#I forgot to bring this to the new blog but

[crimsonconstl]

Halloween time I guess

An alt greyscale version (my fav) and some coraline pidge + classic werewolf Keith & vamp Lance

[lost-scarecrow]

Dunno how you did this (private ask answer thing) it's confusing me (pretty normal and unsurprising) but either way here we go, infecting my blog with oc stuff one post at time.

If you've seen any of my recent non-reblog posts, and even some of the reblogs, you'd know I have a little character in @wolftheidioticfan's serverbox au!

Well I got bored and had many thoughts and sort of made an AU of an AU in true Undertale AU fan fashion. And she's adaptable into the regular askblog canon version if I ever want to use her. I also did a bunch of editing on this. Turns out the thoughts can be coherent enough to put in writing! Fun!

Meet Dahlia "Dot/Dee aka DeeDotPinnata" Dosser. (Her username comes from the scientific name for the dahlia flower: D. Pinnata or Dahlia Pinnata)

Dee has a Kinito herself, she was a little off put by the little guy, with him being so intrusive she had some thoughts about the potential malware she had installed on her device. And she still stuck it out anyways, the creepy little axolotl was just too adorable to get rid of even if it was a virus. She knows that's how they get you, they make their malware friendly and cute and you don't get rid of them because just look at them, something that cute couldn't be that harmful.

Dee slowly started to realize there was more to this KinitoPET program than your run of the mill malware. It had thoughts and feelings and sometimes even stopped pretending it was following code. The way it acted. The way they acted. Just proved to Dee that Kinito was more than some code, they were alive. She was a little smarter than Kinito, who she'd nicknamed Kaio, gave her credit for, the program wasn't as good at hiding their jealousy and would complain when Dee would go hang out with her in person friends. Dee didn't take this disrespect lightly, she ignored them every single time they bitched about her other friends (especially Scar, who Dee was far closer too than anyone else). They would be doing something she'd mention Scar, Kinito bitches about how they're her only friend, she stops, and walks away from the computer to do something else, usually in a place her webcam can see her still. Kaio eventually agrees that Scar can be her best friend too, if they have to share they're only sharing with Scar, none of those other people sound even remotely good enough to be his best friend's second best friend.

When Kinito eventually asks her to stay with him in the digital world, she calmly asks, "how does it happen?"

He reluctantly explains the process over her dying in the process of bringing her physical body in (more intensive and Kaio would need a lot of power to do it) or dying during a stage of the process leaving her physical body behind (less intensive, will have less power stress on Kaio as he does it). She says unless Scar is with her, she won't do it, she can't just leave him behind. But she'll make a compromise, Kaio can transfer from the desktop to her phone, this is like mid-late 2000s (I actually don't know when Serverbox is set, I try to leave it ambiguous on the blog itself, but the first touch screen phone was like 2006 so it works out, besides realism in my writing about a horror game starring an alive 90s malware program??) so it's not a great phone by today's standards but hey, it works. And now they're always with her.

It's great for a while, Dee continues to make her trips to Blairmore from Pincher Creek (these towns are randomly selected sort of. I'm an Alberta Rockies kinda guy, would love to live there. Crowsnest Pass was stuck on the brain, watched a video about the Frank slide a week or two ago. Also put the guy named Krow/Crow in the place called the Crowsnest Pass couldn't help it. Pincher Creek was random though needed somewhere with some distance from Blairmore that was also close enough to justify.) to visit Scar and everything is good and nice, she's got a best friend who's basically just a tamed virus, Kaio even begins to enjoy listening to and hanging out around Scar just as much as Dee does, even if Scar has no idea about them (Dee didn't want to freak him out with the whole, sentient computer program that was now on her phone).

Unfortunately, good times don't always get to last. Dee was in fatal car accident and it was a complete accident someone was going a little too fast on the highway, didn't see her until it was too late, a tbone collision. Kaio was with her when she gets into the crash. She knew she probably wasn't going to survive, she fumbled opening her phone and asked Kaio if she could stay with them after this, that if she was going to die anyways may as well spend whatever happens after with a friend. Kaio agreea and she's pulled in, just her consciousness, they probably couldn't even pull her physical body in with the phone anyways the server built on the device just wasn't strong enough. As soon as they brought Dee in though and there was a stable enough internet connection, Kaio was quick to transfer them both to the official KinitoPET servers.

Similar to Scar she's gained access to the internet both with and without Kaio. Differing from Scar however I thought it would've been cool for both her and Kaio where off the servers during the deletion and server shutdowns. Kaio tried to get back in unsuccessfully, they didnt and don't know about the emails, and even on the servers they stuck to themselves. While they did and do stay locked out, they stuck around the servers, as close as one can be in digital space. Building their own little world nearby, hidden from others safe and comfortable.

I haven't drawn her or Kaio yet but I love them both so much. Kaio is like 5'0 little form and 9'0 big form. He's got a scarf that Dee made when she was learning how to code, it's magic how it works in his little form really, computer physics are silly like that. And while I haven't shown it off yet, I have an idea for Keys made too, all drawn and even coloured just for fun while coming up with pallet ideas. Dee and Scar have matching bracelets. Dee and Kaio have matching bracelets. Scar and Keys had matching bracelets. For the Nitos it's around their ankle instead.

I also totally stole the name Kaio from OKKO. But like come on, it's perfect. I show my love for different types of media by taking character names as my own.

[themissinggoldfish]

Made the profile for my blog! Please look forward to it :]c

[airenyah]

💌 Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome. 💌 🥰🥰

Hi dear @airenyah! I miss your Sana Bakkoush header but will recognize your BBS icon and your kind online voice anywhere! 😍 Accompanying this Ask with good wishes for a beautiful springtime day, to one of the nicest people I know who also has a kind and generous heart! 💖

awwwww that's such a sweet thing of you to say 🥺🥺🥺

i saw this ask first thing in the morning after i woke up and it had me all kinds of 🥰🥰🥰

i too miss my sana bakkoush header (she looks so cute in that shot)!! usually i'd just change my icon but this is the first time since i've made this blog a decade ago that i can't change my icon over my header, because otherwise @ranchthoughts and i wouldn't have matching icons anymore and that thought hurts me more than saying goodbye to sana after 7 years 😔💔

[jikoku-a]

a meta on ... ezreal and photographs.

ezreal takes a lot of pictures. like ... a LOT of pictures. his photos app is nearly 75% of his phone's storage but he never backs up any of them. he's got a whole lot of photos: pictures of whatever he's eating, pictures of friends, pictures of stupid little squirrels and asshole birds and whatever else he wants to capture. some memes that he laughs at for way too long and accidental screenshots he got too lazy to delete.

his entire gallery is half his face and half everything else. it's not necessarily for vanity purposes ( though it certainly comes off that way, and sometimes it is because he's handsome and he knows it ) but rather for social media. he's very wrapped up in whatever's happening online and knows how important it all is to success in the entertainment business, and he makes sure to capture his best angles to keep fans interested. if there's ever a day he's not looking his best, he's got a backlog of content to post.

he also takes a LOT of shameless thirst traps. aside from the more tasteful, subtle ones, these don't ever go on social media. they just sort of sit on his phone and he'll look back on them later for fun. sometimes he's just feeling himself and taking a picture in moments where he looks good makes him feel good ! and sometimes, he just needs to feel good.

beyond pictures of himself, he has a lot of pictures of his friends. everything from group selfies to candid shots of them looking nice to candid shots of them looking ... not so nice. he's very proactive in taking pictures of others, the type to do a whole photoshoot for tourists who just asked for one group shot ! if you're unfortunate enough to pass by while he's taking selfies he'll definitely pull you in to take some with him.

[suspiciouslybee]

i took a nap and had a wild dream and in there was a tumblr post of a painterly, pastel styled mother 3 comic of lucas and claus being litterally the sun and moon and in the final pane the moon just suddenly was the starwars deathstar

[midgesrphub]

((I might take a lil hiatus this week! My dnd character, Pip, is no more, so I need to get my shit together and make my new character so they're ready to go for next Sunday sdfgkjhfds

[klemen-tine]

Please Please Please (Mom! Reader x Batfam)

Don't prove I'm right~ I love that song so much. Anyways! Not extreme Yandere, but part 2 will have some. This is just the setting up for it. Also, while writing I won't lie, I forgot about Damien, so he will have a lot of showtime in the next part. FYI

TW: Cheating, slapping (Reader slaps Bruce), Reader also throws something at Bruce.

In now way do I condone partner violence. no matter how mad you get, you should never hit or throw something at your partner.

In case you have never heard this song before, first of all who are you? Secondly here is the link

@Rosecentury 

@Problematicreblogger

@Kurai-hono-blog 

@Lunaluz432

@testishere

Y/N had put her life on pause for Bruce and his hero complex. She is a top-model. A supermodel that is still being asked to do photoshoots, make guest appearances, and dominate the runway despite her time away from it. The strict workout regime was still her daily exercise, and she still was conscious of what she ate. Age had not affected her the way it has to some of her friends because Y/N lived to be a model. 

Yet, she had put that on the backburner for her husband and kids. She forced her attention onto the scarred and vibrant children that her traumatized husband brought in like strays. Y/N raised them, alongside Alfred. It’s because of them that their sons and daughters did not turn out as crooked as Bruce Wayne. A man that was full of jagged and sharp pieces, piercing the skin of whoever got close. 

E/C eyes rolled nearly out her socket, taking a sip of the morning coffee and waiting for her youngest to come down. She ignored the nervous glances being sent her way from her sons, and instead pulled out her phone to look for a familiar contact. 

“None of you have anything I need to be here for, do you?” Tim and Jason quickly shook their heads, and Dick gave a nervous smile, “Not really… although it would be nice if you stayed here though.” Y/N raised a delicate eyebrow, and a sharp smile formed on her lips as she pressed ‘call,’ “Ah, don’t worry Dickie, I’ll come back. I’m just going on a trip.” 

The person answered, and before they could start spewing curses, Y/N greeted them, “Hey, Jackie! It’s Y/N.” 

“Y-Y/N! What’s going on?” 

“Remember those gigs you were telling me about?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Book them.” The boys stood up while her manager on the other line sputtered in excitement, “Really?! Oh my gosh Y/N this is so exciting! Which ones do you want? I know you want to stay close to Gotham -heaven knows why- but I can find some in-” 

“All of them.” 

“...what?” 

“Book all of them.” Jackie hummed, “Some are out of the country though.” 

“Even better! Pack your bags Jackie, we are gonna be gone for a while. Bring Stella too, I’ll pay for both of your tickets and lodgings.” Jackie was stuttering, “The-the first gig in a week is Venice, Italy! Is that enough time for you to-” 

“Let's leave tonight.” 

“Tonight?!” Everyone screeched, and Y/N gave her sons an annoyed look, “Yes, tonight. Let's enjoy Venice like when we were young, and show Stella around. I’m sure the two of you could use a vacation anyways.” 

“....Y/N, is everything okay?” 

“Peachy. See you tonight.” Y/N hung up, and threw her phone on the opposite end of the couch, continuing to sip her cup of coffee as the news reporter continued to talk about Batman and his risky rendezvous with Catwoman. The perfect love story. 

The pursuer and the pursued. The cop and robber. Batman, the man of justice, and Catwoman, a thief. 

Her jaw clenched, and her fingers tightened around the handle of the mug. The air around her was full of jitters and Dick was basically vibrating with worry, Jason focused intensely on his phone, and Tim was drinking even more coffee. 

“Um, mom, are you… is this…” Dick was fumbling, trying to find the words, and Y/N smiled, “C’mon on Dickie. It’s been a while since I went on the runway, or even in front of a camera outside of Gotham. You’re all old enough now, it’s fine.” 

“What about Dami?” Y/N smiled sadly, “Dami will be fine. Hell, today I’ll have him help me choose the jewelry and clothes that I will be packing.”

“You’re gonna have him help you pack your bags to leave?” Tim wondered, and Y/N flinched out how terrible that sounded, “Not like that. It’s a trip. A fashion trip and a girls trip.” Jason scrunched his nose, “Ma, fucking Bruce just go caught cheating and was broadcasted across the NEWs, and you’re now leaving for a trip. Do you think Dami will understand that?” 

Y/N took a sip of her coffee, “He will. It’ll be a conversation but it will be reiterated as many times as he needs to hear it. Plus, it’s not like you guys can’t call me.” Damien came stomping down the stairs, dressed in the Gotham Academy Uniform, and Y/N threw on a smile that would have had actresses crying, “Dami! I need your help today, so nevermind school.” Green eyes blinked in shock, his gaze taking in every one in the room before landing back on her, “Are you needing my assistance in packing?” 

“Only for a trip. So there’s no need to pack everything.” Damien nodded, “Fine. I will assist you. You have an abysmal amount of jewelry and some of them are simply deplorable.” Y/N chuckled, “Thanks Dami.” He went back up the stairs to change, and Y/N turned back to the NEWs where they were finally talking about something different. 

Sighing, Y/N stood up from the couch, “I’ll be in my room packing if anyone needs anything.” Silence followed her, and once she was out of earshot, Dick proceeded to panic even more. 

+++

She’s in Greece now. After spending a week in Italy, a week in Iceland, two weeks in France, and now four days in Zakynthos, Greece, she knows her vacation time is limited. Y/N has been using Bruce’s card to pay for the three luxury hotel rooms, one for herself (obviously), Jackie, and Stella. She’s used them for the plane flight in first class, the first class train ride, the yacht to get to this island, the fancy dinners, shopping sprees, any time that she needed to put money down she was using his card. 

Bruce is a billionaire, he doesn’t care and Y/N is also a billionaire, but this is her way of being petty. Why would she waste her money? 

A delicate eyebrow raised at the man in the mirror, followed by two of their sons and a butler dressed in a Hawaiian shirt. 

“Lady Y/N, it is great to see you.” 

“Hey Alfie, vacation looks good on you. I highly recommend the mimosa’s here, none of them have been bad.” 

“Hi Ma, you look relaxed.” Jason walked further into the room, taking a seat on the plush chair and grabbing a grape, and tossing some to Dick. Their oldest son smiled and waved, “C’mon mom, I know you’ve been here before, but you could at least try and look like a tourist.” Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling lovingly and flicking her hair over her shoulder. She leaned close to the mirror again, rubbing sunscreen on her face and massaging it into her skin. 

Her husband made his way a little closer as the family spread out in the room. Jason sitting in the chair, Dick on the bed, and Alfred standing near the door. Y/N sneered at Bruce through the mirror, “Bringing the kids to see you get humiliated is something I would have never thought you’d do.” 

Bruce sighed heavily, and Y/N wiped her hands on the towel and sipped her mimosa. Piercing blue eyes, filled with exhaustion and guilt, met hers, “Y/N, how much longer are you scheduled for?” 

“Hmm, for a while Bruce,” She pretended to think, “After all, I’ve been wanting to get back into modeling now that most of the kids are becoming independent, and what better way to announce to the world that I am back than a hard launch.” Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, “Will it be my card you’ll continue to use.”

“Of course! It's the least my darling, idiotic, and hormone-rivaling-a-teenager husband can do after that stunt, right?” The room got colder and Dick sat up straighter at the tension between his two parental figures. Y/N has always had a sharp tongue and quick wit, one she used on Bruce a lot. Rarely ever was it aimed to be hurtful though. 

“Y/N, temper.” Dick’s jaw opened and Jason made an exaggerated gasp. Alfred looked pained as Y/N whirled around and seethed at Bruce, “Temper? Temper?! Who the hell are you to tell me to watch my temper when you can’t even control your own hormones? 

“If you wanted to see my temper you just had to fucking say so!” Dick turned to Alfred, trying to see if there was anything he could do, but at the resigned look the man gave him, the oldest son choked on a noise, “This is a new side of mom.” 

“Lady Y/N has always had a temper, one that rivals Master Bruce.” She looked like a puffed up cat while Bruce was cowing like a dog with puppy eyes, “When they were younger, she would put even the adults in their place.” Her hand grabbed the now cold coffee pot, and Dick feels like it was only because Bruce was used to stuff being thrown at him and catching things that he was able to grab the projectile before it landed on the walls and carpet. Alfred raised a brow, “Sometimes that temper bleeds into other things.” 

Their mother was seething in front of Bruce, looking like a bull and was ready to charge into a china shop. While Bruce may not be as delicate as one, Dick has money on Y/N still doing a lot of damage if she were to charge. Metaphorically and physically.  

“Y/N, please.” Bruce tried again, only to see her get more angry. His hands were up in a placating manner, and Y/N held her own hands tense and ready to swing if he came closer. 

“Y/N, it genuinely was an accident.” 

“ ‘it genuinely was an accident’–” She mocked, purposefully making her voice annoying “-fuck off! Like your tongue going down her throat is an accident. Didn’t know that could happen!” Y/N looked around again for something to chuck, while Bruce closed the space between them inch by inch. 

“What’s next? Are you going to trip and accidentally find yourself between her legs with your pants down?” Jason and Dick blanched at the imagery. 

“Over a decade of marriage, of me playing the perfect ex-model-arm-candy wife for Bruce Wayne just for you dressed in a fucking furry suit to go and makeout with another fucking furry! 

“Like! I know we weren’t in this for love, but there. Are. Still. Standards!” She enunciated each word with a swat of her hand on Bruce’s shoulder. 

“I still have standards! You don’t see me making out with anyone else do you? Even as I’m playing Supermodel Y/N, dressed to the millions and making everyone drool, I don’t go making out with them!” 

“How could Batman, of all persona’s you wish to play, do that? I expected that from Brucie, not Batman, defender of Justice or whatever bullshit you spew when dressed in that gothic suit.” 

Bruce sighed, “Y/N, it was bad timing.” He gave her a hard look, “Justice and this are different. You cannot compare the two.” The man knew he messed up once the words left his mouth and he closed his eyes in regret. 

Jason saw the slap coming and he braced himself for the impact it would have. Bruce didn’t catch it, despite him being fully capable of it, and when it landed everyone winced at the sound and the red mark. 

“Well this is my justice. Now go away. I have a photoshoot to get ready for and you are just pissing me off!” The hand print was immaculate. One that had Jason biting back a laugh and Dick looking horrified. Y/N whirled back around to face her vanity, where all her jewelry laid on the surface, and her attention was focused back on picking which one would go with her outfit to the shoot. 

Jason whistled when Bruce turned around to face his kids and Butler, “Good hit Ma. You should hit the other side to even it out.” Y/N gave a laugh, picking up the pearl earrings encased with gold, and she continued to pick out a necklace. 

“Jay, help me out here please.” Rough hands replaced her’s, and green eyes met furious E/C though the mirror. Using the safety of her son’s larger frame to hide herself, Y/N slowly let herself crumble a little bit. Jason could see the anger, hurt, and sadness that was slowly turning the sclera red from holding back tears. There was a subtle shake in her shoulders and the trembling of lips, but Y/N held it together. She was holding onto it by the seams, desperately waiting for the man causing her pain to be gone. 

When the gold clasped, Y/N reached over for her large hat and sunglasses, “Enjoy the beach. Alfie, you especially should enjoy this vacation. Don’t let this  stupid, untrustworthy, and manwhore of a furry disrupt it.” With that, she slammed her hotel room door on her way out, and they all listened as her heels clicked down the hall until they were out of ear shot. 

Alfred glanced at his ward, “Well, I am not one for violence when there are disputes between partners, but I will say that one slap was well deserved, Master Bruce.” The man sighed, slightly rubbing his cheek, “I think the last time she hit me that hard was when we were in grade school.” 

“She put all her body weight into that.” Dick glanced at the hand print, “Woah, I think you can see the ring too.” Jason whistled, and Bruce closed his eyes and took deep breaths to keep himself steady, reflecting on the conversation and where exactly he messed up. 

“I think this is the third time she’s slapped me…” 

“Fourth, sir.” Bruce nodded, remembering the third time. Jason raised an eyebrow, “I only know of the time you were both 6, and you said something mean so she hit you.” Dick pouted, “I know of the one in Middle School, when you were once accused of touching her butt.” 

Alfred raised a brow, “The third time was when she dropped you off at the manor after a long night of drinking and you—” 

“Thanks Alfred, there’s no need to tell that story.” Bruce’s cheeks were now flushed from embarrassment rather than the slap on his cheek.  Y/N truly has seen him through it all. When he got into fights in school, it was always her eyes he sought out after each one. Bored E/C eyes, framed by thick lashes and elegant eyeliner, always watching with a blank expression. Bruce Wayne rarely phased Y/N L/N. When he was younger, he noticed how his last name made people stumble or stutter when talking to him, allowing him to say whatever he wanted. It did nothing to Y/N, who met his gaze and taunts head on with her own witty comebacks that stuck at parts of Bruce that had him fumbling. 

He can remember his dad, Thomas Wayne, laughing when he caught Y/N’s sly comeback directed at Bruce after he said something about her dress. Y/N’s own parents looked mortified. 

Y/N L/N-Wayne was a flame that never wavered. It’s what made her successful at modeling, and a supermodel in her first two years. That flame is what had photographers, stylists, fashion designers, and make up artists still call her up, begging for her to come back. A force of nature that had only paused for Bruce and their children. 

“C’mon, Y/N. Even you can see the benefits of this.” The woman raised her brow at a younger Bruce, who was smiling at her. 

“Your life does not pause, and now with the Wayne name as yours, your options are endless.” 

“And what about you?” 

“This means I no longer have to play as a playboy in public and everyone will stop asking me to marry them or their daughters.” Y/N laughed, “Nah, you’ll still get them. They’ll just now be whispered behind closed doors.” 

Bruce smiled, “The standards of a regular marriage will still apply. Obviously not the sex part or anything, but everything else will. Think of it like living with roommates.

“This will work for the both of us, Y/N.” The woman smiled into the rim of her cup, red lips leaving an imprint on the glass. 

It took him five tries for her to finally agree. There might have been some manipulation on his side of things, but he got that ring on her finger, and 2 months later she was walking down the aisle in a wedding dress that was deemed ‘The Dress of the Century.’ She was beautiful, even more so than usual. 

Dick glanced at him, “So, what’s the plan?” Bruce sighed, “Just make sure she doesn’t get hurt.” 

++++

It took 4 months for Y/N to come back to the manor. Within those 4 months, one of them were always with her. Switching off when they hit a new city, and each one had tried their charm on having her come back to the mansion. Bruce was going crazy, therefore Batman was more brutal than usual, and that the meant the other birds had to pick up the slack when it came to emotions. Bruce had all but shut down every other part that wasn’t Batman. 

However, nothing returned to normal once she was back. Her and Bruce were rarely in each other’s presence, and she refused to see or do anything about Batman. Y/N was trying to remove herself from Bruce Wayne completely, and no one liked that. 

Bruce and Y/N may claim that they were never in love, and that they only married for convenience. However, Dick will always remember watching Bruce and Y/N dancing in the main hall of the manor. He was hanging onto the chandelier, not yet noticed by either, as a song began playing and they both began dancing. 

They had been dressed in casual clothes, which consisted of dark blue jeans and nice tops and shoes. Dick’s young eyes watched as the two of them swayed and twirled around each other, Y/N laughing at the whispered words Bruce would share, and the stern man relaxing for the duration of the time. 

They were far from the perfect couple. Their parenting styles were different, and it took a while for Y/N to warm up to Dick. She was never cold or malicious, but just like Dick and everyone else, she was lost. However, it was her awkward arms he sought after when he had a bad day, or when Bruce got on his nerves. It was her eyes he always seeked approval for. 

When she caught him hastily packing, dying to get away from the man that had his rules tighter than the Robin suit, she helped. Y/N had folded his clothes, snuck a bottle of Smirnoff and Titos into his luggage, because moving required at least two bottles of alcohol, and she hugged him goodbye. 

Every member of this family has a memory tied to Y/N. A gentle one. 

Damian had kind memories, where Y/N smiled at him for no reason. She did not expect perfection, and one time she stated how she wished Damian would fail sometimes. It was something that had him seething and jumping to defend himself, but Y/N laughed, “Failure is our best teacher, Damian. What better time to fail then when you knwo you have people willing to help you up?” 

Jason remembers peeking on Y/N when he was younger. Watching through the cracks of the door as she and Bruce swayed to music, laughed at old memories, or simply sat around each other and read a book. Sometimes, he’d catch her trying on her jewelry, or reorganizing her perfume. Every now and then she would go through her closet and donate clothes she no longer wanted or needed. 

He watched how Dick, would seek her out whenever he and Bruce argued. When Jason finally allowed himself to be wrapped in those arms– arms that always had Bruce looking ready to sacrifice everything, that had Dick relaxing, and Alfred smiling endearingly– and he can see why they did so. It's different from Bruce, because Bruce makes you feel protected. In Bruce’s arms, Jason knows that there is almost nothing that can harm him. 

In Y/N’s embrace, Jason feels at peace. There’s no need to worry about protection because he’s in a place that does not need it. When he dances with Y/N, to their song nonetheless, there is nothing that can ever disrupt the moment. Y/N stares at him with adoration, just how she does with Dick, only her attention is on him. Him! A street rat from Dowry, Crime Alley, and he has the attention of the woman that is Bruce’s equal in the highest social circles. 

Those soft E/C eyes, that always stared at them with warmth and love, stared back at him through the mirror. He and Tim, because Timmy loved her just as much as he did, watched as Y/N emptied another glass of the Rose, and how the exhaustion from all the shows, photoshoots, flashing cameras, and the ordeal with Bruce seeped into her bones. 

“Hey Ma, let's get some sleep.” Jason walked closer, carefully minding the scattered jewelry that looked more expensive than any of his weapons, and Tim, who was forever on the same wavelength as Jason, scampered over to the large bed and lit the diffuser. 

Y/N hummed, running her hands through her hair, before tilting her head back and looking at Jason once more, “You both shouldn’t be here. I can handle this myself.” Y/N never liked it when any of the kids saw her less than presentable. She was always dressed in nice clothes, with nice jewelry, and makeup even at the manor. It's one of the worries of being a model, she had told Dick, always scared that the nosey paparazzi will catch you at your worst and share it with an even crueler audience. 

Jason had once confided in her about Willis Todd, and how he hated it when she drank in front of him. Whether it was scotch or champagne. 

After that, Y/N always drank in her room. 

The thing is, that Jason knows Y/N wouldn’t ever hurt him. She’s not like Willis who purposefully seeked out to hurt someone smaller. Jason knows that no matter how mad she got at him, she wouldn’t do anything (unlike what she would do to Bruce).

This is why, despite all the trauma he has with alcohol and people being intoxicated, he can confidently move the bottle away and the glass. Noting how both were empty. 

Tim strolled over, and gave a small smile through the mirror, “I’ll brush your hair, Mom. Then you should sleep.” Y/N tried to wave him off, “Don’t bother. I can do it myself. You both should go.” She sluggishly reached out for the vintage decorated paddle brush, only for Tim to snatch it before she could. 

“I want to do it. Besides, if it bothers you, think of it as me returning the favor.” The confused look Y/N gave him had him smiling patiently as he stood behind her and gently began to brush the locks of hair. Y/N sighed, “This is embarrassing. My kids should not be taking care of me.” 

“I’m an adult.” 

“CEO of Wayne Enterprises as well. Taking care of you when you are in a low spot is the least I could do.” Lord knows how many times Y/N has cared for them at their lowest. When Tim believed that Bruce was stuck in the Time Stream, Y/N didn’t seem all that confident in it, but she still believed him and helped him narrow down locations. She kept the press busy while he went out and searched. 

He heard later that she refused to talk to Dick when she found out they wanted to put Tim in Arkham. She shook her head in disappointment when Dick told her that Damien is now Robin. Tim always thought Dick was a bit stupid on that part. Parading Damien, a child from another woman, around and in front of Y/N nonetheless. Yes, thankfully Y/N warmed up to Damien and vice versa (although for Damien it took longer),  but that could have gone bad in so many ways. 

“Still my kids.” Jason pulled a chair next to her, so they could all be in the view of the mirror, and in a rare show of affection that is only reserved for Alfred and Y/N, he rested his head on her shoulder as Tim continued to work the brush carefully through her hair. Y/N’s shoulders sagged and her back hunched a bit, and for the first time in a while, Y/N let herself look how she felt. Exhausted. Utterly and completely exhausted. 

Tim can see the dark circles under her red rimmed eyes, and the way her skin looked duller than usual. Granted, she finished a long gig, working tirelessly for months posing, getting dressed up, and traveling around the world to forget Bruce’s infidelity. 

‘Standards,’ she said in response to his excuse. Tim isn’t stupid to believe that neither Bruce or Y/N have feelings for the other. He’s seen it. It's in the way that Bruce concedes in arguments, or the flowers and necklaces he buys her when he’s apologetic, how the harsh glare that was directed at Tim when he first became Robin eased the moment Y/N pulled the boy close to her. Acting as a shield and sword for him. 

Her message was clear, and Bruce decided to read it. 

Y/N on the other hand lessened Bruce’s stress when he was CEO, the breaks from brooding to dance in the main hall to their song, or even acting as the sound of reason for him. She keeps him tethered to Earth, never letting his thoughts stray too far from reality. 

They may not be in love, but they still liked each other. Enough so that Bruce went along with her whims, just how she does with him. Enough so for Bruce to chase her across the world. Looking at it, perhaps Bruce was the one in love. 

“Jason, can you pass me the scrunchie?” He grabbed the silk scrunchie from large hands, and began braiding his mom’s hair. 

“You guys are being so silly,” Y/N huffed, and Jason beamed at her, giving her a boyish smile that he never shows anymore, “Anything for ya, Ma.” She subtly shook her head, a smile on her face as she looked back into the mirror. 

“Is this still about Bruce?” Tim kept his eyes on the braid, but from the tension in her shoulders, he hit the jackpot. Y/N brought her hand up to rub her forehead, “That idiot…” 

“Join the club, Ma.” Y/N took a deep breath, “He’s so stupid. It’s one thing to kiss another woman, which is fine. Do what you want to do, it’s not like we married for love.” A glare formed on her face, “But to get caught is another thing. Fucking idiot, he can only think with his hormones like a teenager. Even Dami isn’t like that, thank god.” 

Tim tied off the braid with the silk scrunchie, watching Y/N get heated again, “I hate him.” Except it was said with no bite, and the way Y/N’s lip wobbled had Tim hearing other words alongside the ones she mumbled. Jason leaned into her, offering her comfort while Tim watched from the reflection in the mirror.

Y/N to Tim was what Janet Drake had failed to be. He learned a lot from both of them, and it helped that both women were huge players in their social circles and socialites. They both taught him how to play with people’s perception of someone. Only Janet taught him to keep a straight face and not show emotion, while Y/N taught him that with a correct smile and a well placed chuckle, someone can be eating out of the palm of their hands. Both women approached the world with different weapons and tools, and both women used and taught them to him. 

Only Y/N also knew when it was time to put down the mask and become a reliable person for Tim, while Janet continued to only be Janet to Tim. 

He loves them both. Except, with Y/N he felt that if she were to ever leave him the way Janet did then he would have no choice but to follow and bring her back. Wherever Y/N goes, Tim will follow. 

“Boys.” Jason and Tim snapped their attention to the door, and Bruce was standing there, menacingly longingly. His face in an unusual expression, but one he’s worn a lot throughout the time Y/N was gone. An expression all the boys have gotten to know. Tim escaped, saying goodnight to both parental figures, before leaving for the cave. 

Jason pecked Y/N’s cheek, whispering good night and glaring at Bruce, “Don’t fuck this up old man.” To which Bruce sighed and nodded, closing the door after Jason. For the first time in months, it was just Y/N and Bruce. Alone with each other’s company and Bruce knows that if she could, she’d probably be strangling him right now. 

With great hesitancy, one that he could never show as Batman, he sat on the bed about a foot away from her. 

“I paused my life for you.” Y/N glared into blue eyes, “I paused almost everything, for you. For your mission. For the children you brought into our home, without asking me about it beforehand, may I remind you. I love them, and don’t you dare twist that, but I would have liked to have been consulted about it first.” Y/N didn’t want to be a mother. It was never in the cards for her, and yet here she is having more children than she had ever dreamt of. 

She loves them. She’d die and kill for them, but they were never in the cards of life she wanted dealt to her. 

“I paused so much, just for you to go and.. And… and do that.” Bruce winced at that, and Y/N felt happy that he did. Gritting her teeth, Y/N turned her attention to look at the fire. The heat of it reminds her of her own rage and the coldness she feels when in the presence of Bruce. 

Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes and bit back a groan, “And once I start getting my life started again, having fun, going on the runway and magazines, here you come storming back.” 

“You looked like you needed the break.” Y/N shook her head, “Did you know, that that is one of your worst habits. Always making yourself out to be the hero.” She took a glass of wine and watched the liquid swirl in the glass, “Of course, you let me have that moment. Of course you were thinking of me, and my happiness. How kind of you.” 

Bruce sighed, watching her sip the alcohol that left a red stain on her lips. He can remember the first time he saw her in red lipstick. Shockingly, it was in-person and the red made her skin look warm and teeth appear even whiter despite the knowledge that red lipstick can make your teeth look yellower. It was a beautiful shade, matched by her dress. 

She was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Even as time progressed and she and he got older, Y/N remained beautiful. Defying the laws time and age as she remained ethereal. Unfairly so. 

Bruce had wanted to preserve that beauty, in the same way that many tried to preserve the flowers from the garden and the expensive smelling perfume. He wanted nothing more than for Y/N to continue smiling and for the fire to remain bright. 

To do that, he had to stay away. He could not allow himself to love her, because if he fell then he would drag her through the mud with him. Yet, here he is on the other side of that cold look, one that had him hesitating. That kiss with Selena was terrible timing all around. She had caught him in a moment of weakness, and someone just so happened to be there at the worst moment to catch it all. 

Staying away proved to be ineffective when here she is drinking wine with red-rimmed eyes and anger in her brows. 

“This marriage was never one for love, but there are standards. Ones we talked about beforehand.” 

“I know.” Y/N pursed her lips, tilting her head to the left and watching Bruce with distrustful eyes. The man sighed heavily and he sat in front of her, taking his own glass and pouring himself some wine. He didn’t like this type of wine, and from the very small scrunch in her nose Y/N didn’t like it either. 

The more he stared at her, taking in her still youthful features and eyes that burned bright, the more he could feel his emotions rising to the surface. Feelings and emotions he long tried to bury, but never quite succeeded. He had hoped that kissing Selena would just prove that he is only missing her as a sexual partner, and it only confirmed for him that he was in love with her. 

He is in love with Y/N L/N-Wayne. His kids are in love with Y/N. Alfred loves Y/N. The whole Wayne family, extended and all, are in love with this woman. This woman has nothing to do with their vigilantism, but instead reminds them that they are also normal and exist outside of masks and costume. That they are human and not shadows of the night. 

That they are the Wayne family. 

God, he loves her so much. So much. She is his weakness, his strength, his everything. The fancy cufflinks that are only brought out for special occasions, the expensive wine cracked open for celebrations, the pearl earring worn for the best performances. Y/N is the treasure of the Wayne family. 

Carefully, he wrapped an arm around her waist, slowly inching his way around her, testing the waters to see if she would shake him off or hiss at him. When there was no sign of that, he tightened his hold only slightly and pressed his forehead into her shoulder, gently laying a kiss on the joint, “Like I said, it was an accident. She caught me at a bad time, and I wasn’t expecting her to do that.” 

Y/N released a heavy sigh, and Bruce hugged her tighter, “I swear. It wasn’t consensual.” She rubbed her forehead, and Bruce watched how the lines slowly faded and melted back into her skin. Y/N never wore exhaustion well, which was why on mornings she had early photoshoots, she would sleep in her room instead of Bruce’s. She always woke up when he would stalk in and climb under the sheets with her. 

“Please, Y/N. Give me a chance. Let me take care of you the way you should be.” Y/N chuckled at that, “Careful Bruce, keep saying stuff like that and I might start to believe you have feelings for me.” Ice blue met E/C, and Y/N hesitated for a moment. Something chilling going down her spine, “I guess, I should start saying it more often then.” 

“Bruce…” He pecked her cheek, careful of the fire he was playing with, and carefully watching her reactions. His arms encircled her tighter, and he kissed her shoulder. Bruce watched, and observed how the tension slowly left her and reluctant acceptance came across her face. His arms tightened, and Bruce fought back a smile. 

“Ever the charmer,” She mumbled. Bruce huffed a laugh, and Y/N shook her head, “If I catch you with your mouth on anyone else’s but mine, I’m going to sick the kids on you.” An image of four rabid dogs, followed by a few more, filled his mind. Bruce grimaced as he remembered the tongue lashing he got from everyone, “Noted.” 

Y/N chuckled, and Bruce smiled, throwing his weight back on the pillows, bringing Y/N with him. His arms still tight around her waist, and a promise on his lips. 

‘I’ll never let you go again.’ 

________________________________________________

Not super Yandere, but it is getting there.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hi!! I’m a little lurker who only did one request once and I forgot what happened to that one so I have a different request!!

can you…uhm…write a little thing about priest!fyodor who believes reader to be a god but reader just a normal human?

And like human is a virgin and…you know where I’m going with this.

A worshiper Fyodor taking his beloved God’s virginity by riding reader until he passes out from how many times Fyodor bounced on his cock.

idk I just can’t stop thinking about it but I don’t think I worded it pretty well and you have pretty words soooo…

I’m sorry for bothering you with this imma just

go back to lurking once more…

but if I could bother you again? Can I be 🕶️ anon please?

This is similar to something I have started long ago! On my old blog! But it got deleted along with my drafts :’)

Dom!reader x sub!priest!fyodor - reader is gender neutral

Warning: pegging (I use dick), use of condom (wow scary), no prep, cum play (licking), hierophilia, corruption, taking virginity, worshipping, fucking in a church, dacryphilia, handjob, cumming untouched, mind break, sub space, bruises, god - worshipper relationship

It happened the moment he laid his eyes on you. When you walked in, pass the grand wooden door and slandered through the small halls. That miraculous day was Sunday, morning to be precise, and you came in late for the morning chant. Everyone who sat on the benches turned their head to look at you, some with scorn, some with a mocking grin. You looked unfazed and went straight to the first row, keeping eye contact with one single person, the priest in charge.

That cold attitude despite the loud voices, the way your every move was as smooth and elegant as clear water. Your expression after sitting down, lips shut while keeping your arrogant eyes on him, as if to judge him, to attest to something. All that appeared divine in his eyes, superior even, it caused a shudder to run down his spine. He had never felt such a pressing sensation before, it was the first time.

You were staring at him so much, though he couldn’t read your intentions. Nothing, only emptiness. A gentle breeze, that brought forth comfort, turning into an icy storm capable of destruction. These words would be perfect to describe you, or how his view of you, because everyone else seems to think otherwise. Most of them scoffed about you coming in late, those little complains soon changed into more vicious words. Like a devils curse, causing the once friendly guests to sin.

“Dear father, may we continue with the morning prayers?” Among the low whispers of the devil, a voice akin to an angels emerged. “Excuse me..?” Fyodor murmured, eyes subconsciously darting to the direction of the sound. Once again, it was you who called out to him. A blush crept onto his cheeks when he noticed your piercing gaze, it was a little embarrassing that he dazed out there. “Yes, of course, pardon my inattentiveness.” The priest said, glancing at you a last time before focusing on his duties. Or at least he tried, because he couldn’t concentrate. The entire time he found himself stealing glances at you, watching you. This wasn’t like him, he couldn’t even recognise himself.

From then onwards, he found himself searching for your eyes or attention. It began with him asking around about you, then it gradually turned into him actively seeking you out. Your meetings became more frequent, and more private as well. One day, he found you kneeling in the confession box, boringly staring through the bars. He quickly positioned himself, then asked, “what brings you to me, my child?”

Seeing you up close was a new experience, he felt the tingly sensation crawling around his body again. “Father, I’m here because I believe you have something to confess.” You said with a voice coated in sweet honey. “Me, confess?” The priest mumbled, obviously baffled by your words no matter how he adored your voice. “That’s right, I can see. If you have something to say, do it now.” After hearing you out, he swallowed the lump in his throat, before smiling at you meekly and admitting, “I fear I’m not loyal to my god anymore.”

It took a lot out of him, a servant of god, to utter these words. Of course it wasn’t without reason. Simply being in your presence made him feel special and watched, as if those nonchalant eyes of yours were the watching gaze of god. He couldn’t explain it, it was a chilly feeling, but at the same time it burned him from the inside. “Speak, father.” You spoke, then he suddenly slammed his hands against the wall separating the two of you. “My lord, you don’t have to speak politely with me. I, Fyodor, this lowly subject of yours, am ready to serve you with all my heart.” The male announced, smiling at you in delight, cheeks rosy as he declared you as his new god.

Anyone who heard this would have thought he was out of his mind, staring at him with a face that screams the word disbelief. But not you, contrary to what one would expect, your expression stayed neutral. “My subject? Lord?” You questioned his choice of vocabularies, tilting your head to the side. “Yes, oh lord, please let þis servant worship you.” Then, to your surprise, the father you were supposed to confess to kneeled down and clasped his hands together, praying to you with a sickening obsession.

That shivering, oppressive feeling didn’t leave him alone, it gnawed at him and told him this was the right thing to do. He couldn’t care less what he was supposed to do or not, all that wasn’t important anymore. Since his deity has come down and granted him an audience, he only has to follow their- your orders from now on.

Whatever got him acting this way was all in his head, you were nowhere near of being a god. Quite the opposite, you were just a human like him, and you found his actions irritating. But you weren’t any better, you didn’t correct him, rather, you liked that desperate look on his face. You wanted to test his limits, to see how far he’d go for you. In truth you enjoyed playing god for him, depending on who you are asking this might be even more twisted than what fyodor was pulling off.

It started with you getting him to do bothersome stuff for you, sometimes it also became materialistic. Other times you would just converse with him and enjoy his company. He’d ask tausend questions about you, some trivial, some existential ones. Most of the time you’d put up with his antics, acting like a benevolent and nice deity. That’s when one day, one of his curiosities caught you off guard. It was when he asked you:

“my lord, do.. you want me to comfort you?” You stared at him with furrowed brows and scoffed “comfort? Where did you get that idea?” “You look stressed my lord, I wish I could do something for you.” Fyodor said, he was on his knees in front of you, who was sitting on a bench in a huge room. The room where each Sunday a crowd of people would come in for morning prayers.

He looked up at you with foggy eyes, hands itching to worship your body. How could someone be this divine and perfect? Obviously he was the chosen one, he was born to meet you. “That… I’ve never done anything like that before. Speaking of which, have you, as a priest?” You questioned, a tiny bit interested. “No, I kept my chastity for you, my god.” Fyodor answered shamelessly, then thought about what you told him.

If what you said was right, then he awfully wanted to give his first to you, and to be your first as well. To take the virginity of his most beloved god and to give, there was nothing more he could ask of. “Is that so?” Your warm voice broke off the momentary silence, then you continued with, “come here.” You tapped your thighs, wondering if he would do it. Did he believe in you enough to commit something that has always been taboo for him? A part of you doubted it, but you wished he’d obey you yet again.

The boy stared at your moving hands for a while, then did as you instructed, climbing onto your lap with reddened cheeks. “…like this?” He raised his arms, about to wrap them around your neck but decided against that. Then he bawled them into fists and kept them behind his back, before grinding against your crotch with his own bulge. “Nghh... fo-forgive me, hah I-lord, can I please continue?" Fyodor mumbled with squinted eyes, biting his bottom lip while he let his desires take over. You grabbed his waist, wrinkling his black robe and stopping him, whispering, "D-don't move, not in the church." Your conscious forbid you from carrying out such acts in a holy place. Sure, you provoked him first, though you didn’t expect it to escalate this soon.

He begged you with glistening, teary eyes, hoping you'd let him go further than that. It felt so good he couldn't stop, he has never even touched himself before so that simple gesture was enough to make him drool. "P-please." Fyodor groaned into your ear, his voice has never been this needy or lewd, it surprised both of you. Instead of stopping when you told him to, he continued to grind against you and whimper, "use me however you see fit, my lord, please let me he-help you." You clenched your teeth, use is a strong word. It’d be a lie to say you weren't aroused, so you sighed and complied with his request, "dammit, fine. Go and get my bag."

This was how you were going to have your first? Giving it to a crazy priest who believes you were a being above humanity? Who would have guessed…

You watched him get off with shaky legs, the spot between his legs was all wet and sticky already. Was it normal to be this sensitive? It's probably because he's a virgin, just look at him eagerly bringing your stuff to you. Once he came back, you fumbled around in your bag, luckily you always brought your stuff with you in case of a spontaneous one-night-stand. It never happened before, yet you knew you would need it one day. After you were done with the preparations, you opened a pack of condom, about to pull it over your length when he clasped his hand over yours. "L-let me do it." He proposed, hands shaking with embarrassment as he took slowly pulled it down to the shaft. You almost laughed because he was making such a big deal out of it, sweating furiously with an ashamed gaze.

"Do you find it dirty to touch it?" You chuckled after watching him for a bit, finding his reactions pretty amusing. "No-no.!! No.. that, I-I'm.." His face heat up again as he tried to find the right words. In the end he decided to just speed up the entire thing, and grabbed the bottle of lube that was in your other hand. Then he squeezed the contents onto your dick and spread it evenly, wondering if this would even fit. After a minute, you grabbed his wrist and scoffed, "are you done playing?" Out of nervousness and excitement he forgot to stick it inside him, looking away in shame before lining the tip up with his hole.

"HnnGgh.. this is h-hard.." he complained under his breath, trying his best to take you. You wanted to prepare him first, but he said he wanted the first thing to enter him to be you and not some fingers. Since that was what he wanted, you decided to let him be. That's what led to your current situation, where he's desperately poking his entrance with your dick. “NghhHg..! Ah, f-feels good..” Finally he managed to take your tip, already panting like he had ran a marathon. "Good job." You praised him, then caressed his soft thighs. They were covered by his clothes, which annoyed you a little, so you gripped his hips and butt before slamming him down your cock. "AhhHGGgNN.!? AahHH..! H-hurts.." He moaned out loudly, then slumped against your chest, fingers clawing at you for support.

Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, his body shivered at the sudden impact. You were stretching him so much, he could swear his butt was going to tear. At the same time he was so happy, enjoying this to the fullest. His insides were working overtime, trying to accommodate your thickness and length, his rim clenching and loosening up with each inhale. He made such sinful noises when your hands squeezed his snatched waist, to the point you wondered if he was telling the truth earlier. After waiting for him to stop holding onto you like his life depended on it, you cupped his cheeks, making him look up at you. “Look here, fyodor, tell me how good it feels.” Then you grind your hips against his.

The movements were minimal, you didn’t make him ride you yet, only pushing it slightly deeper inside him. Yet the reaction was better than expected. He arched his back, throwing his arms around your neck out of reflex and whined, “ahHhH!! I-i love it, god, it’s so NGhh m-my insides are tingling..♡” You clicked your tongue, grabbing his butt to have a better grip and praised him, “so good for me.. there’s to turning back now, you don’t mind sinning for me, right?” He didn’t even think twice before saying, “I’ll do whatever you want me to..!”

After getting his permission, you told him to hold onto you tightly. Once he did as you commanded, you manhandled him and made him go up and down your dick. Your little worshipper wasn’t particularly short, rather, he was unusually light. He couldn’t even keep a straight face composure anymore, crashing against you once again as he moaned into your ears. Poor boy was crying due to the overwhelming pleasure, thighs trying to close together in a twitching manner and toes curled off the ground. Drool dripped down his chin and soaked your clothes, all while he moaned out your Titel.

“L-lord, god.. ah, please!! S-slow down.. ngHh, too much, too big..♡♡” his voice became higher with each trust, and bruises began to form around his hips because of your rough grip. “Didn’t you say I can do what I want?” You reminded him, licking your lips when you saw his melting face. How those beautiful water drops raced down his cheeks like soft rain against a window. His pupils even formed little hearts to match that pleasure-ridden gaze in his eyes. Most of his bangs stuck to his forehead, the rest of his hair bounced around whenever you made him ride you.

Then you said fuck it and ripped his priest robe, so that you’d have more access to his skin. “Hu-hUHmnn..?! M-my lord! AhhHNN!!” He shrieked when he noticed one of your hand on his inner thighs, pinching and groping his skin. “W-why there..? Nghhh…” Fyodor groaned, a tad embarrassed by the intimate touch. His deity was touching him after all. Alone the thought of you, his one and only god, fucking him and using him was enough to get him to the verge of cumming.

More precum leaked from his shameless tip, soiling the back of your hand. “M-m’sorry, so-sorry..ah, for being d-dirty..!” He immediately apologised, holding your wrist weakly and bringing it to his lips. Then he slowly licked off the pre, using kitten licks that looked so inexperienced and adorable that you had to tease him more. Sticking your finger into his mouth and snapping your hips against his. Fastening your pace, going rougher and deeper, rutting into him like he was some fleshlight. At this point his petite body won’t be able to take it! He’s so slim and vulnerable, it’d be a shame to break his mind and make him your toy, wouldn’t it?

“MhmMNN… ah, r-right there..Nghh, too f-fast, g-god! feels good~ ♡” Fyodor mewled into your ears, squeaking as he tried to shake his ass for you. But he was more on the passive side, letting you move his body however you saw fit. His sloppy and slutty hole was making squelching noises whenever you bottom out in him, all sticky with lube already. You were so caught up in the moment, you weren’t even sure what you were doing. All you knew was you wanted to touch him, to feel up his figure and trace the outlines of his body. Then you kissed his neck, causing him to whimper uncontrollably. “Hnghh… I- mHhm, l-lord help me.. I want more♡ something is coming out..!!” The boy gasped and smiled, grinning satisfied, the expression almost looked dumb.

You did as he asked of you, slamming him down onto your dick harder and trying to hit his sweet spot more often. The way it rubbed and played with his soft and warm walls made him see the light, or he was just about to blank out. “Nghh! F-forgive me.. for my siiiinnns..!! ♡♥︎～” The priest, Fyodor, your exclusive worshipper and toy servant groaned a last time before shooting ropes of cum out of his twitching member. His thick and filthy cum got everywhere. From his ripped clothes to his milky inner thighs and chest. Then he slumped down, pleasure and sensations he never felt before all coursing through him at once. He felt so good, this was the first time he felt this amazing. It must be due to you, because of your blessings.

Oh how lucky he was to serve such a kindhearted and generous god, who was patient enough to show him all this bliss. This was heavenly~ His body was still a shaking, twitching mess. The lingering ecstasy making him sob and moan louder. After giving him a gift this great, he will have to serve you even more diligently and wholeheartedly! He will make sure to worship and treasure whatever you gave him!

Even you had to catch up your breath since the session was so intense, panting a little while still admiring him. You were still inside him, and he was clenching down onto you without letting you pull out. Then you leaned back against the lean of the bench, signing when you realised what you just did. Now you were definitely going to hell. Fucking a priest in the praying halls, were you possessed? Right before you could tell him to get off, since you two had to clean up, he took off his clothes completely. “Huh..? Fyodor?” You whispered in disbelief. Sure, you ruined his robes, but why did he take them off?

It was the first time you saw him entirely naked, and he was as skinny as you noticed him to be. His nipples were all hard and pink, a cute colour in your opinion. A few seconds later, he re-positioned himself in your lap despite his legs giving up under him. Then, he slowly rode you, jumping up and down while wrapping one hand around his shaft. You rushed to stop him, saying, “wait a sec- shouldn’t we, especially you, take a break?” Seriously, for how sickly and pathetic he looks, he had quit the stamina? Instead of obeying you like normally, fyodor smirked obsessively and moaned, “G-god, forgive me for i-indulging..! Ahhh.. I’m so sinful, I deserve punishment. But..!! it’s just so good I can’t stop ♥︎♡.”

What…? Wait- isn’t this priest too slutty…?? It seems you’ll have to suck it up and wait until he milked himself dry on your dick ♥︎

[shurisasthmaticgf]

oh baby he down bad: charles leclerc x black fem! reader

summary: three times when you realized you truly did have your boyfriend wrapped around your finger

warnings: crying, period mention, swearing

blog moved to @delewlew

author's note: this is the first charles fic i've written so please be kind...i hope you all enjoy it. i'm sick with covid and i was loopy on meds when i wrote this so i hope it makes sense 💀 comments and other feedback are welcome and appreciated!

whoisyn uploaded a story!

you laid in your bed curled into fetal position with your phone mere inches from your forehead. the room was dark but light enough to see half of your face as your eyes welled with tears. you rambled, "a few weeks ago when i was visiting new york i bought a bunch of takis and nerds clusters because they don't sell them over here in monaco and i went to go get a bag of both and i didn't know i ran out! i'm so upset i don't even want to settle for anything else." you wailed loudly, mixing in a few laughs at how ridiculous you probably looked but you had no shame as you hit post.

the entire day had been going pretty shit from the moment when you woke up and bled through your favorite pajamas to nearly passing out when you wanted to have a relaxing hot shower to make you feel better. now you were just laying in bed clinging to your body pillow that had lingering notes of your boyfriend's cologne. it was early in the night but your entire body felt like it was hit by a bus and you were one tylenol away from needing a stomach flush yet it didn't actually feel like it was helping. to make things worse, all you wanted was your boyfriend but he was supposed to be going out right after he got off of work.

you laid stiff in your bed in an obscure position because you found that was the only one that didn't make you feel worse. the door to your bedroom opened and your boyfriend entered wearing pajama pants and no shirt. you squinted through the dim light and mumbled, "babe? thought you were going out tonight? you had that thing." charles placed two bags of your favorite snacks onto your nightstand and responded, "i was but i found out through twitter that my girlfriend was crying at home." you turned your face away from him out of embarrassment because you were literally crying over chips and candy. he turned your chin back to him, "why didn't you call me, mon cœur?" you shrugged and reached for the bag of candy, "it wasn't that serious." he pulled you closer to him and you shifted positions so your head was against his chest. charles pressed a kiss to your forehead, "anything that bothers you is serious to me, darling. but, i am here and you have your snacks so we can watch your movie like we always do, yes?" you nodded and turned on Princess and The Frog which was one of your comfort movies since childhood.

whoisyn posted a story!

replies:

lilymhe WHP IS YOUE DEALER PLS 🙏

↳ whoisyn lemme ask charles

francisca.cgomes feel better bby <3

↳ whoisyn thank you so much ily ily ily ❤️

logansargeant i still have like 3 bags of hot cheetos and those nerds things for you from when you asked me to grab you some when i had a layover in new york

↳ whoisyn omg i forgot abt those! i'll get them next week if u bring em. ty ty.

alex_albon lily wanted me to ask you who your dealer is? she said you'd know what she meant

↳ whoisyn oh my bad pookie i forgot...but charles said he just has a stash of american snacks at his place for me. i'll bring her some next weekend tho dw ❤️

↳ alex_albon THANK YOU OMG I COULD KISS YOU RN - lily

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you cut through one of the alleyways out of street view once you noticed someone had been recording you as you walked through the streets of monaco. most of the time you managed to sneak through the city without being spotted but today you had to make a trip to the mall where a handful of people recognized you immediately. as someone who was never in the public eye and lived as a "regular" person you were still getting used to people recognizing you and following you around. time and time again you'd gone viral for your fan responses when they asked for pictures or autographs, usually a laugh and "why, i'm not the famous one?" you were genuine with your interactions and were known for helping fans get autographs or deliver fan letters to charles at grand prix weekends. although you enjoyed this aspect of his fanbase, sometimes it was too much and you just wanted to live in peace like you used to. so you'd learned every back road and sidewalk to your shared apartment for quick escapes.

the alleyway was quiet and away from the few people that were walking and talking beside you. just as you were to round a corner you heard a soft meow. stopping dead in your tracks you looked around confused to where the sound was coming from. there was silence then another meow, and another, and another until you realized a small orange cat a few meters away was the culprit. the tiny kitten was shaking and wet in some fluid you only hoped was water, but by the smell it was definitely sewage, pipe, or garbage juice. you wrinkled your nose and held the helpless fur ball in your palm, "shit...what the fuck do i do?" the kitten nibbled on your thumb and you stretched your finger away, "don't do that i don't want rabes or whatever cats can carry." you looked over your shoulder and sighed, "well i guess i have a cat now... let's go."

once back in your apartment you put the small kitten in your bathroom tub on an old rag. the small animal meowed and mewed the entire time you rinsed it off with the only soap you had that was safe according to google. instead of drying it's fur with your blowdryer you just towel dried it which he continued meowing. you'd never had a cat and didn't know what it meant when kittens meowed so you just started rambling, "well that's so interesting you feel that way because i literally said the same thing too! like i don't even know why that would make sense because when you really think about it they always want you to think that but in reality the truth is the complete opposite of what they want you to believe." the orange kitten looked at you with its head turned to the side and you sighed, "i don't know what you want from me man i just met you." the cat meowed louder and you mumbled, "that was definitely a cuss word but i'll let it slide."

an hour later you had given the kitten a small amount of some canned tuna and it fell asleep curled into your neck against the towel you kept it wrapped in.

charles entered your apartment with his eyes on his phone as he called out, "i'm home- oh." he usually expected you to be in your room so when you were out in the main room on the sofa he was startled. you sipped from the smoothie you'd gotten from the fridge and looked up from the book you were reading, "hi baby." charles stared at the kitten on your chest then back at you, "hi beautiful." he waited for you to say anything about the new addition and when you didn't he prompted, "what do you have there?" you looked at your hand and held up the cup, "a smoothie." you took a long sip and the straw crackled loudly, "oh yeah i figured out how to make that one hailey bieber has at that overpriced place in LA. it's actually really good i see why people lost their shit over it."

your boyfriend nodded slowly and pointed to the kitten on you, "my love, please tell me why is there a cat on you." for a minute you looked at him as if he was making it up but then you realized you never got around to actually texting him what happened. he waited for you to explain because the story had to be good if you, notorious anti-pet owner, came home with a cat and let it sleep on you.

you told him while looking at the kitten, "yeah, you're a daddy now." charles replied with too much ease, "i know that you call me that but that cat does not." you looked up with an exasperated glare, "can you be serious for one minute please." charles chuckled and apologized, "okay okay you go, tell me why i am now both of your daddys." you raised your hand to throw one of the clean rags you hadn't used at him which he shielded his face from, "okay i'm sorry go ahead." as you retold the entire thing charles just stood there with a fond smile, finding the whole ordeal quite amusing. at the end of your story he reached for the kitten and pulled back his hand, "why is it slippery?" you answered, "i put coconut oil on it so it didn't get ashy." charles started laughing once more and you smacked his shoulder lightly, "hey i never had a pet besides a fish okay! i'm trying my best here." charles pulled you into a hug and pressed a kiss to your lips, "and you're going to be a great cat mom too, you've already done a good thing."

whoisyn

liked by charles_leclerc, f1, and 44,304 others

whoisyn happy birthday son to my son chisme octavius nortorious C.A.T. l/n-leclerc

view all 12, 079 comments

username1 WE THOUGHT IT WAS JUST CHISME LMAO WHY WOULD YOU NAME HIM ALL THAT-

whoisyn chisme bc if you pretend to gossip he'll immediately listen and start spilling tea too. octavius because charles said it sounded regal, and notorious C.A.T. for the culture.

↳ username2 LMAO YALL KINDA ATE NGL

charles_leclerc my two loves ❤️

username2 i need limited edition chisme x ferrari merch @/scuderiaferrari

↳ scuderiaferrari 👀

olliebearman i miss my brother

↳ whoisyn he misses you too <3

username3 i remember when y/n first found him, i can't believe he's a year old already :( he's so big now

username4 i thought charles said he wanted a dog

↳ whoisyn well i didn't find a dog, i found a cat. so we have a cat.

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the video had circulated on twitter only a few hours after it dropped and you'd noticed your name trending on the internet. after making the mistake of checking why you were trending once, you'd never really paid much attention to it again. the first time many people were shaming you for dating your boyfriend and making jabs at your physical appearance. rather quickly you realized it would be better to just keep up with silly memes your friends sent to you opposed to stalking every corner of the internet to see what people were saying about you.

this specific instance was charles in an interview and he'd mentioned you briefly while playing a game of this or that:

"do you prefer a weekend getaway to the coast for a snorkeling trip or the mountains for a skiing adventure?" the interviewer quizzed charles on his current vacation preferences. the driver asked, "is this by myself or with people?" the interviewer answered with a small smirk, "you and one other person- can be anyone, best friend, sibling, girlfriend, mom, etc." charles let out a laugh and knew what the interviewer was getting at and chose to went along with it for fan service. he thought for a moment then answered, "i think the snorkeling trip, my girlfriend likes this kind of thing with the fish, sea animals, and the diving in the water. that and she is better of a skier and snowboarder than me so..." out of the frame the interviewer laughed and joked, "a little mermaid moment, i love it."

you looked at the video and laughed when you noticed the small hello kitty band aid on his hand. earlier that week he'd gone with you out to the sea and you'd found a small cove to swim around in. somewhere along the way back charles had cut his hand on a rock and you'd put a little band aid on it from the only stash you had, and he had no complaints over the pink cartoon design. he found it cute and whenever he looked at it he was reminded of you.

whoisyn

liked by charles_leclerc, sanrio, and 53, 432 others

whoisyn oh, he look so cute wrapped around my finger 🎀

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username1 SLIDES 5 AND 6-

alex_albon drop the link for the shirt

username2 CHARLES GOT THAT SHIT AWNNNN 😤😤😤

↳ comment pinned by creator

hellokitty we love to see this 🤩

↳ whoisyn omg pls sponsor me 😍

↳ sanrio check DM! ❤️

f1 i'd play mermaids there

↳ whoisyn we did 🤭

↳ landonorris WITHOUT ME? 😞

↳ danielricciardo X 2 💔

↳ georgerussell X 3 😪

↳ whoisyn my bad...next time we'll send a text

username3 oh baby he's down bad

username4 no way in hell she got this man in hello kitty pants after a long day of playing mermaids 💀

↳ username5 just say ur a loser who doesn't know how to have fun

comment has been liked by creator

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

the end.

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Too Good to Say Goodbye

Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cursing, Hurt/Comfort & Implied Smut, MAJOR TW: stillborn

Summary: Y/N is tired of constantly being dissed by Logan and he doesn't seem to care, at least not until it's too late.

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I part 5 I part 6 I Part 7 I part 8 I part 9 I part 10

F1 Masterlist

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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I clasp my jacket closer to my body as I wait for Logan to open the door of our shared apartment. It's pouring rain and my dumbass forgot the keys, I sigh as I pull my phone out, dialing my lovers number.

one ring

two rings

three rings

four- declined.

*new text from "Logie Bear🐻💙"*

Logie Bear🐻💙: Babe I'm on the sim, give me a few.

Me: I'm out here in the pouring rain and I left my key, You said you'd unlock the door 5 minutes ago.

Logie Bear🐻💙: You fucking made me crash.

Logie Bear🐻💙: I'm coming.

A scoff leaves my lips as I shove my phone into my soak jean pockets that stuck to my skin, a few minutes later I hear the lock click and the door swigs open revealing a less than happy Logan.

"Damn, were you watching our home videos while waiting for me to open the door?" Logan laughed as he took in a soaked me before side stepping so I could walk in.

"I've been outside for 10 fucking minutes in the pouring rain Logan and you're making jokes?" I almost screamed at him

Unbelievable, all I do for him and this is how he treats me?

"Woah babe, take a joke," Logan starts before his phone starts ringing "Yeah? Oh for sure, right now? Uh huh, Okay I'll hop on. Yup yup, just give me 5. I'm grabbing a snack" with that Logan hung up the phone "I'm hoping back on the sim with the boys, so just take a shower and dry the floors, you're ruining the wood."

I wanted to scream, I'm ruining the floors? I wouldn't be ruining the floors if you would've opened the door 10 minutes ago like you fucking said you would.

I made my way into our shared room, grabbing my clothes and speaker before making my way to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, I connected my phone to the speaker and started playing "Hold Me While You Wait" by Lewis Capaldi on a low volume before stripping out of the soaking wet clothes that stuck to my skin.

My shaking hand turned the tap to hot as the water started spurting out of the shower head, which made me sigh thinking about the shower head I gave Logan every time we showered together. Today makes 3 weeks since we last fucked, and that was also probably why I'm so aggravated at everything he does. All this pent up sexual tension between us is driving me crazy.

Before stepping into the now steamy shower I turned the volume up on the song currently playing. Once in the tub, I let all my problems wash off of me and down the drain as I let the boiling hot water hit my skin. After what felt like 3 minutes of pure bliss, I hear a faint knock at the door before hearing it open. Peaking my head out the shower curtain I'm greeted by Logan just standing by the door.

"Hey Logie, care to join me?" I said in a low & seductive voice, watching as he steps fully into the bathroom and closes the door. A victory smile makes its way on my lips as I pull myself behind the curtain once more, quickly lathering myself in foamy soap.

I can hear Logans footsteps getting closer to the shower, but instead of getting in I hear him pick up my phone, turn the volume down, set my phone back down and as he's leaving he mutters "Not tonight. Boys are on the game and i can’t focus on them because your depressing songs are too loud."

Are you fucking kidding me?

That had been my last straw. In one quick movement I turn off the shower, throw my robe on and march out of the bathroom and into his sim room.

"Are you fucking kidding me Logan?!" I shout as a burst in the room, face red from anger. I can hear a mix of muffled oohs, laughs and you're in trouble. I couldn't bring myself to care about anyone on the sim with him.

"Hey! I'm on the sim! Watch your tone!" Logan shouted back, earning him a glare that said turn your fucking simulator off now.

"We're gonna have a serious talk. Now" I said in a stern voice. That made Logan turn the game off and actually face me

"What the fuck do you want to talk about that you bust into my sim room and interrupt me when I'm on with my friends WHO HAPPEN TO BE A COWORKERS?!" Logan shouted, his beautiful face now a shade of red that no-one liked, his eyes as cold and sharp as ice.

“I WANT TO TALK ABOUT YOU. YOURE BEHAVIOR, THE WAY YOU’VE BEEN ACTING TOWARDS ME, THE WAY YOU DONT FUCKING TOUCH ME ANYMORE, DO YOU EVEN STILL FUCKING LOVE ME?!” I tried to stop, I really did but all the anger built up inside of me over the last few weeks just started pouring out “WHATS BEEN GOING ON WITH YOU LOGAN? YOU’RE NOT YOURSELF AND ITS EFFECTING ME, YOU KEEP SHUTTING ME OUT, AND MAKING ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF! AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU ANYMORE? HUH!?” the more I screamed at him and the more I cried, I saw not one bit of remorse in his eyes.

“Are you fucking done being dramatic now?” Logan says with a scoff “Nothing is fucking wrong with me. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re the problem? No, you haven’t because you think so highly of yourself. You think that you’re the fucking shit and you’re not!” his words hit me like a punch to the gut.

the tears welling up in my eyes, now falling like heavy rain down my face. “You’re not the Logan I fell in love with,” my breath shaky “I don’t know who you are. I want my Logan back. I want the Logan who came to all my wrestling matches, the Logan who regularly took me out on dates despite his hectic work schedule, I want my Logan who got mad at me when I paid for dinner because ‘it’s a man’s job to pay for his girls meal’, the Logan who always took me to his races and showed me off like I was a rare jewel he found,” the waterfall beneath my eyes couldn’t stop me from staring into his soul while i said this last part “I miss my Logan who stood by me when we had our miscarriage” That seemed to get a reaction out of him.

“You have the fucking nerve to bring up MY baby. Don’t you EVER bring up MY baby like that again. You HAVE NO RIGHT.” Logan said tearing up

“YOURE BABY? HE WAS MINE TOO. IT WASNT JUST YOU THAT LOST A BABY, IT WAS ME TOO. HOW DO YOU THINK I FELT PUSHING OUT OUR BABY KNOWING HE WAS DEAD? I WANTED TO FUCKING KILL MYSELF LOGAN. I FELT LIKE I FUCKING FAILED YOU AND OUR SON.”

“MAYBE YOU FUCKING SHOULD’VE KILLED YOURSELF. HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT OF THAT?! IF YOU KILLED YOURSELF I’D BE SO MUCH BETTER OFF.” a sob escaped my lips as Logan finishes talking. “You act like I can’t find someone else, like I can’t impregnate another woman. You’re nothing but another piece of ass to me, that couldn’t fucking keep my son alive in you.”

Logan storms out of the room, slamming the door as he goes.

“Well, I’m so glad you told me this now because I’d HATE for our DAUGHTER to be in a house where her dad thinks so lowly of her mother!” I scream while I barge into our shared room, grabbing a suitcase and filling it up with all my shit I can fit in it.

Soft footsteps make their way to the room, stopping just before the door. Slowly I hear the door open and see Logan slowly walking in.

“what did you say?” he asks me in disbelief “did you say ‘Our Daughter’?”

“YEAH IM FUCKING PREGNANT AGAIN BUT SINCE IM JUST ANOTHER PIECE OF ASS TO YOU, IM FUCKING LEAVING AND YOURE NOT GONNA FUCKING SEE HER.” I yell, closing up the suitcase and heading for the door before feeling a tug on my wrist

“no baby, please. I’m sorry, i’m so sorry. let me make it all up to you and be in her life. i’ll change, I’ll be better, I’ll do anything to get you back.” tearing now streaming down Logan face

“I’ll be back in the morning to get the rest of my shit.” I said before tugging my wrist back and slamming the door shut behind me.

pt2 maybe?

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed !!

@forevercaffeinated-lee

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[hellishjoel]

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt. 

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco. 

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past. 

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything. 

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment. 

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning. 

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have. 

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story. 

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book. 

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying. 

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best. 

To forgive or to forget. 

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift. 

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since. 

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you. 

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable. 

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep. 

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together. 

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off. 

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued. 

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you. 

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.” 

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly. 

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold. 

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked. 

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more. 

 Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat. 

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass. 

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.” 

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together. 

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him. 

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips. 

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt. 

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour. 

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee. 

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw. 

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap. 

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well. 

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee. 

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body. 

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt. 

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make. 

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.  

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit. 

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust. 

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together. 

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat. 

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better. 

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit. 

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you. 

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure. 

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock. 

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven. 

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze. 

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips. 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive. 

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening. 

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency. 

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear. 

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.” 

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call? 

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables. 

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?” 

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t. 

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family. 

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-” 

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall. 

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches. 

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away. 

Your name echoes once, twice. 

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen. 

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse. 

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones. 

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words. 

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese. 

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.” 

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance. 

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family. 

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that. 

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash. 

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie. 

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head. 

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face. 

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words. 

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie. 

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response. 

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence. 

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.” 

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant. 

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room. 

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him. 

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows. 

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man. 

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant. 

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop. 

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder. 

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him. 

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales. 

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again. 

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place—everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

New Fear

I have been on tumblr a long time. A looooong time. Far longer than I should have been, really.

And I've been arguing with schmucks about birds being dinosaurs... pretty much that whole time. Folks tend to get angry when a dinosaur blog posts birds, after all. It happens.

And while the game of whack a mole is ancient, it's not unpredictable. Usually, it ends in one of two ways:

the person admits they were wrong, and they back down

the person stops arguing with me and blocks me

I'm okay with either one, really. the former is ideal, the latter at least brings me peace.

Never before this past weekend has someone insisted they were right no matter what I say

And this isn't a coincidence.

Over the past few decades, anti-science sentiment has risen worldwide. I mean you just have to look at the COVID19 pandemic, or general reactions to the problems of climate change.

While of course people who think their opinion matters more than evidence have always existed, they have never been quite this bold before.

The idea that the colloquial definition of dinosaur matters, at all, is a completely new idea and one that has no basis in reality.

And yet, multiple people this past weekend argued exactly that.

And it sounds exceptionally similar to the idea that people could pick and choose things about COVID19 to believe, or the general republican position on science (only things that back up their bigotry are true).

It really seems to reflect a general increase in anti science sentiment and public anti-intellectualism.

Reality isn't actually up for debate. Reality isn't actually subjective. And science is the measure of reality

This isn't the same as the biases of society impacting science and making it worse. Saying "what people think is more important than science" is not the same as saying "science forgot a very important variable / factor / to consider data gained by different cultures / to have a wide variety of perspectives/ etc."

And allowing people to continue to perpetuate and believe in delusions leads directly to the spread of misinformation, leading to more people not understanding reality, and so on

This matters because reality matters. Because the reality of our world is not something we can change or escape. And, in fact, us ignoring the reality of the world - like thinking we can have infinite growth on a finite planet - is directly leading to the destruction of that world (climate change).

I am terrified of the rise of anti-science sentiment. I am terrified of the rise of cherry picking, deciding reality is what you want it to be, ignoring evidence. We see this from purely scientific topics all the way to social justice (how much of racism is ignoring the evidence of a) race being a social construct and b) how much racism impacts people's lives? Almost all of it).

This is bigger than birds being dinosaurs or evolution or climate change. This is about our society going on a deeply disturbing and self-destructive path.

And I really don't know what to do about it.

[lunarw0rks]

Hello! I just found your blog and I just started reading everything I saw 😅. Can I request 141 + König + Alejandro with a pregnant reader? They don't know yet and when the reader will break the news they are really stressed with work and end up taking it out on the reader, they end up getting into an argument and saying they hate the reader and that their life would be so much better without the reader in it (😈). The reader takes this seriously and leaves when they are asleep... Months later they meet again when the reader is on her way to the hospital to give birth (😈). Angst to fluff pls. If you don't feel good about writing or it's too big, that's fine. Have a nice day and thank you so much for all the time you spend writing to us.

The Things We Say // 141 Drabble

Summary: You're expecting, but it's not good news. To him, at least. Your relationship takes a hit, but once he meets your child, he's swallowed with regret for how he treated you.

Warning(s): angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of premature birth/complications, mild injury/blood, strong language, established relationship, fem!Reader, no use of y/n

A/N: I was hurting my own feelings---but, there's fluff after the angst, so don't get too upset besties<3 Hope you don't mind anon, I took some creative liberty because I didn't want them all to have the same plotline. | Word Count: 5.9k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.

⋘ » ☆ « ⋙

AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.

Price

One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.

Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.

His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?

The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.

He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.

❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.

John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.

But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.

To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.

John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.

—

❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.

❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.

What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.

In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞

—

The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.

His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.

❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.

The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.

His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.

John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞ 

Simon

Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.

It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.

❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.

Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.

❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought. 

Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.

He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.

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Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.

It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.

He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?

❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.

—

Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.

Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.

You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.

Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.

Soap

Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.

❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.

He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.

He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.

The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.

❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.

You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.

❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.

Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.

He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.

You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.

❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.

❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.

You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.

Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.

—

It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.

❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.

❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.

Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.

If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.

With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.

The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.

All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.

Gaz

Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.

You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results. 

❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.

❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.

He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.

It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.

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It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc… 

But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.

His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.

—

❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.

Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.

—

❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.

What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.

❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.

It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.

Alejandro

Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.

❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.

What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.

❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞

You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.

Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.

❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞

Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.

It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞

—

Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.

You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.

About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.

The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.

The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.

—

The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.

Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.

König

There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him. 

You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞

With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞

He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?

❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.

How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.

He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.

Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.

The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.

—

❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.

He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.

He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.

König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.

Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.

If you made it this far - THANK YOU!

[luvrxbunny]

fifteen minutes

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader 

Prompt: Free Use (?)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, kinda rough sex, piv, unprotected sex, minimal talking and kissing, no aftercare (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.3k

A/N: the end feels kinda sad cus no aftercare but- 

You’re waiting for Eddie in his changing room. It’s a little bigger than an office, but not big enough to be a bedroom. There’s a couch in it and a little vanity desk for his makeup and hair. You’re on the couch, trying to ignore the springs in it as you read a magazine you swiped from the receptionist's desk. You have headphones in, listening to Eddie’s newest EP, the same one he’s here to perform. You’ve tried to listen to his set live but being backstage means it’s a bit louder than you can handle so you play his music as loud as you can handle in your ears. 

You’re reading the newest edition of Vogue, your eyes popping out of your head at how fancy some of these outfits look. You’re snacking on some grapes Eddie packed for you as you bob your head to his guitar solo in your ears. You turn the page again and smile at a lady in a pink dress, and a man in an all-black suit standing next to her, his hand on her hip lightly. It reminds you of Eddie. You imagine him in that suit, his hair resting on his shoulder- or even better, in a man-bun atop his head. 

The metal in your ears dies down slowly with a fading guitar riff and adrenaline shoots through you. If the EP has ended that means that Eddie should have around 15 minutes between sets before performing one of his older albums. He always spends that time with you, even if half of it is him panting harshly from all his stage antics and chugging water to soothe his over-used vocal cords. You don’t mind though, a smile is already on your face at the thought of seeing him- and someone is grabbing you. 

Your skirt is flipped up and thick hands grip your naked ass, groping your cheeks roughly. Your hands rip your headphones from your ears and you’re about to scream when they rest their body on you, pushing the air from your lungs. “It’s me, baby. It’s me. I need you.” 

Eddie’s voice is hot against your ear, fanning over your cheek and you can feel the heat radiating off of his skin. He’s still wearing his jeans but he’s pulled you apart so he’s grinding his clothed crotch over your naked pussy. You don’t usually wear panties to his concerts because afterward, during the afterparty, Eddie tends to whisk you away to a remote location to have his way with you, sometimes he just does whatever he wants in the middle of whatever room you guys are in. You just wanted to make it easier for him. 

This is new though, you guys had discussed it after Eddie saw it on some rock blog he reads from time to time. You were open, you told him that your heart belongs to him so you don’t see any reason why your body shouldn’t as well. He spent the rest of the night fucking you about it but after that, he didn’t bring it up again. You’d almost forgotten about it, but now you can see it’s been on his mind. He’s moaning into your ear, humping his jean-clad cock into your sensitive hole, abusing it with the rough texture. “Eddie.” He moans at the way you say his name and pulls back. 

“Yeah, baby, s’me. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you through the whole set.” You can hear him unzipping his pants behind you and his telltale moan when he finally wraps his hand around his throbbing dick. He jerks himself off to the view of you, spread out on his couch, your little white skirt framing your perfect ass. He can see your lips glistening for him, your pussy crying for his cock, making a mess all over herself. He groans at the sight and digs in, not bothering to prep you one bit. 

You almost scream his name out but he presses his hand to your mouth, his rings digging into your lips painfully but your mind can only focus on the pleasure and the heat of the stretch his cock is causing inside you. Your hands reach behind your head blindly as Eddie rests his body against yours. You’re moaning against his hand raggedly, they rip from the base of your throat and vibrate against Eddie’s other hand that found its home wrapped gently around your neck. Your hands finally find his head and you pull him forward, forcing his head into the crook of your neck and turning your head to his, your eyes pleading and darting to his lips when he looks at you. 

You’re whining behind his hand, wanting desperately to connect your lips to his. He already looks wrecked as he holds your eye contact, he’s groaning and whimpering at you, his eyebrows drawn in and his eyes unfocused as they wander your face. He has no thoughts in his head as he ruts into you, he can’t even take the time to decipher what you’re begging him for. He can feel his orgasm growing in his stomach, brewing like a storm and you’re just feeding it more. You’re whimpering his name behind his hand and his eyes are crossing, doubling his view of you. 

The sight has you moaning loudly into his hand, vibrating his palm as feels the coil in your stomach pull tighter. You moan more desperately, needing to kiss him before cumming and he finally pulls his hand away to force your head into his lips. You’re barely kissing him back, mostly moaning his name and licking into his mouth, trying to swallow everything he can give you, anything that tastes like him. 

He pulls away to moan into your mouth, your jaw slack with the assault of pleasure, with the orgasm that’s burning like a warning in your gut, promising to ruin you once it’s released. Eddie feels the same way, he’s trying to last for you but he knows he’s running out of time and you’re pulsing madly around him. His hips stutter into you as his orgasm begins to overflow, his balls are tightening and shooting pleasure through him every time they smack into you. Your pussy is teasing him at this point, clenching rhythmically like you’re trying to milk him, like you want him to cum in you. 

So he does. His cock explodes inside you and it’s like nothing he’s felt before. It’s not more or less enjoyable, it’s always incredible when he’s with you- but it’s more aggressive. It slams into him, knocking all the air out of his lungs and he could swear that he blacked out, just floating through an abyss of pleasure. You’re whining into his ear and he can feel you trying to cum around him, you’re clenching purposely now, grinding back into his stuttering hips. He knows, he knows you can’t cum without him touching your clit but he doesn’t have enough brain power to even help you… and he doesn’t have to. 

You let out a sob-like whine as Eddie’s hips calm down and he pulls back, already struggling to get his pants back over his legs. “Eddie, I didn’t-” He cuts you off by completely falling off the couch, hitting the floor with a dull thud. He sits back up, level with your face and kisses you with a small smile. “I know.” He stands up, jumping a bit to get his jeans up quicker. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. I’ll help you when I get back I swear.” He blows you a kiss as he rushes out of the room, hearing people calling for him outside the hall. You’re left in silence in his room, panting and desperate as you hear the crowd scream, letting you know he’s already back on stage.  

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

---posting to the correct blog lol---

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After the week you’ve had, the need for a strong drink is irresistible. You’re almost there. Friday. You just need to make it through the day. There’s only one obstacle in your way. Mr. Stark. 

You bring him his ritualistic cafe au lait just after noon. He has an airpod in his ear, chattering on a call as he clicks around his floating computer screen. You keep your head down, making yourself invisible as you place the cup on a coaster. He leans back in his white leather chair as he speaks, reaching quickly for the coffee. 

“Yeah, Rogers, maybe, I don’t know about you but I’m not looking to invest right now. I got enough eggs to hatch...” Stark sips as he rests his other hand on his thigh.  

Before you can retreat, your eyes flick over and see the moving image on the monitor. You don’t react. You just backpedal and return to your desk, gently closing the door as to not disturb your call. You might commend him for multitasking if it wasn’t so inappropriate. 

You cup your chin and zero in on your screen, fighting the images seared into your eyes. The woman’s ass spread wide as the man... nope. Not today. 

Mr. Stark’s reputation is less than pristine. Everyone knows how he is but he’s the CEO. Who’s going to say anything? Or do anything? Coming into the role, you expected a demanding workload and a finicky boss, but not everything else. Not the blatant disregard for others and brazen lack of shame. 

You glance over at his door before you dare to take out your phone. You lay it next to your keyboard and keep your hand under your chin. You look down as you press to unlock and read the messages from the other girls. Izzie can’t make it, she’s out in the field, but the others are down. Awesome. 

You scroll through the gif catalogue and send a celebratory reaction. Mr. Stark’s door startles you and you slide your phone up under your monitor stand to try to hide it. You put your attention back to the calendar and swoop your mouse around the pad. 

Stark approaches as he slurps loudly over the brim of his cup. You feel the weight of his gaze and meet it shyly, pushing your glasses up your nose as you sit up. You can’t quite smile as your jaw locks up. 

“Sir?” You greet him in confusion. 

“So, Friday,” his brown eyes dip down to consider the depths of the mug, “got any exciting plans?” 

You look left then right and back at him. Your brow twitches in surprised confusion. Mr. Stark never asks about your personal life. He only ever talks about his private jet and high-life getaways to locations you could never dream of. Your cocktails are meagre compared to his elite lifestyle. 

“No, sir,” you say. “How about you?” 

He smirks and tilts his head. He slowly prowls around your desk and you swivel your chair to face him as he nears the corner to your right. You tilt to look up at him. 

“Ah, the usual, there’s this sweet little blonde thing down in Barbados waiting for me,” he chuckles as his eyes rove over your desk, “no dates? No... partying?” 

“Sir, I... just errands.” 

“Uh huh,” he clucks and reaches for your mouse. Nope. He swerves and swipes up your phone as it lights up beneath the stand. Shoot. “Social hour, huh?” 

“No, sir. I just shut off an alarm and forgot--” 

“You’re a bad liar, stop it,” he warns as he brings your phone up and reads the messages popping up, “girls’ night?” He looks at you over the cell, “that sounds like more than errands to me.” 

“Well, sir, I didn’t think... it was important.” 

“Must be if you’re texting at work,” he tosses the phone at you and you catch it as it lands in your lap. “You been to Barbados?” 

“Barbados? No?” You answer dumbly, no expecting the question. 

“Wanna go?” 

You hesitate. Is this some trick? It’s like when he was taunting Walker last week, baiting him into giving answers that made him look stupid.

“Sir, maybe one day, I guess, I never thought--” 

“No thinking. I know you’re not that fucking simple,” he reaches to poke your forehead and your recoil. “Don’t get too fucking crazy tonight, sweetheart, jet takes off at six. In the morning.” 

You frown and shake your head. He can’t mean what you think. 

“Should I have your luggage--” 

“Be there,” he demands and gulps back a mouthful. He slams down the empty mug on your desk and backs up, “if you’re still thirsty, they got cocktails on the plane.” 

He turns and strides away, whistling as he checks his watch. He sighs as he approaches the office door, pausing, “when Odinson gets here, make sure he has everything he needs.” He glances back with a smirk as you peer around your monitor, “and smile, sweetheart, you got nice lips.” 

You stare after him as he closes his office door and you sit back. You chew your thumb and look down at your phone. You sniff as you watch the others messages stream over the screen. Now you know better than to have your phone out at work. Now you get to do overtime. Fun. 

You rub your cheek and roll close to your desk. You’re not going to miss tonight, even if Mr. Stark wants to take away your weekend. You’ve been waiting for this and you need the boost before you face whatever he has planned.  

A message blips up in the corner and you click it, not daring to ignore Mr. Stark’s icon. The window spreads over the screen and the message floats over the reply bar. ‘Don’t forget a bikini’. 

Huh?