#I know it's hard considering how many things can change in so little time but I dunno

[howlsofbloodhounds]

How do u think the chromatic crew's handwriting would be like?

I think Color’s handwriting would be really really bad, particularly in the very beginning—when he’s not only adjusting to using pens and pencils again, but adjusting to only have one eye and adjusting to seeing in different types of lighting after having gotten used to the conditions of the Void—but im also considering the possibility that, when in Color is filled with Perseverance, there’s noticeable change in his handwriting.

This is the same when he’s filled with the other soul traits of course, such as become more like a young child’s handwriting when filled with Kindness, but I bring up Perse specifically because my thoughts keep circling back to an ask I got about if Color would be effected by or have any disorders or conditions that any of the souls might’ve had when they were alive.

And while I was copying the Wikipedia pages for every canon thing we know about the six souls, their items and everything, down into a little journal notes app thingy for later use; I came across the fact that the notebook’s handwriting is stated to contain “illegible scrawls” when checked. Meaning the handwriting is very hard to read.

This could be for many reasons, of course. The passage of time and a natural wear and tear of exposure to the elements, of course. The fact that the child with the Perseverance soul was a child. They could’ve been writing very quickly; out of fear, frustration, in a hurry, maybe quickly wanting to write everything down before forgotten or as they happened.

But there’s also the fact that another item associated with this soul are the cloudy glasses, said to be marred with wear. The fact they needed glasses suggests problems with eyesight, and if the glasses were marred by the time they were writing in the notebook, would explain bad handwriting as well.

So problems with eyesight whenever Color is filled with Perseverance is one thing he could struggle with that makes his handwriting decrease, even as his own handwriting abilities—which were effected by his lack of much need for such skills, lack of access to the tools needed for writing (besides maybe Patience’s spinning knives?) as well as his physical disability—increased and approved with time and practice.

Another thing I considered awhile back when discussing the idea of Abyss!Sans being dyslexic with a friend on Discord is: what if, not only did Perse have problems with eye sight when they were alive, but what if they had dysgraphia?

Dysgraphia is a neurological disorder that impacts a person's ability to write and produce written language.

It's also known as a specific learning disorder in written expression. Dysgraphia can affect handwriting, spelling, grammar, punctuation, and the organization of written work. It can also impact the ability to recognize and decipher written words, and the relationship between letter forms and sounds.

One of the many signs and symptoms of dysgraphia is even stated to be poor or illegible handwriting.

So i think Color’s handwriting can noticeably get worse when he is filled with Perseverance, because of Perse’s poor eyesight and possible dysgraphia, but also when influenced by younger souls like Ness and Pat.

I think Delta’s handwriting can noticeably change as well, due to Beta, but I do think his handwriting is actually rather easy to read when you read notes about his work related stuff—equations, math, things like that. It’s when he’s writing things about like, grocery lists, that it’s less written with care and he’s just writing however he pleases.

I feel like Killer’s handwriting has potential to also be affected by his eyesight, or lack thereof—as well as tremors or cramps in his hands. He and Color very likely can and do write in Arabic—and this is possibly how they’re used to writing if this was how they were taught.

They are likely more used to writing right to left, and that is likely to show itself even when they’re both writing in English and trying to write left to right. His and Color’s handwritings may seem more fluid and connected, or semi cursive.

Color and Killer, when writing in English, may also struggle with things like capitals, uppercase and lowercase letters because (according to Google at least) Arabic script does not typically require lowercase or uppercase letters. There are also things like pressure, stroke styles, different punctuation rules, etc.

I’m not sure why exactly, but I feel like Epic is pretty good at reading and writing in cursive. I haven’t completely finished reading everything on his and Cross’ canon materials just yet, but Epic’s handwritings is likely influenced by his scientific background; Cross’ royal guard background may also play a factor for him as well.

[rintinningvt]

Started watching the Bayverse movies with my besties and... Are we just too gay for these movies??? Admittedly we only finished the first two and got through a quarter of the third, but the second one was such a drag to sit through at times and it probably doesn't help that we do NOT care about Sam that much. I hope that there is a character arc for him in the rest of the third movie. Because so far he has not been fun to watch in that one. He just comes off as a slight manchild to me, like... I can see why he would be frustrated with where he is in life but the way he acts with others and lashes out does not help him in the slightest. I do have to admit though that seeing him go to Cybertronian Heaven in the second movie was the funniest part for me and my besties lol.

I'll just hope that the other guy in the next movies will be at least a bit more interesting. Doesn't even have to be a good guy, just an interesting guy for me lol

[silverselfshippingchaos]

goodness I love him so much

[saetoru]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)

[hoseoksluna]

A CELEBRATION OF 2K FOLLOWERS — PLEASANT, GOOD AND MERCIFUL | jjk

pairing: non-idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader 

genre: smut, angst, fluff — the whole package

word count: 8.9k

summary: jungkook wanted to make the night better for you—but what he didn't expect is that he would come across his true, unabashed self while doing so.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: jungkook, physical violence, jungkook is wearing that mesh top and that exact outfit (god, help me) and he's horny (god, help me again), abandonment issues, dissociation, panic mode, fear, swear words, dom/sub dynamics, protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat:), teasing, pda, jungkook smokes and jungkook uses his busan accent (you have been warned), religion, praying, anxiety, hyper-independence, trust issues, begging, a little bit of a praise kink — barely, cowgirl:).

note: because we hit 2k incredible followers, i prepared this for you, my babies. a full fucking package of drama, smut, angst and fluff—all from jungkook's own pov!!!!! this is all for you bc i love you sm. thank you, guys, so much for being here with me, sticking around and reading my stupid fics. enjoy this one shot and let me know what you think. i'm sending you so many kisses until you get sick of me. seriously. i won't stop. i love you. MWAHMWAHMWAHMWAHMHWA.

It is a lucid dream, really, the way the lustrous colors of the fireworks bloom across the charcoal sky. They intertwine with the darkened clouds, like vines of wild flowers, that try and fail to remain hidden and Jungkook thinks you burst with even richer, emotive colors. 

With your kaleidoscopic glitter on the high points of your cheeks, and the tiny stars that you stuck on each arch of your brow. 

He can feel the vibration of the deep bass, belonging to the music, coursing down your chest as he stands behind you, drifting his hands down the upper half of your body while the rest of the strangers are hypnotized by the rapper on stage that he has very little knowledge of. The reason why he paid for the tickets, pumped a full tank of gas, drove you all the way to the countryside outside of the normality of your daily life and never let go of your hand—despite the fact they grew uncomfortably clammy due to the stifling heat—was because you loved the man. The vulgar headliner, whose lyrics nearly made his eyes fall out of his sockets once he fully and consciously listened to the songs that you always sing when you do your makeup or hum at random times when you’re doing your own thing. 

And what’s worse, it made his dick hard when he heard you scream out the swear words and the filthy imagery painted in the vivaciousness of the songs.

You, who scarcely cursed. 

Who omitted the vulgarity when rapping along. 

He doesn’t think he ever caught those words coming out of your mouth. Not even when he was balls-deep in you. 

Multiple times. 

It had only been four months ago when he found you and his long silent heart gained your voice. It was the sweetest, most languid sound that ever graced his ears and in an instant, you became a fleshly sanctuary of serenity. One he would find himself needing more often than he liked because the truth is—Jungkook doesn’t date. 

He considers relationships an unnecessary house of pain. If he spends a long time there, he forgets what the outside world looks like. Forgets how to get home. Forgets the roads and the rules and moralities of life and society because, deep down, he lets go of himself for the girl. 

He would kill a soul if she found herself needing it. Or at least destroy one so she would have a peace of mind. 

Break hands and break noses of people who looked at her wrong. 

That’s who he is and as much as he tried to change it, he failed every time. Failed like the clouds up above. His effort to stay hidden from you vanished into thin air because you would invariably find him and his heart would start praying with your voice. The pathetic thing would beg for mercy from the world. His knees would wobble and he’d let them sink right in front of you—all because of your deeply inert calmness and briskness that would, strangely, pour the nectar of mollification over his bloodstream. 

And he gave in to you because you didn’t ask, nor expect, anything from him. 

You didn’t do what the others did. 

You were independent and so full of life, of a different world, one he wanted to take a peek inside. 

And what he didn’t predict was that the road would be molded for his feet. And once he kissed you and learned the ins and outs of your intellect and the chambers of your heart, he still remembered the streets that line the outside world—its names, even. He remembered the address of his own apartment building, the number to his door and to the pass code. 

And so did you. 

You didn’t ask him to kill for you. And you didn’t ask him for tickets to see your favorite artists. 

He did it because he unreservedly loved you. 

And here you are, giggling, rubbing your little ass up against his groin and he detects happiness prickling his nerve endings. His hands are enveloped, snugly, as if no one was around and the artists traveled across the country for you, around your waist while your hands are up in the air, pointed fingers erect, dipping up and down to the rhythm of the music. 

And what he could never predict, not even in a million years—he’s enjoying himself. Feels the traces of the same vibrations ricocheting off your back into his chest, where the song enlivens him. 

He’s enjoying himself because you are enjoying yourself, brimming with elation and the radiance of your smile as you laugh, dance and scream out curse words that he’s equally enjoying hearing. 

Jungkook makes a mental note to pull those sounds out of you later in the early hours. 

And then you turn around, surprising him. You cup the side of his neck while you point that index finger in his face, screaming out the lyrics. And Jungkook regards it so overwhelming that he can only stare. Doesn’t know the lyrics to scream them back at you and make your experience better, but he’s learning them as he’s consuming them from you, his eyes tracing over each movement of your mouth that engraves them in his brain. He feels your hips moving under his palm at the bottom of your spine and when you roll your body forward, colliding into his like a star that meets its lover once only to never see it again, and brush your lips against his—he’s so horny and so in love with you that his eyes wet, his emotions rushing in and clouding his sight. 

The background fades out, fully, into the charcoal of the night, the colored lights softening and it’s just you that is the distribution of incandescence for the people present—and for him. And then you go down, dragging your hands down his stomach and his thighs, only to spring right up, grab his hips and make that collision happen—against the laws of the universe. 

A different star. A special one. 

Out of his darkened peripheral view, he can sense the audience having a way better time than they did before you turned around to face him. But Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck. 

Not when his cock is so tight in his pants. 

Thankfully, you’re obscuring it with the shape of your delightful body. He thinks he’s going to run with you to his car, pump more adrenaline into your body, so you can refresh the drowsy grass with a pristine layer of dew through the sound of your laughter. He also wonders if you’re wet yourself underneath that gray dress of yours and just as he’s about to lean over and yell that question into your ear, you turn around and get ready for the next song. 

And catch the glance of some guy to your right as you do. Jungkook grits his jaw because you linger for a second longer that he doesn’t particularly like.

A certain fever poisons his veins, but at the same time he feels the pinpricks of a cold sweat at the top of his spine. Who the fuck does he think he is, staring at his girl like that? 

But when he follows that line of the half broken gaze, he finds the guy’s slender face scrunched up in disgust. 

Oh, Jungkook might be ready to throw some hands and get him kicked out of this place, tell the cops it was all him so you can continue enjoying yourself in his arms. He’s seen some people sticking their tongues down their partner’s throat and he’s giving you a dirty look for dancing? 

This can easily be his very last night alive. 

Instinctively, Jungkook bunches up his fists and he’s ready to go after him, but you scream out and emit out your excitement, taking a deep breath to go absolutely mad as the rapper begins to perform the song that he’s heard you jamming out to the most. You take his hands, beaming at him from behind, and uncurl them on your tummy. Your glance was too brief and there’s still a furrow to his brows and now he worries you think he’s being a buzzkill. He doesn’t want to ruin the night for you, so he draws in closer to the crook of your neck and begins to dance, softly, with you. Your hands intertwine with his and you bang them in the air, jumping up and down at the bridge of the song that the headliner hypes up. 

And then you’re singing in a different language and he’s done for, his heart tightening in his chest. The one he’s heard your mother talk in over the phone while you replied in English. Jungkook squeezes you so hard and you let him, your smile growing. Your voice is more throatier and low-pitched and Jungkook senses your foreignness swathing his cock and he knows there’s a bigger tent in his pants. He presses it against you, makes you feel it and you throw your delicious ass. 

His eyes nearly go cross-eyed as he rolls them back, tilting his head. The wind sweeps across the sweat of his exposed forehead, sifting through his hair and he can’t wait any longer. Desire has overpowered the poison in his veins in such a mighty way and he begins to stand in the middle of a crossroad. 

Wait forty five minutes until the rapper finishes the show and then get stuck in the crowd as everyone tries to leave at once. 

Or wait two more minutes and then bolt to the car to fuck your brains out. There’s a higher chance you and him won’t be caught sinning in the backseat. It’s midnight and the villagers are asleep. And in the forty minutes, while everyone enjoys the last show, he can make you come so many times and ascertain that your experience will be heightened and ultimately better. 

He’s also sure you’ll be able to hear him—if he leaves the window open a little bit. 

He’s ready to turn you around, the decision throbbing in his sternum, but you make the move first. Swiveling on your feet, your body faces him, though your head doesn’t. Once again, he follows your gaze. You scowl at the guy, your brows knitting and your glossy mouth rounding before moving into the shape of the lyrics. You throw a dirty look his way one last time and Jungkook laughs in pride, his heart constricting in the love he bears for you, and he pulls you in, disposed to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth just as he kisses you—and it’s you who darts out their tongue, rolling it against his. Jungkook squeezes your bum, slapping it gently—and it’s simultaneous the way you and him both peek at the guy’s reaction. 

The fucker is grinning. 

You give him a vulgar gesture, the moonless blue light enveloping around your middle finger. 

Jungkook laughs so hard that heads turn in his direction and he’s fucking delighted. You devour it with your mouth, sucking his lips so intensely that he stops breathing. He senses you sealing it in him and he can’t wait any longer. 

He needs you and he tells you. 

Breaking the lip lock, he peppers kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear, wafting his hot breath there. He feels the gooseflesh on your arm right upon his ear, too, and electricity courses down his stomach. Fuck, he loves it so much. Thinks you’re so incredible and he wants to fuck that fact into your guts. 

“Let’s get out of here. I want you,” he rasps, drifting his hand up your bum to the ends of your hair, bunching them in his fist. “I want to give you this dick. You deserve it.” 

You suck in a harsh breath and withdraw to look at him. He bites his lip at the way his words painted a palette of such flushed beauty on your face, using colors this festival has never fucking seen. And his mouth ends rise in a prideful smile, not for his ability, but for your body. For the way it’s able to react to him so wonderfully. 

And he blushes when you begin to mouth the lyrics again while dipping to the seat of the amphitheater and sliding his blazer over his shoulders. 

He knows why you did that. 

And you validate his knowledge when you take his hand and lead him away from the concert, keeping close to him just to be cautious. 

You did it to camouflage the evidence of his arousal for you. 

And when you walk by the guy, you let go of his hand. Throw both middle fingers in his face. “You wish you had someone to leave with, huh?” 

The fucker puts his dirty hand on you, stopping you from walking away, and Jungkook doesn’t fucking hesitate. Like a bolt of lightning, he grabs his collar and fumes in his face. 

“What makes you fucking think you can touch my girl, huh? Juk go sip na?” he snarls, shaking him, his Busan dialect impulsively spilling out, darkening his voice and the latter question—‘Do you want to die?’ He watches a tendril of challenge line his eyes with murkiness and what happens next is too fast. 

Too fast for his liking. 

Knuckles collide with his cheek and at the rapid, unexpected and jarring contact, his lip ring cuts his gums. Jungkook grunts at the twinge that overpowers the throbbing on the side of his face, metal percolating through the aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of the guy’s shirt. In fact, he tightens his hold. Seethes. Is about to push him off and leave before things get even uglier, but then he feels your hands on his back and his heart stops, your voice mute, despite the fact your whole face twists in fear and is smeared with harrowing emotions that he’s never seen on you. Shrinks at the sight of your wet, bulging eyes. Of one singular tear grazing your lower lashes in a caress before plopping onto the wildflower meadow of the glitter on your cheek. 

“Get back,” he tells you, despite the swelling of his own emotions at your state of mind. But you don’t comply in time, unclench your fist and step back because far too soon, in the middle of the distraction, another collision bursts in this impenetrable darkness. 

Falling into you or falling for you even deeper, he can’t tell the difference within the numbing pain and his temper coaxes his exceedingly too easy tears to blur his vision. You don’t topple back on your hands, for Jungkook catches you in time with a strength that you somehow help him remember that he possesses. From the force of the guy’s jab, he was only pushed into you, but it doesn’t diminish the grave mistake he made. 

One he will pay for. 

Straightening you, Jungkook guides you towards the edge of the amphitheater and you step back, at last, startled. Turning around, he swings his fist into the guy’s face and he whimpers like a little bitch. 

One hit for your dignity. 

A second one for your tears. 

And the guy would’ve received a third and a fourth one had he not been held back by different pairs of arms all of a sudden. But he shakes them off. Pushes the guy back to his seat. He lands awkwardly on his tailbone with a hard thud and moans in pain. Suits him right for thinking he’s allowed to touch you, make you cry and remain unharmed. 

Jungkook shakes his head, his chest rising with heavy breaths and numbing, adrenaline-infused fury. “Sit here and keep your fucking hands to yourself, gaesaekki. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my girl cry by hitting me?” 

The music cuts out and the rapper hollers. Jungkook turns around and finds all of the attention of the audience and the headliner on him. Doesn’t want to put you on the spot like that, so he rolls his eyes in annoyance, finds your rounded ones and tips his chin further towards the exit, signaling to you to walk that way, so no one gets to look at you. You’re still standing by the edge of the amphitheater with your tear-stained cheeks and his heart aches, though once he sees that you’re covered by the shadows, he lifts a palm towards the stage and strides off, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you towards the grassy hill. 

People are fucking testing him and he’s not in the mood. Not in the slightest. 

He’d go with his original plan—take your hand and run with you to his car, but he needs to cool off. His anger is sapping all the delight he gained from your microcosm of joy and he doesn’t want to ruin the night more than he already has. Jungkook curls an arm around your neck, tugging you flush to his side as you strut together with no one around. Lifts your chin so he can inspect how you’re feeling on your face. 

Your cheeks are glimmering, damply, carmine in the yellow light, accompanied by the faint burn of the stars up above, but your eyes have lost their great spark and you’re no longer beaming. They trace over his deadened cheek and mouth and you whimper, stopping dead in your tracks and burying your face in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, a hand stroking his back—and Jungkook feels himself drifting to a state of coma. The rapper’s lines decline the harder you nuzzle your face in his mesh-clad pecs and he can’t move his own hands, can’t hug you back, his panic cascading down his sternum, which he senses your warm weight upon. A ringing noise fills his ears, but he can’t wilt. He has to put you first and make things right. 

But his body doesn’t listen. 

He wills strength into his muscles, lifting his head towards the unmerciful heavens and letting your voice sound out his prayer. You evidently need physical support and emotional reassurement and he can’t give that to you out of his own weakened will. Not when he needs it so despairingly and eminently because he’s hollowed out on the inside. Not when he can’t hear a damn thing owing to the ringing in his ears. 

He can’t ask you for help, so he lets you pray through his heart to his father’s God. 

But nothing happens.

Radio silence. 

White noise. 

A feeble, miniature whine loosens from him. He’s not sure if you heard it and he hopes you didn’t, and for that sole reason—he does the unthinkable. 

He begins to pray with his own voice. 

Because there’s nothing else to do. 

Give me strength. To be there for her and not mess this up more than I already have. Fix me for her and help me make this night better for her. 

The tiniest of lights against your face unbolts ajar in him, vines of the flowers of mitigation blooming from that sliver of open space—right into his arms that abruptly lift and wrap around your shoulders, pulling you as close as humanly possible. 

The ringing lessens. 

And then his lips move. 

He kisses your forehead, dwelling there for a moment, basking in the fact that his prayer worked, and mentally, he ejects the trepidation and agitation away and out of his system, though the fear loiters in his ribcage. The fear that the mistake he made is unfixable. And there’s no thrumming of the bass to distract it. 

What’s worse, his lower regions still ask for a release. He might not be as hard as he was, but the pressure of an ungratified arousal still palpitates in his groin. The unlit disorder of his feelings encourages the blood to pump his cock erect, slowly, and his breath quivers—as well as his body. 

The shakes are back. He knows them, intimately, from his past relationships. Feels the long-gone ghost of abandonment catching up to him—and he fears, terribly, that you’ve somehow learned its ways and you’re about to use them on him because of the way he ruined your night. Cover him from head to toe until his mind numbs and he forgets, foolishly, the direction to his home. 

To solitude. 

He lets go of you and nudges you towards his car. Lets you walk the rest of the short way. But he notices that your forehead, the place he poured his frail love upon, is smudged with blots of blood, the little stars on the arches of your brows crooked and devalued. He’s barely able to get out a cigarette out of his pack and place it in the center of his parted lips, his heart cracking and turning painfully. Though, somehow he does it—he gnites it to life, takes a big drag and hides his hands behind his back. Hides his shakes away from you. Because it’s easier to ruin yourself than it is to give. 

You don’t know about them. And in the four months he’s been dating you, he didn’t have a reason to tell you about them. Thought they were lost for all eternity, the tables turned—them forgetting about him. 

But now he realizes how naive he was. Begs his shoulder to stop trembling from the impact of his deeply-embossed issues. Wishes they were as beautiful as you when you gaze back at him with the weight of your love and he feels it, swiveling to lean against the side of his car. 

It’s a life jacket that straps him down. Abates his shakes. And he’s able to take another drag, pursing his lips in a small ‘O’ when he exhales the smoke, so it doesn’t get near you. 

Your hands are behind your back, too. They support your tailbone against the solidness of the vehicle. It reminds him that he’s glad he hurt the guy, but now he wishes that you weren’t such a delicious brat because he could’ve made you happier and pinker with the amount of orgasms he would’ve given you. Would’ve driven you home and washed you clean. Would’ve made you a late night snack to bed and held you while you replayed the songs in your head. 

Nevertheless, it’s him who needs to be held. 

Foolish, his sensitivity. Another thing you don’t know about. And he’s not too sure, at this very moment, if he’s able to let you in this closely. Let you hold him and stop, ultimately, his shakes. The fear of possibly letting that happen, only to get left behind after, paralyzes him on the spot and even though he can’t breathe, he still manages to flick the ash off his cigarette and puff on it, desperately. Needs the smoke to hold him down, mollify the raging disorder in him—the macrocosm that is too gritty and stony for your delicate feet. 

He allows a full, audible sigh to leave him and he hangs his head, but he shouldn’t have done that. 

Because he divulged to you how fucked up he is. 

You lift a hand to him. “Come here, Oppa.” 

But he can’t. He can’t get close. His legs are numb and the thick-soled boots his feet are shod in are too heavy. His fear keeps them planted that safe distance apart. And Jungkook plays it cool. Licks his lips, lifts his head and sucks on his cigarette. Feels something dripping down his jaw and he wipes his hand on the bone. His cheeks hollow out and the smoke gets in his eyes, stinging them, blurring the spots of blood on his fingers

A different type of wetness coats them now. 

“You wanna go home?” he asks, then cringes at his stupid words. The smoke makes zig zag patterns in the air as his hands shake harder. And then the breath he takes is too difficult. His chin wobbles, the tears rush in and he can’t stop it. “They’re still—” A soft sigh, a whimper. His breathing speeds up because it seems as though his lungs ask for too much air and he can’t inhale enough of it. The tears threaten to pour out and crown his fear. Ruin his life. But he keeps going as if nothing is happening. “Making hot dogs in that food stand over there. The night’s not over.”

And then he’s sobbing, sinking to his knees as his legs give out under all that weight of his issues compressing him. The cigarette burns on the concrete, as abandoned as he soon will be. And his hands feel the rough material of his jeans, needing something to bring him back to a painless reality. He’s tasting blood and the fumes of the smoke and then he sees your sneakers in front of his knees, the pink Calvin Klein shoes that he bought you last week, and he sits back, feels his head being lifted, feels himself being pushed to a point of absolute submission. 

And that’s not something he’s able to stop either. 

You sit down on his thighs, sinking your fingers behind his ears and into his hair, forcing him to look at you and he has to blink multiple times in order for his sight to clear up. Sees, while he whimpers pathetically, his bloodstained, fearful girl seeing him. The real him. The flawed, broken him. 

“Gguk, Ggukie, what’s happening? Talk to me, baby, please.” 

He only sobs. Can’t get a word out. Because you’re here and you’re going to leave him—now that you’ve seen that he’s not a half of the man you pertain him to be. That he’s weak, pathetic and emotional. That he has problems that he doesn’t like to talk about. Unresolved issues that will affect you and guide you out of his life. 

You press him to your neck, holding him to you, and you shush him, gently, rocking him from side to side. Run your wet hand up his hair on the back of his head while the other one rubs large circles on his back. The light opens wider in him—and as he listens to the lullaby of your voice, it distracts him from the fear. It stills the ringing in his ears and blesses his arms with strength that he uses, without thinking, to wrap around you. 

Something lukewarm plops onto the side of his aching cheek as he, little by little, calms down, and he realizes it’s your precious tears. The salt to his wound. 

You’ve cried too much when you should’ve been laughing so hard that you’d be sick from it. 

“What happened? Tell me.” 

Your hand caresses his bad cheek, careful around the bump that your feather-light touch traces, and it’s how he finds out it’s even there. He finds out his bleeding is from his mouth because you wipe at it and clean your fingers on your dress. And then you’re back to stroking his hair, your long fingernails scratching, tenderly, his scalp, spreading alleviation down his body. 

You’re patient and gentle, tolerant and kind, despite the fact you deserve an explanation and he’s unable to give it to you. 

It’s what makes his rationality snap back to normalcy and he tugs your dress down, withdrawing from you and helping you stand to your feet. He’s here to make your night better, not unleash his problems at you. He takes your purse dangling from your hand, replacing it with his palm, and hauls you towards his car. 

But you stay put and he bounces back to you as if he were on a leash. 

And maybe he is—because you stayed at the horrendous scene of his worst. Bound to you in a way that he’s too drowsy to comprehend. Even his fear is tired, scurrying away to some shadowed corner of his soul, instead of attacking him and remaking the scene. 

“Give me my purse back and let me buy you that hot dog,” you say, with a hint of a remarkable harshness that makes him submit to you on a higher level. Something positive that he can’t pinpoint breezes through his clavicles and he wipes his knuckles across his eyes, shyness encasing him like steel—like a shield, giving him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can overcome this with you. 

You didn’t leave. You didn’t disappear. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. 

You held him. Cleaned the blood off his mouth. Put him, somehow, back together like a puzzle piece. Knew how to do it without needing to look at the full picture. 

He hands you the chain strap of your purse—and it’s more of a symbol of his submission to you. Of the acquiescence and the meekness that you seeped into his pores by your touch. And, oddly, he feels whole. 

His walls are broken down, but he feels whole. Confident, soft, and manly. 

Because he has you and you’re here to take care of him. 

You’re quick on your feet as you yank him by the two of his fingers. He follows behind you, but all he can look at is your pendulous, brown, leather purse, suspended from your small hand, and how that shift of the dynamic in yours and his relationship occurred by that exchange. How it’s felicitous, pretty and sturdy. How he can come back to it and remember it—if he ever wavers. Remember that it’s the cure to his shakes. 

Letting himself be taken care of by you. 

The festival has ended and the ladies at the food stand are packing up to leave. It overwhelms him how much time his issues have stolen, but when he watches you go from nice to bratty in a millisecond, convincing them to make that last hot dog from him because he feels faint and needs some greasy food in order to get home and they comply, his love for you rises sky-high. Your own expression of love for him tidies up the debris from his broken walls and he’s so warm all over that he feels as though he’ll explode. 

You pay for the hot dog and leave a huge tip, thanking them with a smile that makes his heart quiver in a way that is pleasant, good and merciful. You hand it to him and it’s another exchange that wets his eyes, that makes him dip to your mouth and give you a chaste kiss that you more than deserve. You coo, deeply, into the kiss, and it’s a sound that he’s never heard from you. A dominant, prideful sound that stirs the butterflies in his stomach that carry your name on their wings to beat so ferociously that he can’t breathe. 

In a different way now. Pleasant, good and merciful. 

You walk away from the stand and sit with him on the sidewalk. Jungkook lets you have the first bite, sliding your leg over his as he holds the hot dog to your mouth. People are exiting the amphitheater in hefty crowds, but he doesn’t care. Can’t peel his eyes off of you as you open your mouth as wide as you can and take a big bite, whining and fanning your mouth due to how boiling hot it is. He can see the half chewed up sausage on your tongue and if he didn’t love you, he’d look away now, but he can’t because he does love you and your secret, indecent ways enthrall him enough that he can’t help but to kiss you again. Kiss the ketchup and mustard off of your upper lip. Clean you up like you cleaned up his debris. Blow on the sausage in your mouth a little to make you laugh and you do more than that. You chortle so hard that you nearly choke on it and he laughs, too, strangely. 

Thinks the hot dog is the best one he has had in a long time solely because you had that first bite. 

It fuels him with energy, yet he feels lightweight. Feels as though everything’s going to be okay, despite the fact those issues in him are a persisting threat and they can be triggered anytime. But something tells him you can handle it. 

You weren’t afraid to throw your middle fingers in a guy’s face because he had a problem with your public display of affection. Weren’t afraid of Jungkook’s ugliness. Weren’t afraid to fight the ladies so you could fill up his stomach with his favorite food. 

You can handle it. 

It’s all he thinks about as he drives you to his apartment with his hand on your thigh. 

And it’s all he thinks about when he kneels before you while he takes off your sneakers and lingers there, scattering kisses just below the hem of your dress. And you know where this is going because you pull him back by his hair and as he looks up at you like this, a peasant to a queen, his heart hammers so intensively that all he wants to do is cry while he makes love to you. 

He came across his salvation—in the worst of it all. 

“Let me clean you up,” you hush out, and Jungkook doesn’t understand because you already have. Internally. And outwardly all the same. He can’t postpone this any longer. He has to give back to you, give you his gratitude on a silver platter. He needs to do it because if he doesn’t, he’ll crumble. 

“No,” he rasps in a whisper, closing his mouth over the inner of your thigh, placing a singular kiss there before he returns his gaze back to you. “Let me, please.” 

Maybe you can see his desperation in the glossiness of his eyes and it awakens your pity for him, for in a blink you nod, and for the second time today—he doesn’t hesitate to do the next thing. He fists the fabric of your dress and yanks it up over your tummy, nuzzling his nose into your clothed mound. Pink, like your sneakers. 

He inhales you. Inhales the beginning of your arousal—and the beginning of a brand new scene that will color his life in a soft manner. 

Dragging the waistband of your panties down your legs, he tosses them on top of your shoes. Yearns for your legs to part your royalty for him and in order for that to happen, he carries you, bridal-style, over to the white of his bedding. Pretends it’s clouds that he’s laying you down upon because he’s about to make sure he’ll bring heaven down to you. 

The heaven that helped him give back to you earlier in his worst. 

He hooks his fingers under your socks and slides them off, one by one. Makes you sit up to rid you of your dress. Ruins your ponytail in the process, but he quickly fixes it by lugging your hair tie down your length, rubbing his blood away on your forehead with his saliva-coated thumb once he places you back down. 

And it’s not an expression of his dominance, the way he disburdened you from the daytime. That has long ceased to exist in him since that exchange. 

It’s an expression of his servitude to you. 

Of his lessening and your heightening. 

And it’s pleasant, good and merciful. It doesn’t feel as though he’s giving all of himself. On the contrary, it feels as though he has just discovered his true self. 

He won’t forget the address of his home because he’s not staying over anywhere. 

He is at home. 

And your folds revealing your royalty as he spreads your legs is the feeling of homeliness. His mouth on your warm, swollen clit is the epitome of all domesticity and the only thing he can fear at this very moment is his future homesickness if he rips his mouth off your cunt. 

And you getting wet so easily just from being taken care of like a queen confirms and validates all that he’s feeling. 

And he lets you know. 

Peasants are savages and he eats your pussy like it. Sucks on your clit with a verve that surprises him and makes his cock tight uncomfortably in his pants, especially when you make those deep, guttural noises of yours. You’re not the soft girl he knew that omitted swear words in her favorite filthy songs. You’re a vulgar woman, rolling her hips into his mouth as he lets you use his tongue. 

And he stops—just to beg for those words. 

“Let me hear you swear for me, please.” 

You whimper, flopping into the mattress, only to raise your torso using your elbows. You grip the hair on the back of his neck and hump his mouth, but then you suck in a breath and draw back, sobered up all of a sudden. 

“Does your lip hurt?” you ask, rounding your brows in pity and Jungkook’s heart quickens at the portrayal of your care towards him. His senses flick to that faint throbbing on the side of his pierced lip and he perceives that he forgot about his physical pain. His cheek throbs as well, but it’s all bearable. 

You help him remember. 

“It doesn’t hurt, baby.” 

But the hand that gripped his hair slides over to his lip, caressing it with a thumb. “But it’s swollen. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He also remembers that he was bleeding from the same place and he checks your folds if he spattered them. With the same digit, he runs it over them, finding no taints of it. Sends a quick, internal thank you to God. 

You’re pure—he doesn’t want to mar you. 

“You’re not hurting me. You’re saving me,” he utters without a breath, the words more raw than anything he’s ever said to you, alongside his first, secretly sensitive I love you. And while he doesn’t let his lungs lift, you inhale all of the air for him, wafting it over him as you pout ever so slightly. And then you caress him—the good side of his face and he does something he’s never expected to do. 

He invites you in. 

Rests his head on the apex of your thigh while you continue to brush your hand in circles. Over his cheekbone, his temple, long strands of hair and ear. An ouroboros of love so unsullied and intact that the world’s upcoming destruction could never afflict it, never even come near it. Jungkook pushes your leg back and darts out his tongue. Mirrors your circles over your clit and the gentleness he uses to do it with pull such alluring moans from the bottom of your throat that he’s nearly at the peak of his own orgasm. 

And it just makes him hungrier. 

He turns you over to your side and closes that leg of yours over his head. Flattens his tongue over your clit and eats it like his life depends on it, one hand holding yours while the other slips to your heat, rubbing the hole until you go mad. And he’s not holding your hand to keep you bound. He’s holding your hand to keep his sanity and not come in his pants like a boy. 

You move your hips so his fingers enter you and you scream out at the sudden fullness. Jungkook drips in sweat, your walls slowly stretching around him sending tingles down his spine, and he’s moaning when you fuck yourself on his digits. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come. 

It is the final piece to your own puzzle and your orgasm thunders through you, the swear words tumbling out of your mouth like refreshing raindrops. You interweave them into his name, adorning it, making it prettier, and Jungkook is so overwhelmed with pleasure that all he can do is suck on your clit until you convulse so hard that you can’t take it anymore.

You may have lost your spark earlier, but now that you’ve come so magnificently, you’ve become it. The star of light isn’t something that gets attached to your eyes whenever you’re happy anymore. 

You’re the queen of all firelights and constellations. 

He lets you lie on your side as he hauls himself up to face you. He touches your skin besprinkled with the beads of perspiration, kneading the fleshy parts and ending up at your neck. Your eyes are closed when he reposes his head on his pillow besides yours and he detects his pleasure creating a new kind of joy within him, one that etches a lopsided smile on his face. 

You said the words for him while your orgasm coursed through your body. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you with a certain roughness that makes you whine and withdraw. You give him a playful dirty look, fragrant with your love, and Jungkook’s smile deepens. 

“Gentle,” you reprimand, fluttering your eyes back shut. “Don’t be a masochist.” 

He laughs through his nose, his heart constricting, and he kisses you with the gentleness you spoke of just to show you he can do it. 

You hum in appreciation and Jungkook thinks this must be the best day of his life, despite all. 

“There we go,” you praise, sleepily. “Gentle, so your boo-boo doesn’t hurt.” 

He caresses your face in circles in your fashion, watches you visibly relax and your eyes close all the way, your eyelashes brushing against him. His sleep-kissed queen. 

“You wanna sleep?” he asks, fondling the shell of your ear. He doesn’t mind if you’re too tired to take him; he’s willing to study the way your mouth parts and lets out long, restful breaths as you drift off to dreamland. 

He thinks it would be an honor. 

Everything had changed. The way he sees you, the way he loves you, the way he senses yours and his connection. The pupils of his eyes have been purified and he’s acknowledging himself with the ins and outs of his own relationship. 

Everything is new. 

You shake your head, humming out a sound of disagreement. “No, give me a second. You made me come really hard.” 

He nods, even though you can’t see him, and he sifts his fingers through your hair. Trails his kisses from your cheek to your neck and shoulder, dwelling there as you recuperate from your intense orgasm.

And then you’re swinging your leg over and straddling him. Your lids are so heavy from your little eye-shut that he silently coos at you, but your tiredness doesn’t stop you from mouthing kisses down his mesh-clad chest. From unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his pants. The mesh shirt is the only thing you keep on him. You bunch up its hem in your fist, stabilize his cock with your other and you swallow him. 

Not all the way, though. 

You rid him of his sanity because you pop your mouth, over and over, on the tip of his manhood. He feels the sound deep in his groin, right beneath your hand, and his chest can’t help but to shudder with each suction, his face scrunching. He unabashedly whimpers for you and you like his noises so much that you give him what he never asked you for. 

You do take him all the way. 

And your throat is your scent floating through the air of yours and his home. 

Heady, oriental and feminine. 

You slobber all over him, running your tongue sideways upon the veins along his length and Jungkook slinks in and out of his conscience. The pleasure you’re blessing him with brings him to a rose garden when you gag around him. The pink petals tickle his stomach, encouraging his shudders, and all he sees is you in the middle of that garden. A mighty statue of its queen—with a mouthful of cock. 

And then he has to physically pull you away from him because if he felt the tightness of your throat one more time, he’d be spurting ropes of cum down your esophagus. 

You’re feral, staring him down with a maddened smile, returning to your original position on his hips. And as delighted as he is to have you be in charge, he remembers something. 

He hasn’t put a condom on. 

“Wait.” 

Jungkook holds your waist as he rummages in his bedside table and once he finds the package he was looking for and rattles it, he finds it empty. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck, but he remembers something else as well. 

“Did you not put it in your purse?” he asks, the scene where he hands you the last square of the rubber for you to keep in your purse in case you get in the mood during the festival shooting out before his eyes. 

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Can you go get it?” 

He sits up with you and kisses you, gently, prolonging the kiss until you whine and he thinks twice before provoking you. He can’t help it—you just keep saving him. 

Walking through your corridor, he sees your pink sneakers first, embellished with your panties of the same color. A smile tugs at the aching corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. Thinks it heightens the experience. Bending to pick up your brown purse that he set beside your shoes, the time seems to slow down as he’s reminded of the exchange out there in the countryside. The shift of dynamics that liberated him. Jungkook grows emotional, his feelings liquifying and prickling his eyes. 

And it’s automatic and absolutely instinctual—the way he dips his mouth and kisses the leather material. 

Gently. 

Opening it, he fishes out the white square and hangs your purse on the hook among his jackets. Gives it a long, meaningful look before he returns to you. 

And you’re the one who wants to put it on him. You’re so diligent, tugging the peak of the rubber multiple times so you’re unequivocally certain that you did it right. And when you tug him, he whimpers so inferiorly that you emulate his hunger. 

You depict it so eloquently when you fight through your residual overstimulation and sink down on him, little by little. And the more inches your walls squeeze around, the more his new role settles within him. 

Peasant with his queen. 

You ride him like it. 

You bounce on him with such hard thuds that it provokes the pressure in his groin. His balls tighten so rapidly and the cinematic view of your breasts slapping against each other doesn’t really help slow down the incoming explosion of his orgasm. A glistening ring forms around his cock from your slick—and Jungkook genuinely considers, right here, right now, buying you a promise ring that will be an eternal reminder of this sublime salvation. 

And you’re as aware of the shift as he is because once you reposition your weight onto your feet, you pin his hands back and use them as leverage. Intertwine your fingers with his. His vision gets filled with spots of white. You clamp down on him with each stroke and even though he can’t move, he feels unshackled. There’s no ending to his moans. He’s so close, the pressure deepens in his groin, and he needs one more thing. 

One more thing and he’s done. 

“Kiss me,” he rasps, and you slow down, crying out, your orgasm catching up to you just the same, but he needs your attention, so he begs. “Please, baby. Kiss me.” 

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you lean forward. “Fuck, I love it when you beg. I’d give you anything you ever wanted.” 

His stomach spasms. Your nipples sail over his chest and you shudder, the mesh fabric stimulating you, and then you’re swirling your tongue around the arc of his open mouth. 

Teasing him, like the vulgar, bratty woman you are. 

Extra careful around the lip ring and his swollen flesh, healing it in a way. 

Jungkook whines your name. “Please.” 

You kiss him just once, but he needs more. Lifts his head off the pillow, chasing your mouth. You begin to swirl your hips in circles on the tip of his cock, just like your tongue, and the intense pleasure he gets from it forces him to bang his head back. 

You go for his neck. His collarbone. His nipple. 

And Jungkook can’t hold back anymore. 

His orgasm bursts in his groin and all the roses in the garden swell with freshness. He imagines he’s filling you up, instead of the condom and it elevates the momentous shocks of the explosion descending down all of his nerve endings. He hiccups and that’s it for you. You let go of his hands to massage your clit and you follow him out into that garden, his name and curse words trickling out of your mouth that lowers to his in a final, years-long kiss. 

His last rope oozes out of him at the feeling of your soft, wary tongue and he wants to weep due to the density of your care. More shrubs of roses bloom around your statue in that garden—and once again, he can’t peel his eyes off of you. 

Can’t stop brushing your hair back to see more of you. More of your rose-flushed complexion. More of the spark of your being that irradiates you from within. More of your care and love. 

And you give it to him. 

You wash out the dried blood on his face in the shower. Brush his teeth with extra care, which makes it more than difficult for him to stifle his tears. He lets you be a witness to his sensitivity and you welcome it, cradle it, hold him while the toothpaste foam numbs his achy lip. And it scares his fear away, most peculiarly. 

You hold him in bed, too, amidst the crisp, flower-scented linen of his fresh bed sheets, and you apologize. 

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. If I hadn’t said a thing, you wouldn’t have ended up bruised and swollen,” you croak out, shifting the cold compress lower on his face, and you break into tears that trigger his. He had wished you weren’t a brat, but for a far different reason, and he tells you. 

“It’s an honor to get punched in the face for you.” He smiles through his tears and you sigh, removing the cold compress. “But I did wish things ended differently. I wanted to fuck you in my car. Keep the window open so you would hear your favorite rapper. But if things went according to my plan, you wouldn’t have healed me.” 

You sniffle, your eyes rounding at the onrush of your tender emotions, and Jungkook watches the waterfall of your tears. His own flows and mingles with yours, joining in unity. 

“What happened to you when we left?” you ask and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t avoid this question for long. Deems you deserve to know because of all what you’ve done for him. And he readies himself, pausing before he bares himself, fully, to you. 

“I got into panic mode because I blamed myself for ruining your night and…” he trails off, aware of the fact he needs to be more specific, and he takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with one hand before slapping it back on the duvet. “I have a constant fear that the people I care for will eventually leave me,” he explains and a wisp of pride envelops his bones for managing to get those words out for the first time in his life. You snuggle closer to his side, placing your head on his shoulder, and he gazes down at you. His fingers find your ear on their own and it comforts him enough, to touch you like that, that he’s able to continue. “I got left behind a lot of times in my past, which is why I swore off love. It just hurt too much and I stopped having the capacity for it. And when we left the concert, I thought you’d leave me, too, after what I’d done.” 

You press the cold compress back to his cheek. “I could never leave you, you’re mine,” you whisper, and another stream of tears soaks through the dish towel wrapped around frozen vegetables. Jungkook doesn’t take your words for granted. He puts great meaning to them and hides them, safely, in his sternum. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ruin my night. It was all me and for that I’m sorry.” 

He squeezes your arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he says and means it. Lifts his head and plants a cold kiss to your lips. 

Gentle. 

“I love you, Ggukie. It’s me who should be fighting for you now.” 

Jungkook laughs through his nose. “No, I’ll keep protecting my queen.” One more kiss, gentler. “I love you,” he adds and means it. 

And he falls asleep like this. With you clinging to the side of his body while keeping the cold compress intact and unmoving with your forehead. One that he removes in the middle of the night and warms up the iciness of your skin by smothering it with his body heat. 

Returns to the rose garden and gapes at the statue of you, hand in hand with you—as a changed person, a sensitive, flawed and submissive person that is loved and accepted. 

Finds it hard to believe even in his dream. 

And you’re there when he wakes up. 

Drooling, indecent and vulgar as you are. And he wouldn’t want anyone else.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Davrin (and also Grey Wardens and griffons) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Davrin

Family and past:

When he was a kid, Davrin broke his arm when his aravel sailed off a ridge 

Davrin stlll considers himself Dalish and thinks that will never change

Davrin hasn’t seen his clan since he left the forest. He misses the clan (‘it comes and goes’), Dalish food – especially halla milk and butter — and the sense of a common purpose. The last is why he joined the Wardens

Eldrin lives on his own, not together with Davrin’s clan

Just like Bellara, when Davrin was little, he wondered what it was like to have his own house, shop at the market and make friends with outsiders

Davrin isn’t bothered by the idea of fighting the Elven gods because he never really believed in them, but he is worried about how the events of the Veilguard will impact the reputation of the elves

General:

Davrin drinks beer and wine

Davrin hums to himself :)

Davrin can speak some Dwarven 

Davrin doesn’t get the Fade - it’s just too many things at once (the place where spirits live, origin of creation etc.). He has difficulties believing it because it’s something he can’t touch or see 

Davrin would’ve left D’meta’s Crossing’s mayor to die

Davrin dumps griffon waste right into the Fade. No reservations about it whatsoever

Life with the Wardens:

Davrin says he never got used to hearing/sensing darkspawn after joining the Wardens

Davrin knows Ramish (protagonist of the Horrors of Hormkar)

The first group of Wardens Davrin fought with had a special system for fighting ogres. One of them would be “Cheese” (bait), drawing the ogre's attention while the others shot it with arrows (so Davrin can either use a bow or was always the Cheese) 

Monster hunting: 

Davrin can't take most books about monsters seriously, as they are not up to his standards

Fighting monsters is all about the thrill of the chase and tracking a target down rather than the victory

Davrin prefers to fight flesh-and-blood monsters rather than demons

Davrin takes full payment upfront when he hunts monsters for coin

Davrin has many monster trophies (Harding finds them disturbing)

Davrin does taxidermy 

Relationships with other companions: 

(In conversations with Bellara and Neve) Davrin genuinely believes Lucanis/Spite can kill them all 

(In conversation with Harding) Davrin proudly says Lucanis couldn’t take him 

Davrin made a little statue with a skull for a face as a gift for Emmrich’s colleague at his request

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Davrin offers Emmrich to become a monster-hunting team (“Warden and lich. From darkspawn to demons, we've got you covered.”), thinking they could score a lot of coin

Davrin also offers Neve to set up shop together. “Minrathous Monsters and Murders. If it's claws and fangs stirring up trouble, we've got it covered.” Neve suggests Emmrich (and Manfred, if he's alive) joins them

Davrin and Neve met before the events of the Veilagurd on what Neve calls “The Vol Dorma Job”

About Assan and griffons:

Griffons like shiny things. Assan even once stole one of Bellara’s crystals (but later brought it back) 

(If Sent to Arlathan Forest) Griffons seem to 'remember' patrolling the forest, like it's a genetic thing

(If sent to the Wardens) Griffons listen to Evka

There’s no definite age for when a griffon is ready to carry a rider. It’s more about size and discipline 

(If Rook is in romance with Davrin) Assan gets a little moody/jealous after Davrin and Rook get together

Fade spooks Assan, so he doesn’t fly too far away from the Lighthouse 

Assan eats pastries from the kitchen

Assan doesn't like eating vegetables, but Davrin got him to eat carrots after Taash pointed out he needed more fibre in his diet

Assan misses Manfred when he dies

Assan can dive underwater and eat fish

Assan is curious about Neve’s wisps

About Wardens/misc:

Wardens slip Worry Weed into each other’s ale for kicks (it causes paranoia)

There is no definite timeline of how long a blighted person can survive without the Joining. It all depends on the person

Evka is good at telling spooky stories

Weisshaupt has a world-class library with books over a thousand years old

Wooden carvings can become haunted if blood gets on them

Wardens usually eat cold gruel for meals. Nobody knows what's inside it

[thebibliosphere]

I was just playing gotham knights again and noticed some passive dialog regarding Babs having a back brace, which is at least acknowledging that there was damage done, but I'm a little sad for the loss of some really cool disability representation. What are your feelings on her (and on a similar note Batman's) miraculous recovery from paralysis in DC?

I think Gotham Knights handled her disability fairly well, considering this is a universe where magic, nanobots, and puddles of evil green goo that can heal the dead exist. All things considered, it would have been very easy for them to either erase it entirely or just handwave and say, "She worked really hard and got better," as previous iterations of the canon have done.

Because she did work hard and get better, but the hard work is ongoing because they depict her issues as chronic.

She's got a limp (it's the most obvious in her Talon suit with no cape in the way), which means she can't rely on speed or high kicks like the others can (I mean, she can kick, but it's her slowest motion, and until you max out her suit, it's the most liable to get her thrown to the ground), so she falls back on precision and her tech.

Jason punches for maximum pain, Dick moves with dizzying speed, and Tim's gonna sneak up on you and drop you like a rock, but Babs is going for the pressure points with ruthless precision. Not to mention her drones.

The conversation with Tim, realizing she might need help boosting her suit to compensate for her pain/strength issues, is a nice little way of making the player aware that she's got these ongoing problems because, honestly, a casual observer could mistake her back brace for athleisure wear if they didn't recognize the shape of it. It's also a good way of throwing in some exposition about how she's still going to physical rehab and that her PT would like her to "wean off" her back brace, but because her PT doesn't know her actual job as a vigilante, Barbara admits she can't and is essentially finding ways to manage her own care and create her own accommodations. Accommodations which they are all shown to be willing to help with.

It's a nice little touch when superhero narratives tend to revolve around self-sacrifice to the point of self-destruction. Alfred giving Dick into trouble for pushing himself too far and hiding injuries is a nice touch, too, even if it's like trying to bail water on the Titanic with a teacup.

I also like that not only do you see her wheelchair lurking around the Belfry—along with the disability adaptations they put in place, like the ramps, the wheelchair elevator, and the desks that move up and down to wheelchair height—but that she also still uses her chair from time to time.

[ID a screenshot from Gotham Knights showing the Belfry. Light streams in through a giant clockface, showcasing a bank of computer screens. In front of the screen, Barbara Gordon is using her wheelchair as Dick Grayson stands behind her, probably making a bad pun.]

Whether she's using it because she's tired or simply because it's more comfortable than the computer chair is never revealed. Nor is it brought up or commented on. It's just something that's normal for Barbara to do, and I like that. I like that it's normal. It's not a part of herself she's trying to erase. She works with it, not against it.

Is it perfect? No. Do they outright erase her disability like so many of the comics are guilty of? Also, no. I'd argue that, in fact, they kept her disability. They just changed the nature of it.

Barbara now has a dynamic disability, one which fluctuates and requires different management based on her day-to-day (or night) activity. She's in active treatment for it and will be for the rest of her life. Are some of the physical feats she achieves realistic for someone with an injury of her nature? Not really, but again, this is a world where nobody stays dead, and there are zombie assassins coming out of the walls. I'll take the attention to detail and care they put into her story any day over the "Willpower Fixed My Spine" narrative we could have gotten.

As for Bruce getting healed by magic, again, it's Batman. Comic book logic is wibbly-wobbly at the best of times, and realistically speaking, they couldn't leave Batman paralyzed. His whole deal revolves around being stealthy and punching the shit out of people. He wouldn't be Batman anymore, and frankly, I don't trust the comic writers as far as I could throw them to handle that right.

By contrast, the Gotham Knights writers handled Barbara with much more care and nuance than I ever expected. And I'm thankful for that.

---

*I also like that both Dick and Barbara are often shown wearing joint braces. Dick's are especially reminiscent of the way gymnasts and people with hypermobility tape their joints to reduce pain and prevent injuries. It's a nice little touch. They're not invincible. Their bodies hurt. They're just like me but with money and much bigger problems like giant killer robots and zombie assassins.

[submattsmxmmy]

Dead dove: do not eat 💖 Hiii, it's @ariestrxsh and this is my secondary account. Here is my contribution to kinktober. I know the Ghostface trope has been done so many times, but I figured it would still be a fun little smut to write in honor of Halloween.

👻🎀 content warning: smut, degradation, predator/prey dynamic, restraints, knife play, blood play, ghostface!matt, ghostface!chris, slutty!reader

👻🎀 author's note: idk if this would be considered a dead dove: do not eat fic, but it certainly contains some rather dark material, so i'd rather label it that way to be safe. also, my reader's slutty nun outfit may offend you if you're religious, so please scroll and don't read if it's going to upset you.

👻🎀 summary: you're throwing a halloween party at your house in a remote area. the night becomes like a thrilling, real-life horror movie after your friends, matt and chris both show up dressed as the infamous ghostface.

masquerade

"What are you guys going as tonight?" You asked Nick, Matt, and Chris as the four of you aimlessly wandered around the Halloween store that was littered with all the decor you could dream of for the party you were throwing later. You'd done most of your holiday shopping a few weeks prior, but you just needed a few final touches to complete the vibe you were going for.

"I'm going as Stu Macher," Nick responded, fiddling with some tacky Halloween decoration. "I'm going as Ghostface," Chris confidently replied, and your gaze softened as you pictured him in one of those sexy masks.

"Hey, what the fuck, Chris? I'm going as Ghostface," Matt slugged Chris in the arm. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips fell open as you pictured them both in the Ghostface costume. "Relax. That'll make it more fun. Then no one will know who's who," Chris smirked. "People already have a hard time telling us apart," Matt rolled his eyes.

"What are you going as?" Nick asked you, ignoring his brothers. "Well, I'm going to be the only one out of the four of us who isn't going as a Scream character. But it's going to be a surprise," you told them, wandering over towards a giant cauldron that caught your eye.

"What are you going to use that for?" Matt asked. "Punch bowl! Isn't it perfect?" You asked, picking it up and cradling it in your arms as the four of you continued through the store. "Can you at least give us a hint about what you're going to dress up as?" Chris playfully poked you in the side.

"All I can tell you is, it's gonna be sexy, and you're gonna thank God when you see me in it. I'm trying to get laid tonight," you proudly stated as the four of you headed over to the checkout counter to pay.

Nick, Matt, and Chris dropped you back off at your place, which was out in the middle of nowhere, so you could finish setting up, and so they could change into their costumes. You thought it was fitting you lived in a secluded part of your town's national forest and didn't have any neighbors for miles.

You'd just finished putting out the last of the decorum when people started trickling in. You had fake spiderwebs strewn in every corner, a smoke machine, and a black light.

You were just thinking about how excited you were for the boys to see you in your glowing slutty nun outfit when the doorbell rang, and as you pulled open your creaky front door, you saw Nick covered in fake blood accompanied by a pair of Ghostfaces, the whites of their masks lit up by the black light. "Look at you!" Nick gasped as you gave them a twirl. Chris and Matt's eyes were immediately drawn to your exposed chest and your bare thighs.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface, don't kill me!" You jokingly shrieked, placing your hands on your cheeks and making a fake surprised face. "You look really good," one of them said to you. "So do you guys," you seductively replied, nibbling on your lower lip and looking at the three of them, but especially Matt and Chris. You had a bit of a thing for masked men.

They shuffled into your house, admiring the way you had decorated. More guests started arriving, and the party started to really take off. Nick started hitting it off with a guy you worked with who was dressed as a skeleton, which left you, Matt, and Chris alone.

"You guys wanna scare Nick tonight?" Matt asked menacingly, tilting his head in his ghostface mask, which had no business being as hot as it was. You bit your lip at him.

Chris could tell you were entranced by the costume. "Like the mask, sweetheart?" Chris asked in a deep, menacingly voice that was strikingly familiar to that of the original Ghostface, taking his 'prop' weapon and running the edge along your cheek, but the metal was sharp and cold. "Shut the fuck up. Oh my god, is that a real knife?" You asked him, staring wide-eyed at it.

"Yeah, why does that scare you? Or do you like it?" Chris said in a spooky voice. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Neither. You guys are so immature. Have fun scaring Nick. I'm gonna go enjoy my party and try to find someone to hook up with. Try not to cut anyone with that thing."

You rolled your eyes at them and pushed past them, trying to hide the effect they were having on you. Both sets of eyes traveled to your ass as you walked away. "Why don't we play a prank on her instead?" Matt inquired. "Yeah, she could use a little loosening up," Chris responded.

You couldn't deny that the way Chris had put that blade up to your cheek while he was dressed like that was having a rather strong effect on you, an effect so strong that you desperately wanted to turn back around, grab them by their solid black robes, and beg them both to rail you while they wore their Ghostface attire.

You'd always found them both attractive, but they were your good friends, and most nights that the sexual thoughts about them creeped into your psyche, you were able to will it away, or something you'd never admit out loud to - sometimes you'd just take care of the aching between your legs really quickly, and the thoughts would usually dissipate on their own, but tonight was different.

You could feel a damp warmth between your thighs as you sauntered off in another direction to greet some of your other friends, but even as you asked them how the party was and tried to get your mind off of the Sturniolo boys, you found yourself peeking over your shoulder, stealing glances at them, and losing your inner battle with yourself to fight off your urges.

It had been so long, and you were so horny.

"I think that guy over there is checking you out," your friend who had animals ears on nudged you and glanced off in the direction of the punch bowl you'd bought earlier. Your eye caught a tall man with zombie makeup on that you didn't recognize grabbing himself a cup of spiked punch, his gaze flicking up at you every few seconds. You thought he was kind of cute.

"Go talk to him," your friend urged you, lovingly squeezing your arm. You took one more glance in the direction of where Matt and Chris had been standing just moments ago, seriously considering trying to pursue one of them instead, but when your eyes scanned over the crowd, you didn't see either one of them. You'd missed your chance.

"Okay, fine," you whispered to your friend, rolling your eyes and working up the courage to approach him. You took a deep breath and headed in his direction.

"Hey, do I know you?" You asked, grabbing yourself a red solo cup and serving yourself some alcoholic punch. "You know, some would say your costume is offensive," he said, ignoring your question and motioning towards your exposed breasts in your very ungodly outfit.

"Then why don't you rip it off of me?" You flirtatiously shot back. He looked unamused with you.

"Hey, so, what's the deal with your friend?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink and his gaze looking past you to where you were previously standing. "Oh, my friend," you said in a slightly disappointed tone, realizing you'd just approached and been very forward with a man who had been interested in the girl standing next to you the whole time.

You started back off in the direction you came from, and your friend glanced over at the embarrassment in your expression. "What happened? Was he a dick to you?" She asked, concern in her eyes while she cradled your face. You could understand why he was looking at her instead of you.

"No, nothing like that. If you think he's cute, you should go talk to him. I'll be right back," you responded, feeling your face get hot. You pushed past a crowd of people to get to the bottom of your staircase, and you hurried up the steps before your tears could fall.

It wasn't so much that you were upset about not getting the guy. You weren't even that interested in him. It was a combination of a few things, really.

It was the humiliation of misreading the situation, the insecurity you felt about not being as pretty as your friends, and the constant self-doubt you had about whether you really were a slut like everyone called you and if any guy would ever want you again because of it.

Through your teary vision, your bedroom door caught your eye. You stopped dead in your tracks, sniffling and wiping away your tears as alarm bells went off in your nervous system.

Your bedroom door was wide open, and you swore you'd shut it before the first few guests had arrived. You walked through the door frame cautiously, overwhelmed by a sensation of having eyes on you, studying your surroundings to see if anything else was out of place.

You shrugged off the feeling of being watched, chalking it up to the fact that it was Halloween, and you had been watching a lot of thriller and horror movies in the couple weeks leading up to your party.

You made your way over to the bathroom sink, setting down your red solo cup on the cold countertop and peering at your reflection in the mirror. You didn't want to spend Halloween night sulking in your bathroom while your two hot best friends were downstairs, strutting around in their sexy Ghostface attire and probably finding other girls to sleep with.

You cleaned off the eyeliner that was smudging on your bottom eyelid, glued the corner of your eyelash back down, and readjusted your breasts in your costume.

After fixing the imperfections with your wardrobe, you decided you weren't going to let the night end without taking a stab at trying to have sex with whichever one of the Sturniolo brothers you saw first, excluding Nick of course. You were done pretending like you weren't completely taken with them.

Your gaze flickered over to the reflection of your partially open closet door in the mirror. Again, you could have sworn you'd left it closed. Filled with dread, you slowly tiptoed out of the bathroom, past your bed, and over to your closet. You rested your hand on the round, metal door knob and slowly pushed it shut.

You realized how ridiculous you were being, rolling your eyes at yourself and letting out a sigh at how jumpy you'd been lately. You turned back around and started to head out of your bedroom when all of a sudden, you heard the sound of the closet door creaking open again.

Before you could spin yourself around and identify the threat, you felt a gloved hand cover your mouth and a cold, sharp blade resting against your neck. "What's your favorite scary movie?" The way his voice came through sounding just like Ghostface had you both scared and turned on.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you let out an audible moan against his palm, causing him to pull his hand back. "What was that?" Chris accusingly asked, speaking like himself again. "What the fuck? How do you make your voice sound like that?" You asked in a shaky voice.

He chuckled in your ear, avoiding your inquiry. "Answer me first. What was that sound you just made?" Chris posed the question again. "Nothing. Real funny, Chris. Let me go," you responded.

Another figure appeared in the corner of your eye as Matt walked around in his Ghostface costume, shutting your bedroom door closed. Your heart dropped as you watched him lock it and make his way back over to you. "Let you go? Are you sure you want that?" Matt cooed, running the back of his gloved hand along your cheek and tilting his head down at you. You gulped.

"Is this turning you on?" Chris whispered into your ear. "Gross," you rolled your eyes. "Only one way to find out," Matt menacingly replied. "Why don't you check her, Matt?" Chris smirked under his mask.

Your mouth fell open, and a strangled whimper came through as Matt reached between your legs, lifting up your skirt and slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Immediately, he felt the wetness leak through his glove.

"Oh, she's soaked. Her clit practically has its own heartbeat," Matt relayed to his brother, drawing circles on it with his fingers and talking about you as if you weren't in the room with them. "I bet she'd like it if we took care of that. Don't you think?" Chris wondered, dragging the blade across your collar bone and between your partially exposed breasts.

You couldn't hold back your delighted sounds as they both put their hands on you. It was like a dream come true. Your prayers had been answered. You'd fantasized about them each separately, but the idea of having them both take you on at the same time didn't even seem like an option until now.

"What's turning you on so much? The mask? The knife? The fact that it's me and Matt?" Chris cooed at you, pulling your top down to reveal your tits. He took the knife and started running the sharp edge against your nipples that stiffened at the touch. You immediately shuddered and let out a whimper.

"All of it?" Matt wondered, continuing to play with your pussy that was becoming wetter by the second. "Answer him, slut. What's got you all wet, hmm?" Chris growled into your ear. Of course, it hurt your feelings to be called that, but there was something about the way Chris said it so endearingly that it didn't seem like he was trying to do anything other than turn you on, and it was working.

"Nothing, it's completely unrelated," you lied, biting your lip to hold back another moan, but your attempts failed, and your head fell back against Chris' chest. You felt his hard cock against your backside, and it twitched at the way you struggled to keep yourself composed. "Yeah, mine's unrelated, too," Chris replied sarcastically, staring down at your tits as he continued to tease them with his knife.

You felt Matt's fingers slip into your hole as he started to fuck you with them. "You want us to stop?" Matt asked. You nibbled on your lip and softly shook your head no. "That's what I thought. She's such a little slut," Chris said to his brother. "Don't you know it's always the slut who dies first?" Chris rasped into your ear.

"Oh, she likes that," Matt cooed, feeling your pussy start to throb around his fingers. You tried to hide your reactions, but your body language couldn't keep your secret from the two pairs of Ghostfaces who manhandled you.

"You still never told us your favorite scary movie," Chris pointed out. "Blair Witch Project," you hesitantly answered. "Mmm. That's a scary one. Especially when you live out here," Matt replied. Chris leaned over to Matt and whispered something in his ear that you couldn't quite make out.

"Lay on the fucking bed, slut," Chris responded as they both let you go. "We're gonna go have a little chat in the other room, and you're gonna lay right here and behave," Matt ordered you. "And if you try to run, you're gonna be really sorry," Chris said, waving the knife in your direction.

They both disappeared behind your bathroom door. You heard the sound of Chris and Matt arguing behind the wooden barrier about who was going to have their way with you first, but you had another idea.

When they both emerged from the bathroom, you were gone, and on your nightstand was a note that read: "come find me in the woods, mr. ghostface. xoxo, your prey" with a heart drawn below the lettering.

"Oh, that sneaky bitch thinks she can be in charge of her own fate. We're gonna have fun with her tonight," Chris told Matt as he picked up the note.

They both disappeared out of the room, down the stairs, and out the backdoor towards the dense treeline behind your house with a flashlight Matt had snagged off your kitchen counter.

All they had to do was listen quietly for a few minutes beneath the blanket of stars and clouds, and then they heard you, crushing twigs and leaves under your weight as you tried to stealthily make your way through the forest.

All of a sudden, you were lit up by the flashlight Matt held in hands. "Gotcha," he said in a menacing voice. You froze and stared at them both, unable to move a muscle. "Think you're so slick, huh?" Chris asked in a low, sexy rasp.

"You know what would make this so much more fun? If she had to guess who's who while we take turns fucking her," Matt suggested, taking a few steps towards you. "And if she guesses wrong, we'll make her bleed," Chris laughed, closing in on you as well.

You'd never seen this side of the two brothers, but it excited you more than you were willing to admit.

You started slowly walking backward until you backed into a tree, and you swallowed hard as you felt its rough trunk under your palms, realizing you didn't have anywhere to go.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface. Spare me!" You whined, but you couldn't hold back your smirk as Matt pulled the knife out of his robe and cut your costume from your body. You gasped as the fabric fell the floor in front of your feet. You'd never imagined your night would go like this. In fact, this was hotter than anything you could have ever dreamt up.

"We told you that you'd regret running." It was that same ominous, threatening, and sexy voice that Chris had used earlier in the night, so that must have been him. "I thought we told you to behave," said the other, sounding just like the first one. Fuck, you thought.

You watched as the boy with the knife started to cut a hole in his robe, and your eyes widened, and your jaw fell open as you realized what he was doing. You watched as his dick poked through the black fabric, staring you down. He handed off the knife to his brother.

"Since you like to run, one of us is going to have to hold you still," the second one said pinning your wrists above your head with one hand with the other, he held the blade up in front of your face. You saw yourself in the reflection of the sharp metal accompanied by the man in the Ghostface mask beside you, and it sent goosebumps across your flesh.

He closed the distance between the weapon and your breasts, and he started tracing your nipples again with the knife's edge. Your chest rose and fell as your breath quickened. You peered at the boy who was settling between your legs, grabbing ahold of his big, veiny cock with his gloved hand as he started pumping it back and forth a few times, making sure it had reached its full potential.

He hiked up your leg, wrapped your thigh around his waist, and pulled your panties to the side before sinking it into your heat and stretching you out. "So tight," he groaned deeply, feeling the way you gripped his dick. You let out a few loud moans as you adjusted to his size, taking every inch of him.

"That's it. Take it like the slut you are," he gruffed, picking up the pace and wrapping his gloved fingers around your neck. "Like that?" The boy who was holding your wrists cooed as he dragged the sharp object across to your other peak.

You loved the way both Ghostface masks reflected your fear back at you as well as your pleasure, their empty eyes, and their contorted mouths, taunting you. You glanced back at the brother who was between your legs, focusing on his thrusts. His fast and powerful thrusts.

Every time he bottomed out in you, a desperate mewl escaped your lips, filling the atmosphere. The masked man started to mimick the sounds that poured from your mouth while his brother fucked you, and you adored every second of it.

You loved the way they were feeding your sick fantasies, holding you at knife point, wearing their sexy costumes, and fucking you dumb while they degraded you. Your sounds became louder, more urgent, and less inhibited. You could feel the intensity building.

"Scream for me, bitch," the man between your legs chuckled. His mean words, his hand around your throat, the movement of his hips, and the cold, sharp metal dancing across your skin were enough to cause you to snap.

You hit the point of no return, clenching around the mystery man's rod, sending him to the same fate shortly after. You could feel his twitching cock filling you up as your orgasm took its course, the two of you moaning in unison while you finished together. Your legs grew weak as you came.

"Oh my god, Chris. Matt. Whoever you are," you breathlessly panted. You thought for sure you'd be able to tell them apart by now, but you had no idea, and you found it all the more enticing.

"Such a good girl for me," he cooed, slowing down his thrusts, pulling out, and watching his seed flow out of you. He stared down in awe at the mess he made, taking in the sight and savoring it while his breathing pattern returned to normal.

"I've been waiting for this," the boy to your left said as he switched places with his brother. He took the knife, hooking it into your panties and slicing the delicate material, watching the fabric fall to the ground and revealing your pretty pussy to him.

Then he cut a hole in his robe like his brother had done, and you peered down at his gorgeous cock poking through the tear in the material.

He roughly pried open your legs, guiding them open with the blade. He dug into the inside of your right thigh with his gloved hand and rested the knife on your lower stomach. You couldn't keep yourself from admiring his big, throbbing dick, and you sharply inhaled as you felt him slip his tip into your entrance.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned as he bucked his hips forward, his entire length vanisihing into your tight hole. Your eyes flicked back up to his Ghostface attire, taking in the incredible view of being fucked by a man in such a sexy mask.

The man beside you restrained your wrists, pinning them above your head again. "Alright. Time to guess. Who am I?" The boy beside you asked in his creepy Ghostface voice, tilting his head at you as he tightened his grip. You innocently peered up at his mask, searching for some kind of hint in his demeanor.

"Chris, is that you?" You asked uncertaintly. "Wrong. Remember what happens when you guess wrong?" Matt cooed, running his gloved finger along the underside of your chin. Your eyes were glazing over, your lips fell open, and your cheeks were flushed.

Chris applied more pressure to the knife, running the blade along your lower stomach and drawing blood. You let out a satisfied whine as you felt the release of the knife cutting you. The warm, sticky red fluid glistened in the moonlight as it slowly dripped down your abdomen.

"So pretty," Matt whispered, brushing your messy hair out of your face and his eyes dancing between your desperate expression and the way the blood looked so beautiful on your skin. Moans began pouring from you again as Chris fucked you senseless up against the tree.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface. Harder," you begged, your eyes lazily rolling back into your head as your breasts bounced to the cadence of his thrusts. "Cock dumb little slut," Chris menacingly chuckled at your pathetic pleading, but he still gave you what you so enthusiastically craved, relishing in your desperation for him.

You loved feeling helpless and giving yourself over so willingly to both brothers as they used you for their own pleasure. Your whimpers became louder and fuller as you neared your tipping point again.

"Harder," you cried out again before your orgasm took over. Your gaze danced between both of their masks, and your pussy started rhythmically throbbing around Chris' cock as he delivered a few more monumental strokes. You felt a wonderful, relieved feeling in the pit of your stomach as you came unraveled under the control of both boys.

Your brows pinched together, your knees weakened, and your stare began to lose its focus until you couldn't concentrate on anything except for the pure pleasure and ecstasy coursing through you. You were pumped full of Chris' cum as his cock twitched inside of you, and as you came down from your intense adrenaline rush, you felt all your muscles relax.

Both men chuckled, removing their masks and revealing their identities to you. Sure enough, you had guessed wrong. Chris leaned in and chuckled into your ear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You may have guessed wrong, but we're going to spare you. You're worth way more to us alive than dead."

[qdbs-writes]

How do you think the Cullens would act around a disinterested crush? Maybe they're fated but reader isn't having it lol

(I love your twilight writing btw thank God someone is still doing it 🤤🤤)

ah it has been many moons since I've gotten a twilight request yay!

Cullen Clan Reacting To Their Crush Being Disinterested In Them

Carlisle Cullen

Being alive for just over 400 years tends to give one a good perspective on life and the bigger picture, and Carlisle sure has a pretty good idea of how all things pan out. So you're not interested in him? That's fine, Carlisle can wait for as long as you need to change your mind.

In the meantime, Carlisle will continue to maintain your friendship and continue to show just how hard he's worked to become the kind caring father figure he is. He knows you'll fall for him, eventually.

Esme Cullen

Obviously, she's not going to stop caring about you just because you don't return her feelings. But she might switch up how she shows her affection.

Rather than flirty winks and suspiciously candle-lit wine tastings, she'll back up to more traditionally motherly affections. Making sure you're eating right, baking cookies, etc. And of course, giving you homemade soup when you're sick is still one of her favourite things to do, no need to stop now.

Edward Cullen

Of course, you're not interested, how could anyone love a monster like him? Who did he think he was, thinking he was worthy of your love? Or so his inner monologue goes.

But it's really not that dramatic, it almost never is, Edward just sprung his crush on you suddenly and it caught you off guard. It was largely the excessively long preamble about how he was an irredeemable murderer that put you off first, but of course, he won't realise that until considerably later.

Rosalie Hale

She's a little relieved actually. All her mortal and immortal life, Rosalie has been aggressively pursued by people she wasn't particularly interested in, so the fact that she can crush on someone who isn't really that interested is a wonderful change of pace.

For the first time ever, Rosalie has butterflies in her stomach, she fumbles with her words when she speaks to you, and she feels like a silly, mortal teenage girl again, begging her mother to let her go to the dance just so she can sneak away to catch a glimpse of someone just like you.

Emmett Cullen

You and Emmett had been good friends for a while so when he casually drops a blissful "We should get married" into the conversation, you initially choke on your drink in laughter.

Emmett's a little heartbroken that you'd laugh at something like that, considering that he was being 100% serious. But since you've known him, the both of you have been constantly cracking up jokes, trying to get on each other's nerves, so no wonder you thought this was another one of his pranks. He decides to take this reaction as a blessing, you have no idea he's actually into you, now he knows he has to work out a different way to confess his feelings for you.

Alice Cullen

She's a little confused obviously, having multiple visions of the two of you in a romantic relationship kind of gave her the impression that it might've been going to come true, but your disinterest says something else altogether.

But the worst part is that those damn visions of you and her together keep coming back, taunting her, luring her in deeper to despair with the thoughts of what might be. It's all getting so intense, so she decides to skip town for a bit, see if that changes anything, or at least helps her clear her head.

Jasper Hale

Oh well, so you're not interested in a romantic relationship, so what? Doesn't mean you can't still be friends. Doesn't mean he can't be the charming Southern gentleman he is. Doesn't mean he can't still pull out chairs or open doors for you. Or send anonymous bouquets to your house. Or leave your favourite snacks in your locker when you're having a rough day. Of course not.

It doesn't mean he can't worry about other people who might want to date you. Doesn't mean he can't scare off people who'd be bad for you. I mean, what else are friends for?

[enwoso]

Hi! I have a request for Ella Toone. Could you do one where Ella talks about reader during one of the Tooney and Russo Show podcast?

OPPOSITE SIDES — ella toone

masterlist

"oh this is a good question for you ella! what is your favourite memory with y/n" vick smiled up from the ipad as a small smile flashed across ella's lips, it was cliche answer but there was too many to choose from.

today on the tooney and russo show it was an open episode where the girls were answering questions which fans had sent in, and this wasn't the first time you had been mentioned in this episode. the fans seemingly loving your relationship with the fellow manchester united midfielder.

"oo this is so hard, can i not just say all of them" ella groaned as alessia booed into the mic saying that was such a boring answer, as her and vick both pressured the brunette to answer the question.

"ok if i had to choose one" ella hummed trying to pin point just one memory. "probably when i managed to get her in a man united jersey"

"you didn't- how?" alessia gasped clearly never hearing this story. it being quite the intriguing one considering she had been on the end of the countless complaints from ella when she had tried to get you to wear her united jersey when you were going to watch her play when you didn’t have a match of your own to play but you always refused. as you you were a life long man city fan and even played your entire career of club football there.

ella cleared her throat as she began to tell the story.

the sun bleared through the blinds in the room which you shared with your girlfriend, a small groan leaving your lips as you opened your eyes. your head slightly throbbing from the one too many glasses of red wine you’d had last night.

not remembering what time you got home, but remembering ella picked you up as she basically forced the wine glass out your hand and replaced it with a glass of water hoping to sober you up a little — it didn’t.

by the time you got home you were drifting in and out of sleep as ella wiped your makeup off and helped you get changed knowing you’d thank her for it in the morning, maybe.

glancing down at the brunette hair which was sprawled out across your chest as small shallow breaths came from her lips.

beginning to move the girl gently as she started to stir, “don’t go” ella whispered, her eyes still glued shut as a small chuckle came from your lips as you slipped out of bed heading for the bathroom.

not bothering to look in the mirror not wanting to see the state which last night had left you in — but maybe if you had you would have seen the certain manchester shirt you were in.

using the bathroom before heavy footsteps were made going back towards the warmth of your bed and your girlfriend’s arms. seeing that ella had moved, facing the way of the door as a smug smile was across her sleepy face.

“wow you look so fit in that top-“ ella mumbled as you glanced down to see the red top, before having to take a double look when you realised what red shirt it was. a manchester united shirt.

a loud gasp left your lips as you scrambled to take it off leaving you in just your sport bra. you were a blue through and through. manchester city fan until the day you died. the one thing that you and ella never could agree on was what colour manchester actually was.

you played in the blues of manchester while she played in the reds of manchester. you both being childhood supporters of the clubs you played at.

“you-“ you pointed towards ella as she tried her best to play the innocent act, you knowing all too well it would have been her that would have put that shirt on you last night before you went to sleep.

“i haven’t done anythin’!” ella expressed her innocence as you flopped yourself back ontop of her a small grunt leaving her lips as you did so. ella trying her best to keep her giggles in as you towered over her, a fake angry look on your face.

“you took advantage of me when i was vulnerable, putting me in that top-“ you complained as a playful roll of the eyes came from your girlfriend as you reached down to peck her lips.

“you said it was a comfy top, not me” ella shrugged as you pouted at her, trying to pretend to be annoyed. as she placed another loving kiss to you lips as you pulled three covers back over the two of you, feeling the cold on the hairs of you back from taking ella’s united top off.

“i love you” you whispered against her lips, “even if you do support the wrong side of manchester-“

“oi!”

both alessia and vick had listened to the story, gasping and giggles coming from them as ella told the story. knowing the parts when ella was being that little bit more exaggerate and dramatic.

“i’m surprised you had a girlfriend after that-“ alessia joked as ella hummed as she took a sip of her water.

“oh no, she was fuming with me for the rest of the day” ella explained how she had to earn her girlfriend point back throughout the day by basically doing anything and everything to you.

“so i can imagine derby days being quite tense then?” vick questioned as ella hummed knowing how the days usually go.

“they don’t talk to each other the entire build up to it on the day” alessia said so calmly after experiencing quite the few derby days between the two of you from back when she was playing for united.

“no we don’t and then when the prem is on that’s even worse we have to watch the game in different rooms otherwise we just bicker” ella added as laughs filled the rooms as ella also laughed realising how silly it probably sounded but nobody loved their childhood clubs like you and ella did.

“but it’s all good after the ninety. she knows i love her very much. and i know she loves me too”

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | crazy 4 u

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨

summary: valentine's day special! joel has historically made sure that valentine's day is special for his pretty little wife, but this year he's gone above and beyond. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, pre-established relationship/dynamic, sub/dom relationship, soft dom! joel, free use kink, orgasm denial if you squint hard, unprotected piv, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), nipple play, choking/breath play, pet names for reader, praise kink, romantic as fuck husband joel this chapter, some domestic fluff, alcohol consumption, maybe maybe maybe there is a breeding kink moment, reader has hair that can be pulled a/n: they're so in love it makes me SICK!!! thank you so much for reading and loving this couple along with me, and happy galentine's and valentine's day my loves! 💋💗💌

reminder i have no taglist anymore, follow @beardedjoel-updates to hear about my new fics!

You quietly squeal to yourself as you start to tear open the newly delivered package on your way back inside from the mailbox. You look down at the assortment of pale pastel candies, all strung up on thin strands, waiting to be devoured. Your own curiosity and lack of self control nearly has you reaching in the box to break one off for yourself, but you hold back, reminding yourself just who you bought this for and why. 

Valentine’s Day is in two days, but you’d wanted to get a jump, giving Joel a more playful vibe today considering you know he’ll have gotten you something sexy and downright depraved to wear on the actual holiday. Your skin tingles at the thought, recalling all of the things he’d had you wear in the past. Your most memorable being crotchless panties under a skin tight dress at dinner one Valentine’s Day, so he could finger fuck you under the table at one of Austin’s finest restaurants. Keeping your face straight during that had been painstaking, but you’d loved every minute of the debauched public display. When you’d asked Joel why he hadn’t just had you go sans underwear that night, he’d smiled devilishly. ‘Adds to the forbidden factor, don’t y’think?,’ Joel had replied, ‘So premeditated I had to get my baby somethin’ to weep onto while I knew I’d be shoving my fingers so deep in her pretty pussy.’ Those naughty words from Joel still send a shudder up your spine to this day as they ring in your mind. He hadn’t even waited until you two were home that evening to use that same hole in the panties to fuck you dizzy, until you’d screamed in the back seat of his car for him. Even then, he hadn’t relented until you came too many times to even remember the count now, leaving his seats a soaking mess.

You sigh, bringing yourself back to the present, brushing the memories away for now to get yourself ready to make some new ones with your husband. Once you’ve changed, you take a quick moment to admire the scant pieces of lingerie, almost laughing at the absurdity, but wondering how in all these years you’d never thought to buy candy underwear for Joel to devour off of you. You preen yourself for a few more quick moments before heading downstairs, wanting to set yourself up to act casual for Joel when he arrives home. Sometimes you do this on purpose, knowing he gets off on interrupting what you’re doing just so he can take you, fuck you however he pleases. And even when you really are in the middle of something, you get off on it too - being of service to your husband, helping him feel good while knowing you’ll be well taken care of, too.

On the dot at 5:00, you hear Joel’s car pulling up and smile smugly to yourself, continuing to wipe the counters down. A prompt pop of your hips to push your ass out follows when you hear the front door open and close.

“Doll? Where are ya?” Joel calls out, voice slightly muffled as he bends down to put his shoes away.

“In here!” you call out, voice high and sugary sweet, imitating the lingerie plastered to your body right now.

“How’s my pr-” Joel starts, freezing the moment he enters the kitchen. He takes in the sight - you slightly bent over, only a tiny string between your bare ass cheeks, pink high heels, and straps of candy running over your shoulders and across your back. You whip your head over your shoulder, rotating your body just enough to give Joel a peek at the lines of candy also covering your tits. He laughs, head thrown back in playful amusement before stepping towards you, predatory and slow, his laugh fading into a contemplative smirk.

“What do we got here?” Joel says quietly, hands immediately pressed tightly to your hips, his body pushing you forward into the counter. You whimper when the edge of the counter starts to dig into your stomach, Joel’s massive form locking you into your spot. “A little snack f’me to enjoy after workin’ so hard all day?” Joel can barely contain himself, blood running hot as he contemplates how grateful he feels right now. 

“Mmhmm…” you whine out, already feeling any semblance of tension leaving your body at Joel’s gentle but calloused touch, this feeling of home. You giggle when Joel leans down to where the straps come around over your shoulders and takes a bite out of the candies, a little groan leaving him as his lips also catch on your skin, mixing the taste of you with the sweetness of the candy.

“Delicious, baby,” he hums in your ear, then goes on to kiss your earlobe. You melt, head falling back slightly with a docile smile plastered on your lips. “How’d a man get so lucky?” He takes another bite, kissing along your shoulder as he does so.

“Thought we’d get a jump on Valentine’s Day, darling,” you coo back, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

Joel freezes, his eyes going wide and body rigid. “Fu-” he murmurs to himself, lips still practically attached to your shoulder. 

“What?”

He tears himself off of you with the most disgruntled groan you may have heard from him yet. “Baby, we gotta get movin’. You… fuckin’ little candy underwear, god damn it…” he starts muttering, grabbing you tightly and spinning you around. He grasps your hand in his and starts leading you upstairs. “You gotta change, honey, we’re…” he trails off, looking guilty and a bit flustered.

“Joel, what the hell is going on?” you ask, stopping and pulling back on his hand.

Joel sighs, calming himself for a moment before finally meeting your eyeline again. His gaze softens and he smiles. “Had a whole thing planned, darlin’. A surprise. C’mon and see for yourself.”

You trail after him, suddenly feeling ridiculous in your candy underwear given the change in mood. He takes you into the bedroom, opening his closet and yanking out your suitcase. Your brows furrow as you watch him pull it to the center of the bedroom, then going back for another suitcase of his own. Your mouth drops open slightly before curling into a smile, realizing that Joel had planned a trip for the two of you. He’d mentioned to keep your schedule free around Valentine’s Day, but you’d figured it was just typical plans - dinner, a picnic, or a fancy hotel room, nothing this big.

“Joel… baby…” you breathe out, clutching a hand to your chest. You feel suddenly filled with warmth, like sunshine has started filling you from the belly outwards, making your entire being feel light and tingly. Effervescence. That’s what being with Joel is like.

He gives you a lopsided smile. “We’re leavin’ tonight. Planned it all, flight is at eight so we can wake up there ‘n get a jump on everythin’. An’ then you had to wear that,” he huffs, gesturing to your entire body with a wild movement of his hand. “An’ scramble my brain right up.” His eyes linger along your entire midsection, sincerely considering throwing these plans away just to sate his hard cock, but he shakes his head and looks you in the eyes again.

“A jump on…. what’s everything?” you ask, placing an impatient hand on your hip.

Joel reaches into the built-in shelves in his closet, pulling out a soft, cashmere lounge set and walking it over to you. “Jus’ get dressed an’ I’ll explain as we go. God damn it, this was s’posed to be so much more romantic.” He sighs, a hand repeatedly running through his hair during your entire conversation, looking flustered.

“Aw, honey, it is, promise,” you assure him with a kind laugh, starting to peel off the candy underwear, bringing it over to your dresser to deposit it for another time. 

“Mm-mm,” Joel chants with a smirk, squatting down to unzip your suitcase and holding out his palm to you. “Those are comin’ with us.”

You’re over 31,000 feet in the air now, the sky dark outside the plane windows as you peer out. Joel had planned an entire long weekend to head to Aspen, where he’d booked you both skiing lessons and a cozy, romantic room at a lodge there. Your heart swelled as he explained it all on the ride to the airport, remembering how it was on your bucket list to learn to ski, but being from Texas there hadn’t been too many chances to learn locally.

You stretch your legs out, admiring the leg room in the first class tickets Joel had gotten you two, bringing the complimentary glass of champagne to your lips.

“Baby, this is too much,” you say with a slight frown, despite feeling overjoyed at everything about your current situation.

“Never. I’ve been plannin’ and savin’ for this for a while. Wanted to surprise you big time,” Joel says with a toothy, proud grin.

“Well, you did. Makes my candy underwear feel kind of… well, wimpy in comparison.”

Joel’s pointer finger flies to your lips, pressing down before your glass can reach your mouth again. “Not a chance, little doll. That’s all I need from you - skimpy little outfit to keep your husband happy.”

Your lips curl into a sly smirk and you part your lips, nipping the end of Joel’s fingers. He shoots a brow up, challenging you, but you back down. You and Joel don’t always have the most public decency, but you decide it’s not worth getting kicked off the plane just for an orgasm you could wait a few more hours for. You nearly roll your eyes at the thought though, your cunt aching from the unresolved moment you two had shared in the kitchen earlier. You can tell by his wide pupils and rosy cheeks that Joel must be feeling a lot of the same way and having the same conflictions.

“If we wait a few hours… it’ll be even better…” you lean over and whisper to him, voice betraying you as it escapes in a breathy, sultry tone.

“Plane never stopped us before…” Joel says, brows raised again. 

You tut, but then smile at the memory of your one sexual adventure on a plane with Joel, when you two were on your way to your honeymoon. A discreet handjob and fingering in first class under blankets hadn’t been the most romantic start to your married life together, but it suited the both of you. “Aaand…” you trail off, placing your palm on his chest. “We almost got caught like five times, big guy. Promised ourselves we wouldn’t do that again.” 

Joel grumbles quickly, and you know he understands, but you feel an anxious twinge in your stomach, like you’re breaking the rules. Your face falls a little and you turn towards him, more serious this time. “I know we have… an arrangement, and you know I love our arrangement.” Joel gets what he wants, whenever he wants - the words agreed upon by the both of you within your marriage, and you were all for it. “But just this time I think we shouldn’t break the law for it.” You raise your brows, stomach turning again as you wait for his reaction - Joel is always understanding and patient with you but as usual, you find yourself desperate to please him.

Joel bites the inside of his cheek, then he leans over to plant a peck on your cheek while he reaches down to squeeze your hand in reassurance. “No, baby, you’re right. Probably should be an exception ‘bout planes in there, huh?” He tilts his head playfully and you feel your tension dissipate immediately. “Always the rational one, ain’t you, honey.”

“Barely,” you tease, chuckling in relief. “I just don’t want to ruin the trip before it’s even started. Let’s just watch a movie or something?”

Several hours of keeping yourselves occupied and dozing off had you finally arriving in Aspen, where Joel gently nudged you awake as the plane landed. You rubbed your bleary eyes and made your way through the plane and airport half-awake, just letting Joel guide you with one of your hands gently grasping at his sleeve the entire time. You two get outside the airport with your suitcases, now bundled up in an adorable puffer jacket Joel had packed for you, along with a new pair of fuzzy earmuffs. You were starting to have a sneaking suspicion that there was a lot of new clothing in your suitcase.

Standing next to an impeccably shiny black car is a well dressed driver holding a tiny sign that makes you do a double take. 

Mr. & Mrs. Joel Miller.

You tug on Joel’s sleeve with eager excitement as he starts towards the man and your mouth hangs open. 

“Joel, you did not hire a fancy driver,” you scoff quietly in disbelief. Joel stops in his tracks, screeching the two of you to a halt before turning to face you. 

“If you’re already questioning me at the airplane seats ‘n the driver, it’s gonna be a long few days, honey,” he says sweetly, his voice crackling and gruff with tiredness from the long day. Your open mouth turns to a smile while you tut and shake your head. 

“You’re too much, Joel Miller…” you muse, following him to the car. The driver, Randy, takes your bags and stuffs them in the car, offering you an open car door to climb inside. Your stomach flips with butterflies, not having realized just how romantic of a weekend Joel had planned for you. You fight off a quick mist of tears as it pops up, trying not to get emotional at just how overwhelmingly thoughtful your husband could be sometimes. 

When Joel sits next to you, you clasp onto his hand tightly, giving him a watery smile that he returns with a sympathetic one of his own, reading that you’re feeling overwhelmed. Sure, since Joel had become more and more successful in his business you’d been treated beyond your wildest dreams, but sometimes it all hit you hard in one big moment like right now, filling you with gut clenching gratitude for your life. Life with Joel oftentimes feels like a dream, something you’ve stumbled into somehow that you aren’t sure you deserve. Joel would never let those thoughts slide, always reminding you how lucky he feels to have met you in that bar, that fate intervened so spectacularly in his life.

You lean your head on his shoulder for the duration of the ride to your accommodation, feeling sick with nostalgia and gratitude as you get lost in your thoughts. When the lodge comes into view, you pick your head up, mind suddenly empty as your jaw drops while you take it in.

It’s dark out, the sky black against the warm, glowing lights peeking through window panes throughout the lodge. A mountainous backdrop is still visible despite the dark night, and you can’t help but ogle at everything, imagining how stunning it will look in the daylight. The lodge is huge, ornate despite the fact that it’s meant to look simplistic and cozy with its wood siding. Joel marvels quickly at the construction out of habit, being in the business he’s in gives him a certain preclusion to commenting his two cents on every place you stay. You’re stunned silent as the back door is opened by Randy and you step out underneath a large overhang, greeted by yet another person who offers to take your bags. It’s all fuzzy, your brain tired and overwhelmed by what you’re taking in right now, the fact that just hours ago you’d been at home, content to just stay in with your husband tonight. You blink back to reality, about to speak when Joel gets to it first. 

“Please. Thank you kindly,” Joel drawls, quickly slipping them a bill from his wallet and then turning back to you, offering you his arm. You take it, practically ready to squeal loudly with excitement as you two enter the building. You admire the expansive lobby while Joel steps away to check in - high ceilings and wood beams, roaring fireplaces surrounded by cozy seating and tall, full but neatly arranged bookshelves. A winter dream if there ever was one. 

You’re gazing around,  tired, slow blinking eyes, too lost in it all to notice Joel come up next to you, his hand finding the small of your back. He leans close, lips and rough beard brushing your ear with a soft kiss.

“Room’s ready,” he practically growls, and your gut clenches at his tone, your thighs pressing together. Suddenly, your body feels alight, nerves buzzing and goosebumps peppering your flesh. Sleep is a far away notion now, recalling the way you’d begun this evening, only to have it go unfinished for the both of you. You smile, soft and docile like your husband likes, your voice a dulcet song so close to his ears.

“Lead the way.”

Your ass stings red hot from another harsh slap laid against it. Joel’s hungry mouth devouring you, your hat and coat discarded on the floor right next to the door to your room. Hair tangled from the way Joel is hanging on to it for dear life as he pounds into you. Your only view is the cream colored walls, your face pressed up against the cool, smooth surface as Joel’s body pins you there. The door had no sooner shut than Joel had thrown you here, as much clothing ripped off as he could stand before his cock was inside of you. You’d cried out, whimpered at the sudden heavenly intrusion despite your pussy needing a moment to adjust. Joel had pushed through it, anyways, delivering the first spank of the night on your ass, pants and underwear hastily pulled down, halfway down your legs - enough room for Joel to slip his cock in was good enough for now, he’d thought hastily. The pain had melded into pleasure, your cunt squeezing his cock and starting to weep, easing Joel’s firm thrusts into you.

“F-fuck…” you whine against the wall, lips hanging open as his cock hits deep, your g-spot crying out already from all the stimulation he’s giving it. He’s not going easy on you, and you’d already known he wouldn’t the second he got you alone. All those hours, the silent teasing going on in both of your heads as you’d waited for this moment.

“Takin’ my cock like such a good girl… my obedient little wife,” Joel grunts out next to your ear, his teeth scraping your earlobes, sliding to your pulse point. You shudder, your hips spasming down onto him as pleasure starts to rock your body. You’re close… so fucking close to that perfect paradise only Joel knows how to get you to. “I’d’ve fucked you right in that lobby, right in that car or that god damned plane. Want everyone to see what I do to my pretty wife, what I’ve got right here… fuckin’ mess only for me,” Joel murmurs, rambling on as he grunts over and over, giving you everything he’s got. His hands tilt your hips, holding tightly while he anchors you there. And he’s right, you are a mess. Dripping slick, coating your thighs, disheveled hair and makeup now from the pleasured tears rolling down your cheeks, wet, squelching sounds filling the hotel room that you haven’t even had a chance to see yet as your face is turned towards the corner near the doorway. It must be a sight, indeed.

“Y-yeah? Wanna s-show me off…?” you breathe out, voice trembling as much as your body is starting to. Your knees are jelly, shaking and barely able to hold you up when Joel delves deep, hitting that spongy part inside of you again, making your eyes roll back. Of course he does, you know he does - nothing brings Joel more joy than letting the world know exactly what he has.

“Fuckin’ know I do… all lookin’ at this tight little cunt takin’ my fat cock, my pretty pussy, all mine.” Joel’s body presses closer, and you’re trapped even more, the both of you damp with sweat and almost incoherent as you near your highs.

“B-baby… I’m -” you whine out, “Please…”

Joel has waited as long as he could, knowing what you need. He’d wanted you desperate for it, so close, your climax just within reach, before he took you over the edge. His hand on your hip curves forward, finding your clit, and you moan loudly at the contact on the sensitive nerves. Your body moves of its own accord, bouncing back into his thrusts wildly, barely noticing that Joel’s other hand has left your hip until it connects with your neck, hand wrapping around your throat. You gasp, the noise cut off into a small choke while Joel’s hand tightens and you croak out a moan.

“Oh my g-god… please…” you whimper again in a strained voice, hoping, no, begging for permission from him. He plays with you a little longer, feeling his cock harden beyond what he’d think possible, aching even inside of you for more, as he toys with you, making you wait. His hand squeezes your neck once more, a little harder, keeping the pressure on. You’re feral, your body screaming at you but you concentrate, holding back, your mind doing gymnastics to try to deny what your body wants so badly.

“Come.” Joel speaks the one word with finality, and you let go, your body shaking violently. His hand releases and you breathe in a full, round breath as you come, your pussy creaming so hard on his cock that you start to feel dizzy from it all. 

“God damn, good girl… comin’ so pretty right now,” he whispers to your ear, the noise tickling your mind in the best way. Joel holds you up as you moan and whimper, his name falling off your lips in the way it always does in moments like these - worshiping him. You flutter and squeeze his cock like heaven incarnate, and Joel finds he can’t hold himself back any longer, spilling into you on the tail end of your own climax with a loud grunt, pretty praises for you off his lips.

You both collapse against the wall, Joel leaning against you, and you both catch your breath, the need gone for the moment after hours of waiting. You sigh, smiling in satisfaction when Joel pulls off of you, gathering you quickly into his arms, kissing you all over your head. 

“That’s better, ain’t it?” he says teasingly, and you chuckle, nodding in his grasp. You both readjust yourselves, Joel helping you situate the clothing he’d haphazardly pulled aside in his frenzy earlier.

“Much,” you say with another sigh, leaning into him. “What time is our lesson tomorrow?”

“Not ‘till noon. Had a feeling we’d be… up late,” Joel replies wryly, and you laugh again.

“Such a planner,” you poke at him, raising your brows before tilting your head to kiss his cheek. You slip out of his hold and start to meander further into the room, jaw dropping for what feels like the hundredth time tonight while you take in the vaulted ceilings with those same warm wooden beams and white painted walls, a stone fireplace roaring in the center of the room across from the massive bed, adorned with rose petals. More roses sit atop the small breakfast table in a vase near the windows, and when you venture over there, the view you’re taking in is beyond stunning - the mountains in full view, moonlight shining over the entirety of the landscape and your eyes start to tear up. Champagne in an ice bucket, boxes of chocolate, fresh fruit, the entire works are all laid out - such a lavish, gorgeous display for the traditional romantic in you. You turn around finally, meeting Joel’s gaze, where he stands, a smitten look on his face as he watches you take it all in.

“Joel… What can I even say?” you gasp out, throwing your hands up before letting them hang back at your sides, defeated in the best way. “Thank you…” you say meekly, turning to peer out the window once more before walking towards him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“Thanked me plenty back there. An’ every day when you just be my good little wife, that’s thanks enough, doll,” Joel replies soothingly, stroking the back of your head. You lean your head against his chest, content to just listen to his heart beat for a few seconds, take in the memories of this moment. You lean back, tilting your head to give him a warm, grateful smile.

“Take me to bed?”

The next morning is far from the slow, romantic morning Joel had desired for you, realizing the both of you had forgotten to set any alarms and slept in well past 10:00 after your late night. It was barely giving the two of you time to get ready - a rushed shower and breakfast before hurrying to your skiing lesson. He’d dreamed about this hotel that he’d booked for months, the thought of waking you up with his mouth pressed deep into your cunt on that California King as he’d planned would have to be a distant fantasy as you two got on with your day. 

Joel couldn’t help but stare at you the entire lesson, the way your face is lit up with pure joy in your ski gear as you fumbled to get the hang of things along with him. He’d gotten you ski pants, a jacket, gloves, and goggles - all the works that he knew was ridiculous for your first time on the mountain for that price tag. But he also knew you’d look just like this - adorable in your matching winter set, colorful goggles perched on top of your beanie and perfect lips curled into a never ending grin - and it made it all worth it. 

Joel finds his own smile recounting the day as he keeps a steady hand on your back, the open back, low cut slinky dress he’d packed for you to wear to dinner tonight leaving plenty of skin for his hands to roam over as you two walk back to your room, full and contented. A candlelit dinner in the lodge’s shockingly expensive restaurant and a few drinks had you both feeling good as new again after your long day of skiing and mostly falling. 

You two had laughed for hours as you’d fallen on your asses more times than anyone could count. Once you got the hang of it enough to get on the smaller slopes, you’d been unable to stop giggling the entire time, you and Joel catching up at the bottom just to ride the lift up again and again. You two flirted shamelessly the entire day like two teenagers, your heart swelling with so much love for your husband like it was your first date all over again. It was nice to have this uninterrupted time to just talk, get each other caught up on the other’s recent thoughts, feelings, and days that got lost amid the hustle of daily life. 

Joel’s lips connect with the back of your neck as soon as the door to your room at the lodge is shut. “Like t’see those candy underwear again,” he mumbles to your skin, and you giggle a little too loudly, stumbling forward a bit.

Your brows wiggle as you try to crane your neck to look back at him. “That so, Mr. Miller?”

“Christ, y’only call me that when you’ve been drinkin’,” Joel teases, snaking his arms around to your front, holding you against him, the bulge in his dress pants becoming more obvious by the second as it hardens, pressing into you. “Can’t decide if it’s cute or jus’ makes me feel old.”

“No I don’t, Mr. Miller. And it is cute,” you demand, trying to hide the tiniest bit of a slur in your voice. Joel wasn’t wrong, you had been known to use that particular nickname for him after a few drinks, but you tended to be a bit of a bratty, indignant drunk. 

“Thas right, ‘cause everythin’ you do is cute, m’little wife.” Joel says with a smile in his voice. His lips connect with your neck once again, trailing a few kisses down your spine. “An’ sexy…” he adds in a lower tone, one hand sliding to your hip, then your ass, squeezing hard before giving it a playful smack.

“Keep talkin’ if you want those candy panties to see the light of day again,” you reply, leaning back into him, your weight immediately welcomed by his warm, solid body. 

“Oh, sweet girl, always gettin’ so bold with that wine, aren’t ya?” Joel’s hold tightens, one hand splayed across your torso and the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. “You forgotten who’s in charge here? Hm, baby?”

“A-actually, it was champagne…” you strain out, starting to pant as Joel’s hold goes even tighter, his domination quickly getting your thighs sticky, and you lament the fact you don’t have any underwear on right now. All at Joel’s request, of course, that you forgo any underwear at dinner tonight. You just whimper out a quiet moan, knowing you’ve gotten Joel riled up enough to keep going on his own volition.

“Think I don’t call the shots suddenly, huh? My sweet, sweet wife, we both know,” he pauses, mouth moving right next to your ear. A small nibble, his breath warm and tickling you in the best way right on sensitive skin sends a shudder through you. “That if I say put those fuckin’ candy panties on right this god damn minute, you’re gonna do it, yeah?”

Joel’s teeth suddenly sink into your neck a little, a tiny bite followed by a suck, and you nod desperately, silently cursing yourself for giving in so quickly, not giving yourself a little more time to play with him, let that tiny bratty part of you out of her cage for one of her rare appearances.

“Ain’t that right?” Joel repeats, giving your hair a little tug.

“Y-yes, Joel, yes baby…” you breathe out, and he releases your hair, his hold loosening on your body before he gives a loving pat to your ass. 

“Good girl,” he coos, satisfied, sending another wave of heat to the apex of your thighs to hear his praise. A tiny moan slips out at the two words, still so effective after all these years. Joel chuckles, a tiny little huff off his lips as he spins you to face him. His hand cups your pussy through your dress, pushing the silky material between your legs before he tuts.

“Soakin’ yourself jus’ from gettin’ called a good girl…” he murmurs, lips getting dangerously close to yours. “Good. Girl.” he says with a smirk against your lips before kissing you. It’s long and deep, reminding you that behind the play and facade is an infinite amount of care for you - his wife, his forever.

He tears himself away, leaning his forehead against yours. “Now, go on and change f’me.” 

You nod against him, then step back when he releases you from his hold. Breathless, on shaky legs, you rummage through your suitcase to pull out the candy set, smiling when you hold up the pastel treats, strung up on what might be the world’s flimsiest string. One minute in Joel’s rough, domineering hands and these would be toast, you think, almost laughing to yourself. 

You see Joel go towards the fireplace, sinking himself down in one of the plush chairs there and crossing his ankle over his knee, settling back as he unbuttons the top few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, watching you expectantly. You scurry off under his hot gaze, using the bathroom to change out of his eyesight before reemerging in his requested lingerie. You fight a giggle, wine still coursing through you while being reminded of the pure ridiculousness of this little stunt of yours. 

Joel eats with his eyes first and foremost, sweeping them up your body as he finishes getting comfortable, unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves. You stand in front of him, thankful for the warmth of the fireplace right next to the two of you in your skimpy ensemble, and take him in right back. Broad, muscled, just starting to show his age with more grays every time you blink, and you love it. Love every inch of Joel. 

“On the ground,” Joel says coolly, and you smirk, trying to hide it into a submissive, coy smile. Your knees go first, the plush rug under them a welcome relief, pure fluffy luxury in a weekend full of it. You start to lay prone, chest heaving with anticipation, mind spinning and reeling, wondering what torturous loving Joel has in store, how much he’ll milk it all out just for your tiny bit of bratiness earlier.

“Jus’ like that, thas’ right.” He leans forward and smiles, a little devilish and boyish in one, and you think you fall in love again as you watch him moving, looming over you now. He quickly palms the outside of his slacks, just the quickest relief before sliding his hand away, starting to circle you. 

“Where to start…” Joel trills, and your body heats up even more while his eyes dig into you. When he’s standing at your feet, he starts to come down, leaning his entire body over you. “Can you be a good little doll and lay still while I have my treat?”

Breathless, you nod. Your eyes roll back a little when you blink hard, trying to catch your breath. Joel’s lifted brow and stare prompt you without him even having to say it - use your words, darlin’.

“Yes,” you say more confidently, and Joel smiles sweetly down at you. 

“Good.”

He starts slow, lips moving languidly across your belly, up to where the candy rests on your tits, lapping at the sweetness there for a few licks. 

“Mmm…” Joel mumbles. He’s back on you the next second, sucking the candies right on top of your nipples. The friction of the hard candies combined with the tiny licks of his tongue coming through to the hardened buds has your back arching, hips searching for him. You squirm, panting now when he bites through the candy, grazing your nipple with his teeth. Joel’s hands come down, ever so gently guiding your hips back down to the plush rug underneath you. 

“What’d I say about bein’ still?” Joel teases, holding you there now before going back to bite again, crunching the candies before using his sugary tongue to tease your nipple with a few flicks as it pokes through the hole he’s just made. You start to moan, already a lost cause for your husband, the thought of trying to keep your body still already torturous. 

“I c-can’t help it… I’m sorry, sir,” you pant out when your hips lift again, his mouth working harder and harder on your nipples. He grunts disapprovingly and continues on until both of your nipples are free, surrounded by the rest of the candy bra. Joel seems like a man possessed, lost in it all while he devours the candies, sucking and licking each new patch of skin, a sticky, sweet mess all over your skin. 

You’re aching, body tense and in hot, hot need of him now as he teases you over and over. Your thighs clamp tight, trying to avoid bucking them up into where his hard, clothed cock hovers teasingly right above you. His hand grips tightly to your hip, the string of candy taut between his fingers. He’s eaten enough of the bra that it’s starting to droop, fall off of you completely, and Joel tears it aside, scattering the rest of the candies along the floor with a tinkling sound that pulls you out of the moment for a beat as you turn your head to watch the treats roll away.

“Good girl, bein’ so good f’me… such a sweet little thing…” Joel says, lifting his head off of your chest, giving you ferocious, unhinged eyes and candy tinted lips, puffy and overused.

“J-joel… please…” you whine out, the way he’s looking at you pulsing right to your already soaking cunt. His hand slips underneath the panties while he keeps his eyes on yours, watching them roll back completely as he fingers your clit. Your hips buck, finally, unable to stop it and you feel your lip quiver as a shaky moan releases from them. Joel leans forward, his lips finding yours and kissing you zealously, a glace mix of him and the sweets has your head spinning as you lap the taste off of his lips and tongue eagerly.

“So sweet…” you mumble into his mouth, going back for more and more, until you’re feeling just as sticky and sweaty as he is, the slow burn starting to gnaw at you, your core dripping while Joel rubs the softest circles over your bundle of nerves.

“You’re perfect, y’know,” Joel breathes out, lifting his lips off of yours just the tiniest bit. “My perfect girl…” You moan when his finger suddenly sinks inside of you, too caught up in the moment to even notice when he’d delicately slipped it from your clit to your clenching hole. You suck him in greedily, desperate for anything he’ll give you and whimper.

Joel contorts himself, sliding down your body, keeping his finger moving at a languid, steady pace as his mouth now meets the candy panties, nibbling along the top of it. You’re losing control, unable to take the teasing anymore, the slowness of everything, your rough and ready husband nowhere to be found right now. 

Your moans become breathier, urgent and panting out of you more quickly than you can handle, your mind going a little fuzzy and light as the feeling of Joel completely takes over you.

“There we go… jus’ float on away baby, let me take you there…” Joel coos from your hip where his lips graze against your skin as another few pieces of candy come off. You give him an affirmative noise, barely registered even by your own mind as your eyes slip closed, your body warm and tingling, so desperately close to the edge. Joel’s finger hooks upwards inside of you and you gasp loudly, your body wracked with spasms as you start to come onto his thick finger. Joel lets you freely writhe and shake now, not bothering to have you lay still while he fucks his finger against your g-spot relentlessly while you ride out the waves of pleasure. You’re whimpering, a complete mess, chest, face, cunt, all feeling sticky and completely used by the man you love.

Your head lolls along the rug a bit before you blindly reach your hand for Joel, grasping his shoulder with your eyes still lazing shut. “F-fuck me, please… please,” you whimper, lightly clawing at his dress shirt.

You hear one more crunch of the candies before Joel’s fingers hook on the sides of the delicate string and pull your panties off. You can feel him, his presence hovering above you as he sits back on his knees and you hear him unbuckling his belt, imagining in your mind the sight of his hard cock coming free, readying itself at your entrance. You can barely think about opening your leaden eyes right now, still on the heels of your climax as your chest heaves up and down. You can feel the warmth radiating off of Joel as he climbs on top of you, hands gripping your calves to lift your legs up enough for him to fit snugly between them.

You grit your teeth a little, grunting out a gratified moan when you feel Joel start to push himself in, your cunt fluttering as it accepts as much of him as he’ll give. You’re greedy tonight, you can feel it, just needing everything Joel can give you, how far away from reality he could take you tonight.

He pumps in and out, almost uncharacteristic in his tentativeness, more of his thick length going in each time, and you finally peek your eyes open slowly, hands reaching to his shoulders and pushing underneath the collar of his dress shirt, finding his warm skin. He’s moving slower than he normally would, and you find his face looking down at you with adoration, just content to watch your face twitch and contort with each unhurried drag of his cock along your silky walls.

“Lookin’ like an angel,” Joel comments, seeing your face sheening and glowing from your climax, hair splayed around your head like a halo - pure angelic beauty, a work of art that Joel could never tire of gazing upon. You smile softly, one of your hands stroking his cheek lovingly, soft moans streaming out of you while he keeps up the same pace.

“Baby…” you moan, “I s-said to fuck me, please…”

“I am, little doll…” Joel teases back with a slow push of his dick into you, and you shake your head.

“You know what I meeeeaan,” you whine desperately, fingers itching to reach down and grasp his hips, pull him into you harder. Joel’s hips twitch a little faster, starting to roll into you with more force and you sigh, head thrown back a bit more.

“What, like this?”

Uh-huh. You start to go a little breathless, legs wrapping around Joel’s waist, securing your calves tightly against him.

“You want me to use you up again, hm? That it? My poor baby, she jus’ wants this tight little hole to be so fucked out she can’t walk, doesn’t she?” Joel says, patronizingly sweet with the drawl of each word.

You nod desperately. “Please, sir, t-that’s…” you stop to moan loudly when he bucks into you harder and harder. “That’s all I want…” you finally choke out, Joel’s cock hitting you so deep you nearly feel your breath stolen right from your lungs.

“What my pretty wife wants, she gets,” Joel practically sings to you, bringing his lips down to yours for a kiss, letting his mouth sloppily work its way to your neck, starting to bite and suck while he crashes into you harder with each thrust. You can only make tiny noises, clutching him as your hands snake around his neck, holding him close to you. Joel grunts loudly between sloppy licks and sucks on your throat, his hips moving more clumsily as your walls squeeze him to the point he’s not sure how much longer he can hold back.

“God damn it baby, this little pussy wants me in there so bad, she’s so greedy,” Joel punches out right next to your ear. You shudder, hips spasming and only tightening you around him further. Joel groans loudly.

“Please…” is all you can whisper, out of breath as he hits deep inside of you with each new movement. 

“Fuck, c-can’t… need to fill you up, darlin’, need you fuckin’ full of me…”

“Pleaaaase…” More urgently this time, lips dry from the way you’re sucking in oxygen in quick gasps, starting to feel your orgasm clawing at your belly, tingly and hot.

“Fuckin’ full of me… gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. Give you my f-fuckin’ baby right now… m-make you swell up,” Joel pants, his face buried in your shoulder, biting down. You gasp, completely lost to the moment, fingers digging into his skin as you pull him in tighter, legs and feet crushed against his back. There are no two bodies here, only togetherness and sweat and breath - two people so lost in the moment and pure pleasure that they’re outside of themselves, becoming one frenzied movement to climb higher and higher to that sweet peak of relief.

“F-fuck… yes, yes, baby, yes…” you moan out. “Fill me up… d-do it…” you whine. With a stunted grunt Joel’s hips stutter forward, burying himself deep. The power, the emotion of it all as he starts to paint your walls tips you over the edge, fluttering tightly around him as you milk every bit of his seed into you, spasming and moaning as you reach another high.

“Oh my god…” you breathe out as you come hard, Joel’s ragged breath right in your ear softly moaning for you. The both of you fully collapse, Joel rolling to the side, clutching an arm around your chest. The crackling sound of the fireplace start to come back into your consciousness, the stillness and warmth of the room hitting you all over again while you lay back, feeling the stickiness of the two of you steadily leaking out of you. You’re speechless now, barely able to catch your breath, let alone process what Joel had hummed into your ear in the heat of the moment.

A baby. Did he really want that with you? 

You two hadn’t discussed having children very often just yet, wanting to wait and enjoy being married, being just you two for a few years. But you felt your heart flutter a little, the thought of a little life inside of you, yours and Joel’s, a beautiful loved baby that you’d grow and nurture together. You can scarcely breathe at the thought, the love your heart swells with for this faraway notion, this unconceived child, already imprinting themselves onto your heart.

“Joel…” you murmur. His head turns towards you, and you watch light flickering around him from the shadows the fire is casting along his golden skin.

“I-” Joel stutters, seeing the look in your eyes. For once, he’s not sure he can quite read it. He knows he said something so much more tangible this time, beyond all the dirty talk the both of you love to get lost in. It was too much, surely, he’d scared you with it. “I’m sorry, honey, that was… jus’ caught in the moment, maybe…”

Your face falls a little, eyes dropping to peer past him with a sad look. “Were you?” you ask timidly, hands coming together on your belly and wringing nervously.

Joel’s eyes bore into yours, soft now, none of that feral fire that was there only minutes ago. He shakes his head slowly.

“N-no, no I wasn’t, doll,” he replies quietly. Your lips twitch a little, a small smile that you’re not able to hold back now.

“I, uh, I wasn’t either,” you tell him, and Joel’s eyes flash, lighting up a bit.

He turns completely on his side, and you do too, facing each other and scooting even closer. Joel drapes a hand over you, starting to rub lazy patterns onto your back. “So should we… uh, talk about this, then?” he asks, giving you a half, lopsided smile.

You give him a nod and a toothy grin, resting your forehead against his. “Get me those chocolates on the table over there and then we’re in business.” Joel moves without hesitation, winking at you as he pulls himself off the floor.

“Anythin’ f’you, darlin’."

You have no idea what hour it is, how long you’ve even been asleep when you feel Joel’s warm body pressing into yours, his chest now up against your back. The room is still nearly pitch black, making you take a moment to recall exactly where you are. You sigh, smiling softly at the memory of your trip thus far and you see a tiny sliver of light coming in around the blackout curtains in the room, clearly doing their job well by keeping you two asleep for god knows how long.

“Baby…” Joel whispers in your ear. You roll over slightly, your ass now rubbing into his crotch. Your eyes flutter slightly when you feel his cock, already half hard for you. Your insatiable husband, fucking you within an inch of your life for two nights in a row, and still coming back for more - a rare man of his age so voraciously consuming you over and over, never seeming to be satisfied.

“Hmm?” you murmur in reply. Joel wraps an arm across you, snuggling you closer, all warm heat against his broad, naked chest.

“Mornin’...” he mumbles back, lips pressed to your neck. “Sweet girl.”

“Morning, handsome,” you say, reaching an arm behind you to cup Joel’s cheek, running your fingers through his beard. He hums in pleasure, dipping his lips down to kiss your neck again. You shudder, digging yourself deeper under the plush comforter as you feel goosebumps covering your entire body. Joel’s hands start to roam, sliding over the skimpy, half see through pink slip you’d discovered in your suitcase last night.

Joel is suddenly shifting in the bed, and you feel the sheets rustling next to you before he’s bumping your legs as he climbs over them, settling himself underneath the comforter right in between your thighs. His touch just grazes over your plush thighs, soft and gentle, how Joel tends to be first thing in the mornings before he descends into the rough, possessive man that you’re more used to.

“So soft, little doll…” Joel murmurs from between your legs, his breath hot on your inner thighs while he leans down to kiss the outside of your panties. You just mumble incoherent noises of affirmation, still half asleep. Joel makes quick work of your panties, a pair to match the slip, of course, and pulls them down your legs, discarding them in the mess of sheets.

Your hips buck, a louder moan escaping you when his mouth finds your warm center, already wet and wanting for him.

“She’s ready f’me, ain’t she… waitin’ on her mornin’ wakeup,” Joel teases before running his tongue up your slit another time, flicking it on your clit a few times. A gentle suck there has your whining ramping up, hips begging him for more more more already. You’re barely even lucid yet and Joel is on the precipice of pulling yet another earth shattering orgasm out of you.

“J-jesus… please…” you beg, already feeling the familiar warmth pooling tighter in your core, your knees wobbling as they curl up, giving you some leverage to lazily push your hips against Joel’s tongue as it moves along your pussy.

“C’mon baby, fall apart f’me, s’okay it’s so fast…” Joel pulls back to murmur to you, kissing along your inner thighs as he speaks.

Your hand snakes below the sheets, burying your fingers into his lush, gorgeous curls, letting them massage his scalp as he dives back into your cunt, licking in just the right way he knows makes you go crazy with need, that makes you come within minutes, sometimes even much less.

You moan loudly, hips spasming as your climax surprises you suddenly, the waves of pleasure hitting you while Joel lets you ride it out onto his face. Your eyes roll back and you whimper quietly as you come down, flopping onto the bed with a content little sigh, body going limp. Joel kisses his way up your stomach, chest, and finally your lips, where you taste that primal honey of yourself on his lips. You quickly fall back into a dozing, lazy state before Joel wakes you again with his lips on your neck.

“Gonna order us room service,” he whispers near your ear, and you nod, finally opening your eyes to see your husband’s rugged, handsome face hovering above yours. Sharp smirk, stress lines, wild bedhead and all - he’s perfect, and you can’t help but smile sleepily in return. 

“There she is,” he teases, giving your forehead a smooch. “One mention of breakfast and she’s all bright eyed ‘n bushy tailed, huh?” You stick your tongue out teasingly, waggling your head at him.

“How about we eat, then we can go explore the town, do a little shoppin’ f’you, see the sights ‘n all that, hm?” Joel asks, and you nod tiredly but excitedly. 

“Mmm, sounds good,” you agree, blinking slowly as you try to wake up, finally coming to enough to recall the conversation the two of you had last night. The dreams you’d shared, hopes you had for having a child, all the ways your lives would change but also stay quite the same. The way your love would stay the same, deepen even, with seeing the other become a parent. Weighing it all carefully but with hopeful hushed voices, wondering if this was the right time for that next step for the two of you. When you’d both tearfully agreed that you’d start really trying in a few months after some more planning and thought, your heart soared higher than the clouds, than anywhere you could even conceive in your mind, chest tight with anticipation for all of it.

This morning that same feeling persists as you look upon Joel - so steady, so assured - everything you’ve ever dreamed of right here in this one man.

“How about we get some practice in while we wait for the food…” you suggest with your raspy, sleep laden voice, raising your brows at him as you feel his cock brush against you again, clearly hard and wanting.

“Baby makin’ practice?” Joel teases, scooping you up into his arms and peppering kisses all along the side of your face. “That kinda practice, hm? Not just an excuse to get me naked again?”

You laugh, turning your head to kiss him back, relishing in the familiar plumpness of his lips, the taste of your husband, all of it like a map you’ve traced your fingers over hundreds of times now, knowing every route, twist, and turn, filled with such a deep appreciation for the landscape laid out in front of you. You smile again as you two look at each other, feeling your cheeks starting to hurt from the way you’ve been grinning practically non-stop for the last two days because of your gruff but secretly so soft husband. Your hand moves upwards to cup his cheek, sincerity written all over you.

 “Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel.”

Joel smiles back, the same unspoken thoughts and deeply rooted loving care for you penned all over his features, entrenched in every weathered line, nook, and cranny of him. 

“Happy Valentine’s, little doll.”

dividers by the amazing @/saradika-graphics <3

[shirefantasies]

LoTR Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader)

Back with more parent AU because it's some of my favorite fluff! Consider this a Part 1 to an anon request that’ll be on its way hehe (also an AU where something happens with Celebrían apparently 😥)

Warnings: conception, pregnancy-related illness and symptoms mentioned, very long post lol

Aragorn

✧ Neither of you had made any concrete plans. No set in stone hour of your marriage reserved for the growth of your family or dubbed too early. Thus, you are unsure how your husband will feel about your news, the fact that you got yourself checked out the first moment of illness, mother's intuition in full service already, it would seem. You cannot keep your smile to yourself, though, as you stroll in search of Aragorn, hand hovering about your own waist as if in disbelief. He had just returned from a hunting trip when you found him, smiling shakily at his amusement when you pulled him immediately aside into the next room over. "What troubles your heart?" The man had intuition of his own, years of silent observation- there was no lying to him. "I just learned that I am with child, Aragorn," you took his hand, seeing no point in being anything but direct, "due for the birth next spring if all goes well." "With blossom comes the next blessing of my kin," your husband replied, that wise look in his blue eyes causing you to shake your head fondly, "what could be more beautiful? What a gift you have given me and how could I ever repay it?" Shaking your head once more, you simply grinned and, sighing with relief and anticipation alike, replied that being the amazing father you know him to be will be all you need. Leaning forward, Aragorn laid his head against yours, brushing your noses as he held you.

✧ Looking out upon the kingdom, the realization that is is his kingdom still sinking in, and that he has made this place a home for new life as well. That this is the very reason he fought for a safe world. It brings such a rush to his heart that he goes off in search of you at once, kissing you warmly and caressing your still-small bump.

✧ Aragorn loves doing anything he possibly can to make your days easier, treating you like the queen you quite literally are! He pampers you with treatment like massages, washing your hair for you, drawing you baths, and the like.

✧ While you no doubt have many people at your disposal, quite similarly your husband enjoys cooking for you by hand and memorizes everything that makes you sick if anything as well as the random foods your cravings make you obsessed with, trying to creatively incorporate them into everything.

✧ You knew it already, but your pregnancy brings about the reminder that this man has such a way with encouraging words, his voice the only thing that cuts through the clouds of your changing moods.

✧ Aragorn is the one who tells you not to be so hard on yourself, that you are doing an amazing thing and you are desirable as yourself, no more and no less. No need to hide yourself, no need to perform, no need to feel anything less than the beautiful soul you have always been. Remember, he tells you, he is going nowhere, and you will endure all together.

Legolas

✧ For so long had you and Legolas hoped for your little life, long enough of trial and hope that you’d all but given up until you felt a shift. Felt on the brink of illness at nearly all times, seeking healing for a mystery illness and leaving with news that had your husband holding you for minutes on end, tears sliding down his cheeks, and refusing to let go of your hand all day. Holding you like you might shatter, his other hand wrapped gently around your waist where his hand can brush the curve of your soon-to-be-growing belly. “We did it, my love. We will finally be three.”

✧ Your husband grows wistful, getting a distant look in his eyes before smiling and reminiscing on his younger days. “What demeanor shall our little one have, do you say? I would not mind having two of you,” he teases, while you say a child like him would be much easier!

✧ “Both of your little ones sound quite healthy.” “Both?” You are shocked, but Legolas’s grin never falters, nor does his surprisingly tight, hearty grip upon your shoulders. “Twins,” he keeps repeating in wonder throughout the day.

✧ You and Legolas have a bet running on the twins, if they are to be identical or not. You think they are both boys, while Legolas thinks he has a little girl waiting for him, too. “Wishful thinking,” you tease him. “Absolutely,” he agrees, smiling softly at you.

✧ As time passes, he does tease you about your waddle. “Shall I slow down a bit?” Cheeky prince, but that’s why you love him!

✧ Legolas’s eyes never fix you with anything but awe. He is simply amazed at all the wonders your body is capable of and what it endures. Even though that wonder also manifests as him almost constantly asking if you are alright, it is worth it when your husband looks at you as though captivated by a goddess.

Boromir

✧ Boromir caught you with your eyes bulging out of your head, not a single chance of delaying your discussion. Such news as you have just received can only be considered a blessing, and yet you still are shaken to the core with the spiking precursor of excitement and hope, hope that your husband would be happy. Your words burst forth the moment he took your hands, asking you whatever was wrong and nodding faster and faster with each step of your detailed medical visit. His smile grew and grew until he could hardly help himself, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss that more than assuaged your worries. “Why do you look so worried? Such a wonderful blessing was beyond anything I could imagine,” he tells you, a hand reaching to rest gently upon you.

✧ He all but tackles you to bed that night, kissing again and again your lips, your cheeks, and down finally to your belly.

✧ Boromir’s appreciation of your body never ceases your entire wait. His hands always caressing you, his words always sweet upon your ears, especially to cut through the deprecating ones your own lips utter. It baffles your husband that you cannot see how utterly glowing you are.

✧ One hundred percent though will he be teasing you about the odd cravings you get; even as he goes to fetch them he’s making faces, asking if you’re sure, joking about what strange taste the little one has.

✧ You suspect you are carrying a son while Boromir’s guess is a little girl. After you remind him that a mother knows, he rests a hand over your bump and replies with a teasing grin “Why can’t a father know as well?” “Because you do not have to carry him for the better part of a year!”

✧ One of Boromir's favorite things in this world is the sight of how his lent garments fit you tighter and tighter, bringing a twinge to both the loving and the possessive sides of his heart...and his hands to wrap around you or cup your cheeks and pull you into a kiss!

Gimli

✧ His intuition is off the proverbial charts. It is he who first makes any mention of your chances, stating you should not strain yourself in your condition. You are confused, you even protest, but in the end you have your little appointment and your husband has a smug little moment of ‘I told you so’ before the realization of just what he’d been sensing hits him, dropping his jaw and sending his arms flying about you, lifting you up into the air with a hearty laugh. “The mighty line continues! And thanks to such a beautiful lassie no less! You'll want for nothing, I promise you, and no harm'll come to either of you while I yet draw breath."

✧ Has strong opinions about how well you should be eating, so barring you being stricken with sickness Gimli will be making or otherwise providing for you the heartiest of meals, all the things he believes are necessary to raise up a strong little dwarfling. Thank the fortitude and solace of his people, but you are sick very little your entire journey with this and all other little ones you share!

✧ Given the strength of dwarven genetics, you both assume that you are expecting a boy; thus, your husband insists on crafting a tiny axe for him. “For when he’s older, of course!” Gimli assures you, waving his hands defensively.

✧ No worries about your pregnancy weight here- suffice it to say that a dwarf finds the extra pounds quite appealing and has no hesitation about showing you such!

✧ Any exhaustion you feel is the only thing that stops Gimli from taking you around to all his friends and loved ones and likely anyone else who will listen and announce that he has a child on the way!

✧ Nesting is a very strong instinct of his! Gimli builds and crafts by hand all of your baby's furniture and decor, even an adorable mobile of horses, little dwarves with pickaxes, and little effigies of your favorite animal all dangling above his crib! Leaning his head against your belly, he asks the baby "Well, what do you think? Only the finest for my little flame!"

Frodo

✧ Your husband wasn’t sure at first. Not sure if he would feel whole enough after all he endured to bring a life into this world, but you, oh, you… The one who brought life vividly rushing back to his heart, color returning to his life and comfort to his pain. One day a pang struck his heart and he realized it would mean the world if after it all he was able to create life, and more importantly to have something so amazing come of your love. Soon after you both eagerly hoped for the signs, and it took but a few months. Frodo worried you would be sick, but confirmation comes after weeks without your cycle, nothing more. For once, no pain shall come to Frodo Baggins or those he loves.

✧ Your health is his greatest concern, so much so in fact that Frodo has soon befriended practically every midwife in the Shire, melting them with his endearing eagerness to know all he can about your possible afflictions and what you need. His concerns soon gather you the proverbial village of help should you ever send Frodo off for something beyond his breadth.

✧ It breaks Frodo's heart when his nightmares or moments of panic coincide with your own fragile emotions for the first time, for he should be caring for you, not the other way around, but when you hold each other, tears soaking into the opposite shirt, he realizes that what you two have is an understanding and trust strong enough to fortify each other even in darkness.

✧ In case you were not already aware, you are so lucky in your choice of husband! Discussing names soon emerges into your conversation and it almost takes you aback how quickly agreements on a girl and boy name are reached!

✧ The one time during your entire wait for your little one that brings tears to Frodo’s eyes is the day you bring home a bolt of fabric and when he asks what it is for, you answer to make him and your new arrival matching garments.

✧ You catch him smiling widely at you, love glowing in his bright blue eyes as he watches you do even the smallest things, your little waddle or the way you practice folding diaper cloth. All you can imagine is those same eyes fixed upon a babe in his arms, shooting Frodo the same look right back.

Sam

✧ It seemed that every other conversation you shared with your beloved Samwise revolved around babies, so much so that your few still-unmarried friends had grown sick of it. Anyone with a baby in the Shire, though, knew who to look toward for care! You and Sam gushed over little clothes, little hands, went on for goodness-knows-how-long about how much you'd like a little Sam and he wants a miniature version of the loveliest girl he'd ever seen followed of course by you saying why not both? Sam loved life so much, saw beauty in growth and creation and every joy in it, so of course he wanted a big family and all his infectious sunshine on the subject just made you fall in love with him more and more. Months of trying passed, though, before you came to Sam in a daze, before you cupped his precious face in your hands and whispered to him we did it. Before he tackled you to the soft grassy ground and held you, weeping tears of joy and kissing your hands, your cheeks, finally your lips once he'd spoken how much he loved you.

✧ Takes to sleeping a bit lower, his head nuzzled against your torso. In the night you can feel his nose and lips ghosting over it and even hear little whispers when you both can't sleep, but you say nothing, letting Sam have his moments with the little one.

✧ The worry he has about everything the first time around. "Are you sure you can eat that? I don't want you to get sick." "Is that too heavy?" "Don't trouble yourself a mite when I'm right here, I'll bend over for it." "Alright, only if you're certain nothing will happen to the baby, sweetheart." As much as you want to remind him that you are still a fully functional woman, you know that Sam is an action man and this is his way of showing he cares.

✧ The meals he cooks you. You will be eating like a queen all because Sam wants to keep the baby strong, of course! As a bonus, it truly is like he knows what sets you off and avoids those things without even having to ask.

✧ “Imagine all the wee feet running through here,” Sam muses in bed one night, your head tucked in the crook of his neck. “The little hands grasping ours,” you add. “All the little ribbons we can tie in a girl’s hair.” “Taking your little boy out to the garden!” Once again, your friends act positively sick of how sweet you are, but inside anyone can see how deliriously happy you and Sam are and feel warmed by it.

✧ “When the time comes,” Sam always assures you, your hand tightly in his, “I’ll be right here. Wild horses could hardly drag your Sam away.”

Merry

✧ Your reveal is made a bit anticlimactic thanks to your husband’s teasing ways. “You’re knitting.” Glancing down at your work, you simply nod. “Yes.” “You never knit.” Merry’s eyes narrow. “Is it for somebody?” “If you must know,” you set your needles carefully in your lap and tease back, “this is for your child. Any complaints now?” “My child?” Jaw dropping, Merry looks at you like you’d just offered him the whole of Middle Earth. “That’s right,” your voice softens, even cracking a bit with emotion at the sight of his smile, “you’re going to be a father, Merry.”

✧ Merry’s adorable little habit of making you a pillow pile to lay on during your time of the month carries right through to your pregnancy. And of course it continues even when you remind him you’ll not be able to stand up from in because he will be right there to help you up!

✧ Because you've taken up knitting, Merry wheedles with all his charm and love and kisses an additional creation from you: a sweater made from the same yarn as baby's. "You are lucky to be so adorable," you tease him, looking up from your work to kiss his lovely lips. Maybe, you thought, a whole matching set for three would be in order, though…

✧ Another one who teases you, joking about how he is finally able to outrun you!

✧ The type of father to chastise the baby whenever they kick you too hard, lecturing to the front of your dress about hurting your mother and how that simply won’t do, then looking up at you with a humored smile.

✧ Compliments increase at least twofold upon your revelation, Merry never sparing the kindest words about your strength, certainly, but mostly your beauty. Never once during any pregnancy do you feel unloved, unwanted, unattractive, for even when your eyes can find no light within your reflection there your husband is practically worshipping every corner of your form.

Pippin

✧ Desire for a family was something that had drawn you two together as a couple, though you may have found yourself talking Pippin down from ten children! “Maybe start with five,” you would always tease him. So the moment your hypothesis is tested and confirmed, a grin you can’t remove spreads across your face and you run to collect everything for your surprise. Surprise is the only word you can use when Pippin opens his gift and sees the tiny knitted hat you’ve placed inside the box. “What is this for? Little small, is it not?” “If it was for us, perhaps.” It ended up taking you reaching out for his hand and resting it upon your lower belly for the massive grin to spread across his face, but once it does Pippin is laughing loudly and giddily, swinging you back and forth in ecstasy!

✧ Runs to get you whatever your need with barely an question. After all, who is he to say what it's like being with child, and if you want it, you shall have it. Hot water bottle? Certainly. A cup of tea? Of course. Three more pillows? Why, he'll strip your whole bed down. Panics a little if the request is to relieve pain, so prepare to hear a crash or the shuffle of a trip or two before you have the item in hand or on body.

✧ "What is this for?" "What are these?" Lucky you love him, your husband does have many a question of all the supplies you gather for after your new addition is welcomed. "Oh, to keep the hands safe? That makes sense." "Wait, you need to wear that... to catch the bloo- oh, my." He gulps. "I'm going out right now. I'm getting you a cake and some jewelry and some flowers and anything else you'd like."

✧ Can barely keep his hands to himself. Pippin was always the most affectionate husband you could ask for, but now? Now you two are practically a package set and nary can you travel without his arm around you, hand about your waist and gently running up and down over your little growing bump.

✧ Your baby seems to have inherited your husband’s personality, for even before the birth many signs of how active your little one is are present! Those poor ribs of yours will get kicked more than a few times with all the fluttering your little one stirs up inside of you! Pippin, of course, wants to feel it all and luckily he is never far from the scene. If he is, though, you bet he will run!

✧ Pippin is always laying with his cheek resting on your belly, talking to the baby about anything from how his day’s gone to how they have the most amazing and beautiful mother. Your heart can’t help fluttering every time.

Faramir

✧ Faramir has the most uncanny way of reading you like a book, a habit endearing as it is frustrating. Thus the moment he catches you smiling to yourself he is smiling back, approaching you with teasing question of what has you so happy. For once, though, you have the satisfaction of catching your husband off guard, resting your head against his shoulder and a hand upon his chest as you tell him you just cannot wait to see him as a father. "Someday, my love," he takes your hand and kisses it, "if I am so blessed." Giggling, you shake your head against him. "Blessed indeed! Someday shall be this fall," you answer, and peeling back from him you receive another spike of satisfaction at his wide blue eyes, the drop of his jaw and the race of his heart beneath your hand. "Are you certain?" You nod. This time, he takes both of your hands in his and with tears in his eyes thanks the heavens for you even as he shakily laughs, your bright demeanor never failing to put a smile upon his face. "Our child will be so loved." "I know."

✧ Your husband finds himself lost in reverie more and more often, drifting out of reality into some distant, but nowhere near out-of-reach, dream of your family, seeing you as a mother the most beautiful sight he can conjure.

✧ Faramir adores holding you from behind, his hands curled gently over where your bump forms and his head resting gently upon your shoulder, flowing hair tickling your cheeks and neck lightly.

✧ "One for each of us," is Faramir's joke when one of Gondor's finest medics grants you the knowledge that you are not expecting one child, but two. Your husband is there in the storms, the waves of anxiety rolling within you over being there for your twins. "You are not alone," he always reminds you, a hand joined with yours right over the twins' little hearts.

✧ If you wanted a husband who actually does his due diligence learning all he can about growing babies, birth, and postpartum care, then Faramir is another excellent choice! He’ll be spouting off facts about the whole thing ranging from what size the babies currently are to why you might have contractions after giving birth. Your mood determines whether you listen in or tell him to kindly stop.

✧ Just as with you, Faramir’s insecurities sometimes get the better of him, but they also fuel him, bringing a fire you can see to his fair eyes as he speaks with determination how he will love all his children equally.

Eomer

✧ Pride glows upon your countenance as you flit about the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the roast you'd made for dinner. A kingly feast is in order, for not only had you heard your husband performed exceptional drills this day, but you yourself are the host of something exceptional. Eomer and you have been enjoying each other's company much these days, so the news is not so much of a shock as it is a celebration, exuberance at a line enduring, two dreams fulfilled as one, especially for your husband, who speaks often of how he longs for a full, boisterous home. Six if he's lucky. Well, you can hardly wait to help him along, pulling Eomer into your arms for an enthusiastic kiss before he can even toe his boots off, and when he chuckles and asks what has taken hold of his beautiful wife you let your news fly. Shouting for joy with abandon, Eomer lifts you up into his arms bridal-style, kissing your lips again and again. Dinner is all but forgotten as he kneels before you, holding your waist and pressing kisses all over the bodice of your dress and thanking you for making his day, nay, his life, perfect.

✧ Eomer is always proud of you, but the moment he finds out you are with child that feeling swells and positively drips off of him, every outing with him suddenly seeming quite like a chance for him to show you off. An arm around you at all times, a smile of great joy and satisfaction, news shared to all who dare make conversation with you both, and even kisses in public! Eomer is simply on top of the world and not a thing will topple his spirits.

✧ As somebody who never much studied the workings of women, though, Eomer is… a bit out of his depth. You will have to teach him some things like why your emotions swing so or what to look out for to know when your water breaks. This man has been in battle, seen heads roll in the most literal sense, and yet when you describe the eventual passing of your placenta his entire face contorts in a look of horror that has you all but doubled over in laughter.

✧ “You look so beautiful with child,” Eomer purrs, “we’ll have to do this again sometime.” You smack his arm, but cannot resist giggling at the way your husband still gives you butterflies.

✧ Your new addition had not even arrived yet and Eomer is commissioning a child-sized saddle, unable to contain his excitement as he describes all their future rides to you!

✧ As you dream up names, Eomer has many suggestions from the great halls of his own people, ancestors and great warriors alike, but making considerations of your own background is equally important to him, so he is more than willing to go back and forth for the perfect solution.

Eowyn

✧ No one had thought it possible, but they should have known. Impossible was not in Eowyn’s lexicon, and that was exactly why you loved her, one part within many of why you became her wife. And now, the healer confirmed you were carrying her child. …Very well, technically her banner-bearer’s child as the two of you had been forced to get a bit creative, but to have support and help from those who had begun with such uncertainty meant the world. Even Eomer had come around, having offered similarly, but of course you had to remind him that Eowyn wanted a child of her own, not a niece or nephew! Without Guthláf’s, er, donation, you would never bear witness to the broad and beautiful smile on your wife’s face, the tears glistening in the gorgeous blue of her eyes. “A child…” “Our child,” you add, leaning forward until your foreheads touched and noses brushed, a tearful smile upon your own face as your wife gently held your waist.

✧ Having worked so many times as a nurse lends well at least to Eowyn, for she is firm and unrelenting in her urging, nay, forcing, you to rest. No ifs, ands, or buts are to be accepted from your strong-willed beauty, let her dote on you, for she does it with great pleasure. And besides, the harder you fight, the harder she'll work to keep you lain down.

✧ Understanding the pain and symptoms of your time of the month completely also translates; thus Eowyn is ready with remedies for your aches and pains, hot water and herbs awaiting you. She rarely snaps back at your moods, choosing to be silent in the worst of times because she knows. Really, she does.

✧ She cooks for you, and whether you say anything about that or not likely depends on how willing to hide your honesty behind the hormone excuse if it is not taken well.

✧ Reminds you constantly how strong you are. In your lowest of moments, the times you struggle to stand and straighten your aching spine, feeling massive and utterly useless, Eowyn is there to hold your hand and tell you that you are hosting and creating life as she so speaks. You have made the ultimate sacrifice of your body and the greatest of pain to bring just as great a blessing to yourself and your wife. Far from useless, you are divine.

✧ “What does it feel like?” Resting her head on her hand, the one that wasn’t lain against your fluttering belly, she questions you as the baby kicks. “For you?” Part of her wishes to have this experience herself someday, while another takes your descriptions with trepidation. She does not enjoy being restricted, after all.

Haldir

✧ “Lie down, please, my love.” Haldir’s concern with your sickness increased daily as did the pain of seeing you feeling so weak and ill. You tried to push through and for as much as he loved your strength, your husband was not having it this time. Pride was not worth seeing you doubled over again, whether from pain or, arguably worse, illness. You relented in the end, resting and beneath the spinning of your head at the end of the day feeling not a seed of energy to protest an inspection. Healing herbs had you perking up a bit, and perked up you needed to be when the dark-haired, round-faced healer nodded sagely and with a wide smile told you you were with child, and these early days were likely to be the worst. For the first time in days the sobs that escaped you were accompanied by a smile, your face utterly breaking as Haldir held you against his chest, weeping too and thanking you for all you would endure for this blessing.

✧ Physically carries you places as often as he can be spared to do so. Lifts you up bridal-style to move you across your home and sits you up before he feeds you. Your illness brings out a tender, caring side you have never seen in your strong, stoic husband, but it makes your heart swell that much more for him and for the life you two are to have with your child.

✧ Another symptom you experience is the aching and swelling of your feet, but Haldir sits you down facing him and makes the best work of them he can, hands gentle as always as they soothe your skin.

✧ Even in the later months as your illness abates, though, your husband remains protective as ever, standing between you and any potential harm with the fiercest look upon his face and a hand upon your middle, even if the threat is an object you’ve hurt yourself on.

✧ The way shock melts into a wide, ecstatic smile unlike your husband’s typical demeanor when the healer repeats that yes, she could definitely hear two heartbeats beside yours is worth more than any gold in the world. Haldir pulls you into his arms, chuckling deeply. You feel his head shake slightly, slowly, atop yours in wonder.

✧ When you sleep, Haldir will always be holding you close, whether it is an arm draped over your bump loosely if you’re hot or need space or else you fully tucked into your husband’s warm embrace.

Galadriel

✧ Galadriel is actually the one who assuages your worries that your dream will not come true, having full faith in you as much as the magic of this world. And she is right, of course, confidence proven in the aid you receive from a member of her guard and even the way she knows it to be true before the healer even confirms the news. As much as she jokes about seeing a glow around you, the width of her beautiful blue eyes, the shine therein, tells you that your wife is as elated to hear it beyond a shadow of a doubt as you are: you are hosting a little life for you both to nurture.

✧ You being pregnant only aids in her mysterious nature. She can be convening in a council with the wisest of minds from afar and will use you as an excuse to step away at her will. "If you will excuse me. My wife is with child." They are not even aware she is married. Some of them may not understand how it all works, but before they can ask any clarifying questions Galadriel has already slipped away to be with you.

✧ One tendency you unwittingly adopt is falling asleep in the oddest of places, your exhausted body giving out upon its own terms. Always will you wake up draped in one of your wife’s shawls or blankets, however, no matter how odd the spot.

✧ Both of you can hardly resist the allure of tiny garments, smiling every time you see them. It also rings a bell of realization within your minds as you hold a tiny gown up to your midsection. Truly as you speak, there is a tiny body within you! What magic it is to be a woman!

✧ What magic indeed, you later reflect as another pain strikes your back not long after. Hosting tiny bodies came with all the assorted blessings and curses of your kind, one not long without the other. Sighing, you make to approach the chaise across the room and soon your wife is with you, moving its drapes aside and lowering you gently to its cushions, a soothing hand tracing up and down your aching spine.

✧ "I hope she looks like you," you both turn to each other and say simultaneously, mothers' intuition firmly aligned in your hearts, from which so much love for each other pours from, Galadriel immediately drawing you closer to press her lips to the crown of your head.

Arwen

✧ Elrond had been quite hesitant about your relationship with his daughter at first- were you the best choice for her? Could someone like you keep her safe? And how, of course, would she be given the child she so desired? Questions you yourself had posed to her, but she refused to listen, telling you her mind, and heart, were sealed. Little do you know, however, that all of Rivendell would come to love you as their own, see and praise the way you cared for Arwen, and in Lindir’s case even provide the healers with a chance at you giving your wife the family you both yearned for. The moment you tell her the healers’ method worked and she is to he a mother, you both are, her features lighten, taking on the wondrous joy of youth again as she grabs your face, falling onto you with a kiss of pure love.

✧ So accusing if you've overexerted yourself, leaning in closer with a look of sometimes-teasing, sometimes-serious scrutiny. "Surely you did not carry that up the stairs all by yourself, right?"

✧ Do not even bother trying to fake feeling up to anything, whatever the task, for Arwen can see right through you and will insist you sit down, taking your hands in hers. "Rest. You have your burden- let me take the others. My heart bears no ill."

✧ Her affection gets softer, light touches to your waist and hands resting over yours. One hand upon your hip or belly and one on your shoulder as you two sway gently, foreheads pressed together.

✧ Arranging your nursery is one of Arwen's favorite pastimes: painting a gorgeous meadow mural upon the wall, stitching a soft toy to lay within the crib, asking you which fabric you prefer for blankets.

✧ Your bundle of joy can make sleep difficult, but one silver lining Arwen points out in a low whisper one morning is how many sunrises you’ve now gotten to share with each other.

Elrond

✧ Reservations about having a fourth child so long after the others disappeared every time Lord Elrond caught sight of you holding a neighbor’s child or even just showing the loving care that had him convinced he would be well even marrying a second time at all. Every smile, every sweet thing you did, all of it came back to Elrond in a rush when you told him he was to become a father again. For once he did not feel too old, too tired, nothing but the elation of his every desire unfurling to him before his very eyes from your warm embrace. To be chosen as the father to your child was the greatest honor the lord of Rivendell could imagine.

✧ Your every ailment is minimal, for Elrond knows exactly what is best for each and every one. Nausea? The perfect tea blend awaits to calm the waves you feel. Aches and cramps? Your husband is happy to give you the most heavenly massage, his hands finding every needed spot as if by magic. A swell of emotion? He does not speak unless bidden to, simply holding you through sudden waves of tears, frustration, or both until he feels your body relax against his.

✧ Being married to an elf with the gift of foresight comes with the benefit of worries soothed, but also a joke shared between you both. For many a time you teasingly chastise him not to look too far and spoil the surprise of whether you have a son or daughter on the way!

✧ Standing behind you, Elrond rests his hands around your middle and presses a kiss to your cheek. Just when you think the bliss of this moment, of having your whole little new family all together within your husband’s arms, cannot increase is when Elrond shifts his hands, taking on the great weight you carry. Peering up into his soft blue eyes, your whole body deflates in a sigh of sweet relief as he holds you.

✧ He can never truly understand your experience, but Elrond has witnessed this process. All he wishes is to tell you all your pain shall pass, even the worst memories will fade and ease, but such words will sound insensitive, so all he does is continue to hold your hand and stand proudly at your side.

✧ One thing your husband cannot resist is showering your future little one with gifts, even jewelry for when they are a bit older and the tiniest circlet to place upon the beloved head, matching Adar's perfectly.

Want to meet the little ones? Part 2 coming soon 😉

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch | Message/Reply/Ask to join 🥰

[girllblogging777]

𝐶𝑅𝐴𝐷𝐿𝐸𝐷 𝐼𝑁 𝐶𝑂𝑀𝐹𝑂𝑅𝑇

↳ mattheo riddle x academic overachiever fem!reader (dating, fluff)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0,6k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : mattheo comforts you after you get a bad grade

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you stared at the parchment, your chest tightening as you looked at the red mark on top of it : A, for Acceptable. you were used to getting O’s for Outstanding or maybe E for Exceeds, but this… this was a complete failure for you. you were top of the class, an overachiever who always aimed for perfection. you had no room in your life for mediocrity, but today, you felt like all of your efforts hadn’t been worth anything.

your classmates had already moved of from their respective grades, getting up and chattering about the latest gossip while packing up their things. you remained frozen to your seat, drowning in your thoughts. how could you let this happen ? how could you mess up like this ? you’d spent so many nights studying, so much time preparing yourself, and for what ? the poor word “acceptable” written in crimson ink, mocking you everytime you glanced at it.

before your negative thoughts could get any further, you felt a familiar presence settle next to you. you looked up to find your boyfriend standing next to your desk, bag on his shoulder and frown on his face. mattheo riddle knew you too well, he was the only person that saw through your act. “what’s wrong, baby ?” he asked in a soft voice, his brows slightly furrowed.

you didn’t even say anything, handing him the parchment with shaky hands. he took it from you and scanned it over before letting out a small sigh at the grade, “this ?” mattheo questioned, sitting down on the chair next to yours. “this is what’s got you so upset ?”

you bit your lip and took a deep breath, nodding. of course, the two of you had completely different standards for grades and you didn’t expect him understand. after all, this wasn’t really considered a bad grade to anyone other than you. “i’m just not used to getting “acceptable”, it’s the first time it’s ever been that bad. do you think i’m gonna fail this semester ? what if-“

“woah, stop,” interrupted your boyfriend in a firm but gentle voice. he brought his chair closer to yours and took your hand in his, bringing it to his lap. “you’re good enough, baby. hell, good isn’t even an appropriate word to describe you. you’re the smartest girl i know, one bad grade can’t change that.”

you tried to protest but mattheo wasn’t having it. he draped an arm over your shoulder and looked at you straight in the eyes, speaking up again. “you’ve been working so hard, you need to cut yourself some slack. you need to put less pressure on yourself, you can allow yourself not to be perfect all the time. it doesn’t mean anything about your worth.”

“cmon, let’s go somewhere else.” he said when you didn’t answer, getting up and grabbing your hand again. you were still a little down but his words had managed to make you a feel a little bit better, so you simply nodded and grabbed your stuff, letting him lead you out of the classroom. he didn’t let go of your hand until you two reached your usual spot by the black lake, the cold breeze brushing against your skin.

your boyfriend sat down on the grass against the tree, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you. “i’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your soft hair. “just relax and stop thinking about it, kay ?” you buried your face in the crook of his neck, each one of his words of affirmation soothing you even more.

“my smart girl,” mattheo muttered sweetly in your ear, admiring you with the softest gaze you’d even seen. “you’re so beautiful, so perfect.” you smiled, kissing his jaw delicately in return. he chuckled, “i love you, you know that ? you’re the best, nothing can change that.” the brunette flashed you one of the reassuring smiles he only saved for you, and it managed to make you forget about everything else.

“thank you” you whispered, the words muffled against his chest. he whispered back, holding you a little tighter to let you know he meant it, “always, love.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : this is for the burnt out gifted kids aka “this is me trying” kins (me fr)

unfortunately i’m gonna be less active on here now that summer has ended, but keep leaving requests and writing suggestions in my inbox !!!

please comment and reblog ! tag list (comment if you wanna be added) @tateshifts @redeemingvillains @helendeath @jolly4holly @larmesdevanille @dexoq @reys-letters @shiftingwithmars @shiftingwithleah @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @sp7-mr @icantkeepmyplantsalive @chelawrites @myunperfektstorys @iris-qt @yikesitslush @clar2aa @deadsnakey @deadghosy @slut-for-fictional-men

[nadvs]

Hey girl! I’m obsessed with basketball!rafe, your write him so well! On the night of readers first visit in basketball!rafes condo, you said they slept together. Can we have a blurb on that? I NEED to know how that went

thank you so much!! omg yessss. they’ve been long distance and it’s been hard but they miss each other so much so when she finally visits, it’s intense 🤭

based on this fic, mentioned in this blurb! 18+!

» au masterlist

at this point, they’ve been together for almost seven months. and a month and a half of that has been at a distance.

since rafe moved away, it feels like all they do is argue. most of their calls have been tense. they’ve gone days giving each other silent treatment too many times to count.

so when she’s stepping out of the airport gate that late afternoon, she’s more nervous than she is excited for her three-day stay, and she hates that she feels like that.

she finds rafe standing by a pillar, wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses. he’s gotten even bigger, his muscles bulging under his sleeveless shirt. now that he’s signed with the nba, he’s at practice every morning, hitting the gym twice a day, preparing for the season two months away. always busy. often too busy for her.

he doesn’t wait for her to reach him. he helps close the distance, meeting her in an open pocket in the crowd and wrapping her in his arms. he’s holding her so tightly that she can feel his heartbeat on her chest.

she didn’t know what to expect when he saw her, considering how rocky things have been. but this feels like the best possible way he could greet her. he seems happy. the chasm between them is still there, but it’s closing.

rafe nuzzles into her neck, smelling the mix of shampoo and perfume that makes her her, and is so overwhelmed that his throat feels thicker and tears start to form in his eyes. thank fuck he’s wearing shades.

“hey, baby,” he says, muffled.

“hi,” she says softly. “how are you?”

it’s a loaded question. he’s lonely. he didn’t realize how lonely until he held her. he’s stressed. he’s out of his depth. but he settles for, “not bad. you?”

“better now,” she says.

she knows her boyfriend’s life has changed. but it’s not until they’re walking out of the building and he gets stopped by a middle-aged man asking for a photo with him that she realizes just how much things have shifted. the man’s wife shakes her head, saying don’t bother them, but the man says please, it’ll be quick.

rafe obliges, once again grateful he’s wearing shades so nobody sees his teary eyes.

“you’ll take us to the final, won’t you?” the man says, clearly starstruck.

“i’ll try,” he replies. it’s clear to her that rafe’s a little uneasy, which surprises her. she thought he and his ego would love the attention.

“you’re like famous famous,” she teases once they walk far enough away.

“that’s only like, the second time that happened,” he says, not matching her playfulness.

she can tell that he’s trying to downplay it. but the season hasn’t even started and he’s already being recognized. it’s a big deal.

“is that why you’re all disguised?” she realizes.

“yeah,” he admits, seemingly embarrassed. he really didn’t want anyone to recognize him today.

they reach his car in an underground parking garage and she settles in the passenger seat as puts her suitcase in his backseat. he sits and starts the car.

“what have you done with my boyfriend?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood. “how are you not bragging about what just happened?”

“i don’t know,” he says. “you’re here. that’s what i’m focused on. and who knows… i could be one of those guys who gets one contract and then burns out. better not to get used to all that.”

her eyebrows knit together. he’s being short with her. and he’s never spoken like this. she’s seen him unsure about himself only a few times before. he was painfully nervous on draft night. but he never mentioned anything about his career burning out. this isn’t the man she knows.

“you’re a great player,” she tells him. “you won’t burn out.”

he nods unconvincingly and shifts the car into reverse, trying to avoid this heavy of a conversation right away. she knows him well enough to know what he’s doing. she puts her hand on his.

“hey,” she says softly. “wait a second.”

he sighs, his throat thickening again. he puts the car in park and turns it off.

“you good?” she asks.

he pinches the bridge of his nose. she realizes that his hand is trembling. he finally takes his sunglasses off and rubs his eyes, wiping at them.

“i’m tired,” he admits.

she stares at him through worried eyes.

“i’m sorry. we’ll take it easy tonight,” she tells him. “we can just order food and watch tv and go to bed early. it’s going to be okay.”

he nods, licking his lips nervously.

“it makes sense if you’re overwhelmed. it’s a lot of pressure. your life is so different now,” she says. “and i know i was part of the old one, but i want to be part of this new one, too, okay? i’m here for you.”

she’s not saying it solely to reassure him. she realizes she’s hoping he’ll reassure her back. things are still off between them. she can feel it. maybe it’s because she’s slowly drifting into the past to him. maybe he won’t carry her into his new life.

rafe is speechless. his chest hurts. he hates that she would insinuate that he doesn’t have a place for her. that she has any doubts at all. he’s the one who called her after their last big argument, following days of not talking to each other. he’s still bitter about it. he keeps putting up a fight, yet it’s like she thinks she’s the only one trying.

“the only way to fail is to give up, right?” she says.

rafe snorts.

“where’d you read that?” he says mockingly. cutting.

he regrets it immediately. she sits straighter, creating distance between them.

“i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m just... i want you here. i do. i’m already thinking about how you’re going to leave and it sucks. i’m just so… on edge.”

“so, your way to handle it is by being mean to me like, a minute after i get here?” she asks. his knee-jerk reaction to stress has always been to be rude and combative. it’s her least favorite thing about him.

“my head’s not right. i’m sorry.”

even though she’s hurt and bitter, she pushes past it and nods.

“let’s start over,” she says. “i can tell you all about my flight. real exciting stuff.”

he finally cracks a genuine smile.

when they make it to rafe’s penthouse, she’s shocked. she saw the view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows over their facetime calls, but the real thing doesn’t compare. it’s unreal, the way the setting sun is glistening over the skyline.

it’s crazy. she’s stayed right where she’s been since she met him, on the same campus doing the same things, but now he’s here. the stinging anxiety hits her again that maybe he’ll leave her in the past.

“this is really nice,” she says.

rafe gazes at her as she looks out the window. he’s felt out of place since he got here. the dynamic with his new team is nothing like it was back in college. this condo feels more like a hotel instead of his home.

but with her here, the most important piece of all he knows, the place doesn’t feel cold anymore.

he looks out at the view. it is nice. but it’s been hard to appreciate it since there’s been a weight living over him, blurring things.

“you can continue the tour now,” she says.

he offers her his hand. she takes it. his palm is rough and calloused from all his training.

as she paces through the condo, everything about the place is stunning. bare, but stunning.

“i can help you decorate if you want,” she offers as they travel down the hallway. “wanna go shopping tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he agrees. something as mundane as shopping for decor excites him simply because it’ll be with her.

they reach his bedroom. the california king bed is centered against the back wall. the room offers another beautiful view with a balcony.

“you ever sit out there in the morning? watch the sunrise?” she asks, stepping towards the open balcony door. she can hear the dull roar of cars zooming through the massive freeway laid out far below.

“nah, i go straight to practice,” rafe says. “and on days off, i just sleep in.”

“right,” she recalls. he gets up almost every morning before the sun rises. his schedule has been brutal. she feels guilty for fighting with him about how hard it’s been to schedule calls with him. she pictured him living a glamorous life, forgetting all about her. but he just seems isolated. exhausted.

she turns to face him again, gazing around the characterless room.

“would you want pictures in here? maybe some art on the walls?” she asks.

“i thought decorating started tomorrow?” rafe teases. she loves that he’s seeming to ease up a bit.

“can never be too prepared.” he smirks, looking down at her with a tired, but relaxed expression.

“i haven’t had time to do anything with the place,” he says. “and i wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“all good,” she says. “you stick to basketball, i’ll stick to making this place look like someone actually lives in it.”

“deal,” he says with a soft laugh.

she smiles. her eyes drift down, noticing faint white lines on his shoulders under his sleeveless shirt. she traces her fingers over the new stretch marks.

“they’re not working you too hard, are they?” she asks.

her tender touch makes rafe’s body go hot. she feels it immediately, how the tension between them has shifted.

“no,” he mumbles. “the trainer said i actually need to slow down on the lifting. i can’t get too heavy. i won’t be able to run as fast.”

“so, what i’m hearing is you need a few rest days,” she says with a cute shrug. “you need to relax. it’s for the good of your game.”

he chuckles. within minutes of getting home, his girl makes everything better.

“thank you for coming,” he says sincerely, his hands finding her hips. her heart feels ten times lighter.

“for getting on a flight you booked? in first class? to live in your penthouse?” she says. “you’re welcome. big sacrifice.”

rafe smirks at her again, leaning closer. their lips press in a slow, sweet, long kiss. he pulls back once he feels her hand on his cheek.

“you stressed out, baby?” she whispers. his eyes are still closed an he only nods, grimacing. she strokes his cheek with her thumb.

“you want me to help you relax?” she says. he leans lower, his forehead on hers. his stomach is numb. his boxers suddenly feel too tight.

“yeah.” rafe’s tone is low. needy.

“lie down,” she tells him. “i’ll make you feel better.”

his entire body is buzzing. once he’s on his back in his bed, they’re slowly pulling off each other’s clothes.

she thought when they’d inevitably get into bed, it’d be impatient and rushed, but every movement is careful. they want to savor each other. it’s so much better this way.

she leads him to lie on his pillow when he’s left in his boxers and she’s in her panties. she pulls down his boxers, watching him spring out, the coil in her body already tightened to its limit. she missed him so badly.

she holds him at his base, meeting his eyes as she slowly takes the tip in her mouth. she watches his toned body curve as he bucks his hips with a groan.

“fuck,” he whispers. “wait, wait.”

he shifts to his side, turning his nightstand lamp on so that he can see her better, instead of doing this in the dim of the sunset.

he lies back down, placing eager fingers at her roots, desperately guiding her back to where she was.

their eyes lock as she lowers again, her tongue hot against him, slowly sinking until she has all of him in her mouth. she softly gags and pulls back, leaving his length wet with her spit.

“you’ve been working so hard, hmm?” she asks, looking at him as she palms him slowly, dragging her hand over his slick hardness.

“yeah,” he says, voice strained. “fuck, i missed you so much.”

she feels better hearing his words. all the tension between them has dissipated, at least for now.

“i missed you, too,” she whispers. she wraps her lips around him again, feeling him twitch against the inside of her cheek.

rafe can’t take his eyes off of her. she moves slowly, carefully, her tongue flicking around him, her wrist twisting and stroking. his grip is tight at the roots of her hair as she starts to move faster.

he can feel himself getting closer. he doesn’t want to finish like this.

“come here,” he murmurs, cradling her head, leading her closer.

she obeys, hovering over him on her knees. his hands drag over her ass, running over the lace of her panties, squeezing hard as she lowers to press her lips on his.

they kiss hard and slow, over and over until she can’t anymore, breathless and grinding on him. his thumbs loop under the band of her underwear, pushing the fabric down.

she wriggles out of the lace and he grasps her waist to turn her onto her back, kissing her again, finding her wrists and pinning them tightly against his bed.

“i don’t think i’ll last long,” he rasps against her mouth.

“that’s okay,” she says. “i just want you to feel good.”

he so badly wants to tell her he loves her. but they’ve never taken that step, and if he does take it and she doesn’t follow, he might not survive the fall.

instead, he moves to rest his hand between her legs, inhaling sharply once he feels how wet she is.

“fucking dripping for me,” he praises. she spreads her legs wider and he trails up to her clit, starting to trace circles.

she arches her back, pushing against his hand, already getting close. her body is just as desperate and impatient for it as his is.

“i’m close,” she whispers within seconds, her eyes shut. he stares at her in awe, so damn pleased that he can do this to her and get her there so quickly.

“yeah? you gonna come on my hand?”

“yes, yes,” she breathes, her lips parted. “don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

rafe wants to kiss her, but seeing her pretty face twisting in pleasure is too good to miss. one hand keeps her wrist pinned above her head while the other works with fast, firm movements, bringing her closer.

“i can’t wait to be inside you,” he groans. “you’re all i think about, you know that?”

she dips her head back, a soft moan spilling out of her mouth as she unravels, her body weakening with her orgasm. it hits her so hard that she trembles more than ever before.

she takes a moment to collect herself, then finds the strength to sit up just enough to grip him, guiding him to press against her. he groans as he starts to sink in her and she links her legs around him, pulling him in.

she presses her free hand against the head of his bedframe to steady herself so he can slam into her without any recoil, promising him the best sensation she can give him.

with one hand on her jaw and the other on her palm, interlacing his fingers with hers, he bottoms out, grunting against her ear.

“as hard as you want,” she whispers. “you know i can take it.”

her words make him dizzy. he doesn’t build up to the pace. suddenly, their slow, patient movements are gone, and he starts to thrust in and out of her fast and rough, to the hilt every time because of the way she’s keeping herself anchored against his headboard.

it’s like he’s drowning in her. he doesn’t want to come up for air. his breaths grow more shallow, his skin gets clammier, his pulse speeds up.

his bed is shaking with every slam, hitting deep inside her, wrapped in her heat and never wanting it to end. he squeezes her hand, wishing she knew just how grateful he is for her. not just for this. for everything.

“you’re mine,” he rasps. she tightens her legs around him, looking up at him as his handsome, sharp features crease in pleasure. “you belong to me.”

“yes,” she whispers. “i do. i do.”

rafe leans down to kiss her, his body going tight. she feels him grow harder, the pressure outright perfect, and he groans into her mouth as he comes, filling her with his heat.

he collapses on her, heavier than he was the last time they slept together. but she keeps her legs linked around him, withstanding the weight, running her hand down the curve of his spine while the other stays interlaced with his.

he’s panting hard. and he can’t control it when tears sting his eyes. she notices him shuddering, and she squeezes him tighter, kissing his cheek over and over again, her heart breaking for him.

“you okay, baby?” she whispers.

“yeah,” he says, and for once, he’s being honest about it.

all of this has been so hard and discombobulating, but with her here, life feels easy. and finally, he’s confident in something again. he knows they’ll make it. there’s no way they can’t.

“yeah,” he repeats. “hungry.”

she softly laughs, moving to wrap both arms around him. he’s so big and hard and heavy, but she tries her best to hold him, to comfort him.

“let’s get dinner,” she says. she knows his diet has been strict. “cheat day?”

rafe smirks against her neck. he didn’t know how badly he needed a vacation, and that he didn’t even have to leave his house to feel like he’s on one. he just needs her.

[freckliedan]

i'm sorry but if you've only been a phannie since the reniassance you really have no right to be criticizing dan gender posters.

i don't think anyone who got here post revival understands the distinction between "fans crossing the line" vs "fans listening to what dan and phil tell us even before announcing things explicitly and celebrating that". and the way people act like they need to defend dan from people who think he could be trans makes that abundantly clear.

dan especially has been so open about how this community's support is what made it possible for him to accept himself and come out, and that wasn't support that magically appeared the second BIG dropped. it didn't exist only after we got told officially.

the community support of dan and phil's queerness was the way people noticed and celebrated and understood the way they increasingly chose to be vulnerable with us over the years, and the way we shared how they made us feel safe in our identities.

they came out a million little ways before they said the words, but dan did especially: wearing nail polish, going curly, an earring in the gay ear, liking tweets that said he was gay, making increasing gay jokes. the winter before they both came out they tweeted about the bbc calling them a couple and didn't correct it. dan TOLD us in march of 2018 that he had a video planned for june that was relevant to the month but not because of his birthday.

they do the telling us with their actions before announcing it in so many other contexts too: moving, announcing tours, etc.

if you trust in and pay attention to their consistant patterns of behavior it's hard to be surprised by dan and phil.

so why is it that this one fucking thing—dan's gender—is not allowed to be posted about in the same way as everything else? those of us who do take so much care in what we say, too, if we ever do anything other than post jokingly. both for dan's sake (nobody forgets this is a public forum) and because the transphobic backlash is constant.

dan has been saying he sometimes wishes he was a girl since manchester. talking about gender since 2009. the gender conversation has been constant as long as dan's been online and we know it's been a constant since early childhood too.

dan said after BIG dropped in 2019 that he considered coming out in 2014 but then started thinking about gender and needed more time to figure it out. and you know how that ended? he did NOT say "i came out because i figured it out". it ended with dan saying that thinking about gender culminated in realizing it's okay to come out and change your mind. that you can be a formless blob. (quote)

and then sister daniel happened, and dan has been increasingly openly talking about questioning gender ever since. and hey: dan and phil commented on the possibility of a gender video from dan during dan's bday livestream. doesn't that sound familiar.

this isn't different from when dan and phil claimed heterosexuality and then were openly not in the lead up to coming out. this pattern of behavior is the same, and the way people are posting is the same, and i've never fucking once seen a dan gender poster cross the line the way people used to.

it's just a different subject.

would the people who get pissed at dan gender posters have been doing the same thing to people who thought dnp were queer before they came out? did you not realize what an rpf community is like because you got here after the fact, or are you being transphobic hypocrites?

why is the possibility of transness something dan needs to be defended from, anyways? it's a compliment and we know dan takes it that way.

figure your shit out. i'm sick of it, especially coming from other trans people. i've had so fucking many trans mutuals bullied off this website and out of this space for openly talking about the possibility that dan might not be cis over the years, and when the same transphobic talking points come from a trans sibling's mouth? it disgusts me.

you don't have to like it or agree with it or engage with it. but can you PLEASE stop acting like you have a moral high ground and are doing something beneficial to dan that he'd thank you for? just fucking block and blacklist and move on.

and know that if dan someday turns out not to be cis, you're gonna have to live with the knowledge that you made things harder for him.

us dan gender posters? we all know we might be wrong and we've had to think about whether we're happy with our actions if that's the case. and i know damn well we'll all be celebrating dan's gender nonconformity just as much for the rest of time if dan remains cis.

we're under constant scruitiny so we've had to self reflect. but i really don't think any of you have. think about your underlying biases. consider the impact a vehement defense of cisness would have on dan if he isn't. and please, for the love of god, let that impact your actions.

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie’s eyes are brown.

At least, that’s what Steve would’ve said before staring into his eyes for…ten seconds? Thirty seconds? Five minutes? … he’s lost track of time.

But the time is certainly not wasted.

Steve’s not sure how he’s never noticed that brown eyes aren’t just brown. It’s a silly thought, and he knows that he should probably know this considering he also has brown eyes, but maybe he’s been too focused on his hair. And maybe he’s been a little too focused on Eddie’s lips…

He fights to glance down at them as Eddie stares back at him, his pupils blown wide, but every now and then when he leans a little to the side, the sunlight from the windows hits his eyes just right and his pupils contract, showing off all the color in his eyes. And Steve loves when this happens.

The brown turns into an almost amber color, deep brown highlighted by hints of warm red and orange. And at the bottom of his eyes, there’s small patches of gold standing out against the deep brown ring that circles the whole iris.

Steve thinks he could get lost in it all and stare for hours.

He leans in a little closer, trying to see more of that gold, and nearly groaning when Eddie shifts away from the light again, eyes becoming such a deep brown that Steve can easily see his reflection.

But he doesn’t want to see himself, he wants to see how that dark chocolate turns into that gold and red in the sunlight.

Then, something Steve didn’t fathom happens.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“Steve won!” Dustin shouts, as the other kids carry on loudly, and Steve is harshly startled back into reality.

A staring contest. That’s what this was supposed to be. A staring contest, not a Steve gets lost in his friend’s eyes for so long that he forgets to blink contest. Christ.

He glances sheepishly at Eddie and takes in all his features, the furrowed brow and the slight frown to his lips as Eddie tugs at a stand of hair.

As the kids file out of the room, moving onto whatever activity is going to keep them entertained next, Steve asks, “Are you that upset about losing?”

Eddie shakes his head and leans forward, staring into Steve’s eyes again. Steve fights not to look too deeply, afraid he’ll get lost in the depths forever if he gives himself the chance.

“I saw something I hadn’t seen before,” Eddie comments, looking back and forth between his two eyes.

“I did too,” Steve admits, allowing himself to stare a bit. He reaches out and pulls Eddie closer to him, getting both his eyes directly in the sunlight. “I see a whiskey my dad used to always keep on his desk, with hints of gold that reminds me of the jewelry my dad got for my mom, back when they still loved each other.”

His heart pounds at the memories, back to a time when things almost seemed normal. When he thought he would always be happy.

Steve shakes his head and glances away, unsure of how the colors he saw before could bring up the deep memories he spewed to Eddie. He changes the subject and asks, “What did you see in mine?”

He expects maybe an analysis of green and brown, or hazel as many girls tell him after staring at him for long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. He wonders why Eddie doesn’t make him feel that way.

A finger lifts Steve’s chin, turning his gaze back to Eddie whose stare sends chills down his spines. “I saw longing,” Eddie states and continues, “Was it for those things? Those memories?”

Steve finds himself shaking his head as his eyes glance down to Eddie’s lips which twitch as he swallows. “Was it longing?” Eddie asks, nervousness seeping into his tone.

Steve glances back at his eyes and nods. It’s not like he’s unaware of his deeper feelings for Eddie, but he didn’t expect to fall so hard in just a few moments as he stared into his eyes. And he definitely didn’t expect to have those emotions read so clearly in his own eyes.

Eddie’s hand slowly moves to cup Steve’s face as he says, “Steve, read my own eyes for a moment. Please see the-”

“Can you guys give us a ride to the arcade?!” Dustin yells from the other room.

Steve sees Eddie’s eyes flash with annoyance which is much different from the loving expression from before.

Loving.

Steve takes a deep breath and steps back as he hears multiple footsteps hurriedly making their way back to the kitchen.

“Did you hear us?” Mike asks, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, “Get to the car.”

He lingers back with Eddie as he watches all the kids run to his car, and when Steve gets to the door with Eddie behind him, he yells, “Give me a minute, I need to grab my wallet!”

He closes the door quickly and rushes into Eddie’s space, cupping his face, and asking, “Am I reading this wrong?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says, hope and deep longing shining in his eyes.

“Good,” Steve says, leaning forward and meeting Eddie in the middle as they hurriedly kiss, pouring in all the longing they’ve both experienced for months now but were too oblivious to see before.

(Robin laughs for minutes on end when she hears that a staring contest is what got them together when they’ve been having multiple for months without the label. Steve just rolls his eyes, but as soon as Eddie asks, “Want to have another staring contest?” He can’t resist.)