me, they probably want those barbecue chips, then.”

It didn’t take long for him to get you herded back up to bed with the chips in hand and the sight of you sleepily munching away while burrowed in the blankets eased an almost innate need Javier had to see you safe and happy, all nice and taken care of in his bed. He climbed into bed once he was sure you didn’t need anything else, settling on his side with his head propped up against his hand to watch you despite his own sleepiness.

“Let your mama sleep, troublemaker.” He murmured to your belly as he rubbed gentle circles over the spots he could feel the nudges of his little one retaliating to their father’s stern words. “Need some lotion?”

“Hmmm, please?” You hummed.

Rubbing lotion into your skin was something Javi had taken a particular liking to. The first time he had seen you doing it yourself, he was quick to take over. That was the first time he felt his little one kick at his hands and he fell even more in love - something he hadn’t thought was possible. It was a good way to feel closer to you both, to his wife and the baby you were bringing into the world, and the way you dozed slightly as he helped you relax made him feel needed, like he was doing right by you. That’s all he ever wanted to do.

A nudge to the edge of his hand made Javier glance back down to where his hands were running all over your belly, but it was the sight of the baby rolling that made him do a double take. “Holy shit,” He whispered, hands frozen as he saw what had to be the imprint of a little foot or hand poke out before disappearing. “There really is a whole person in there.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” You grumbled, grimacing slightly at the feeling. “It’s aerobics hour, apparently.”

“That’s fucking crazy.” Javi tentatively resumed massaging the lotion into your skin. It was hard to fathom, the idea that your body was so capable of creating and nurturing a brand new life, and for the millionth time he found himself thanking the universe for letting him have this second chance.

----------

Gabriel Peña came early, quick, and with a sharp cry you were sure could be heard throughout the entire hospital. His little nose was scrunched up, his face all red from his wailing, hands curled into angry fists over his sudden eviction from the warmth and darkness he was accustomed to. It was a short labor, so very different from your first with Ellie for so many reasons but the biggest being the strong presence of Javier at your side. The moment the contractions began at the crisp hour of six a.m., he was alert and full of nervous excitement.

True to his word, Javier let you clutch onto him through it all - every contraction, every push, every angered grumble you threw his way for getting you pregnant in the first place. That sharp mind of his kept up under the pressure. He spoonfed you ice chips and let you use him for support as you rocked your way through particularly bad contractions.

There were tears in Javier’s eyes as he carefully set his hand on his son’s head, carefully musing the shock of dark, wispy hair on his head. You leaned your head against Javi’s shoulder, exhaustion, relief, and happiness warring with each other after hours of labor. You felt his lips press against your temple before he sniffled and whispered, “Thank you.”

Javier stayed by Gabriel’s side the entire time the doctors checked him over and cleaned him up, per your instructions, and he was the one to return your son to your arms. It was the most careful you had ever seen him, his movements slow and deliberate, eyes on the baby’s adorable, chubby face.

“Seven pounds, nine ounces,” Javi murmured as he drug a chair as close to your bedside as possible and settled in, his hand resting on your thigh. A disgruntled whine came from the baby wriggling in your arms and you smiled, knowing he was hungry and could probably smell the milk your body had been preparing to make for his arrival. You pulled the gown down to expose your breast, propping your arm with a pillow to better support him, and adjusted his latch to settle in.

“Nice latch, mama,” One of the nurses said as she finished settling the blankets around your feet.

“Not my first time at this rodeo.” You chuckled quietly. It had been a while since Ellie weaned but you still remembered the struggle of figuring out how to get a newborn to latch properly when you had no idea what you were doing. You set your hand over Javi’s, smiling at him when he blinked sleepily up at you. Neither of you had gotten much rest before Gabriel decided to make his appearance into the world. “Can you hand me some water, honey?”

“Of course,” Javi perked up with the small task you gave him. There wasn’t much he could do at this point, but you wanted him to feel involved, to feel like he was helping you, and even though his mere presence helped you relax, you knew he was an ‘action’ kind of man. He needed something to do to feel useful. He held the straw steady for you and everything, your sweet husband. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired.” You answered honestly, leaning into his hand when he brushed stray hairs from your face.

“I know this wasn’t easy. I’m proud of you.” It was a simple statement but it hit you right in your chest. As excited as you were to have another baby, it was hard. Exhausting. He could see it all, how tired you were and how hard you were working just to carry on like normal through your pregnancy, and while he did everything he could to ease some of that burden, the plain acknowledgement of how hard you worked felt good.

“I love you so much.” You whispered, pulling his hand close to kiss his palm.

“I love you, too.” Javier leaned over the side of the bed and kissed you softly, careful not to jostle his son where he sleepily nursed against you. “How are our kids so damn cute?”

You huffed a laugh, which made Gabriel shift against you before settling back down, sighing suspiciously similar to his father. “It helps that their dad is incredibly good looking.”

“True,” Javi said, trying for that cocky tone you loved but you didn’t miss the pink tinge to the tips of his ears. Compliments always got him like that, all red-faced and adorable - though he would never admit it.

A short nap later and you had one very excited Ellie fidgeting in the chair next to your bed, impatiently waiting to meet her baby brother. Javier stood behind her, quietly reminding her to be careful as you helped keep the squirming newborn steady in her lap. Your heart damn near exploded when she began cooing at her brother and very gently touching his soft cheeks. She was enamored by him, asking so many questions that you and her father could barely keep up.

“Can we share my bed?” “No, he can’t sleep in your bed, baby. He has to sleep in a special bed in mommy and daddy’s room.”

“Does he get a special seat like me?” “Yep! Daddy’s putting his carseat in next to yours right now. You’ll get to talk to him the whole way home.”

“Is he gonna cry a lot?” “Yeah, he will. That’s how babies let people know they need something since they don’t have words like we do.”

“Can I share my crackers with him?” “Not yet! Right now, he only drinks milk.” “Milk? Like for cereal?” “Kind of, but it comes from your mommy.” “What?!” “You ate the same thing when you were a little baby, too.” “What?!”

The entire drive home was full of little Ellie chatting away at her baby brother, mostly about the stuffed animals she had at home that she promised to show him the moment they got home. There was a small smile on Javier’s face as he drove, his hand curled around yours on the center console. He practically radiated contentment and damn did it look good on him.

----------

For what felt like the millionth time, you woke before the sun had a chance to rise. Though this time, it was to the feeling of a full bladder rather than the sound of a hungry baby, so that could be counted as a small win at the very least. You tried to ignore the ache in your healing body as you stumbled your way to and from the bathroom, near silent in your movements even though you were half asleep. It was a well practiced dance, getting out and back into bed without waking your sleeping children.

But something was off. The sheets were cooler than usual, missing the fire-like heat that Javier radiated constantly. You sat up, blinking against the drowsiness and darkness to see your husband passed out on the rocking chair in the corner of the room with Gabriel curled up on his bare chest. Skin-to-skin contact was something Javier couldn’t get enough of. He told you how close it made him feel to his son and you couldn’t complain. It was a precious sight. Avoiding the creaky floorboards, you carefully covered Gabriel with a soft baby blanket and smoothed it down his back.

“S’wrong?” Javier mumbled, words slurred with sleep, his eyes barely cracking open. On instinct, his hands shifted over the little baby asleep on him to hold him closer, even more secure.

“Shh, nothing’s wrong.” You soothed as you gently tucked his curls back away from his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay.” And with that his eyes were closed, back to dozing like he was never interrupted in the first place. You were glad. Tomorrow was an early morning, and paired with all of the midnight feedings and diaper changes, you all could use some rest. So you laid back down, sleep dragging you back under swiftly.

Javier was practically bouncing with nerves just hours later, even though he was trying not to show it. It brought you back to that first appointment when you were pregnant, only this time he held a sleeping one-month old who he was trying not to wake up with his nervousness.

“I just want it to go well.” He grumbled when you asked if he was okay.

“It will.” You reassured him, rubbing circles into his knee. “They’re both perfectly healthy, the pediatrician will tell you that, too.”

You were right - then again, when weren’t you? Gabe was a healthy nine and a half pounds, strong heart and lungs, and good reflexes. Javier was hooked on the pediatrician’s every word, nodding along and giving you a relieved smile with each positive statement. And of course, Ellie’s rambunctiousness had the pediatrician and nurses completely captivated as she told them all about her preschool and the antics she got up to while they checked her over.

The pride on Javier’s face with every positive comment and reassurance that both of his kids were on track developmentally made your heart flip. You felt so beyond lucky to have this little family of yours, with two beautiful children and the man you always loved. It felt too good to be true sometimes, especially when Javi pulled you close for a tight hug and a kiss to the side of your head before he worked to get one wiggly Gabe back into his onesie.

One impromptu trip to the park later and you and Javier had two very tired kids on your hands. Ellie was already passed out by the time Javier pulled into the driveway but Gabe was quickly venturing into ‘overtired’ territory. He was grumpy, wriggling around in your arms like he couldn’t get comfortable, all the while giving little whines and grunts that threatened to turn into full on wailing. He didn’t want milk, he didn’t need a diaper change, he just wanted to sleep but was too frustrated to let a nap take him.

“Give ‘em here.” Javier offered and you freely handed him over. The postpartum fatigue was no joke, and even though it was lessening with each passing day, you were damn tired so you had no issue with letting your husband put the baby down for a nap. You curled up on the couch, not quite going to sleep but still letting your mind and body rest as you listened to Javi try to negotiate with Gabriel as if he were some sicario and not just a particularly stubborn baby.

“C’mon, little man. Just go to sleep. All of your problems if you went to sleep right now? Solved. Completely solved. Instead of crying you could just… go to sleep.” Javier whispered over the cooing and grunting of his son. “Oh, don’t give me that face, mister.”

You snorted a laugh - you knew exactly what face Gabe was pulling. His nose and eyebrows would scrunch up, lips pursed as he huffed angry breaths like a little baby bull. It was an exaggerated copy of the face Javier pulled anytime he was frustrated, which you found ridiculously adorable. Slowly, the grumpy grunts became more and more quiet until they disappeared completely, and a few moments later, Javier flopped down on the couch next to you with a sigh.

“Got him down.” Javi said as he pressed close to you, burying himself between the back of the couch and your body to press his face into your neck. A blanket of drowsiness must have settled over the entire house as both kids napped peacefully in their beds and you cuddled up to your husband in the living room. The both of you would doze until the sound of little feet on the hardwood or the sounds of a hungry baby woke you, and then it would be back on the grind of parenthood, but you knew… with Javier by your side, you could do it.

{Taglist}

@iamburdened @everyhowlmarksthedead @jenrebloggingfics @xserenax-13 @silverstarsandsuns @luminescentlily @peterpstuff @leonieb @lazybeeches @withasideofmeg @freeshavocadoooo @chattychell @ew-erin @i-ship-it-ironically @artsymaddie @mrsparknuts @wyn-dixie @notabotiswear @lunaserenade @jitterbugs927 @theorganasolo @the-witty-pen-name @northernpunk @lemonlime09 @la-lunaluna @andruxx @greeneyedblondie44 @bloodsuckingbastards @coldlilheart @gracie7209 @green-socks @paintballkid711 @lord-of-restingbiface @asta-lily @xgoldenjenny @mummifymecaptain @cjbtw @a-skov @himbotroy @xjsteph @marvelousmermaid @over300books @castleamc @darnitdraco @janebby @cannedsoupsucks @itssmashedavo @mtjoi @triggerhappyflygirl 

[cornfarm]

summertime cicadas

saiki kusuo x reader

word count: 1.6k

synopsis: you go to saiki’s place to play some video games. saiki learns a bit about your dirty laundry.

cw: suggestions of past sexual abuse. it’s not explicitly stated but it’s heavily implied.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

reader is gender neutral!

===================================================

notes:

i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a few weeks now, but i was never happy with it.

it’s implied that you and saiki are in week 2-4 of dating;;;

i have some other stuff in the works but im tired so notes r boring today

enjoy waaaaaa

===================================================

When Saiki and you were left alone together, the tension that hung in the air was fun and playful. Coy glances, the heart jittering brushes of skin, and the almost knowing smiles you two would shoot each other. This time around, it was heavy, and it weighed hefty on both your shoulders.

It was your first time over at his place since you had begun dating.

You had texted him: can i come over? i bought a new game i wanna play it with u

He was very happy you decided to make the first move, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. 

Immediately, the “devlivered” at the corner of your text changed to “read”. He hastily typed back: Sure, let me know when you’re here. My parents aren’t home.

You saw letters on your screen, but you squinted your eyes shut upon them entering your field of vision. You had thrown your phone across the room, too nervous to look at his response. Tentatively picking it up, your heart nearly exploded at his words. You quickly respond: okay! be there soon :)

Saiki suddenly felt a bit on edge, realization finally striking him that you were about to be in his presence. In his bedroom. Alone. 

Saiki Kusuo never really felt things too intensely, so to feel it strike at his heart and stomach was almost a bit too much for his liking. 

Saiki wound up sitting patiently at the dining room table, using his telekensis to pick things up, rearrange ornaments and fine china, and clean up trash. The last thing he wants is you coming over when the place is a mess.

The doorbell rang, not that he needed it to know you were here. Beckoning you in, you pull out a small disc box from your bag. 

“I heard really good reviews from it. I was interested in it since I liked the art style but I wanted to wait until people played it and reviews came out before I committed.”

He takes it from your hands to inspect it, “I’m not super interested in recent games, I like older ones a bit more. Indie ones too. I’ve heard that the gameplay is really compelling.”

“That’s okay, we can still play together, right?” You almost look a bit nervous. Saiki gnawed at the inside of his lip.

“Sure,” you don’t look satisfied, “I don’t mind, doing things with you is nice.”

The content expression on your face satisfies him. You follow him upstairs.

Then the tension settles. You’re so close, the pleasant floral scent from your detergent lingering where you walk. He peers behind you as you take in his room: simple, clean, minimalistic. It’s painfully in character. You smile, flopping face down on his bed.

“I’ve only ever been here with everyone else, it was so lively then, but it’s so different when it’s quiet!” You situate yourself so you’re sitting at the edge of his bed, legs dangling off the side.

“It’s the same room.”

“Yeah but, now it’s just me and you.”

“I suppose so.”

You watch as he peers to the wall, a bit away from you.

“What, you’re not nervous are you? Do I make you, THE Saiki Kusuo nervous?”

He clicks his tongue, and begins stalking towards you. He stops right in front of you, shins nearly touching the mattress of his bed. He looks down, expression deadpanned like usual. Perhaps thats precisely why you got so flustered. Your hands coming to clasp politely in your lap, you look up at him, determined to hold eye contact.

“Mhm,” he smirks, “you do. What will you do about it?”

He watches as your lips part into a small ‘o’, before you turn your head down and begin to pout. He’ll spare you this time. The small proximity between you settles in; he should get out of here, nervousness is finally catching up, it’s a bit too much for him to handle. For such a cocky one-liner, he really can’t keep it together. He exits his room for a moment with a brief “wait here”.

He hears you let out a sigh down the hall. Taking the chance to inspect his belongings, you peer under his bed, nothing suspicious there, before making your way to his desk. There’s his computer, a nice leather desk chair, a lamp, and a small empty mug that holds pens, pencils, and highlighters. You thumb through them.

He re-enters his room, quietly opening the door, but just enough so where you hear. Outstreching his arm, he hands you a bottle of iced tea.

“This is,” inspecting the label, “you don’t usually drink these, right?”

Saiki stays quiet.

“So you got it for me? You remembered I liked it?” 

He nods.

You beam at him, mutter your gratitude, and pull out the games box.

Placing the disc onto the disc reader, and pushing it in, you start up the game, and watch the intro animation. 

“Yeah, the graphics are really nice,” he comments.

You adjust yourself, sitting on top a cushion on the floor, he moves a bit closer. 

Skipping though dialog, tutorials, and the first few levels of the game, Saiki controller finally begins responding. 

“I’m sorry, I thought the multiplayer feature would be available from the start.”

“It’s okay, you can pick first”

“Hmm...” you pause, brows furrowing in focus as you look through the different player avatar options. Finally, you turn to him and smile, “this one! Your turn.”

Saiki bites at the inside of his lip, again, moving his thumb over the joystick, he picks his avatar.

It’s nice, it’s quiet, the sound of cicada’s chirping outside his bedroom window, and the soft hum of his fan are gentle. Neither of you are talking about grand things like aspirations and inhibitions, but you didn’t have to. The soft, casual tone of conversation is something Saiki’s making sure to cherish. The game’s fun, Saiki is enjoying himself, he enjoys you. 

But tension still looms heavy overhead. You aren’t the only one who was thinking about it, how close you two were, how your elbows kept bumping, the small,and the way you both tried to get just a millimeter closer.

Saiki knew what you wanted, but he couldn’t pull himself to take initiative. Why? Was nervousness just another curse set out to plague him?

He’s reading your mind, he knows without a doubt you want to, so why is he so nervous to reach out and touch you? He wants to run away.

“Saiki?”

Your voice broke his thoughts, he turns to you. “Are you okay?”

He does it without thinking, slowly placing the controller down and putting his palms on your shoulders. 

“I’m just not used to this,” he finally says, “like, dating and all that.”

You wrap your fingers around his wrists, “that’s okay, I’ve never dated anyone either, we can just take it slow. We have time.” You reassure, “I’m nervous too,” voice smaller than before. He lifts his hands off, hovering them in front of you, debating on where he should put them. Should he put them back on your shoulders, or would that be weird? Maybe it’s okay if he takes your hands into his, but right now your hands are...

His vision finally focuses, and he looks at your hands, defensively positioned in front of your chest with your palms facing him. You’re looking at him with a half smile, but your brows are pursed down. You’re watching him very carefully.

Your thoughts still, pausing until he moves again, taking your hands in his own. He’s confused, why do you look so skittish?

You look visibily confused that he takes your hands. He’s granted one thought:

He’s not gonna do anything, see? He’s just holding my hands, that’s it. He’s not gonna do anything.

Do what? What do you mean? Do what?

“What do you mean?” He blurts out, voice ringing through your head.

Astonishment paints your face. Shit, you didn’t think you said anything out loud. Could he read your mind? He chooses not to say anything.

You shake your arms, he retracts his hands.

“I’ve just had bad experiences with people in the past, I got nervous, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

Oh. Your internal dialog isn’t as pleasant as the words you choose to say. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it more in the future,” you still have the strength to smile at him?

He reaches out to touch you again, but never connecting. He hesitates this time, fingers hovering over your forearm. 

“I’m not really interested in that sort of stuff. I wouldn’t do that to you. I won’t do that to you,” he corrects.

With a smile pained with melancholy, you shift yourself forward, wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his shoulder, legs finding their way between his. He wastes no time wrapping his own arms around your back, pressing your chest closer to his own. Your hearts pound against each other, breathing syncing as you both exhale a sigh. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know,” your voice is muffled. 

You stay like that for a few moments. Cicada’s chirping, fan blowing, there’s nothing to say- the silence is comforting in it’s own way.

You finally pull away from him, voice much brighter, “but I’m not ready to kiss you yet, I think my heart would explode!” He flushes red. Adjusting to sit back onto the cushion, you lean your weight onto his side. He tension has finally settled, and Saiki sighs contently. 

Saiki only uses his powers in ways to convinience himself. Fortunately, keeping you safe was more than convinient to him: it was the bare minimum- an absolute necessity. 

As soon as you leave, he’ll find the bastards that did it. 

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - Your son isn’t cute at all

Original title: 儿子一点都不可爱

Original author: 君兮耶君兮 (jun xi ye jun xi)

[ VICTOR ]

You’re certain that the strength of Victor’s genes resulted in that little guy at home being an exact replica of him. Even Victor can’t deny that your son resembles him greatly in terms of appearance.

However, this doesn’t mean he acknowledges the resemblance of their personalities. At the very least, he feels that he wasn’t as studious during his childhood years.

Furthermore, Victor has half-jokingly pointed out that your son’s dislike for exercise is exactly the same as his mother’s.

“Victor, your son is bullying me again!” 

Although your opponent is a little brat, you’re still unable to win. In this short round of Go, your white pieces have more or less been “eaten” by your son’s black pieces.

“Dummy. Don’t blame your son if your skills can’t match up to his.” Victor sets down the documents in his hand, walking over to observe.

Is this something he should be saying in front of the kid!? What about your dignity as a mother? 

You turn around with a glare. “You were the one who taught me how to play Go. My teacher didn’t teach me properly!”

In the past, you’d typically respond to Victor’s remarks with a stubborn retort. Nowadays, you simply toss the bucket to someone else.

“If you make that move, you’d be sending yourself straight to a loss,” Victor comments, seeing that you’re once again putting a white piece where it’d definitely be “eaten”.

“Who says that I’m making that move?” You flick your wrist, salvaging the fate of the white piece, along with your pride. With a dignified air, you continue. “A true gentleman keeps silent while watching a game.”

“Mom, putting your piece here isn’t any different from the other spot.” Your son notes expressionlessly. With a thud of his black piece, he is only one move away from “eating” your white piece.

“...”

Despite the truth in his words, being ridiculed by your son truly upsets you. “We’ll continue. What happened earlier was a tiny mistake.”

In the following rounds, your white pieces grow sparse on the board while Victor observes the mother-son battle calmly. Or rather, watching as you get obliterated by your son.

Wanting to prolong the competition despite the lack of prospects, you courageously seek Victor’s assistance. “Hubby, help me out!”

Ignoring his son’s awkward expression, Victor rubs your head in a comforting manner. Picking up a piece and placing it onto the board, he instantly rescues several white pieces from a tragic ending. “Next time, give your Mom a chance. You need to give some confidence to opponents who are weaker than you.”

Your son nods in half-understanding.

“...”

Victor, don’t think I can’t tell that you’re calling me a noob!

[ GAVIN ]

Just as you wished, you had a son. However, there are times when you really think your son isn’t cute at all!

Your son watches you sternly, hands on his hips.

“Mommy, Dad said that you can’t eat ice-cream these days.”

“Be good. If you don’t say anything, your dad won’t find out. Also, I’m not the only one eating. You can have one too~” You attempt to bribe the little fellow who is utterly loyal to Gavin.

He rejects your suggestion decisively. “No way. Dad will get angry.”

This so-called anger is simply Gavin displaying a cold expression momentarily. Away from his son’s gaze, you’d play coy and Gavin would release a sigh of resignation before gently reminding you not to commit this offence again. To you, this isn’t a deterrence factor at all.

Since your son can’t find out about this little secret, you huff while returning the ice-cream into the fridge. Then, you grab a bag of spicy sticks from the snack basket.

Before your fingers touch the jagged edges of the opening, your son stops you.

“Mom, no spicy sticks either.” 

“...”

It truly isn't a good feeling to be ordered around by a child. 

Bored out of your wits, you bury yourself in the sofa, watching as your son stuffs the packet of spicy sticks back into the snack basket. “What other things did your dad prohibit?”

Your son tilts his head as he recalls. “Aside from ice-cream, mala soup, snacks, fried chicken, there’s nothing else.”

“...”

And he called that “nothing”!?

With the loss of snacks, you feel like your entire life has turned dim and gloomy. You get up coldly before walking into the bedroom listlessly. “I’ll take a nap. When your dad gets back, tell him to face the corner and stay there.”

Your son obediently agrees.

Close to dinnertime, your honourable husband returns home. Even before he removes his shoes, his son calls out to him. “Mom asked you to stand at the corner.” The little rascal gloats slightly.

“???”

Gavin is left dumbfounded, and has no idea what he did to anger you. “Where is she?”

“She’s asleep.”

After standing at the corner for ten minutes, there’s no stirring from the bedroom. Gavin pokes his son, who is sitting at the entrance and reading a book. “Go and check if your mom has woken up.”

“Nope.” Your son refuses instantly.

“Why not?”

“Mom said that if I supervise you until she wakes up herself, she’d buy me the latest model aeroplane.” The little child’s eyes brim with anticipation at the thought of the new toy.

“...”

So he abandoned his father for a new model aeroplane?

[ LUCIEN ]

“Mom, do you really not know how to do this question? Dad said that this question is very simple.” Your son looks up with a frown, only to see your frustrated expression as you rip up a sheet of rough paper.

“...don’t listen to your dad’s nonsense.”

The way Professor Lucien defines the word “simple” is completely different from ordinary people, all right?!

“Dad won’t lie to me. Mom can’t do it because she’s too stupid!”

Ever since the little fellow followed Lucien to the research centre, his admiration for his father has risen by another degree.

Having your self-esteem trampled upon, you toss the pen aside. “Why don’t you ask your dad then? I’m done with this!” 

Isn’t making cream puffs more enjoyable than solving problems? Why should you continue torturing yourself?

“...”

The little rascal pinches the booklet and heads into the study room. “Dad, I think I made Mom angry.”

“What happened?” You rarely lose your temper in front of the child.

His son shows him the question in the booklet. “Mom couldn’t solve it, so I called her stupid.”

“Apologise to your mother!” Lucien thinks that aside from him, nobody else can bully his Little Miss. Not even his son.

“Okay.” Your son responds obediently before going downstairs.

By the time Lucien finishes his work and heads into the kitchen, he spots you stuffing a cream puff into your son’s mouth. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Next time, just ask your dad directly if you have any math questions.”

“All right.” The little rascal’s puffy cheeks resemble a hamster’s. When he sees Lucien arriving, he returns to his room to read books, giving the both of you space.

Amused by the mother-son interaction, Lucien waits till his son leaves before entering the kitchen and reaching out for a cream puff. Before he can even touch one, you whack his hand away.

“Hm? It seems that my wife is angry with me too?” Lucien wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. Even though he’s exerting very little force, you're still unable to free yourself.

“I’m so sorry that I can’t do a question which, according to Professor Lucien, is very simple.” While he continues hugging you, you transfer the cream puffs from the baking tray onto a small plate. 

“That’s okay. Having one adult who can teach him is enough.”

You pout. “Your son called me stupid earlier.”

“Nonsense.” Lucien gives you a tap on the head. “My wife is the smartest. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have taken so long for me to win you over.”

Lucien’s sweet nothings are becoming smoother and smoother. Pushing him away with your elbow, you pick up the small plate. “Go and give the cream puffs to our son.”

Initially thinking that the plate was meant for him, Lucien is stunned momentarily. His son had a cream puff personally fed to him, while he hasn’t even managed to touch a cream puff. “What about mine?”

You release an icy “hmph”.

“Considering Professor Lucien’s high IQ, I’m sure he can make them himself. I want to give these to my son, who is also unable to solve that problem.”

“...”

Why does he have to bear the consequences when his son was the one who angered you?

[ KIRO ]

“I’m back~” 

You’ve just returned from a business trip which swept you overseas for close to a month, and it’s been a long time since you saw the two suns in your home.

“Mommy! Welcome home!”

“Miss Chips! Welcome home!”

The father-son duo exclaim unanimously, rushing over to the door with their similar faces and equally dazzling golden hair.

Your adorable son stumbles over to you, and you respond by squatting down and stretching your hands to give him a full hug. The little fellow tightens his grip around your neck to express his joy and how much he missed you.

Apple Box leaps around beside you to convey his welcome, and you can’t help but reach out to give him a pat on his fluffy head. In the time you weren’t around, he had put on quite a bit of weight.

The small entrance hall brims with a warm atmosphere... aside from Kiro.

At this moment, Kiro feels that his position in the home has deteriorated, and he shoots a killer glare towards your coquettish son and Apple Box, who weren’t sidelined by you.

“Miss Chips, did you not miss me... QAQ”

Despite the passage of time, Kiro, who has even become a father, seems to have become more childish.

You purse your lips. “Who said so? I missed you very much.”

“But you hugged him first and even patted Apple Box. You didn’t give me a hug.” The more he talks about it, the more insignificant he feels.

“Dad, you’re so heavy. Mom won’t be able to carry you.” Your son rubs salt into his wound.

Sure enough, Kiro gets offended by this. With a darkened expression, he pulls his son away from your arms, lifting him into the air. “Say that again!”

The little rascal struggles for a while before escaping from his grasp, then buries himself into your arms again. “Mommy, I drew you a picture!” With this, he sends Kiro a competitive glance.

Amused by the usual competition between father and son, you feed off your son’s excitement. “Really? My darling is incredible!”

“I’m incredible too!” Kiro is deathly afraid of falling behind. “Go away.” He pulls his son away from you once again. His left hand reaches behind your knees, and he bends down to carry you up. When he feels your hands tightening around his neck, he lets out a satisfied “hmph”.

“I can pick your Mom up in a princess carry. Can you?”

“Once I’ve grown up, I can do it too!” Your son gives him a glance of disdain. “Also, you’d be old by the time I grow up. I’d also be more handsome than you. Mommy will definitely like me more~”

“Looks like you need a spanking!” Kiro places you down before reaching for his son.

“Kiro, you’re not allowed to hit our son!” You hurriedly stop him before he can do anything.

“He was challenging my authority as his father.”

You tousle his hair in a comforting manner. “Be good. Actually, our son wasn’t wrong. When you’re old, you’d...”

“Miss Chips!”

“When you’re old, you’d still be handsome!” You chuckle gently, tugging him on the sleeve to make him bend down slightly. A sweet kiss lands on the side of his face. “Superheroes are the most handsome~”

[ SHAW ]

“Don’t make a mess out of our house!”

The moment you see the unsalvageable mess on the coffee table, the only thought that runs through your mind is sending this troublemaker back to the oven to be re-made.

“Dad said that an overly neat doesn’t have a homely feeling.” Your son tilts his head upwards confidently, continuing with his work on hand.

“So why are you doodling on the wall?”

The originally pure white wall has been morphed beyond recognition. And why does the style of this abstract art look so familiar?

Your son wipes his hands on a damp cloth at the side, then picks up a crayon. “Dad said that aesthetic sense must be picked up since young.”

Seeing the patches of postmodern art on the wall causes your blood to boil. “Can’t you use paper?”

As compared to your frantic state, your son is much more composed. “Dad said that I should strike while the iron’s hot when it comes to being inspired. I didn’t have time to find paper, so I drew on the wall.”

No matter what, you have to find the main culprit.

“Shaw, get over here!” Your twist your head and roar towards the living room.

“Did you allow him to draw on the walls?” You glare at him fiercely, causing his initial “yes” to quickly turn into a “I did not.”

Your son lifts his head in confusion. “Dad, didn’t you say that I should draw wherever I wanted to? You even said a child’s talent shouldn’t be stifled.”

“...”

With a grim laugh, you toss him a rag. “Since you allowed him to do it, you’ll be the one to clean up.”

“...son, use paper next time. Don’t draw on the walls.” Shaw finds a smaller rag and hands it to his son. The both of them begin wiping off the colourful traces on the wall pitifully, wishing they could travel back in time to stop this from happening in the first place.

Sitting on your son’s small bed while scrolling through your phone, you occasionally look up to supervise their progress.

Once they’re more or less done, your son suddenly pipes up.

“When can we head out to do graffiti?”

“Graffiti?” Why weren’t you aware of such plans?

“...” 

Shaw has a bad feeling about this.

“Shaw. Explain.”

“It’s just... nurturing his artistic side...” His voice dies off at the end.

“Okay. Right now, I’ll be nurturing his mathematical side. Stand at the corner of the wall and count from one to a thousand.”

After tidying your son’s bed, you head out to pour yourself a cup of water.

Shaw tosses a sympathetic glance at his son. “Every man for himself.”

“As his father, you’ll keep him company.”

“...”

More translated and original works: here

-

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: Can, just state the author and the source

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

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