#I sound like a fuckin Your Country Wants YOU ad but damn like

[vergess]

okay Vees, I swear I'm not trying to start a conspiracy in your inbox, but you saying "if it seems like an American only replied to the first line of what you wrote, there's a genuine chance they Could Not Read the rest of it" is... making way too much sense. there have been WAY too many times where I've been chatting to Americans (I'm an aussie) and the reply they gave to something reasonably lengthy I wrote was just... not related or understanding. at all. this is distressing.

Lol don't worry. I'm not going to accuse you of conspiracies until you start blaming a central group instead of the comedy of self-reinforcing errors across a huge span of US culture.

Like, here's a fun one. From a UI perspective, it's good design for an app to support about double the median length of text its users post. That's why when websites and messengers suddenly increase text limits, it will tend to be by doubling. It's a safe first guess, just based on the math.

Except, it's more profitable if you can convince your users to only type as much stuff as will fit on about half a phone screen, so that the user comment can drive ad sales.

In a world where most of our interaction with text has to take place on these platforms, which for wholly unrelated reasons benefit from a less verbose, less literate population: this only serves to reinforce the now increasingly common belief that longform/adult/level 3 literacy is not useful.

Because that lower literacy is more profitable, these massively influential platforms have no incentive to fix anything. No grave conspiracy, no shadow masters manipulating the world. Just boring old profit motive.

And thus, we must rely on local efforts, such as those spearheaded by parents, teachers and librarians in each school district.

Contact your local library and ask if you can volunteer.

[eternalxvenus]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 4 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain.

wc: 1.8k

notes: i really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! part 5 will be the final chapter for this series! (there were a few people who asked to be in the tag list but i can't find the asks in my inbox anymore im so sorry!! if you happen to see this comment/message me again to be added!)

previous chapters: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

You woke up this morning and felt so much better than you had in the last few days. Rafe not only cleared everything up, but he also practically poured his heart out for you. Now you both would head back to OBX and hopefully everything will be normal. Both of you know Topper lied and you'll probably have to talk to him about it, which is something you weren't looking forward to.

Leaning over the bed you glanced down to see Rafe's shirtless body still sleeping. You got off the bed with your blanket and snuggled up next to him on the floor. Immediately, you question how he was able to get any sleep down here. As you tried to get comfortable, Rafe stirred awake. You looked up at him with an apologetic expression. "Good morning. I wasn't trying to wake you."

He groaned softly, looking down at you before smiling at you. "Sure you didn't. Good morning, sweetheart." Rafe rolled on top of you, leaning in to give you a kiss before you stopped him.

"Morning breath," you said with a shake of your head, placing your hand over your mouth. He gives you an unamused look before moving your hand away.

"I don't care about morning breath. I gotta make up for all the time I spent not kissing you these last couple of days."

Rafe gave you one long kiss on your lips. It was so soft and caring like he wanted to express all his love for you with the feeling of his lips on yours. He slid his hands down to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze. "God, I missed you, baby. You have no fuckin idea," he whispered.

You couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. "I missed you too." Sitting up, you moved from under his hold and leaned against the side of your bed. "But we aren't having sex in my parents' house, especially while they're here."

He placed his head in the crook of your neck before sighing, "It's okay, I can wait." 

"Alright, let me up so I can go brush my teeth and get ready," you giggle, pushing him off you lightly. He rolls onto the floor dramatically. "I'll be here waiting."

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

While you were going around getting ready, Rafe's eyes followed your every move. He knew that he probably looked creepy staring you down like this, but he was just appreciating you and how he was so lucky to have such a beautiful girlfriend. Rafe was attracted to you the moment you both met at the country club. Your confidence, your style, even the way your perfume still lingered in the air even after you left.

He'd never admit it but you had him wrapped around your finger the minute you agreed to go on a date with him. You were too good for him, so accepting and supportive even when he'd try to push you away. Love wasn't enough to describe how he felt. He was fucking obsessed. Willing to do anything and everything for you. His personal heaven.

The sound of snapping brought him back to the present. "Hello? Did you hear me?" Rafe shakes his head. You roll your eyes, something he can never take seriously when you look so damn stunning. "I said I'm ready to go."

He gave a brief sign of acknowledgment so you'd know he heard you, but his eyes were focused on eyeing everything from your hair to your shoes. "C'mere, I wanna hold you for a bit," he said softly. He rarely ever heard himself like this, the soft side of him being reserved for those special moments with you. The moments when his heart felt like it was beating so fast it would come out of his chest, or his face would heat up with a light tinge of pink on his cheeks.

You made your way over to him and straddled him on the bed. "What, you miss me giving you all my attention?" you teased.

Rafe gave a small smile before kissing your forehead— He knew better than to mess up your lip combo so soon— "Yeah, something like that."

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Since Rafe had brought his truck with him to the mainland, he drove you both back to the ferry going to OBX. He didn't talk much during the drive or the ferry ride back but he kept his hands on you at all times— holding you in his lap, putting a hand on your thigh, or an arm around your shoulder— he was keeping you close.

Once you arrived on the island, you thought Rafe would take you straight home or to Tannyhill until he mentioned having to stop somewhere first. You didn't think anything of it but when you saw The Boneyard coming into view you looked over, confused. "Rafe, what are we doing here?"

"I just gotta take care of something alright? Stay here I'll be right back." He got out of the truck and started making his way toward the sea of people drinking and hanging out.

With a sigh, you got out of the car shortly after, following behind him. Immediately you saw him heading in Topper's direction, making you pick up your pace to catch up to him.

Rafe reached Topper just before you did and was staring him down with his arms crossed. "What's up, Top?" he said in a harsh voice. Topper gave a confused look at his attitude before trying to seemingly move on. 'Hey Rafe, what's good, man?"

When you reached them you put your hand on Rafe's arm in an attempt to pull him away. "Come on Rafe, please just do this later." You didn't want to make a scene with all these people here or risk him getting in trouble, but he ignored your attempts.

"Do you wanna tell me why you told my girl I cheated on her?" his voice was eerily calm as he spoke, you almost wished he were yelling instead.

Topper looked at Rafe in silence before he shrugged. "Listen, man, you were coked out of your mind and got all up on your ex. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't even remember. But it's on video and everything, I was just trying to look out for her and do the right thing."

By this point, a few people who were close enough to hear the conversation had started watching, eager to see what was going on. Kelce, who had been standing next to Topper, looked just as confused yet interested as everyone else.

"Oh, so you have the video? Let me see it then." he urges.

Topper rolls his eyes but takes his phone out and plays the video. It's the same one he had sent to you that you now know is old. "See man? I'm sure you regret it or whatever but it happened. You fucked up." he has a small smirk on his face as he said it like it was the hard truth.

Rafe licked his lips and nodded. He pulled his phone out and showed Topper the photo that was actually from the party. "You took this photo at the party, right?" Topper nodded "So?" A chuckle left Rafe's throat. "So... I'm wearing two completely different outfits. Why don't you show me the date on the video Top."

Topper was silent for a few moments before his smirk dropped and an angered look took over his features. "You don't fucking deserve her, Rafe! You know she'd be better off with me. You'd choose drugs over her, you would choose yourself over her!"

Your eyebrows shot up at his outburst. Topper was jealous. Rafe got closer to him, getting into his face. "I should've known you'd go after her. You were the one who convinced me to do the coke after I told you I'd quit you fuckin' prick!" Topper shoved Rafe but he only stumbled a little before lunging at Topper and throwing a punch. Kelce and a few other Kooks who were close by rushed over to try and break it off but Rafe wasn't letting up.

"Rafe! Stop, let's just go!" you shouted, trying to get his attention. Someone had finally gotten them off of each other, and Topper was bleeding from the mouth with and his eye was starting to swell. You could see the blood on their clothes and on Rafe's knuckles. It was unlikely someone would call the cops but you wanted to get out of there before things could get worse. Before you could get far enough, you heard Topper yell "She's just another piece of ass anyway!"

Pulling Rafe away from The Boneyard and back towards the truck, you sigh, noticing the bruise forming on his cheek. Both of you got into the truck and Rafe started to drive to your place, still pissed off.

"You didn't have to do that Rafe..." you tried to keep your voice soft, not wanting him to think you were angry.

Rafe scoffed, "That fucker deserved it. He's lucky I don't kill him." You said nothing for the rest of the ride, and neither did Rafe.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

After what felt like forever, you saw your house come into view. The truck rolled to a stop, and Rafe shut off the engine, placing his head on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," he muttered. It almost seemed like he felt... ashamed?

"I'm sorry for doing that... I let him get to me. I shouldn't have gone in the first place." he explained. You felt bad that he was beating himself up for letting his anger get the best of him.

You leaned over the center console to place a kiss on his non-bruised cheek. "It's okay. Let's just get inside and forget about it."

Rafe nodded, and you both got out of the truck to head inside. You made him take off his dirty, bloodied clothes and put them in the wash, leaving him in his boxers. With a little convincing, he allowed you to tend to his busted knuckles and ice his bruise for a while. There was a silence between you that was both comfortable and strained up until you'd gotten in bed.

You were laying on his chest tracing shapes along his skin while he stroked your back soothingly. "Hey Rafe," you spoke softly looking up at him. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"I thought of something you could do to make my birthday up to me, at least a little bit."

He opened his eyes looking down at you lovingly. "What is it? Name anything and I'll make it happen."

You bit your lip to try and suppress your devilish smile while climbing on top of him in a straddle position. Leaning in close, your lips ghosted his as you whispered, "How about some belated birthday sex?"

part 5

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[rosetheex-editor]

[Video transcript begin.]

[The transcript begins from a bedroom floor, someone can be heard hammering nails into something. Before propping the phone up to show a metal torso, with one arm. And a lady sitting on the floor. The woman doesn't speak but a voice is heard in the background.]

?: Rose? How long have you been up?

[Voice identified: Henry.]

[The other person responds with something out of frame, causing Henry to gasp.]

H: ROSE YOU HAVEN'T SLEPT? YOU SHOULD HAVE ISN'T PR COMING OVER TODAY?

[A sharp knock can be heard, along with giggling.]

[The other person speaks pointing at the metal torso. Her voice sounding like it was put through a cheese grater.]

R: h- hide buddy…

H: Yep.

[Rose grabs the phone and slowly gets up, grabbing two crutches before moving to the door.]

R: o- ow… my throat…

[Rose opens the door slowly.]

[Behind the door stands a group of women. All smiling. Ness is there with the leader, who happens to also be the tallest.]

?: OMG! Hey girl!

[Voice identified: Ophelia.]

R: tall…

?: Yeah… she's very tall and a lesbian… Brain why?

[Voice identified: Ness.]

R: n- nobody in… pr is straight.

O: Damn straight! I mean. Um. Damn gay!

[Ophelia giggles, the volume of her voice increasing. Seemingly by accident.]

O: So! May I come in?

?: Before you do, can I just say, Rose. Your voice sounds like shit.

[Voice identified: Eden.]

O: Eden! Be nice!

R: hi… evely-

[Rose cuts herself off, Ness looking worried by the second.]

R: eden.

Ed: Yeah. Thanks for getting it right this time.

[Eden clacks her teeth together, showing off the fangs that had sunk into Rose’s arm just over a month ago.]

R: t- that reminds me…

[Rose lifts her arm into frame, slowly removing the bandages and showing the scar to the PR members and Ness.]

R: s- still alive bitch

?: Woah! Eden, you can just. Give scars like that now? Awesome!

[Voice registered, awaiting name…]

Ed: Oh, shut up, Becky!

[Name registered: Becky.]

Be: Fine! We’ll be talking about this later though. That’s cool as fuck!

R: not so… c- cool when you’re in a hospital bed… f- for almost a month.

Ed: I’d do it again in a heartbeat, dicknips.

R: a- and i'd be happy to bash… y- your fuckin head in bitchlips.

O: Okay, I totally love mixing swears together as much as the next gal, but we have a few things to work out, don’t we?

R: eden… isn't coming in.

Ne: Rose just.

R: Eden. i- isn't. coming. i- in.

Ed: I didn’t want to, anyway. Lived here for weeks, I’ve seen enough.

[Before anyone can delay her entry any longer, Ophelia steps in, grabbing Ness and Becky, pulling them in after her. Her grip on Ness’ arm is tighter than her grip on Becky’s hand.]

Ne: OW! Ophelia my arm-

O: So! Where’s Adam? I’ve been so curious about him since I heard about the little guy!

R: d- don't know. nice dress tho-

[Rose is cut off by Henry screaming and a cat meowing.]

H: MY TOE!!!!

R: i- ignore him. nice dress ophelia.

O: Aw! Thank you! I actually… Oh, where is my bag! Adelia? Where’s my suitcase?

[A distant voice is heard, presumably Adelia.]

Ad: Right here girl! Sorry, I had some trouble with it.

[A suitcase is rolled into the apartment. Ophelia grabs it and opens it up. Revealing a ton of shopping bags.]

O: I felt bad about taking Ness out of the country without permission. So I got you some things to make up for it!

[Ophelia beams at Rose. Almost eerily. But the rest of her face and tone is friendly.]

R: n- none of this is gonna… spy on me right?

O: Of course not!

R: a- and speaking of ness… i… s- see y'all gave her… a b- bit of a makeover?

O: Yep! She bought that on her own, though. Amazing what a Showfall company card can buy you!

[Rose turns to only face Ness, She has on a long purple dress with red roses, a red bow is placed on her short green hair. as well a fancy necklace is placed around her neck.]

R: y- you good ness?

Ne: Oh yeah! They took care of me, don't worry! Right Ophelia?

O: For sure! Yeah! Ness was a great addition to girls night.

R: d- don't hurt her and… m- maybe if you want she can tag-

[Rose is cut off by another scream, causing her to scream in return.]

R: GIVE ME A MINUTE!

[Rose coughs.]

R: keep her safe… she c- can tag along again i guess… just don't hurt her.

O: Of course, Rose. Why would we ever hurt her?

H: ROSE IT’S ON MY FOOT!

R: give me a minute!

Ne: Wait what's on henry's-

[Rose sets her phone on a counter in a way everyone is visible, before running off.]

Ne: -foot.

O: She’s nice!

[Ophelia elbows Ness, a smug grin on her face.]

Ne: Ow! what was that for!

[Ness laughs, clearly joking.]

O: You’ve gotta shoot your shot, girl!

Ne: WHA- I- UM-

[Ness' face turns a bright red, she hides it in her arms.]

Ne: I… was already gonna do that actually.

O: Well hurry it up, buttercup! You’re going to lose her to some other girl if you don’t act fast!

Ne: I WAS GONNA DO IT TONIGHT-

[Ness cuts herself off before falling to the ground, As soon as that happens A brick comes flying through the window being caught by Ophelia. Attached is a piece of paper.]

[Ophelia stares at it, before showing it to Ness.]

O: Look. Seems like your secret admirer wants to give you a gift.

Ne: 'You won't get the chance, you'll lose your head'? What the fuck?

O: Oh well. Doesn’t matter.

[Ophelia grabs the note and shoves it into her mouth. Swallowing it.]

Ne: God… I really hope y'all find this person… But um yeah… I was gonna give Rose a literal Rose tonight and do this whole thing…

O: Awww! That's so adorbs! Let’s get this wrapped up so you can go do that, eh?

[Rose can be heard sighing.]

R: s- sorry… a project of mine… f- fell on henry's foot.

Ne: IS HE OK???

R: y- yeah… laying with luna right now.

Be: Hate to interrupt. But… Adam? Can we see him?

[A man sneaks far behind the women, fire extinguisher in hand.]

Be: And Leon, you can put the fire extinguisher down.

?: How the fuck?

[Voice identified: Leon.]

Be: Hey! These enhancements aren’t just for show!

[She motions to her mechanical antennae.]

R: ugh… I'll get him. he's not moving though.

O: Wonderful, bring him here.

[Rose slowly walks out of frame, returning after almost a minute with Adam.]

R: h- here… j- just don't hurt him.

[Before Ophelia can take the arm, a robotic voice rings out through the apartment.]

?: CALIBRATION COMPLETE.

[Voice identified: Adam.]

O: Oh?

R: ADAM?

A: VIRUS WIPED. POWERING ON.

[The arm whirs into motion. Moving each individual part one at a time. Before turning to face Ophelia.]

R: ADAM OH MY GOD YOUR BAC-

[Rose's voice stops as she enters a coughing fit, coughing blood visible on her bottom lip.]

A: You.

O: Hm?

[Adam lunges at Ophelia, wrapping himself around her neck. She yelps in surprise.]

R: a- adam no! stop!

[Ness tries to remove Adam only to fail.]

R: ADAM GET OFF!

[Rose coughs some more.]

Ne: ADAM ROSE IS HURT! GET SOME WATER!

[Ophelia laughs, seemingly unaffected by Adam’s attack. Until he curls the tips of his fingers inwards, and she stops laughing. Instead grabbing for the base of the prosthetic.]

R: DON'T HURT HI-

[Rose coughs even more.]

Ne: Adam now!

[Ophelia yanks the arm off of her neck, red now dripping from a few spots down onto her dress, she pouts a little, and holds Adam away from her.]

R: d- DON'T YOU DAR-

[Rose makes a noise that barely sounds human, Ness turns pale and starts screaming at the people in the room.]

Ne: I'LL GET THE FIRST AID KIT ONE OF Y'ALL JUST GET HER SOME WATER!

[Ness runs out of the room.]

O: Now, what was that for?

A: You know. Bitch.

R: a- adam… what are you talking about…

A: PR. Virus.

[Ophelia rolls her eyes. And stares at Adam, smiling slightly.]

O: You’re upset about that? Jeez, dude! Way to hold a fuckin’ grudge!

R: adam. bat.

[Rose slowly stands up, using her hand to wipe the blood from her mouth.]

O: Don’t.

R: w- what's stopping me?

A: Me. Sit. I need to. Converse.

R: f- fine…

A: Thank you.

O: I feel a little goofy holding you up like this. Can I put you down or are you going to attack me again?

A: Please place me down.

O: Alright.

[The arm is set down, Ophelia tilts xer head at him.]

A: Why.

O: Why what?

A: Why put the virus. In there.

O: Buddy, I don’t know the reasoning, I’m not the one who did it.

A: Caused me to hurt. People. Immensely. Why would you do that.

O: I’m trying to think like Cass, here. A distraction? But from what? Hm. Yeah, I have no clue.

R: j- just a guess… m- maybe from… eden

O: Maybe. But you don’t have to say her name with such disgust, Rose. That’s mean. She was just doing her job, you know.

R: i… t- trusted her… t- thought of her like m- maybe a sibling… a- and she put me in the… h- hospital for almost a month.

O: That’s on you for doing that, girl. There were tons of people warning you. I remember seeing all of that and sweating bullets, but you just wouldn’t believe them.

R: i… i g- guess i've always… d- done that…

O: Mhm. You need to trust people way less. I learned that the hard way 75 years ago. Anyway. Adam. I have no idea what to tell you, dude.

A: Liar.

O: Hm.

[She leans in, and whispers something that the phone can’t pick up. Her volume lowering to a near silence. Despite being metal, Adam seems to tense up.]

A: I hope you explode.

O: Alright, man. Uh, so… can I get some water? Please? If you wouldn’t mind.

[A friendly smile can be seen plastered on her face, she looks directly at Rose. For just a second too long. And then looks back at her suitcase.]

O: Oh! Right! Gifts! Hold on, I’ll get them out!

[Rose continues coughing, out of frame enough where it isn't visible what's happening. She speaks, her voice now even more messed up.]

R: f- fine. g- get a glass… g- get the tupperware of food… too.

O: Alright!

[Ophelia bends down to rummage through the suitcase with one arm, and the other extends over to the cupboard, which is fairly far away, and out of frame. The tap can be heard turning on. A few moments later, it turns off, and her arm retracts with a glass of water in hand.]

Be: I keep forgetting you can do that. Scares the shit out of me every time.

O: Ha! Yeah, sorry, Becks! Now, where did I put that…

[Ophelia pulls out a few bags. And hands them to Rose, not getting up.]

O: Open it! I made sure to get you something you’d like.

R: g- give me a second…

[Rose seemingly points at something out of frame.]

O: Do you need help cleaning that up? I’m an expert, you know. I’d be happy to clear all of that up for you.

R: w- we have a mop… w- where? uhhhhhh s- shit where did dad… put the mop…

[Ophelia looks at Rose for a few seconds, her expression softening for a small moment, before snapping right back into place. xe gets up and starts looking for the mop.]

R: d- don't worry about it… j- just… i- I'll open the bags…

[Rose opens the bags one by one, pulling out multiple shirts and jackets. Each one looking as if they were taken from the 80s and 90s, many of them having pastel colors. Rose sets them back in the bag before slowly standing up.]

R: t- thanks… i guess…

O: Do you like them? I really hope you do, I’d feel terrible if they weren’t to your liking.

R: i… like them…

[Rose coughs again, this time the blood falling from her mouth is visible. As Ness walks back into frame.]

Ne: Hey adam. Uh Ophelia I got the first aid kit.

O: Thanks!

[Zey extend their arm to Ness, grabbing the first aid kit, and retracting it back. Beginning to bandage her neck.]

O: Today’s visit has been wonderful, thank you for having me over!

Ne: Um… Did anyone get Rose water? Like I asked?

O: I took care of it, don’t worry.

[Rose drops to the floor again, the coughing continuing.]

R: s- son of a BITCH!

Be: Ooooh. That doesn't look good. Does she have tuberculosis? We have a bit of experience with that. Remember when Cass had it? That wasn’t fun.

Ne: No um… I actually don't know…

R: n- none of your business… j- just know s- showfall t- tried and f- failed… t- to get me back…

O: Hm. Ness, keep an eye on her, not like you haven’t been, but… yeah.

Ne: I mean… It probably doesn't help that she screamed bloody murder for god knows how long… When Edgar… Y'know and um…

O: We should get going, but before we do, I have another thing for you guys!

[Xe takes another bag out, and places it on the counter, closing her suitcase. Before rummaging around and grabbing a tupperware container. She takes a step towards the door.]

Ne: What's that?

O: We forgot you didn’t have your ears pierced… so we got these. They’re real diamonds, by the way. So don’t lose them!

Ne: Huh?

Be: Ophelia, you can tell them upfront!

O: But that’s no fun!

Be: Ugh. We got you diamond earrings, but we forgot you don’t have your ears pierced. So we had to get you the necklace.

Ne: Oh um…

[Rose can be heard seemingly talking to herself.]

R: m- mai… y- you really couldn't wire anything right… i said that outloud…

O: That’s a little deeper than I want to go today! There’s a few more pieces of jewelry in there, too. Just as a fun treat. Some of that stuff is from my own jewelry box!

Ne: Oh um… Thanks!

O: Only the best for our very own honorary PR member! Now, we should really get going, have fun, you two!

[With that, the PR members finally leave the apartment, their giggling can be heard retreating down the hall, along with a few giddy shrieks. Possibly from gossip. They finally fade. Leon stands up straight, having been crouched in the corner for the whole visit.]

Le: ‘Honorary PR member’? Ness. You have some explaining to do.

Ne: I know I know! Right now can one of y'all get Rose her medicine while I find the mop?

Le: Alright. [Aside.] Coast is clear! Y’all can come out now!

[Leon goes to rummage through some cabinets while Liam and Katherine emerge from a room.]

R: h- hi… m- mom… l- liam…

?: Hey, I heard the commotion from in there, are you okay?

[Voice identified: Katherine.]

[Liam waves, but says nothing.]

R: B- besides the blood… and whatever e- else… y- yeah… j- just wish that wasn't one of the side effects from… y'know the night that task m- manager tried to get me back…

K: I know, you’re going to be fine, though. You’re going to have some medicine, and maybe a bit of rest. Alright?

R: a- alright… i w- was… working on buddy all n- night so…

Ne: [Distant.] Who the fuck is "Buddy"?

R: r- robot me and henry a- are… w- working on for sparrow…

[Katherine walks over and picks up Adam.]

K: You’ve caused a lot of panic in this apartment, you know.

A: Do not. Focus on me. Other issues. All software and hardware is in perfect condition.

Le: Found it!

[Leon walks back into frame and hands something to Rose.]

R: t- thanks…

[Rose takes something out of the bottle, presumably medicine.]

R: s- soda?

Le: Won’t the carbonation hurt your throat?

R: d- damnit… kool-aid?

Le: Yeah, of course. I can do that.

[Leon walks back out of frame. Just as Liam walks over with a piece of paper.]

R: 'I’m g- glad the blond one wasn’t here. b- but I don’t like that any of them were in here in the first place… t- they killed my dad. I d- don’t like them'… i k- know liam… i k- know…

Ne: [Distant.] Sorry about all of that by the way…

[Without saying anything, Liam hugs Rose. Then retreats back into his room.]

R: i… feel so b- bad for l- liam… g- god…

Le: Yeah. He’s just a kid. He hasn’t even graduated… high school– FUCK WAIT. HE HASN’T BEEN GOING TO SCHOOL.

R: o- oh… fuck…

Le: LIAM. PLEASE TELL ME YOU WERE HOMESCHOOLED OR SOMETHING. PLEASE TELL ME WE HAVEN’T MADE YOU MISS MONTHS OF SCHOOL.

[Liam’s hand pokes out of the room in a thumbs down.]

Le: FUCK! SHIT! WE NEED TO–

K: Leon, calm. It’ll be fine.

R: i n- never got… t- to graduate… a- and i turned out f- fine.

[Liam pokes his head out, a neutral expression on his face. He goes back in and then returns with another note. A linear equation written out on it. He hands it to Rose.]

R: s- seven times five… equals fifteen… um… um…

Le: Rose.

R: Um… x equals… um…

[Liam grabs the paper, and writes something down on it. Showing it to Rose.]

R: I WOULD’VE GOTTEN IT!

[Rose coughs again.]

R: ow.

[Liam shakes his head, then walks over to Leon, the two of them having a conversation via Liam’s paper. It fades into the background.]

[Ness runs in with the mop and a bucket.]

Ne: Katherine I'm really sorry about PR coming in I swear on m-

[Ness cuts herself off.]

Ne: On Mari's mother. I didn’t mean for any of that!

K: It’s fine. We’re just mad that you let them take you to the fucking Bahamas without even CHECKING IN FIRST.

Ne: In my defense. Alcohol blood loss and 5 hours of sleep do NOT mix well.

K: The hell even happened on that trip?

Ne: Apparently I sang 'Copacabana' on top of a table… Uh I don't remember much else.

K: I’m going to guess we’ll get a detailed description from one of them on that blog.

Ne: Yeah probably… Um…

[Ness shows Katherine her hand, missing ring finger and all.]

Ne: That happened.

[Katherine shrieks, grabbing Ness’ arm and inspecting it.]

K: What the fuck did they do? Was this during the trip? Is it infected?

Ne: Me and Eden got in a fight in the park. I'll explain if you ask. No. And also no.

Le: Oh yeah! There was a transcript!

[Katherine turns to where Leon’s voice was heard from, a look of disbelief on her face.]

K: This is why you shouldn’t confiscate my phone, LEON. I would’ve liked to know about that!

Le: Sorry!

Ne: I did more damage to her than she did to me… Stabbed her with a spear and almost broke her nose.

K: Your finger is missing! We– hold on, what's in that bag on the counter? Have you opened it yet?

Ne: No? But Ophelia said it was filled with jewelry.

K: I… we should open it, I think.

[She grabs the bag and opens it after walking back over to Ness. She yelps, and nearly drops the whole thing. Shoving the bag into Ness’ hands.]

Ne: What?

[Ness looks in the bag and slowly turns her head.]

Ne: Oh… There’s my finger…

Le: Guess it’s not missing, then! Sorry.

K: Of course they’d do that.

[A loud metal crash coming from one of the rooms, followed by a cat meowing.]

H: [Distant.] Buddy fell again!

Ne: WE'RE BUSY!

K: HENRY GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE. NESS IS MISSING A FINGER.

H: BUDDY FELL ON MY FOOT I CAN'T WALK!

K: IT CAN’T BE THAT FUCKING HEAVY, CAN IT?

R: t- torso is like… a foot tall i think? and made of three inch thick metal… s- so yes it can.

K: Henry, you’re weak as fuck. You can walk. Don’t make me drag you out here.

[Henry walks into frame with a limp, His hair is messed up and his eyes are red.]

H: What?

K: Ness is missing a fucking finger!

H: Oh god damnit… Ness what school jock did you piss off this time?

Ne: I DIDN'T PISS OFF A JOCK THIS TIME! EDEN BIT IT OFF! Damn you get into one-

[Henry cuts Ness off with a cough.]

H: You went to the school nurse almost every day FOR A WHOLE SCHOOL YEAR! fighting the school football team. It was more than one.

Le: I had a friend like that back in the 80s!

K: Who?

Le: … Do I really need to say.

R: d- dad?

Le: Yeah, it was always something with that guy. One time he broke a water fountain after tripping into it. They gave him ice and he was back in class within 30 minutes.

Ne: Sounds like edgar. Anyway this is nothing! One time one of the members of the school football team hit me so hard into a locker, Like three of my ribs cracked!

K: Ness you’re missing a finger.

Ne: I still have nine more!

K: God, you guys are impossible! Since you won’t take your injury seriously, let’s change the damn topic before I bite one of them off. What day did you say those tickets were for?

Ne: The 28th? O H S H I T-

R: i- I'll get changed… e- end the transcript. wait… that's not the command…

Le: Wh– did you have one going on PURPOSE?

R: n- nope. i just know it's recording… b- because when the fuck is it not?

A: On. it.

[Adam skitters up to the phone.]

A: Goodbye chat.

[Transcript end.]

[queennicoleinboots]

Hatari 2024

(sequel to "Patches' Nightmare")

Garfield, Kissy, Nugget, Patches, and Peter greeted me as Kurt ushered me away from Queen Megen Ace, King Bruce Ace's wife, not the Queen Megen that was going to appear in the future and take over the catering operation. Garfield, Patches, and Kissy meowed a few times. Nugget barked several times.

"What the fuck do these cats want?!" King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear screamed. "What does that dog want?!"

"God only knows-" Lindsay started to say.

Someone called King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear's number. He picked up the phone. "Hello?!"

"Is this King Simmons?" some goofy man asked slowly. He sounded like a country version of Scooby Doo.

"No. You have the wrong number," King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear said flatly as he stared straight ahead.

"Are you sure? I'm looking for KING SIMMONS," the country Scooby Doo repeated.

"Yes I'm sure! Get yo country ass off my fuckin' phone!" King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear shouted before he turned his phone into a chocolate bar. He ate that chocolate bar.

Garfield and Kissy meowed a few times. Nugget barked several times. Patches meowed a long meow.

"I fed them! I gave them water! I hosed their shit and piss off in a landfill! What the fuck do they want?! Vanille! Pet Garfield, please! He's meowing near me!" King Napoleon-covered Cherry Gummy Bear screamed.

I rubbed up against Garfield and said, "Quit! I'm busy!"

Peter bleated loudly. Nugget barked again.

"Happy Relationship Day, and Happy Fucking Birthday, Uncle Evan!" I screamed before I growled at him.

My Uncle Evan, a short man with a bald head, a gray goatie, gray eyes, and a pointy nose appeared with a huge pot of spaghetti and meatballs. "Thank you. I brought spaghetti and meatballs," he said in a pleasant voice.

"Oh sure! This gentleman gets a birthday on the same day as Relationship Day. Fuck it. I'm eating rice," Cody said as he walked toward us before he walked away from us backwards. He added turkey and gravy to his rice and ate again. Hot damn that dog was hungry.

"Did you bring chicken nuggets?" Nugget asked Uncle Evan.

"Yes, I brought chicken nuggets. I remembered to do that after I yelled at the yellow spoon that refused to go in the goddamn drawer for 20 fucking minutes," Uncle Evan said in a flat tone. "Fuck that shit. It can stay on the floor."

A clone of Uncle Evan walked like a robot and brought a 20"x12" pan of chicken nuggets to us.

Peter bleated before he trotted away and started eating many leaves from the trees. He was bleating between bites.

Elephants were making their own holiday commotion. They were arguing, stomping, drinking water, and eating.

John Wayne shot at them.

The elephants bellowed in unison one more time before they traveled together to another watering hole to continue to bitch.

"Ugh. The holidays are dramatic enough. We don't need the elephants to add to the drama that is Relationship Day and family gatherings," John Wayne commented. He reloaded his shotgun. "This shit is a fucking joke, bro."

A rhino ran at us and wanted more drama.

Nugget and Lindsay took the pan from the clone of Uncle Evan and ate the nuggets.

The rhino ran past Nugget and Lindsay.

"Sis, I'm sorry for causing you issues earlier. There was too much bullshit going on during the Christmas holidays," Nugget said.

"I forgive you," Lindsay said as she fed him a chicken nugget.

Patches meowed with joy.

"Hot dammit," John Wayne said as he shot at the rhino. "I can't get away from it. He's a big one. Take your time with him, Pockets!"

"Yes, Bwana. I'll be careful, Bwana," Pockets said as he chased the rhino around while doing a monkey walk. Pockets was a literal circus clown without the outfit, hair, and make-up.

The rhino chased Kurt around.

"You're supposed to chase HIM around," John Wayne said.

"Tell him that!" Kurt screamed as he climbed the same tree Peter was eating off of.

"Casa Camba!" Pockets screamed at the rhino.

"Casa Camba!"John Wayne also screamed at the rhino.

"RILEY!" I sang. "The Ace of Riddling," I added.

Riley the Ace of Riddling scarfed the remainder of the turkey and rice from the table before barking 28 times. Then, he went out of his way to exist elsewhere and eat chicken nuggets. Duke the Ace of Dodging barked 28 times and followed him before eating a huge turkey leg. Nugget continued to eat chicken nuggets.

"Crazy ass dogs," Peter said as he shook his head and bleated. "I wish Tug were here. He was normal."

Then we heard a familiar howl as a familiar basenji charged up near the tree where Kurt and Peter were located.

"TUG! You have returned!" Peter said with an excited bleat.

"Hello, Dad," Tug said as he wrapped his body around Peter's leg. "Happy Birthday, Uncle Evan!"

"Thanks, Tug! Would you like some spaghetti and meatballs and chicken nuggets?!" Uncle Evan asked.

"YEAH I WOULD!" Tug shouted as he raced over to my uncle.

Uncle Evan then poured the spaghetti and meatballs onto a plate, and the mountain of spaghetti and meatballs grew so high that it consumed all of us.

Nugget floated above the spaghetti and meatball mountain and spun in a circle in the sky. An angel played with Nugget's black curly tail, and Nugget spun around and chased the angel and his own tail. He barked repeatedly in the process of spinning. He spun so fast that the spaghetti and meatball mountain unraveled and opened a portal to the sixth dimension.

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[arrowflier]

I absolutely loved your last ficlet, the one inspired by Take Me to Church (well, I love EVERYTHING you write), so I'm here with a thought that maybe you can turn into something:

What if, for some reason, Mickey has to speak in Ukrainian (your pick why, maybe directions to tourists or a phone call with a distant relative) and Ian witnesses it and just goes: 😳🤯🤤🥵😍, followed by "can you do that again when we're in bed"?

Thank you anon! Disclaimer that I do not know Ukrainian, so if google led me astray I apologize.

That Foreign Tongue

They were out in the rig, on their way to a pickup, when Mickey got a call.

He fumbled in his pocket to pull out his phone, frowned at it in consternation as it blared.

“Who the fuck?” he mumbled to himself, then swiped to decline.

Ian looked over as he pulled to the curb outside their destination, curious.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” was all he got in answer. “Not a fuckin’ Chicago number, that’s for sure. Not New York, either,” he added before Ian can check. Mandy wasn’t great at staying in contact, but they knew to answer if it looked like it could be her.

Ian shrugged, and reached back to grab the cash bag from behind Mickey’s seat.

“Sure it wasn’t Mexico or something?” he prodded with a forced casualness, and Mickey rolled his eyes as he shoved open the door to get out.

He met Ian around the front of the ambulance, and promptly poked him in the chest, hard.

“What was that for?” Ian asked, wounded, and Mickey clicked his tongue.

“For still fuckin’ fishin’ about that,” he told his husband. “It’s been two fucking years, let it go already.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ian huffed. “Sorry for wanting to know more about what you did down there that has people calling in the middle of the—”

“That was one time!” Mickey exclaimed, arms going wide. “One fucking time, and I told you what it was about! Roberto needed me to check on his damn kid, it had nothing to do with—”

“Well how was I supposed to know that,” Ian interrupted loudly, “when you were speaking a whole different language?”

“Oh, for the love of…” Mickey trailed off as he stormed away from Ian down the sidewalk.

He wasn’t really mad. They did this song and dance around once a month, still, ever since one of his old contacts had found him and called him up. It stuck in Ian’s craw that Mickey had had people down there, without him, even though, as he explained to him once, he was glad about it at the same time. They both knew it didn’t really matter—sometimes it just needed to come out.

Sure enough, Ian caught up with him after only a few strides, falling in beside him naturally. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but otherwise there was no indication of their brief argument.

Mickey gave him two minutes before he tried to smooth it over.

Ian didn’t last one.

“You know,” his husband started, reaching up to scratch at his jaw. “I’m just making sure none of those foreigners come up here and take what’s mine.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah?” he prompted. “Think they’re coming for our jobs and our husbands, now?”

Ian’s lips lifted in a grin, their banter back on track the way they liked it.

“I mean,” he said, “I can’t really blame them.” He grabbed Mickey by the arm and brought them both to a stop right outside their drop, tugging him close enough for their boots to kick together on the pavement.

“A hot, red-blooded American man like yourself,” Ian murmured, getting his arms around Mickey’s waist. “You’re quite the catch, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Mmm,” Mickey hummed, leaning up to bring their faces closer. “That right, Mr. Milkovich?”

He was just about to follow it up with a good old-fashioned make-up kiss, when his phone blared again from his pocket.

“Damn it,” he hissed as he thumped his heels back down and dug it out again. This time, he answered it immediately.

“Whoever the fuck you are,” he shouted into it, “you’re interruptin’ something here.”

An unfamiliar voice came down the line, barely audible to Ian where he still stood close but with a clearly chastising tone, and the fight went out of Mickey in an instant.

“Prīvіt,” Mickey muttered, looking almost bashful, and Ian did a double-take. That wasn’t English, or Spanish…he had to try and listen in on a third language, now? When did Mickey even find the time to learn this shit?

Ian watched silently as Mickey listened to whoever was on the line. His husband had folded into himself, holding the phone to his ear with one hand and his elbow with the other, casting a quick glance up at Ian before turning his attention away again.

“Shcho novogo?” he asked into the phone, and then a brilliant smile crossed his face a moment later. “Dobre, dobre,” he said, then “vitayu”.

It sounded like the caller asked him a question, next, but Ian couldn’t hear what Mickey answered, his husband lowering his voice and turning his back. Ian tried not to let himself feel hurt at the sudden shut-out.

A moment later, the call was over with a quiet “do pobachenn'a”, and Mickey faced him again.

Ian wanted to ask, but he waited instead, hoping Mickey would explain. Thankfully, he did.

“So, uh,” he started off nervously. “That was my…like, my great-aunt or something?”

Ian could feel his eyebrows rising. “You have family you still talk to?” he asked, and Mickey shook his head immediately.

“Nah, not really,” he admitted. “But this one, she’s back in Ukraine still, guess she calls around sometimes to check on me and Mandy.” He looked down at the dark screen of his phone, lips twisted. “Been a couple years,” he added. “Didn’t think she had the new number, but uh. Guess one of my cousins just had a kid or somethin', so she wanted to catch up.”

Family was a touchy subject, Ian knew. So he went for the next obvious question instead.

“Ukraine? That mean you speak Ukrainian?”

Mickey just looked at him. “No, Ian,” he offered dryly, “I just thought I’d make some weird sounds and see if she could read my mind from across the fuckin’ ocean.” Ian didn’t respond, so he tacked on, “Yes, I speak Ukrainian. Sort of.” He rubbed his nose, looked away and back. “That gonna be a problem for you?”

It was a fair enough question. But this wasn’t like the Spanish, which was never really the problem anyway. It wasn’t a reminder of time they spent apart, or things he didn’t now. It was just Mickey. And Mickey's voice, and the way it rolled over those unfamiliar phrases so cleanly, so...attractively.

“Not at all,” Ian clarified quickly. Too quickly, maybe, because Mickey’s cautious look gave way to a slow smile.

“Oh, really?” Mickey said, apparently delighted. He grinned even wider when Ian felt his face flush. So his husband sounded hot in other languages, fucking sue him.

“Better watch out, man," Mickey warned. "I hear foreigners like me are out huntin’ down men like you nowadays.”

Ian cleared his throat, and closed the distance between them again. “And that’s a problem how?” he asked.

“Didn’t say it was, miy cholovik,” Mickey murmured lowly, raising a hand to grip at Ian’s hair once he was close enough. Ian’s breath caught at the soft look on his eyes that accompanied the foreign words.

“What does that mean?”

Mickey pressed their lips together once, twice, before pulling back just enough to answer.

“Nothing bad, moye sontse,” he breathed, and Ian shuddered.

“We have a job to do,” he reminded Mickey weakly, like he hadn’t been the one to start this. “You keep saying that weird shit, we’re gonna have to cancel all our pickups today.”

“You better make some calls then, miy kokhanets,” Mickey chuckled against his lips. “But first…”

He pushed Ian back into a convenient alley right next to their original destination, shoving until they hit the rough brick wall. Ian didn’t protest as Mickey started to tug at his camo jacket, getting the zipper down far enough to mouth at Ian’s neck.

“Ya tebe kokhayu, Ian” Mickey muttered against his skin, pressing tighter as Ian clutched at his back. “Let me show you how much.”

--

Hours later, at home, Ian asked Mickey what else his aunt had said.

"Oh, not much," Mickey answered, snuggling closer. "Wanted to see if we could catch a flight sometime, go visit the old country, that kind of thing."

"Is that something you'd want to do?" he prodded, and Mickey shrugged, shoulders moving against Ian's chest.

"I guess," he said, unconvincingly disinterested. "I'd have to teach you the language, though, none of my mom's folks speak English."

Ian's brain ground to a halt. If the day had been any indication, he wasn't sure he could survive language lessons with his husband.

But never let it be said that Ian Gallagher backed down from a challenge.

"Sure," he agreed, and he was sure of one thing when he felt Mickey smile against his neck--it was going to be the best worst decision of his life.

--

According to my admittedly poor research, Mickey basically says hi, what's up, good, congrats, goodbye, then calls Ian my husband, my sun, my lover and says I love you. It's most likely all horribly butchered because I only speak English and a tiny bit of German, if you know Ukrainian I would happily take correction.

[leiascully]

Fic: Citius, Altius, Fortius (MSR, T)

This ficlet is dedicated to the commercial about the adopted Paralympian that makes me sniffly every time.  I don’t even know what they’re advertising.  All credit to AAVE for the “hip” slang Mulder uses and basically all cutting-edge words in American English.

The Olympic theme was more of a suggestion than a fanfare, but Scully still leaned forward and turned the volume down a few more notches.  She could feel Mulder giving her that crinkly-eyed smile.  She knew the remote worked just fine over the distance between the tv and the couch, but it felt like it worked better when she leaned.  It was like Jackson and his video games, a sympathetic movement.

“I don’t want to wake Gracie,” she said.

“Good plan,” Mulder said, and put his arm comfortably around her shoulders as she leaned back.  Jackson snorted and looked away, but peeked back at them to check in.  Scully was glad she was there for him, the Ginger from his journals, she and Mulder solid presences in his life, bracketed by the ghosts of his adoptive parents.

“I didn’t think you two would buy into all this jingoistic shit,” Jackson said.

“We are still employed by the United States federal government,” Scully pointed out.

“They’re basically our coworkers when it comes to repping the flag,” Mulder said laconically.  “Gotta respect the hustle.  Besides, compared to a lot of national anthems, ours kinda slaps.”

Jackson winced, predictably, at Mulder’s attempt to use slang.  Scully sensed Mulder mentally adding a few tallies to his side of the imaginary scoreboard.  It was all so sweetly familiar, a song she hummed in her dreams.

“Still,” Jackson said.  “It’s all so fuckin’ rah-rah America.  I thought you knew better.  Like you said, you work for the government.  You know all the shit they pull.”

“For two weeks every two years, I support the finest athletes that wealth, health, grueling training, and the opportunities inherent in living in the country possessing the world’s largest economy can produce,” Mulder said, a trace of irony audible in his voice.  “And also anyone competing against Russia.”

“It’s a distraction from all the shitty things happening in the world,” Jackson said.

“It’s a damn good one,” Mulder countered.  “At least they’re not supersoldiers.”

“Some of them might be,” Jackson grumbled.

“Those abs,” Mulder said, sounding a little mournful.  He patted his stomach.  “I should have gone for the upgrade when I had the chance.”

“When I was little,” Scully said slowly, “my mother would tell me that the prowess of Olympic athletes was proof that God loved us.  She said that their bodies were miracles.  I don’t think about it exactly the same way now, but there is something almost holy about that quest to go farther and faster than anyone else ever has.  In a sense, we fly without wings.  We climb higher than we thought we could.  We run faster and farther than early humans imagined.  We lift heavier burdens.  We test our nerve and our resolve in feats of endurance.  We subject our bodies to almost-unbearable forces and conditions.  We test the laws of physics, twisting in the air or gliding over the ice.  For a moment, we defy expectation, gravity, and in a sense, mortality.  The athletes of the Olympics show us the potential of the human body and the human spirit in a way that our daily lives don’t, and we feel like we are there with them as we perch on the edges of our seats, our bodies echoing their movements as if we could lend them our strength.  It’s possible that sometimes a distraction is a welcome respite.  For a short time, the world is focused on something other than war.  Many of the results may be predictable, but astonishing things happen and we learn to expect the unexpected.  Athletes from nations and peoples that have been overlooked and exploited dazzle us.  A runner falls and someone pulls them up.  Someone may shatter their leg and because of that tragedy, someone else realizes their lifelong dream.  The Olympics are a microcosm of our own attempts to strive for perfection, a supercondensed spectacle that reminds us of all our potential.  In pitting us against the people of other nations, the Olympics somehow unite us in the pursuit of a singular goal, reached by various paths: a gold medal, and the accolades of an awestruck world.”

“I love it when you give a dissertation on everyday life,” Mulder murmured, kissing under her ear.

“A spectacle that displaces the people who are already the most fucked-over,” Jackson said, but there was a little less disdain in his words.  “A profit machine for corporations and a propaganda outlet for governments.  It’s a slippery slope from athletic superiority to eugenics.  Only the strong survive.”

“George Orwell said that athletic competitions were essentially a proxy for war games,” Mulder told her.  She craned her head to look at him.

“I thought you liked the Olympics.”

“I do,” he said, “but Jack has a point.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Jackson said.

“I wasn’t saying the Olympics are perfect,” Scully argued.  “Just that they could be perceived as creating a net good.”

The broadcast cut to commercial, sentimental strings music welling quietly from the speakers.  Mulder looked away, rubbing at his eyes.  Jackson chuckled.

“It’s that easy, huh?” he said.  “All they need to get into your psyche is footage of someone winning something and some sad music, maybe a Morgan Freeman voiceover.”

“Wait until you get old,” Mulder said.  “Then you’ll be welling up at every Visa commercial.  These ads are designed by experts in psychological warfare.  The Olympic mindgames.”

“They remind us of you,” Scully told Jackson.  “You weren’t supposed to exist.  You weren’t supposed to survive.  And here you are, capable of things your father and I could never have dreamed of.”

“Whatever,” Jackson muttered, looking away and definitely not dabbing his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt.

Scully settled back into the couch.  Grace would be waking up soon - she wasn’t an Olympic-level napper - but until then, she had a moment to enjoy the half-scripted pageantry of the Games, savoring the bittersweet combination of impossible victories and unpredictable defeats.  It wasn’t unlike her own life, in a way: she’d accomplished things she’d never imagined, uncovered truths too painful to endure, run up against her own limits over and over and overcome them all to be sitting here, in her comfortable home, with her stalwart partner, dragged back from the dead, and their miraculous children.  The glint in Jackson’s eyes as he argued with Mulder was more precious to her than any medal; the sound of Grace’s sleepy sighs stirred her heart more than any anthem.  She stood atop the podium of her destiny.

She leaned her head on Mulder’s shoulder and watched the marathon swimmers cut through the water, one stroke after another, keeping themselves afloat for hours. She understood their exhaustion.  She understood their triumph.

“I like the dressage,” Jackson said unexpectedly.  “It looks like mind control if you do it right.  I’m not, like, asking for a pony.  I just think it’s cool.”

“I knew we could find some common ground,” Mulder said.  “What’s your opinion on medals for horses?”

“Horse-sized medals,” Jackson said immediately.  “Bankrupt the IOC.”

“That’s your son,” Scully told him.

“No denying it,” Mulder said in a smug voice.  The broadcast changed to gymnastics and they all sat forward, watching in awed silence, as history was made.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby. 

Day 4: Pink To Make The Boys Wink

Warnings: Bad Language words, SMUT (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this my second instalment for the Ransom advent collaboration between myself and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @jennmurawski13​. 

We hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist. 

 The bedroom was full of sinful moans and groans, and the debauched sound of skin slapping on skin as Ransom’s hands curled around your hips, pulling you down onto him, thrusting upwards to meet you.

“That’s it, Princess.” he panted, your head falling back in a groan as a deliciously hard thrust hit you right on your spot. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged and he suddenly sat up, drawing a gasp and a strangled cry from your mouth as his hands curled round your back, holding you to him as much as he could, his legs bent, feet planted firmly on the mattress. One hand slid up your spine and gripped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a filthy kiss as his hips continued pistoning up into you. You felt the heat beginning to rise in the low pit of your belly, the familiar sensation spreading between your legs and you moaned into his mouth.

“Ransom, I’m gonna…” your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his smooth, taught skin as you groaned again, the coil in your abdomen reaching snapping point.

“Yeah, baby, come on my cock.” He growled, his teeth nipping at your ear. “Fuck you feel so good!”

With a final loud cry, you tipped your head back as you came, hard, Ransom’s hands gripping once more on your hips as he pulled you down harder, picking up the pace racing to his end. His hips jerked, his legs twitched and his head dropped forward to your shoulder, biting down gently as he let out a groan before he stilled completely, his chest heaving. Your hands danced up his back, sliding into his hair before he pulled away and placed a soft kiss to your mouth.

“Quick enough for you?” he smirked and you scoffed, slapping his shoulder slightly as he fell backwards, tugging you with him, pivoting so you were led on your side, his cock softening inside you.

“You’re such a dick.” You said as he kissed the top of your nose.

“You love my dick.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, and my love of your dick is what got us into this.” You said, your hand taking his and pressing it to your bump. His eyes lit up, the way the always did when he felt your baby moving within your swollen belly. You knew it stoked his ego, knowing that he’d knocked you up, marked you from the inside as his, the evidence that you belong to him in every single damned way right there for everyone to see.

“Well I would say I’m sorry but that would be a total lie.” He shrugged, and with a shift of his hips he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, his hands reaching up and locking behind his head. “What time are you meeting your mom?”

“An hour.” You glanced at your phone and turned back to face him, “I should shower and stick the laundry on before I go.”

“I’ll do it, the laundry that is.” He offered, “Although I could also shower if you wanted “he added, with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

“You think you can manage it this time, without shrinking anything?” You teased, your hand resting on your bump.

“Yup.” He popped the P “Especially now you stuck the instructions to the front of the machine.”

“Always better to play it safe. Besides, you shrink another of your sweaters I’m gonna have nothing to wear.”

“I shrank one. And maybe you could try wearing your own clothes.”

“The Spawn of Satan prefers yours.” You shrugged, rubbing your bump again before you heaved yourself out of bed and padded into the en-suite. You paused and turned to face him, your naked body on full show and his eyes darkened a little as you bit your lip “Thought you wanted to shower.”

In a flash he was out of bed and stalking towards you, causing you to giggle as he kicked the bathroom door shut behind him.

*****

Whites, brights, darks…

Ransom nodded to the three piles on the floor in the laundry room and shoved the whites into the machine first, dutifully following the instructions taped to the machine. Once it was on, he headed back into the kitchen deciding that he deserved a break. Fucking his wife all the way to heaven within ten minutes flat, not to mention the after party in the shower, plus then sorting washing, loading the machine and turning it on was tiring work after all.

He made himself a coffee before he headed back into the lounge and settled down with the laptop, checking the latest Newsletter from the Country Club before he ran down the training schedule for the Polo Team that month, checking when his time slots where, not that it really mattered. If he didn’t particularly like a slot he’d been given he’d just kick off until they swapped it for one he did like. Perks of being the star of the team, you got your own way…

He smirked a little as he could hear Y/N’s voice echoing in his head “Story of your life, you’re such a fuckin’ brat.”

Like he gave a shit.

His phone went off, signalling he had a text and he rolled his eyes as he saw it was from his mother, asking if she could expect him and Y/N for dinner that Sunday. Typing out a single word response- “no,”- he dropped the phone back onto the coffee table as he continued his reading, the TV fixed on some trashy talk show in the background.

He was surprised when the beeping of the machine telling him the cycle had finished hit his ears, and as he glanced at the clock he arched an eyebrow. He’d been that immersed in researching up on the youngest age kids seemed to be able to play polo, and where he could find a decent kids team, that he’d managed to actually while away almost two hours. He placed the laptop down on the couch and headed through to the laundry room, grabbing the basket from the side. Bending down, he pulled open the machined door and began to unload the items into the basket.

It wasn’t until he pulled out Y/N’s white Armani maternity dungarees that he realised something had gone horribly wrong.

“What the…” he straightened up, holding the expensive denim item up in front of him, squinting as he did so.

It looked pink!

Deciding it was the light in the room he walked into the kitchen and cursed loudly as they looked even pinker in the brighter room. He stalked back into the laundry room and began to remove the rest of the washing, and to his dismay it was all the same. His riding britches, 2 of her blouses, a few bras, panties, boxers, 2 of his dress shits, his thermal ribbed undershirt, several t-shirts, a polo shirt…

All. Fucking. Pink.

And more to the point, it had all definitely been white when he’d put it in.

Growling in frustration he tipped the washing out onto the floor and there it was, the culprit. One of Y/N’s thongs, a bright red one, poking out of the pocket of his white-now-pink corduroy trousers that he’d worn to the Fall Gala at the Country Club.

Fuck, he had totally forgotten they were in there after he’d kept them when he’d fucked Y/N in the cloak room. Unable to wait until he got her home as the sight of her in that little black dress, baby bump on show had driven him wild, he’d dragged her off for a dirty little rendezvous, and had ended up snapping the elastic around the waistband meaning they were totally useless. She’d been pissed when she realised and had to spend the rest of the night with nothing on…of course, at the time it had been a great source of amusement to him.

Now, well not so much.

He contemplated googling how to fix this, before he decided that he simply couldn’t be fucking bothered. It would likely involve some complicated soaking routine and frankly he had better things to be doing with his time.

Like researching…important…stuff. Man stuff. Man stuff for him and his baby boy.

Nonchalantly, he tossed the ruined items into the basket and set it on top of the machine with a shrug. He’d buy her some new stuff. And if she went ballistic at him over it all, then he’d just have to remind her that it was her fault her thong was in his pocket in the first place, the dirty little minx.

[wiypt-writes]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.  Day 4: Pink To Make The Boys Wink

Warnings: Bad Language words, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this all came about as myself, Sweater and Jenn saw a post about Ransom doing everyday things…and yeah, it kinda spiralled. The series will consists of one-shots and drabbles, all light hearted…and the occasional little bit of smut thrown in for your pleasure and we hope a nice countdown to Christmas after what has been an utter shit-show of a year.

We hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist. 

The bedroom was full of sinful moans and groans, and the debauched sound of skin slapping on skin as Ransom’s hands curled around your hips, pulling you down onto him, thrusting upwards to meet you.

“That’s it, Princess.” he panted, your head falling back in a groan as a deliciously hard thrust hit you right on your spot. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged and he suddenly sat up, drawing a gasp and a strangled cry from your mouth as his hands curled round your back, holding you to him as much as he could, his legs bent, feet planted firmly on the mattress. One hand slid up your spine and gripped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a filthy kiss as his hips continued pistoning up into you. You felt the heat beginning to rise in the low pit of your belly, the familiar sensation spreading between your legs and you moaned into his mouth.

“Ransom, I’m gonna…” your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his smooth, taught skin as you groaned again, the coil in your belly reaching snapping point.

“Yeah, baby, come on my cock.” He growled, his teeth nipping at your ear. “Fuck you feel so good!”

With a final loud cry, you tipped your head back as you came, hard, Ransom’s hands gripping once more on your hips as he pulled you down harder, picking up the pace racing to his end. His hips jerked, his legs twitched and his head dropped forward to your shoulder, biting down gently as he let out a groan before he stilled completely, his chest heaving. Your hands danced up his back, sliding into his hair before he pulled away and placed a soft kiss to your mouth.

“Quick enough for you?” he smirked and you scoffed, slapping his shoulder slightly as he fell backwards, tugging you with him, pivoting so you were led on your side, his cock softening inside you.

“You’re such a dick.” You said as he kissed the top of your nose.

“You love my dick.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, and my love of your dick is what got us into this.” You said, your hand taking his and pressing it to your bump. His eyes lit up, the way the always did when he felt your swollen belly. You knew it stoked his ego, knowing that he’d knocked you up, marked you from the inside as his, the evidence that you belong to he him in every single damned way right there for everyone to see.

“Well I would say I’m sorry but that would be a total lie.” He said, and with a shift of his hips he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, his hands reaching up and locking behind his head. “What time are you meeting your mom?”

“An hour.” You said, “I should shower and stick the laundry on before I go.”

“I’ll do it, the laundry that is.” He offered, “Although I could also shower if you wanted “he added, with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

“You think you can manage it this time, without shrinking anything?” You asked, your hand resting on your bump.

“Yup.” He popped the P “Especially now you stuck the instructions to the front of the machine.”

“Always better to play it safe.” You smiled “Besides, you shrink another of your sweaters I’m gonna have nothing to wear.”

“I shrank one. And maybe you could try wearing your own clothes.”

“Baby prefers yours.” You shrugged, before you heaved yourself out of bed and padded into the en-suite. You paused and turned to face him, your naked body on full show and his eyes darkened a little as you bit your lip “Thought you wanted to shower.”

In a flash he was out of bed and stalking towards you, causing you to giggle as he kicked the bathroom door shut behind him.

***** Whites, brights, darks…

Ransom nodded to the three piles on the floor in the laundry room and shoved the whites into the machine first, dutifully following the instructions taped to the machine. Once it was on, he headed back into the kitchen deciding that he deserved a break. Fucking his wife all the way to heaven within ten minutes flat, not to mention the after party in the shower, plus then sorting washing, loading the machine and turning it on was tiring work after all.

He made himself a coffee before he headed back into the lounge and settled down with the laptop, checking the latest Newsletter from the Country Club before he ran down the training schedule for the Polo Team that month, checking when his time slots where, not that it really mattered. If he didn’t particularly like a slot he’d been given he’d just kick off until they swapped it for one he did like. Perks of being the star of the team, you got your own way…

He smirked a little as he could hear Y/N’s voice echoing in his head “Story of your life, you’re such a fuckin’ brat.”

Like he gave a shit.

His phone went off, signalling he had a text and he rolled his eyes as he saw it was from his mother, asking if she could expect him and Y/N for dinner that Sunday. Typing out a single word response- “no,”- he dropped the phone back onto the coffee table as he continued his reading, the TV fixed on some trashy talk show in the background.

He was surprised when the beeping of the machine telling him the cycle had finished hit his ears, and as he glanced at the clock he arched an eyebrow. He’d been that immersed in researching up on the youngest age kids seemed to be able to play polo, and where he could find a decent kids team, that he’d managed to actually while away almost two hours. He placed the laptop down on the couch and headed through to the laundry room, grabbing the basket from the side. Bending down, he pulled open the machined door and began to unload the items into the basket.

It wasn’t until he pulled out Y/N’s white Armani maternity dungarees that he realised something had gone horribly wrong.

“What the…” he straightened up, holding the expensive denim item up in front of him, squinting as he did so.

It looked pink!

Deciding it was the light in the room he walked into the kitchen and cursed loudly as they looked even pinker in the brighter room. He stalked back into the laundry room and began to remove the rest of the washing, and to his dismay it was all the same. His riding britches, 2 of her blouses, a few bras, panties, boxers, 2 of his dress shits, his thermal ribbed undershirt, several t-shirts, a polo shirt…

All. Fucking. Pink.

And more to the point, it had all definitely been white when he’d put it in.

Growling in frustration he tipped the washing out onto the floor and there it was, the culprit. One of Y/N’s thongs, a bright red one, poking out of the pocket of his white-now-pink corduroy trousers that he’d worn to the Fall Gala at the Country Club.

Fuck, he had totally forgotten they were in there after he’d kept them when he’d fucked Y/N in the cloak room. Unable to wait until he got her home as the sight of her in that little black dress, baby bump on show had driven him wild, he’d dragged her off for a dirty little rendezvous, and had ended up snapping the elastic around the waistband meaning they were totally useless. She’d been pissed when she realised and had to spend the rest of the night with nothing on…of course, at the time it had been a great source of amusement to him.

Now, well not so much.

He contemplated googling how to fix this, before he decided that he simply couldn’t be fucking bothered. It would likely involve some complicated soaking routine and frankly he had better things to be doing with his time.

Like researching…important…stuff. Man stuff. Man stuff for him and his baby boy.

Nonchalantly, he tossed the ruined items into the basket and set it on top of the machine with a shrug. He’d buy her some new stuff. And if she went ballistic at him over it all, then he’d just have to remind her that it was her fault her thong was in his pocket in the first place, the dirty little minx.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Addicted to You

Part 1: The Chain

Summary/Author's Note: As the sister of veteran turned freelance for hire Santiago "Pope" Garcia, you grew up close to his friends and ex-military squad. Frankie Morales always had your heart, in the same way you always had his--the two of you just never seemed to get the timing right. Trying to escape the violence of a military career based family, you turned to journalism and humanitarian work in war torn countries. But three days ago your crew was ambushed and after three days without any contact, Pope is getting the guys back together for a rescue mission. (Follows Canon events very closely with added character and liberties) Thank you to @winters-buck for headcanoning with me about Frankie and getting me pumped up enough to write this.

Pairing: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Pope's sister!Reader Word Count: 4.6k (idk what happened...) Warnings/rating: (NC-17)/18+ Language, smoking, implied drug use, PTSD, sex/smut, kidnapping, blood, violence, threats, fluff and feelings

MASTERLIST

Present Day Somewhere in Texas, USA

Santiago "Pope" Garcia had always had a talent when it came to lying, but never had that talent been used so willingly on his closest friends. He was a good bluffer. It had helped his career in the military with his superiors, it had helped him on their weekly poker nights, but he had never planned on getting the five of them back together to boldly lie directly to their faces. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the locker room as Will looked him over skeptically.

"What did he say?" Will asked, straddling the wooden bench and crossing his arms to mirror his friend.

"He's taking a look at it," Pope sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "He may not be up for this."

Of course he was talking about their friend Tom. Tom, code name 'Redfly' had been their captain back in the day, their leader, and his brutality and no bull shit attitude made him a good one. Pope knew if he wasn't on board with this, then Will would be out, and the rest of them would drop like flies before this even began.

"You know he's the best with something this complex, and he needs this right now," Will said and Pope agreed with a silent nod.

Beyond the concrete walls of the locker room a cheering crowd could be heard albeit muffled. Both men turned and looked in the direction of the noise before Will shook his head and leaned forward on the bench.

"This shit is fuckin depressing," he said.

"Come on let your brother have some fun. Support him." Pope offered with a wave of his hand like Will's brother getting the shit kicked out of him for a couple hundred bucks wasn't a big deal.

"I've been supporting him since the day he was born." Will pointed to the wall that stood between them and the mixed martial arts arena. "That kid's a one in a million talent, going out there playing the fucking clown to a bunch of hillbillies."

Pope started to respond but the door opened and a man dressed in nothing but loose fitting shorts and the med tape wrapped around his hands entered.

"Where are my boys at?!" He yelled in a deep voice like an announcer and threw his hands in the air.

"Benny! There he is!" Pope embraced him before patting him on the back and passing him off to his brother who stood up from the bench.

"Hey, shithead," a familiar voice said in Spanish and Pope turned around to see Frankie, a wide grin on his face.

Frankie "Catfish" Morales, known mostly by 'cat' or 'fish' to his friends, was probably the closest thing Pope had to a best friend. Even though it had been two years since they had last seen one another, Frankie looked exactly like he always did. His dark curly hair stuck out under his trademark, ratted, ball cap. His lips held a full mustache while the rest of his face had what was probably week old scruff and the brightest smile of the group. It didn't hit him until they were embraced in a tight hug just how much he had missed the man.

"How' you doing?" Pope asked, patting him on the shoulder.

"Hanging in there, I guess." Frankie nodded, finally letting go and moving to sit on the bench opposite of Will. "Is Tom coming?"

"Yeah, he said he would be here," Pope nodded looking at all of them in front of him. "You assholes get my texts?"

All of them looked in various stages of guilt, rubbing the back of their neck, adjusting their ball cap, not meeting Pope's eyes. Of course they had gotten his texts and by the tension in the room none of them had responded.

"Yeah," Frankie finally broke the silence. "Yeah I got your texts."

"And? I need a pilot." Pope looked at his best friend.

"I don't do that anymore, man." Frankie shook his head and sighed. "Besides, I lost my license."

"I don't need a pilot with a license, I need a pilot I can trust. And that's you." Pope pointed at his chest and held his gaze.

Frankie rubbed his hand over his face and stood up, leaning back against the lockers and looking up at the ceiling. "Will, you in?"

"I told Pope, if Redfly was in, then so was I." Will turned his sights to his friend and shrugged.

"And what about you, Benny?" Pope said, asking the man who had been quiet the longest.

"Of course I'm in."

Pope ruffled his short, dirty blond hair roughly with a smile and a word of praise and Benny shoved him away with a grin.

"Fuck," Frankie sighed and shook his head. "So, what's the job?"

"Can we talk details later? It's fight night--I got other shit to think about." Benny pleaded, looking around to the other three as the crowd cheered again through the concrete walls.

"Sure, wouldn't want you to be late," Will scoffed and stood, offering a hand to his brother and helping him up off the bench. The three men left the locker room and started down the concrete tunnel that led out to the arena. Benny was in front, holding his fists out in front of him like a true heavyweight and mumbling what sounded like a well rehearsed pep-talk to hype himself up.

Frankie and Pope hung back a few steps beside the other two, falling into step with one another like they shared the same brain. The other boys often joked that they did. Frankie put his hand on Pope's shoulder and rubbed his own beard in thought before he broke the silence.

"So, I got busted. That's why my license lapsed. It's not a big deal." He let the sentence hang in the air before he shook his head and sighed. "Okay, so it is a big deal."

Pope turned and looked at him. "Coke?" When Frankie nodded in agreement Pope rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Cat."

"It's still pending. But I'm clean now--I swear."

Pope nodded as they kept walking. He believed him. Frankie was a man of his word, and he knew he didn't have to prove anything to him. If he said he was clean, then he was clean. And cocaine or not, Frankie was the best damn pilot he had seen in his entire career, he wanted him for this job. No one else was going to cut it. Not when the objective was this important.

"Hey," Frankie said, trying to act casual but sounding anything but. "Have you talked to (y/n) lately? How--uh, how's she doing?"

There it was. He had to hand it to him, it took him longer to ask than he would have thought, but where it was normally endearing how much Fankie was still in love with you, this time it made Pope sick to his stomach. Did he tell him? He should tell him--even if it was just him. It was the right thing to do. Instead, as they approached the arena, the lie fell from his mouth.

"She's uh--she's good. Took a job down south, but I haven't heard from her this week." It wasn't a total lie. Pope didn't look at him and he could feel his friend staring intently at him.

Frankie let it go, even though his expression said he didn't want to. "So, what is this job really? What aren't you telling me?"

Pope looked over his shoulder, "It is what I said. Simple recon. We can talk details after the fight."

"Sure, whatever you say, man," he shook his head as they walked into the crowd and Benny greeted Tom with a cheer and a hug as the taller man started passing out beers he had just gotten from the concession stand. "I'm in." Frankie said flatly and walked passed Pope, taking a beer from Tom and giving him a clap on the shoulder.

Pope stopped short and watched the other man smile and interact with the rest of his friends. Frankie was his oldest friend, and lying to him hurt worse than that time he was shot down in Peru. Frankie had been in love with you for as long as he could remember, and if Pope was being honest with himself, he was the only man that deserved you and that he trusted to take care of you. He thought you guys would really make it work, and the day you called it quits hurt him too. Why wouldn't he want his best friend to take care of his sister? Protect you when he couldn't? Make sure you spend the rest of your life happy.

The four of them sat in the front row as Benny walked up the steps to the raised fighting platform, ducking under one of the ropes and bouncing around like there were springs on his feet. Pope looked back at Frankie and when the other man smiled, Pope returned it but it was a lie. He knew he was going to be crushed when he found out why the gang was really back together. When Frankie found out you were missing, nothing was going to stop him from getting you back--that's the real reason Frankie was the most important part of this crew. Because just like Pope, Frankie would get you back...or burn the whole country down trying.

--

Two years earlier

It was just supposed to be drinks and pool, maybe some darts if he talked you into it--you were a terrible shot and it made him laugh until his eyes watered. Frankie had asked you to go to the bar while he was in town and you had happily said yes. You missed him. And by the look on his face you knew he missed you too.

It was never awkward when you were with Frankie. No matter how much time had passed, as soon as the two of you were back together it was like picking up right where you left off. Gentle touches, knowing each other's drink order, holding hands, it was all so natural. He opened every door for you, bought every seven and seven you ordered, and paid for every round of pool, shoving more quarters into the metal slot and racking up the balls the second the previous game ended.

The first part of the date ended when Frankie tried to teach you how to do a trick shot in the corner pocket. He leaned his pool cue against the table and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and putting his large hands over yours on your own pool stick. He smelled like fresh air, like the woodsy smell of recently cut grass, clean earth, and just a hint of campfire smoke--musky and comfortable and safe. He spoke in your ear telling you where to aim, and even though he had to speak over the other patrons and the juke box it felt like he was whispering just for you. When he pressed himself against your ass, your body erupted in goosebumps. He must have felt it too because he asked, "Wanna get out of here?" And all you could do was nod.

The both of you fumbled into your apartment, he barely got the door closed by kicking it, as you dropped your purse and keys on the floor and started unbuttoning his shirt. Of course all of this would have been easier if either of you could pull away from each other's lips, but that wasn't happening.

"Bedroom or couch?" You said as you shoved his shirt off of his shoulders.

He grabbed the hem of your own shirt and pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. "Both." The two of you laughed and kept kissing as he walked you backwards towards the hallway. "Kitchen. Floor. Shower." He kissed you after each word and you blushed, laughing again at his suggestion. This was the Frankie you remembered. This was the Frankie you fell in love with.

"Got big plans for this weekend, do ya?"

"Yup," he bent slightly and gripped the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. "And they all involve you."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him hard on the lips. His tongue slid into your mouth like it had so many times before, exploring, tasting, moaning softly into you. He knew where your bedroom was, walking down the hall like he lived there and nudging the door open with his hip. Some summers, back when both of your lives were simpler, it was almost like he did live there. He had his own drawers, his own side of the bed, and you made sure his favorite coffee was always in the cabinet.

"Frankie," you breathed against his mouth and his grip tightened on you. You slid your fingers into his hair, removing his ball cap and tossing it behind you.

"Tell me, baby," he mumbled back, putting you down on the bed and crawling over your body.

"I missed you," you said and he froze, looking down at you with those enchanting brown eyes.

He swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing. "I missed you, too."

The both of you took a moment just staring at one another. He leaned down and gave you another soft kiss before moving to trail his lips down your jaw, moving to your breasts and unclipping the snap in the front. He took each of your breasts in his hands, squeezing and kneading them as you closed your eyes and carded your fingers through his hair again. When he took one of your nipples between his teeth you gasped, arching your back off of the bed and holding him against you.

"You still like that?" He mumbled, moving to the other nipple and repeating the motion, sucking it into his mouth along with as much of your breast as he could. The feel of his teeth against your skin was exquisite and you could have let him do what he was doing all night.

"What do you think?" You laughed as he moved from your breasts down your stomach, biting and kissing his way to the edge of your jeans. "You always were a boob man."

"For your perfect tits? Absolutely." He undid the button and zipper, grabbing opposite sides of your pants and underwear, shimmying them off of your hips.

"Charming." You scoffed, raising your hips to help him as he stood and did the same to his own.

"You always thought so."

He knelt on the bed, stroking his half hard cock before he fell on top of you, making the mattress bounce gently. You gripped his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back, enjoying the surprise on his face and the absolute adoration as your breasts hung directly in front of his face. He started to raise up to put them in his mouth again but you pressed his shoulders back into the bed.

"My turn," you grinned and he nodded, letting you move down his body, kneeling off to the side.

As soon as you wrapped your hand around his dick, his eyes fluttered closed. You worked him slowly before bowing your head and letting some saliva pool in the front of your mouth and letting it drop slowly onto the head and down the shaft. Your hand worked the liquid down, making it slide easier as you pumped him.

"Fuck, (y/n)," he sighed as he watched you. "You're killing me."

"You still like that?" You asked, playfully, mocking his earlier question and he chuckled.

"Smart ass."

You smiled again before taking him in your mouth and you revelled in the way he moaned softly and slid his hand into your hair at the back of your head. You bobbed in tandem with your hand, working the entire shaft as you sucked the head of his cock and his grip on your hair tightened. You took as much of him into your mouth as you could, your lips meeting your fist and a small sound escaped you as he hit the back of your throat. He thrusted up involuntarily and when you gagged slightly, he opened his eyes and looked at you worriedly.

"I'm sorry," he breathed and you shook your head, continuing to suck him off, running your tongue along the large vein that ran the length of him. There was no apology needed, you were just as desperate to remember his body as he was yours. He held out for a few more pumps, rock hard in your hands before he sat up and grabbed you by the arm. "Come here. Come here, baby."

You let him pull you to him as he leaned his back against the headboard and pulled you into his lap. He reached his hand between the two of you and ran two thick fingers along the slit of your pussy.

"Shit," he cursed quietly as he felt how wet you already were. He loved how quickly you were ready for him, it had always been like that. He could have you dripping for him before he even got you undressed and he loved reaching up your skirt or your dress and feeling you against the lace of your thong. "You're so wet."

"You love it," you said as he continued to stroke you and you straddled his hips, putting his arms around his shoulders.

"Always have," he said and it was in a voice tender enough that you weren't sure if you were talking about the same thing any more.

You leaned up on your knees as he took his cock in his hand and lined it up between your thighs. You lowered yourself on to him, sinking down slowly and letting your body adjust to his length. He throbbed inside of you as you paused, letting yourself adjust to his girth. The stretch was intense and you wanted it to last forever, feeling every inch of him as the bottom of your thighs touched the top of his and you settled in his lap. Your fingers found their way into his dark, soft hair. It was a little longer at the ends and you liked the way it curled around his hat, but that hat was currently on the floor with the rest of your clothes so you could touch the soft locks as much as you wanted.

"You ready, baby?"

You nod and hold him close, your breasts pressing against his chest, your foreheads coming together as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Fuck me, Frankie. Please, please." You whisper the last few words over his lips as he started to thrust up inside of you.

You both released a contented sigh at the same time and it made you smile. Even in your worst days, it always felt like you and Frankie were in sync, two halves of a whole. How your body had missed him, missed the soft way he said your name and the way he held you close to him like he wouldn't be satisfied no matter how close you were.

"I missed you," he said, closing his eyes as he guided your hips up and down, rocking against him as your stomachs brushed together.

"You said that already," you smiled, moaning softly as he hit a particularly sweet spot deep inside of you.

"And I'll say it again," he grinned, pressing his nose against your cheek and kissing your lips.

"Charmer," you kissed him back, soft and slowly.

He dipped his head and kissed your neck, sucking along the soft skin of your throat. You wanted him to leave marks like you both were in grade school, making out in the back of the movie theater, kissing in the bed of his truck, back when things were simpler. His arms tightened around your back as you nosed his hair, breathing him in and kissing the top of his head.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly as you ground your hips down on his lap. "You feel so good, baby."

"Don't stop," you moaned softly in his ear as he picked up the pace. "Harder, Cat, harder, please."

He held you tightly as he looked up and put his hand on the back of your neck. "Look at me." You opened your eyes and leaned back slightly to look down at him with heavy eyes. "God damn, you're so beautiful," he whispered and it made you blush. You kissed him hard and slid a hand between the two of you, frantically searching out your clit as his thrusts started to get sporadic and uneven.

"I'm gonna cum, Cat-" you watched as he looked at you and nodded encouragingly.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me. I got you," he panted close to your face as his cock hit the end of you, pumping up inside of you.

Your orgasm took you suddenly and completely. Your mouth opened but no sound came out as you clenched around his cock and squeezed your thighs around his lap. You felt the heat rise up from your core to the rest of your body in a way that made you curl your toes against the bedspread. You threw your head back and groaned out your pleasure to the ceiling, his name falling from your lips with sweet ecstasy as you clung to his shoulders.

He followed right behind you, spilling himself inside your cunt, the feeling of him hot and wet around his cock and starting down your thighs. He thrust hard, and spaced out, a few more times, grunting a mixture of his pleasure and your name with each movement.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, leaning back against the headboard and pulling you against him.

You pressed your cheek against his chest, breathing hard as you ran your hand up his neck and played your fingers against the scruff along his jaw. He was still inside you and you clenched your thighs again, an afterthought of a muscle twitch left over from your orgasm. It made him groan again and tighten his grip on your hips.

"Sorry," you laughed softly and he chuckled.

"We still got it, don't we?" He asked, looking down at you with a boyish grin.

"I never had any doubts." You crossed your arms on his chest and laid your head on top of them, looking up into his eyes. You shivered as he lifted your hips slightly and his softening cock slid out of you and you both got more comfortable. It was definitely quicker than the two of your normally liked it to be, but after being apart for so long, you had a feeling anything that happened tonight would be desperate and fast.

He dipped his head and kissed you softly, each kiss punctuated but a soft pop in the silence of your bedroom. He brushed your hair away from your face and smiled.

"You want me to head out soon?" He asked, trying to hide the fear in his face of the possibility that you would make him leave.

"No," you said quickly, shaking your head and staying firmly planted on top of his lap. "No, stay the night. Please." You added the last word sweetly and his face relaxed.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." He nosed your hairline and kissed your forehead.

You knew this couldn't last. You knew he was leaving tomorrow for another mission, another pilot seminar, and you were headed upstate for your job as well. You loved Frankie Morales with all of your heart and he felt the same way--life just always seemed to have other plans. And yet, life was just as cruel as it was sweet because somehow, someway, it always brought you two back together.

---

Present Day Some where in the jungles of Columbia

You weren't sure how long you had been traveling. In fact, when you thought about it, you didn't know much of anything. You twisted your wrists in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure the zip ties were leaving on your skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whispered, leaning your head back against the side of the van. The bumps and potholes in whatever shitty road you were on caused the back of your skull to bump against the metal. How had this happened?

The last few days had been a blur. You and a group of journalists were having dinner in a local village. You had teamed up with a group of doctors and, in between travel, were lending a hand providing basic medical care to anyone who needed it in the surrounding towns. You cut bandages, gathered clean water, played soccer with the children, and took photos to add to your collection and publish when you got back to the States. It had been a pretty uneventful trip, enjoyable actually, until Lorea's men had shown up. No one seemed to know what the dangers narcos drug lord would be doing in a place like this.

Before you knew what was even happening, there were guns pointed at your crew, men yelling in Spanish that you only vaguely understood, and you raised your hands above your head shouting back, pleading them to calm down. Did they want money? No, that would have been too easy, and as a traveling journalist that dabbled in humanitarian efforts, money was not something you had a lot of anyway.

A rather large man grabbed you by the wrists and even though you struggled, even though you screamed, it didn't make any difference. A hand on your head made you duck as you were shoved into a van along with a few of the others on your crew and the door slammed shut behind you.

"Stop, stop," you tried as the van revved and pulled away down the street. "You don't have to do this--" The man who grabbed you ignored your words, if it was because he didn't understand English or because he didn't care, you weren't sure.

He jerked your wrists in front of your body and wrapped the zip tie around them, pulling it tight. Your heart was beating way too fast and you could feel the blood rushing in your ears and on instinct you pulled your hands away from him and screamed again, turning towards the door. He yelled something in Spanish and pulled his arm back before punching you in the side of the face. Your world exploded into flashes of white as you hit the floor of the van. With the wind knocked from your lungs, you gasped for air and coughed, your eyes burning with hot tears.

The man driving turned and yelled something over his shoulder, obviously upset at his partner for roughing up the merchandise. Your stomach felt nauseous and the last thing you remember was some kind of scratchy material being put over your eyes and the rest of the world went black.

Tag List: @stevieharrrr​ @zeldasayer​ @winters-buck​ @seawhisperer​ If you wanna be tagged, lemmie know!

[lilhawkeye3]

This Ohio discourse has got me dying to create discourse about every other state now hehe so I officially present:

Hawk’s review of 36/50 US states!

In alphabetical order because that fuckin song “50 nifty United States” has been stuck in my head since fourth grade.

Arizona: Phoenix is hot. Can’t believe y’all choose to live in a place that gets haboobs. Saw Sen. John McCain in the airport. I feel that sums up the state well. 4/10

California: as a resident of the state of Oregon, I’m legally required to say fuck California😌 unless anyone else talking shit about Cali and then we got your back😤 SoCal vs San Fran vs Northern Cal are totally different worlds though. 7/10

Colorado: damn idk how y’all breathe there, them air is thin. But really pretty out there! 7/10

Connecticut: oh my god fuck New Haven. And Stamford, and Hartford, and— Yknow what? Let’s just toss the whole state into the Sound. For real, traffic is the WORST here and I’m so sorry that y’all gotta live like that. 3/10

Delaware: I cannot believe this is considered a state. There’s no difference between Delaware and Maryland/Pennsylvania. 1/10 should not be a state

Florida: “the only hills in Florida are the highway ramps and the Matterhorn!” —the shuttle driver at Disney World. He was right. Shit is flat as fuck here. And hot. And humid. The Gulf Coast is nice? But tbh it’s just all very touristy which is kind of a bummer. 5/10

Georgia: ...I can’t with the humidity or thinly veiled racism. But y’all got nice peaches! Also Black Panther filmed there so thank you for blessing us with that. 6/10 for fruits

Hawaii: okay pineapple farms are cool. Tbh I just feel really bad for how much mainlander/tourist bs all the islanders put up with. Ik price of living is v high and keeps going up. That said I did love Hawaii... although I was stung by a jellyfish. Hate those little bastards. 8/10 for wonderful people and nature

Idaho: as an Oregonian I’m required to also say fuck Idaho 😝 you da hoes. Okay for real tho southern Idaho has become v white white and kinda scary tbh. The northern part of the state is pretty chill tho. Also Oreida kettle chips are partly made in Idaho so I gotta give you half credit for that. 4/10

Illinois: at least you’re not Indiana. 4/10.

Indiana: I never want to step foot in Gary, Indiana again in my life. (Passed a Mack truck hauling a race car to Indy 500 though so that was cool.) 2/10

Iowa: I almost moved here. I’m so glad I didn’t. Why are the Quad Cities actually a group of five towns? I hate that. Also the roads were all cement, felt like driving on a sidewalk. Was also interesting because the second we got out of the city proper, it was just... corn fields everywhere. 2/10 y’all raising children of the corn.

Kentucky: I really don’t have anything to say about Kentucky. I thought the trees were pretty? 5/10 yeah idk

Maine: my relative has totaled two cars by hitting moose in Maine. Maine scares me. Or rather, the moose do. Also the lobster roll hype is real. And the coast truly is beautiful. 8/10 but an extra point for the moose bc I hate that relative so 9/10

Maryland: oh god Baltimore. Also I’m blaming you for the DC traffic because it’s on the land you gifted them. 3/10

Massachusetts: Patriots fans are the worst NFL fans (the racism is real, especially after fans burned the jerseys of Black players who knelt for the anthem). Liking Dunkin’ Donuts is not a personality trait. The North End in Boston is truly the best place to get pizza in the entire country. Western Mass is not the same state. And the Cape Cod bridges give me nightmares. 5/10 but cause I had to pay taxes two years and it really is Taxachusetts, knocking it down to 4/10

Michigan: it’s a lot bigger than I initially thought. 5/10

Minnesota: it’s Canada but in the US. Pretty driving through the southern part. Cops suck tho. 5/10

Montana: okay Montana is downright gorgeous. (Except Billings. Sorry, Billings.) I must include a photo. I wanna get a cabin here and just exist. 8/10

New Hampshire: can’t decide if it hates Massachusetts or wants to be Massachusetts. All it knows is that it’s better than Vermont. Which... y’know, valid. (If you wanna see NH culture watch North Woods Law tbh). 4/10

New Jersey: why are there so many goddamn highways in this state? Also there are more places to weekend trip than the Shore or the Poconos. Although you do have people pump gas for you just like Oregon, so... that’s valid. Things my friends have added: Newark airport is cursed (valid), the jughandles are nightmares (true), pork roll/Taylor Ham is good and so are bagels and New Jersey pizza (allergic so idk), and everyone is split on whether the shore is actually decent or not 😂 I give it a 3.5/10 out of spite

New York: NYC is fun, Upstate is MASSIVE but really beautiful. Long Island is... yeah I don’t have anything nice to say about Long Island. 8/10 For NYC, 6/10 for Upstate, -2/10 for Long Island, gives us an average of 6/10

North Carolina: very good peaches. Isn’t South Carolina. Keep it up👍🏽 6/10

Ohio: I already told y’all how I feel about this flat ass boring state. I feel no need to slander it any more lmao. 3/10

Oregon: she flies with her own wings, mi amor🥰 to list all the reasons I like Oregon (and the issues too bc it ain’t perfect), I would need a whole other post. I’ll just leave you with this picture I took of Mt. Hood, the queen of our Cascades. 11/10

Pennsylvania: so apparently PN is three states hiding in a trench coat like NY. There’s upstate, philly and Pittsburg. Personally I think they’re just trying too hard and wanna get the same recognition as NY. Meh. 5/10

Rhode Island: THIS FUCKIN SHAM OF A STATE Just merge it with Connecticut and be done with it!! It’s tiny. Providence sucks. There’s nothing unique about this state that you can’t find in Southern Mass (except MA has cheaper taxes so y’all come to work and shop in MA anyways smh). Also the fingers are really annoying to drive down to get to some beach areas haha. 2/10 you’re barely better than Delaware.

South Carolina: my Black father was invited to a party celebrating General Robert E Lee’s birthday. So... 0/10

South Dakota: very gorgeous, didn’t realize the Missouri River went this far west, but VERY LARGE. I mean it looks big on a map but then you get there and... yeah. No speed limit on highways is a great time though. And the Badlands have mountain goats! 6/10 bc while pretty, living there seems really hard. (Picture is me in the Badlands).

Texas: gave us Juneteenth and Beyoncé and JJ Watts. Thank you Texas. But is very big, got independence from Mexico to keep slavery (yikes), is like 97% private land (yikes) and is like the second or third largest state. Very big. That said, everyone I’ve ever met from Texas is lovely. 6/10.

Utah: Other than Idaho, this is the whitest state I’ve been to. Or it feels that way. Like a, the people crossed to the other side of the street and held their bags because I’m brown, state. And I don’t ski so I can’t even say that’s a good thing (I fell off the ski lift the one time I went, long story). Yeah 0/10.

Vermont: wants to be New Hampshire or Canada and can’t decide which. So it’s just kinda there. Pretty hills though. 3/10

Virginia: let’s be real we all forget that Virginia exists west of Richmond. Nova is a beauracratic and traffic nightmare and half our neighbors had to pass security clearance checks. Hampton Roads and beach area is a tourist and mosquito nightmare. But there were dolphins and I made snowmen on the beach. Good times. 6.7/10

Washington: again, legally required as an Oregon resident to say fuck Washington because it’s all your fault we now are getting a toll on the I-5 border. But you’re better than California. And the Sound is really cool for fishing, love Wicked Tuna. And the fish market. Best salmon I’ve had. Eastern Washington... y’all got Spokane but the rest is kinda sparse. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 8/10

Wisconsin: cheese is actually good. Again, pretty state, much larger than I initially thought. 7/10

Wyoming: this was the ONLY STATE I lost cell service in when diriving cross country. Kinda surprised it wasn’t Montana, but no, it was Wyoming. Views are gorgeous though so I was distracted either way. 4/10

Thank you for joining me on this cross-country edition of Tea Time with Hawk. Please respond with any reactions, corrections, addendums about any and all of the states mentioned. And thank you for taking part in this wholesome Clone Wars fandom discourse with me 🥰💕

DISCLAIMER: THESE RATINGS ARE ALL A JOKE PLEASE DO NOT ACTUALLY GET MAD ABOUT IT

[butwhatifidothis]

Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to answer, but why do you hate Balthus so much? I pretty much don’t have an opinion on the guy.

My hatred for Balthus comes strictly from his supports with Claude.

Now, other characters have traits that are either “straight evil but since they’re the villain I can view them from that light and appreciate them in that regard” ala Edelgard and Hubert or “definitely bad but they grow from them so I might not like them but I respect as characters” ala Gilbert and Ingrid. Say what you want about them the way they fit into the story allows for their unsavory traits to either be what makes them likeable (villainy) or allows for growth away from them.

Balthus? He blackmails a teenager with information they both acknowledge as devastating if found out by the wrong person all so he can talk to their mother. It’s something he dangles over Claude in some way throughout the entire chain, Claude is visibly uncomfortable every time it’s brought up, and even after they supposedly become buddies in the A support (out of fuckin’ nowhere?? Claude asks Balthus if he remembers the first thing that needed to be accomplished in the war and I’m like ???? I sure don’t remember but whatever) five years later Claude still feels the need to ask Balthus if he’d sell him out and Balthus responds with “hey c’mon, I was jokin’! But you will let me see your mom right, after all you promised me you would (except no Claude didn’t)” and that is just... so unbelievably scummy.

And like what pisses me off is that Balthus could have been something of a big brother figure to Claude, or otherwise someone he can get a different perspective from. They both have their parents be from two different worlds and Balthus does give Claude some good advice in the A support so there are crumbs of a good bond, but my fucking god dude Balthus uses their similar backgrounds to try to weasel up to Claude! He flat out asks if he managed to “drum up some empathy” from Claude after detailing the shit his mother had to go through, and like... compare that to when Claude opens up with Marianne about his past. The language used, the tone throughout. There is a night and day difference between the two’s intentions. And when it’s clear Claude isn’t opening up any more to him he pulls out the “ Say, Claude... It'd be a shame if your true identity was exposed, yeah? A real shame. I'm thinking you'd better...set up a meeting between me and your mom. She was my first crush, after all” lines

And... what? Am I supposed to find this funny? Endearing? That Balthus is willing to put someone’s safety in danger just so he can talk to some lady he crushed on when he was a teen? That he’s willing to try and emotionally manipulate someone with personal issues that affect them deeply so he can sneak his way into their good graces?  Because the game never treats this as something particularly bad, Balthus never apologizes and just keeps going with it despite the clear discomfort Claude is showing him both from the “joke” of exposing him to nobles that want him gone and the “he’s actually serious” idea of some guy wanting to “just talk” with his mother, Balthus doesn’t grow past this. Balthus isn’t a villain per the story, so him doing something like this isn’t integral to his position in the story. Am I supposed to believe that Claude coming to him for advice is a sign that they developed their friendship past this, or that it was always considered a joke between the two of them? Well, no, because Claude still unironically asks him if he’d sell him out and shows genuine concern when Balthus answers “Most likely not” (and we know it’s real because Balthus tries to say it was a joke, meaning Claude didn’t think it was one to begin with) so they couldn’t have gotten that close. Before the A support Balthus always sought Claude out just for the convo to end both times with “Hey Claude I’m on to that secret that you are desperate to not have anyone know” which, and maybe I’m just crazy but hear me out, really doesn’t sound like someone Claude would like to be around

Like, with damn near every other character who’ve done very shitty actions you can finagle some kind of digestible pretzel that explains why they did it in some kind of understandable light that doesn’t make them a complete piece of shit (Sylvain fucks around with women because he feels a need to lash out against them before they view him as nothing but a Crest baby maker due to the beliefs his family installed in him, Felix says the shit he does to Dimitri and Dedue because he’s concerned over their extreme actions and ideals that could drive the people around them to ruin, Ingrid hates Duscurians because she was led to believe they were the ones that ruined her life, her friends’ lives, and the entirety of the country she calls home and loves - shit like that where there’s at least the barest of minimums of the chance of a deeper explanation for their surface level shittiness, added with the fact that the game at fucking least says they grew past these issues). Balthus? “I never got to tell Tiana I liked her so I’ll put her son in danger to do so now”... and that’s it! Does he regale us with stories of Tiana saving his life and him wanting to show his gratitude to her by any means necessary? Did Tiana help his family with their issues at all? Does Balthus - or any part of this story - tell us any other reason he’s doing this? Nope! Does he see how uncomfortable his “joke” makes Claude and try to make amends for it? Nuh-uh! He just want see pwetty lady again like the actual fucking oonga boonga ape he is

Can I acknowledge that there’s other aspects of his personality that are interesting? Sure. Do I personally give a shit? Not really. What he does in his supports with Claude and how he never grows past them even in a shitty tell-don’t-show manner peeve me off way too much for me to care to like him at all

[okk--maaan]

Bad Kitchen Dreams

Hi. This is very dumb. But I couldn’t help myself when @ellelaconi​ threw out a Pale Kitchen Nightmares AU. So here you go. Feel free to imagine him in a blonde Matt wig and chef’s coat with a British accent.

WC: ~1.7k (whoops)

CW: you’re a really bad chef, Pale degrading you because you’re such a bad chef, pussy eating, fingering, PIV, brief drug mention, OSHA violations

Pale has traveled all over the country doing this. Helping desperate restaurant owners resurrect their businesses from the ashes. But in his twenty years, he’s never seen a situation as dire as this. As dire as yours.

When he pulls up in his big black car, he can tell the restaurant isn’t open. “Who the fuck ain’t open at one o’clock in the afternoon? Fuckin’ bullshit,” he mutters to himself. And sure enough. When he tries the front door - locked. He bangs on the glass and yells, “Hey! Hello! Anybody in there?!” After like five fuckin’ minutes of this, you finally appear -- wearing a dirty disgusting chef’s coat, your hair haphazardly pinned up, shit on your face. You wipe your hands down your front, smearing something orange across the little bit of white left on your apron.

As soon as you turn the lock, Pale pushes his way through with his big body. Without the barrier of safety glass, he can really get a good look at you. Even with all the mess, you’re pretty fuckin’ hot. Stunning really. Makin’ his cock twitch in his dark jeans, with your soft fuckin’ eyes and lips and shit. But he can’t think about that right now. He’s got work to do. Clearly.

He sticks a fat hand out and greets, “Hey doll. The name’s Jimmy. But call me Pale. Everyone calls me Pale. Hate that fuckin’ name in fact. Jimmy. Only person call me that is my fuckin’ wife.” You’re flustered with how quickly he rambles, but you take his hand and introduce yourself. “Well let me ask you something. Why the hell ain’t you open? It’s the middle of fuckin’ lunch,” he wave his hands all over the place like this is the most atrocious thing. And honestly, in his opinion, it might be. “Uhh well no one’s in here,” you try to explain. He scoffs, “Yeah no shit. Kinda hard for people to get in with the door locked and all.” He did have a point there. You wring your sweaty palms together, trying to fight the utter embarrassment. “Thank you for agreeing to help me, Jimmy - uh Pale. Please tell me what I need to do to fix this.” He leans in real close, jabs a thumb behind him, “Why don’t you unlock the fuckin’ door first?” You chuckle nervously and walk past him. Pale can’t help but glance at your ass as you do, just can’t help himself. And damn. You look just as good from the back as you do from the front. And again, his dick agrees.

With the restaurant officially open, you give Pale a tour. But the condition of the dining room is so deplorable, he doesn’t want to go any further. “Nah doll. I ain’t going in that kitchen. I got half a mind to even let you cook for me,” he throws his hands up in protest. He pulls out the cleanest chair he can find and plops down. Dusting off the tiny table in front of him, he asks, “So what kinda food you serve here?” “I create Mexican Italian fusion dishes,” you respond quickly and proudly. But that pride is short lived, with the way he’s staring at you. “Huh. Fusion. Well I’ll be the judge of that,” he purses his lips as he opens a cloth napkin and sets it in his lap. You take that as your cue to bring out his first course.

“Here we have a baby squid, steamed with lemon and capers,” you say in your best chef’s voice. Steamed? Squid? Pale thinks - knows - what’s sitting in front of him won’t be good. But you’re too fuckin’ pretty for him to flat-out refuse. He wishes he did a bump before coming in this place. By the way he has to stab the fish with his fork, he instantly knows it’s not cooked. “Look, I ain’t eating this. This squid is so raw, I can hear it telling Spongebob to fuck off.” Hot tears prick at your eyes. And he can see it. “No. Come on now. Don’t start that shit. Just - just bring me the next course,” he dismisses you.

You set two overly stuffed enchiladas in front of Pale. They look better than the squid, but his hopes aren’t too high. When he finally musters up the courage to take a bite, he wants to spit it out right away. “These are the worst fuckin’ enchiladas I’ve ever had,” he throws down his fork. You go to remove the plate, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you to his eye level. “Look doll. I know I said I didn’t want to go into that fuckin’ kitchen, but you’re going to take me back there. Right now. Show me with the fuck you got going on.” The way his breath blows over your face and his eyes bore into you, you can’t refuse. “Oh-okay,” you stutter.

As you walk to the kitchen, Pale follows, and you can feel his gaze locked on you. And he is truly mesmerized by the way your hips swing. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he demands any and every other employee leave. “Go clean something. And don’t come back in her til’ I say so. Got it?” All life - including the cockroaches - scatters. Except for you. And him. He stalks over to you liek a wild animal. And you’re his prey. Your ass back up against the metal counter, where he cages you between his strong arms. “How’s this sweetheart. Your restaurant is disgusting, your food is even worse. This place ain’t gonna stay open another month. But you? You’re the best damn thing I’ve seen this side of the Hudson.” He steps in even closer, pressing his hot hot body to yours. “Pale, I-” your eyes drop between your bodies. You can feel the bulge in his pants, insistent on your stomach. Before you can choke out another word, his fingers are digging into your soft hips. In one swift instant motion, he lifts you to sit atop the cold counter and mashing his mouth to yours. Demanding. Hungry. You part your lips for him without protest, let his tongue slide against yours. Your fingers comb and twist into his slicked back hair. He moans and thrusts into you when your nails scratch at his scalp. A sudden burst of confidence implores your hands to move to work at undoing his jeans. But he swats you away, pinches your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb. “Nuh uh doll. You’re not ready for my big cock yet.” When you nod in agreement, he releases your face and finds your own waistband, yanking down your pants and panties at once. With those around your ankles, he spreads you open and admires your glistening cunt. “God. Are you always this wet for every Joe Blow that walks in this joint?” You can feel your face heat up at the comment, but Pale ain’t paying not attention. He’s too busy dropping to his knees and wedging himself between yours. And he wastes no time diving in. You gasp and hiccup at the sudden contact. He licks and sucks at your silky folds, drinking down everything you give him. Occasionally, his proud nose nudges your stiff clit, sending shockwaves down your spine. He grunts and pulls away with a wet pop, “Finally something edible. Finally some good fucking pussy.” Fuck he really wishes he had some coke or a cigarette or a drink, something. He’s already too worked up and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

So he doesn’t.

Pale stands back to his full, towering height and makes quick work of his belt. He uses one hand to free himself, while he coats two fingers on the other in your slick. “Are you ready to take my big cock sweetheart?” he asks before shoving his thick digits deep into you. You inhale sharply and groan at the intrusion. “Yes Pale. Please.” He shakes his head, his dick now in his hand, where he strokes it slowly. “Nah doll. I want to hear you say it.” It takes every last brain cell not focused on the sensation of his burning hand pumping into you to find the words. “Yes - ah fuck - yes. Please fuck me. I’m ready to take your big cock.” Before you even finish your sentence, he’s lining up and thrusting into you. Hard. Deep. Your head falls back and knocks the steel service pass at the same time his cock head knocks your cervix. “Fuck. Fuck me. I like the way you beg sweetheart.” As he sets his brutal pace, the only sounds you can return are moans and whimpers and gasps. Your sounds of pleasure mix with his grunts and groans and curses and the delicious sound of bare skin smacking on bare skin. The symphony you create together bounces off pots pans plaster walls. “Fuckin’. This tight little pussy is gonna make me bust. Mmnh - fuck. Play with yourself doll. Make yourself cum. Make yourself fuckin’ cum on my cock.” You think you nod your head, but you’re not really sure. Either way, you brace your weight on one hand and use the other to draw perfect tight circles into your needy clit. The extra stimulation, added to Pales’ filthy words and steady driving driving into you, pushes you right over the edge. “Unnhh Pale. I- I’m gonna cu- I’m gonna-” “Yeah. That’s right. Cum on my cock. Cum on my cock in your dirty kitchen. Add to the mess. I’m gonna fuckin’ add to the mess. I’m gonna cum all over you. Fuck it’s disgusting in here,” he babbles and rants. You don’t even care that he’s continuing to insult your restaurant, even when he’s balls deep in you. You don’t even care because you can feel your cunt tightening around him and that ball of fire tightening around your insides. He fucks into one, two, three times more and everything explodes. You lurch forward, eyes pinched tight, cum with a shout. He follows right behind, pulling out of your still convulsing cunt, fucking his fist fast. Shooting sticky thick streams of cum onto one of your thighs, your exposed belly, and the counter. As he groans through the end of his climax, he smacks your undefiled thigh and grunts, “Shut it down doll.”

And you do.

You never enter another kitchen. Never cook another meal.

And never hear from Jimmy - Pale - again.

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

Tagging a couple other pals who expressed interest for some reason lol @direnightshade​ @poetic-solo​ @blackredrose27​ @find-me-with-orion​

[et-lesailes]

safe place

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3500 waow

summary: while clubbing in boston, you happen to see your favorite actor, none other than chris evans himself. unfortunately, his anxiety seems to be acting up again, and you can tell. you have a plan to help him out, and even though you know fully well you could embarrass yourself, you’ve gotta try it for him.

themes: this is just pretty chill n fluffy, highlights struggles with anxiety as well!

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @bval-1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @pining-and-tired , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit, @a-distantdreamer, @malthestorytellerblog, @rainbowkisses31, @jbug491writinghelp, @quaiderade

note: yeah kinda had sudden muse for this out of nowhere hence the longer word count, and i really luv discussing mental health so i thought it could be kind of interesting to talk about anxiety in this one. tbh i feel like it’s a lot of rambling so i apologize in advance! hope you all like it though!

It had been a while since you had been out with your girlfriends, but now that everyone was back home in Boston for at least some of the summer, it was a good chance to catch up with the friends you had made back in high school and reminisce on all of the good times. You had remained in Boston for work along with a couple of others, but everyone else had moved to all different parts of the country-- it seemed like a miracle in itself that everyone was able to make it back at the same time, but you had also all planned for this. To take the same week off from work, summer classes, whatever it was everyone was doing-- all to go back home and reconvene as one big group.

It was Friday night, and you were ready to hit the clubs. You inspected yourself in the mirror of your apartment where everyone had decided to gather to get ready, smiling satisfied at what you saw. A typical LBD was perfect for a night like this-- yes, it was cliche, but you didn’t care. You looked good. It was just the right amount of revealing, showcasing cleavage and legs that managed to look slightly lengthier thanks to the shoes you had picked for the night, and you had actually decided to do your hair for once. “Whew! You look sexy!” your friend Delia complimented, and you shot her a little grin. “Thanks, Del. So do you, red is really your color.”

After taking at least a couple more shots, you were all ready to go. Piling into an UberXL, you made your way deeper into the city where the best nightlife was, reveling in just the perfect amount of buzz and feeling ready for anything. You had been planning on dancing with a few guys tonight, maybe getting a little action in, but nothing serious. You definitely had not been expecting on meeting him.

_____________

As a group of young women, it was rather easy to get access to VIP. Besides, a majority of you had been brought up in Boston; by now, you knew people, had connections. You were currently lounging on a plush leather couch with a fifteen dollar drink in your hand, deciding to worry about the consequences the next day. Most of your friends were off dancing with other people they had befriended in the club, so it was just you and a couple others chilling, drinking, and talking-- and then you suddenly felt a rough nudge to your arm. “Ouch. Gabby, what the hell?” You wrinkled your nose though you were mostly exaggerating, looking to her with more amusement than anything. “What?” However, you were far more intrigued upon seeing the shock upon her face as she was staring at something a little further away. You followed her gaze, only seeing a crowd of people and iPhone camera flashes in the next couch area a few feet away. “What?” you repeated yourself, craning your neck trying to see what the big deal was. You could see a Red Sox cap sticking out from the center, but that was not anything interesting considering you were literally 3 miles away from Fenway.

And then the figure with the cap moved slightly, and you almost spit out your drink.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Gabby seemed to have found her voice again, her eyes widening. “That’s Chris fuckin’ Evans. Oh my God, should we go say hi?” You still had your eyes on him, unable to help it-- God, he was even more gorgeous in person. You were about to agree instantly, the awe practically taking over your inebriated mind. Of course you wanted to say hi. You had loved Marvel for years now, and Captain America was your favorite Avenger. Not only that, but you had taken a liking to Chris’ acting because of his Marvel movies, which had encouraged you to watch several others. Living in Boston, it had always been a hope of yours that you would somehow run into him, but you never imagined it would actually happen. And now here he was, standing about five feet away from you-- sure, he was surrounded by girls, but you and Gabby could totally squeeze through.

But then you stopped to actually look at him. Not in the fangirling, celebrity idolizing way, but just to actually look at him. You could see on his face that he looked a little tired. Like his smile was forced. It did not seem disrespectful to you, but more so that he was… overwhelmed. He was still taking pictures with every single girl around him, even making effort in having conversation, but you caught every single sign. The frequent looking around, eyes not focused on one thing or one person. How he’d take off his hat and run his hand through his hair, but practically every ten seconds. The slight inward tug of his bottom lip, and while he made it look sexy, it was obvious he was not doing it to be seductive. You had listened to interviews of Chris speaking of his anxiety, and considering you had faced it before and had friends who did as well, it was hard not to see the signs. Now, if anything, you were getting a little pissed at these clubbers surrounding him, even though you were almost quite literally going to be one yourself.

“He seems a little on edge right now,” you noted, frowning slightly. “Maybe we should wait a bit, yeah? It’s not like VIP’s that crowded anyways, so hopefully once those girls leave him alone we can have a chance to just say hi or something.” Gabby sighed loudly but nodded her head. “Okay, okay, fine. But I’m gonna head downstairs to tell the girls. You stay here and keep an eye on him!”

“Wait--” you started to say, not wanting her to spread the news, but she was already leaving in a tipsy fit of giggles and excitement. You sighed and looked back towards him. He seemed even worse than before, and it had only been five seconds.

And then an idea came to you, and you nibbled on your lower lip wondering if you could really be that drunk or if this was just actually a brilliant plan. No. No, no. It was crazy. Absolutely insane, really, and you would look like a total idiot if it didn’t work. Which it most likely wouldn’t.

And so you downed the rest of your drink, barely fazed by the bitter taste of alcohol at this point as you stood up, taking a deep breath. Walking right over, you called out as loudly and confidently as possible over the music. “Chris? Chris! Chris, is that you? Oh my God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you last! I can’t believe you’re back in town, this is great!”

Everyone immediately turned around to look at you, and you prayed that your cheeks weren’t burning. God, what had you done? How drunk could you be? Part of you wanted to simply turn around and run away, it wasn’t like you’d ever see him again. But you watched his reaction, hoping your own expression was visible enough to him to show that you were very clearly hinting at him to go along with it. At least, if anything, this pressure was helping in somewhat distracting you from how damn handsome he looked up close. How was it possible that the camera didn’t do him justice when he looked so hot in all of his photos?

Yeah, maybe you still were a little caught up in how handsome he was.

He seemed a little confused for a second, but suddenly, the corner of his lips tugged upwards. Your heart raced faster. Was he about to laugh at you, humiliate you in front of his fangirls? Or was your plan working? “Holy shit,” he stated, lightly pushing himself through the small crowd to step closer to you. “I didn’t know you were still in town, that’s crazy! Fuck, how long has it been? A year? Two? I’m so happy to see you!” You could not believe it; there were at least a million thoughts running through your mind right now. He actually went along with it. He’s standing right in front of me now. He’s smiling at me, having a direct conversation with me. And he swore, oh God, he sounds so hot swearing…

You snapped yourself back to reality. This was not about meeting your idol at the moment, this was about helping someone with what could turn into a straight up panic attack if this kept on any longer. You smiled back at him brightly before looking around at everyone, clearing your throat. He might have had to be polite because he had an image to protect, but you did not. “Excuse me, can you please leave us alone? Chris is one of my friends and I’d like to be able to catch up with him. And I’m pretty sure half of you aren’t even supposed to be up here…” you commented with a raised eyebrow, eyes glancing towards the lack of VIP wristbands on their arms. There was a lot of scoffing, huffing, and bitchy glares, but they eventually turned away, all furiously typing away on their phones most likely posting photos on every social media site possible. 

You exhaled just as he did, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “I can, uh, leave you alone if you want. I swear I didn’t just do this to be able to talk to you too, I just noticed you looked a little… stressed.” You paused before quickly adding, “Not that I don’t want to talk to you. I mean, fuck, I love your shit, you know? I think you’re a great actor. But you shouldn’t be swarmed by fans or anything. So, yeah, I can leave.” After that word vomit, you decided the only proper way to do said leaving was flinging yourself off the balcony. But instead, he just smiled wider as he looked down at you, shaking his head. “No, no. Of course not. I really appreciate what you did for me back there, trust me.” He tilted his head, seeming curious. “Did I really look stressed?” You blinked but nodded truthfully, biting your lip. “It just looked like a typical bout of anxiety to me, if we’re being honest,” you told him, then wondered if that was somehow offensive. “I mean, I know just because you mentioned having it doesn’t mean you’re just always some anxious person, and I’m not trying to assume anything either but I’ve also had experiences with it too so it’s kind of easier to catch signs, you know? But if I was wrong then I’m really so-”

“You weren’t wrong,” he cut you off, but he was still smiling kindly at you. Damn, his eyes are beautiful. “Yeah, I was definitely feeling a little crowded back there. So thank you. Really. What’s your name? Can I buy you a drink?” You looked up at him somewhat shocked. “Me? Oh, please, you really don’t have to do that,” you shook your head, not wanting him to feel obliged to you in any means whatsoever, even though a drink would Chris Evans would probably be all you needed to die happy. “I’m sure you have friends waiting on you or something, really, it’s okay. I genuinely just wanted to help.” He raised an eyebrow, slightly stepping closer and it was taking you everything not to creepily deeply inhale from how good his cologne smelt. “And I genuinely want to buy you a drink,” he spoke with an amused grin, eyes twinkling even more than before. “Please. Or if you don’t drink, I can at least get you a--”

“Oh I drink.” You cut him off way too fast, then realized afterwards. “Okay, but like, I don’t mean I’m an alcoholic or anything, I just--” you finally just sighed loudly, looking down for a few seconds before looking up at him, silently cursing your brain for not allowing you to sober up at least a little. Despite the fact that it was solely your fault for having decided to chug a freaking vodka sour. “Okay, yes. Let’s do this. But-- unfortunately my friend is about to bring my entire horde of friends up here, so let’s try a different bar in this club.” He was laughing as he listened to you, but it did not feel mean or embarrassing; he simply seemed like he was actually having a fun time with you, almost as if he were a friend. He then blinked, curious and slightly confused. “In this club? Is there another one, besides the VIP one and the general one downstairs?” You laughed softly, nodding your head. “You gotta come back to Boston more! They just opened a rooftop one upstairs that’s way less crowded, but it’s pretty exclusive.” You raised a brow, continuing, “But I’m pretty sure we won’t have any problem getting in...” He chuckled and it was a deep rumble of heaven, but you forced yourself not to be annoying or even more triggering towards his anxiety. “Well, that would have been nice to know earlier, but I’m glad I at least get to know it from you. Lead the way….” he trailed off, waiting for a name to use. You giggled lightly at the slight flirtation, in disbelief that it was even happening but of course introduced yourself, lightly taking his outstretched arm and walking towards the staircase to the roof.

_____________

“Sebastian said that to you? Oh my God, that’s hilarious.” You laughed upon listening to a story he was telling you from a drunken night he, Sebastian Stan, and Anthony Mackie had shared in LA, a beam spread across your entire face. “You guys seem like such cute friends.” He laughed and nodded his head fondly, looking out towards the view. “Eh, they’re alright, I suppose,” he spoke playfully, and you giggled for the hundredth time within that hour, looking out towards the city lights yourself. 

The two of you had been chatting away, the peaceful nighttime air and breeze definitely helping you in sobering up a little more. Not that you had been absolutely trashed before, but you wanted to be as present in this moment as possible. You knew something like this would never happen again, but you were trying not to think about that. You loved that he was also asking you questions about yourself, and seemed sincerely interested, at that. He was so easy to converse with, so relaxed and thoughtful, you felt bad knowing what his anxiety could do to such a kindhearted person like him. You were sure he would have loved to be like this with all of his fans, but he had even explained to you himself that it was difficult for him to be in front of big crowds. “I know that seems kinda ridiculous coming from a Hollywood actor,” he said with a sigh, chuckling lightly, “but I can’t control it, ya know? I wish I could.” You nodded sympathetically, unable to even imagine what it would be like having to deal with such conflict in his current occupation. 

“But what about you?” he asked, surprising you again even though he had shown genuine interest in you and your life this entire time. “You said you’ve dealt with anxiety before, too?” You nodded with a sigh, taking a sip of your drink. “It used to be pretty bad for me in high school. I guess high school’s just a rough time in general, though,” you said with a laugh, shrugging your shoulders. “I still get attacks every now and then, but I’ve learned how to cope with it much better. Definitely better than hormonal, puberty ridden me, anyways,” you chuckled. He laughed too and you tried to ignore how adorable the sound as well as his face was when he did so. “Mm. Definitely don’t wanna reminisce on those days,” he playfully shuddered before tilting his head with interest. “How do you cope with it?” You could not believe Chris Evans was here asking you for advice, but you pondered this over. “I guess this is common sense and easier said than done, but I think I’m just a lot better at being able to mentally step back from a situation and think it through more logically when I’m feeling anxious. I just go through a rundown in my head and remind myself that it’s okay. It also helps distracting myself from it by talking to friends, like to call my best friend if I’m feeling down or weird about something.” You told him, barely biting your lip-- you had never really talked about such topics with any guys before, and it was crazy how it felt so comfortable with a celebrity. 

“Yeah? Well maybe next time you could call me, too?” he asked, and you were practically baffled. “Like, on my cell phone?” you asked rather dumbly, then closed your eyes as you rubbed your forehead. “Okay, yeah. Duh. My cell phone. It’s not like I own a landline. Who really does anymore, besides old people. But I mean--” you stopped and collected your thoughts briefly before looking up at him. “You’d really feel comfortable giving me your phone number? And you actually want to… talk?” He laughed again, even tilting his head back slightly before nodding with a wide smile. “Yeah. I mean, hell yeah, I do. I’ve had a lot of fun talking to you tonight.” He slid his phone out of his pocket, unlocking and handing it to you with a hopeful grin. You slowly smiled, nodding and taking it from him to input your number. Much to your delight, when handing it back he went straight to sending you a message, looking to you as he arched an eyebrow playfully. “You have my number now, right? You didn’t give me a fake one?” You blinked before laughing loudly, taking your phone out of your little crossbody bag. “Why the hell would I give you, of all people, a fake number?” You waved your phone at him to show him that the message had come up on the device, then looked down at it to save his number. You had assumed he just sent a “hi” or an emoji, something simple-- but you paused as your eyes scanned the words on your screen.

“Go on a date with me.”

You stared at it somewhat dumbfounded before looking up at him, knowing your cheeks were slightly red. “A-a date?” you asked; sure, the two of you had been hitting it off and flirting a little, but you had kept reminding yourself throughout the conversation that he was a celebrity. He probably had tons of girls in his life, you were someone who could just be an acquaintance. If that. But now he wanted to take you out on an actual date?

“I’m in Boston for the next few months. And I know that’s not permanent, but I really, really liked talking to you tonight, and.. I want to see if this works. Please.” You almost didn’t reply due to being too shocked that he was begging you to date him, but you quickly cleared your throat. “I’d… yeah, I’d really like that.” You admitted, feeling excited and terrified all at once. But that was how dating should feel, right? “But, um, how does this… work? Do you, like, not want me to tell anyone…? Do I not save your number at all, in case anyone hacks into my phone? Or should I just save you as a fake--”

“Okay, okay, don’t go all secret agent on me.” He interrupted you with a loud laugh, eyes twinkling fondly as he gazed down at you. “Honestly… I trust you. Call it a gut instinct, but I do. So tell whoever you’d like, or don’t. The only thing I’m more worried about is your own privacy, because it most likely won’t be respected if we’re not careful about this. But when it comes to people knowing about me taking you out, that’s fine with me. I’m allowed to have a love life, aren’t I?” he said with a smile, then glanced down at his phone. “Oh, shit. I need to go, my brother’s waiting for me. And I’m sure your friends are, too.” He looked at you and chuckled softly, probably at the disappointed face you wore. “Hey. Text me tonight, alright? Promise.” You smiled at that, arching an eyebrow playfully, teasing, “Wow, you’re already pretty needy, huh? Yikes, what am I agreeing to here?” He blinked before scoffing, though clearly amused. “You know what? Yeah, I am. And it’s your fault.” 

He suddenly took a light hold of your waist, gently pulling you closer to him and leaned down. You widened your eyes slightly but did not move away, looking up into his beautiful blue orbs instead silently confirming that you were alright with what was about to happen. 

You would remember that kiss for the rest of your damn life-- you were sure of it. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #300

that’s a lot of time wasted, lmao

If you were a witch, which animal would be your familiar? Could I have like, a melanistic barn owl? That'd be dope. They're fuckin gorgeous. If there's a design on your shirt, what is it? Ha, speaking of owls... Would you ever visit a ghost town? MOTHERFUCKER would I. Bringing my camera, too. What would you do if you found out your life was only a simulation controlled by someone else? I have a very much Detroit: Become Human (phenomenal game, btw) outlook on this: I think, therefore I am. It honestly wouldn't affect me terribly. I sure would hate my creator though, jfc, lmao. What's the scariest thing you've accidentally found on the internet? Okay so there is this one video filmed by some guys who had this really strange, sulking guy in black stalking them, and it ends with the suspected murderer slinking over to the guys (who were by this point finding it almost funny, due to how the man was acting) and charging with a knife, I think, once he was very close. I believe the men were never found afterwards. It is SO goddamn unnerving. Is there anything bothering you right now? Not to be a Negative Nancy, but when isn't there lmao. Thinking of every Halloween costume you've had, which one was the most creative? I never had creative ones, really. What's the picture on your calendar for this month? I don't have a relevant calender, just old meerkat ones on a wall in my room. If you were a mythical creature, which would you be? As much as I love dragons, they're targeted too much in fantasy to kill, so let's not, haha. Being a dryad would be cool. Or druid. Either/or. If you were an animal, which would you be? A housecat, ig. Were you ever bullied when you were younger and how did you handle it? I consider myself very lucky to have not been. Have you ever thrown something away and then wanted it back? Okay so it's "deleted" versus "thrown away," technically, but there are two senior prom pictures in specific I desperately want back because fuck my low self-esteem, I look beautiful in them and so damn happy. I even tried Facebook restore programs that supposedly recovered all pictures you ever removed, but I couldn't salvage them. I'm still pissed about it, haha. What's one random city you want to visit? I don't have a specific city, per se. More so just countries in general. If you owned a store, what would you most likely sell? I think owning a pet supply store would be really cool, with some animals that are actually very well-cared for, unlike chain pet stores. I HATE those, vehemently. So unspeakably ignorant and neglectful. If you had a garden, what sort of plants would you grow? I don't want a garden, but hypothetically, I'd love orchids, dahlias, tiger lilies, a weeping willow tree, some strawberries... What's your favorite phase of the moon? Full, of course. What's the song for your life right now? I've felt extremely connected to Seether's "Weak" lately. Do you believe that when you die, you get to see all your loved ones again? I hope so... Who would you be the most excited to see? DO I ACTUALLY NEED TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION?????????? Do you enjoy reading National Geographic magazines? If I'm like, sitting in a waiting room and they're available, I'll go for them. Do you know anyone who's serving in the military right now? Welcome to the South, baby. The boys graduate, they're going straight for the military. I only have one real friend who was one but left tho because he fucking hated it. Does or did either of your parents serve in the military? No. Has anything in your house ever caught on fire? Not in this house, no. As a small child, did you ever feel as if you were different or weird? Absofuckinglutely. I have A LOT of bad memories of instances where I felt like "the weird kid." Can you say "happy birthday" in another language? Omg... I forgot the German phrase. Wow, I'm rusty. What subjects do you or did you get the worst grades in? Math. Do you have photos to go with all of the contacts in your phone? I don't have pictures that go with any. Who was the last person to comment on one of your photos on Facebook and how did you meet that person? I just checked, and it was my friend Summer. I met her because she was actually first friends with my younger sister in pre-k, but we grew closer than they did in our teen years. What career paths are you considering? I just want to be a photographer. So badly. But I've felt super, super discouraged lately. Do you watch music videos? I pretty much never do, but rather listen through the artists' Topic uploads or lyric videos. I don't generally like official music videos because they tend to have other sounds/parts/breaks/etc. in them that distract from the song. Have you ever clicked on those banner ads that promise a prize for clicking? Probably by accident at some point in time. What kind of computer are you using? Acer Nitro. What kind of computer do you wish you were using? I'm fine with what I have. Have you ever had a weight change so drastic you went to the doctor? .-. How cold does it have to be before you put on a sweater? Depends on how long I'll be outside, but in most situations, in the 50s. Do you eat things off the floor? Um, ew. Who do people say you look like? My sisters. Do you usually get your homework done on time? When I was in school, I was very serious about having my homework finished by the date it was due. Have you ever framed your old movie ticket stubs? I've kept some, but never framed any. Do you have a digital camera? A Canon, yeah. Have you ever stuck something inappropriate in an electrical outlet? Bitch I ain't tryna get electrocuted. How many days has it been since your last birthday? My b-day is actually coming up soon; the 5th of February. Do you want any more siblings than you have now? Well, considering both my parents (and stepmom) are in their 50s... How easily shocked are you? VERY. I am extremely jumpy and on edge at like all times. You like the color blue, don't you? I mean yeah. Particularly the lighter tints. Who was the last person who asked you something that made you think? My therapist REEEEAAAALLY makes me do this. She's an absolute pro at getting me to dig deep into myself. Ever fired a gun? No, and I don't want to. From 1-10, how would you rate your cooking skills? Is 0 an option? Do you notice the heat or the cold more? HEAT, JESUS FUCK. It can be one or two degrees above what I consider stable and I'll be sweating. I'm hypersensitive to it I know from being in such a consistent temperature in my room like 24/7. Do you believe in miracles? Probably no. What hurts more: scratches or bites? Bites, if you're talking serious ones. Do you prefer rabbits to mice? No, mice (and especially rats) are absolutely amazing, intelligent animals. Bonus points for being mega cute too, though I do find rabbits cuter. Who out of all the people you know reasonably well is the most "dark?" Sara, haha. Favorite chocolate-based candy? Reese's. Do you call anyone babe or baby? My pets sometimes. Name me a food you used to like that you now don't: Peas, olives. Name me a food you now like but never used to: Mashed potatoes, IF prepared very well (by my standards, obviously). Would you rather live in Europe, The US, or Australia? By this point, take me to Europe. If it wouldn't be such a huge life change and leaving so many people, I would 120% move to Canada, but out of these, Europe will do. Would you rather have a big house, a lot of kids, or a high flying job? Give me the high-flying job, 100%. I don't want kids, and I have no need for a large house. Is crime a big problem in your area? Oh yes. What’s your town/city most well-known for? By the locals, being the crime hub, actually, lol. Name 5 objects that you don’t have but would like right now: Hmmm... I want a 40g tank as an upgrade for Venus, a gaming chair for when I turn the extra room into my "office" so I don't destroy my back sitting there, new glasses and a driving permit, and don't forget a gd tattoo needle pounding my skin. :^) If you were given the choice to choose your child’s gender, would you? Yes, I would absolutely want a girl just because IF I wanted kids, I'd want a daughter named Alessandra. Do you get along well with your family doctor/your doctor? Yeah, she's nice. What types of soups do you like? None. If a color could reflect your current mood, which would it be? Grayish blue. The last time you saw fireworks? I really don't know; it's been years, at least. Have you ever gone to a movie premiere? Possibly for Silent Hill: Revelation, but I'm not certain. Who was the last person to make you laugh out loud? My mom, because she made me remember something funny. What was the last commercial you heard selling? *shrug* Do you prefer fairly common names or a bit out of the ordinary ones? Oh, definitely rare and unique ones. Would you rather have a pet cat, dog, horse or tortoise? At this current time, a dog for Mom, which we're actually probably getting. She misses having one super badly. Is your laugh loud, normal or very silent? My laugh is loud and obnoxious as fuck. What are you interested in that most people would be surprised to know? Tarantulas, probably. I love them, even though spiders kinda scare me. Last movie you watched the whole way through? Elf, I think, with Sara's fam. What's your favorite fruit? Strawberries are where it's at. Last time you drank coffee? I've only ever sipped coffee to try to see if I liked it. Never have. I THINK I last took a sip of Sara's when we went on a breakfast date? Has anyone ever called you rich? Calling me rich would be entirely ludicrous. What makes you feel beautiful? Nothing. How many bathrooms are in your house? Two. Last time you were on a plane and where did you go? A couple years ago, coming home from Illinois. Favorite flavor muffin? Uggghhhh chocolate. Do you prefer stripes or polka dots? Polka dots. I tend to find circles visually appealing. Did you take Music when you were in school? I think all the elementary school students did. I was also in band in middle and high school; I played the flute. Why did you last feel like crying? I'm just sick of how my life is going. Do you find being alone with strangers scary, interesting, or indifferent? I find it either awkward or terrifying, depending on the gender. It's not a willing thing or intended sexism whatsoever, I'm just naturally afraid of men. Do your initials spell a legitimate word? If so, what? No. Does someone’s background affect whether you'll be friends with them or not? Well, it depends on what they've done. How about their religious background? No. If someone admitted cheating in a past relationship of theirs, would you trust them? Nope, bye. Did you ever want to be a cook as a kid? No. How about a fashion designer? No. Do you prefer fire or ice? Fire aesthetically, but ice is certainly less intimidating. When happy, do you become more talkative? OH yes. Are you offended easily by non-politically correct language? No, really. I wouldn't say derogatory terms, but I really don't understand why most people put so much weight into a single made-up word. But again, you won't hear that language coming out of my mouth because I understand that it just does hurt some people, and I respect that. Do you think the censors/fcc go a bit too far or are just right? It's gone overboard, imo. What's your I.Q? I don't want to know, haha. Have you ever taken a martial art? Which one{s}? No. Do you know anyone who is scared of you? Um, no. What person who has died would you bring back and why? Probably Steve Irwin. His children have done FUCKING FANTASTIC at carrying on his legacy and purpose, but I feel he could've taught the world so much more than he had time to... Do you like watermelon? No. Too watery. Can you remember the month of your first kiss? Yes, actually. March. What do you think is the most interesting thing about you? I'm unsure, really. Do you like being complimented or does it make you uncomfortable? Both. What artist's paintings do you find the most beautiful? This is an impossible question. What about the most disturbing? Oh man, I watch this one person on deviantART that makes especially creepy artwork. I follow a loooot of dark artists, though, so it's difficult to pick. Have you ever gone to a camp or summer school? A church-related summer thing, yes, as a kid. What was your favorite cartoon as a child? Pokemon was/is where it's at. What was your biggest fear as a child? Thunderstorms, holy shit. Would you rather be able to fly or breathe underwater? Be able to breathe underwater. What about invisibility or mindreading? Definitely invisibility. Mindreading would just... suck. Hurt. Especially if you couldn't control it. Which stereotype do you dislike the most? Good question, considering I hate a shit ton. Can you remember all your past teachers names? No, not all of them. Do you like talent shows? Which ones? I don't mind watching 'em. I particularly used to love America's Got Talent. Have you ever failed an important exam? In what? Yes; I failed horribly at my final math exam the last time I was in school. Are you on any meds? Too many. Just way too many for someone my age. I'm really starting to think I'm over-medicated to where it's dulling my senses, feelings, and also destroying my memory. But I kinda need like... all of them. I'm talking to my psychiatrist in just a couple days though, actually, and I'm going to talk to him about maybe trying to wean me off my OCD med, since I haven't had big symptoms in a long time. I wanna see how I deal without it. What color is your razor? Black and orange. What is your fave frozen treat? Just the classic ice cream. Which supermarket do you like to shop at? We tend to get our groceries from Wal-Mart. Do you struggle to say ‘no’ to things you don’t want to do? YESSIREE. Are you friends with someone a lot of people dislike? I don't think there's anyone that is widely disliked, no. Have you ever had to deal with someone close to you going off to war? No, thankfully. Other than yourself, who did you last buy something for? Mom. What's something you complain about frequently? My legs hurting. It's hard to ignore when taking one step is painful. Have you ever talked about your period with a guy? Were they okay with it, or grossed out? I certainly haven't talked about it in-depth, but it's been mentioned in some way when I was with Jason. I mean we were together for three and a half years, sexually active (and I ain't doing jackshit if it's that time of the month), and I spent as much time with him as possible, so... it woulda came up. I'm sure he was indifferent about it, he was a mature guy. Have you ever been to an Asian (any type) market? If so, what is the closest one to you? No. I've never even heard of one around here. Have you ever slept with a member of the opposite sex without having sex? Back up two questions, haha. That was normal. How would you feel if your significant other had tattoos? Shit man, I love tattoos. I'd obviously not care. How have you been feeling today? Depressed. Where’s your phone right now? On my chest. I'm lying down. Is there a certain person that makes you feel safe? ugh When you drink alcohol with friends, do you play drinking games? I never have. What are the best kind of Girl Scout cookies? I don't remember their names, honestly... but the chocolate and peanut butter ones come to mind.

[headoverhiddles]

Matrimony - Pope x Reader (Let Me Make You A Martyr) [Part II]

Synopsis: Tensions rise with Pope, but you both have a common goal. Or, you believe it to be common. 

Notes: Second part of three! Enjoy loves. 

Tagging: (ask to be added) @peachynun​ @elrosew​ @livelifewondering​

PART I 

PART III

You wake to the sound of your alarm. 5:30 am.

You get out of bed, and pull on your jogging clothes. A run should clear your head. On the way down, you sneak one more look into Pope's bedroom. You can't see much through the dark, but the bed looks empty. He must be downstairs skulking around somewhere, unless he enjoys a nice refreshing jog before the sun comes up... which you doubt. 

Out on the path, the sun starts to rise through the pine trees. You jog along the road that you arrived on, smart enough not to jog in the direction of Pierce's cabin alone. Slipping your earbuds in, you listen to Marilyn Manson's Odds of Even, the thunk of the beat in time with your steps.  

You’re not thinking about Pope that way. You’re just interested in him. Interested in the idea of him. He’s an interesting man! Who... you’re interested in. 

So, you've got feelings for Pope.

Not feelings, per say, but... an intrigue. And there's definitely a physical attraction there, though you can't tell if he returns it. Probably not. Sex and romance probably weren't even blips on his radar. All he probably thinks about is killing people, disposing of their corpses swiftly and without hassle, and jacking off when and if he feels lonely.

You bite your lip. Damn, that's hot to imagine. Why do you always fall for people who either hate you, want to kill you, or just plain aren't nice? 

If you even mess up a little on this hit though, he'll kill you. Literally. He will not hesitate to take you out as well if you fuck up. But you're not going to fuck up. You may not be a hitman, but you deal with creeps like Daegland Pierce all the time in your job. You know how they think, and that's an advantage Pope doesn't have.

You return to the cabin, breathing heavily. A thin sheen of sweat covers you, and you look around. Isn't there a river somewhere near here?

You approach the rushing brook, grateful for the already cool mist rising from it. You peel off your top and bra, and do the same for your shorts and panties. There's no one out here in the brush, so you don't have to worry about that.

You toss your stuff on a nearby log, and get into the stream. Oh yeah. Yeah. That's nice. You float for a moment, staring up at the sky and listening to the birds. Then you hear another noise. A much closer noise.

You get your ears out of the water, and listen... then you nearly drown in fear as you hear a loud thwack right behind you. Whipping around, you turn to see--

"Holy shit!" you scream.

"Morning," Pope says. He brings an axe down on another piece of wood.

"I'm...! Oh my god, you didn't say anything, you--"

"Well," he pushes up his glasses, "I figured I wouldn't bother you in your morning activities, and you won't bother me in mine." He gestures to you with the handle of his axe. "You do have some pretty tits, though."

"Jesus fuck," you whisper, covering your chest. "Don't... look!" Pope shrugs, and goes back to splitting wood. "Why are you even out here?!" you demand, trying to swim back to the shore inconspicuously. 

"I'm sorry, is this restricted land? Do I require a fuckin’ permit?"

"You-- just, what are you doing?!"

"It's cold at night here," he mutters, "And any sensible person would seek warmth during the dark hours."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused, you know I don't mean whoring around with you."

"Right. If I came into your bedroom at night, opened up my bra and sat on the edge of your bed, you'd tell me to fuck off?"

Pope smirks. "Aww. Princess doesn't like the thought of that, does she?" You gasp, crossing your arms. You stop crossing your arms when it's apparent that just makes your boobs look even better. "Look, kid. Unlike you, I didn't come out here to screw around. I came here to kill a motherfucker, and get paid. That's what I do, that's what I intend to do."

It's futile arguing with him, and any headway you made tolerating each other last night at dinner (however small) had now been wiped clean. You'd show your worth on your own-- and you've got nothing to prove. Not much, anyway. There is zero part of you that wants any validation from Pope at all. Or praise. Or a... a "good girl." A "good... good little girl... yeah, babygirl, just like that..."

Shit.

---

"Do not make one wrong step. He can't know we're here."

You follow closely behind Pope, trying to get his attention.

"Hey. Hey! Why are we doing this now? Why don't we wait until--?"

"You have to get to know everything about a person's environment before you kill them. You need to know any possible traps they've set up, any kind of security or backup they've hid up their ass."

"B--"

"Stop speaking, no speaking. Shh. For once, shhh." He holds up a hand, then when he's sure the coast is clear, he beckons. "Follow me."

You do. He points to the other side of the house, but you're already ahead of him, back to the painted wooden panels. It's a better looking cabin than yours, obviously furnished and newly renovated with millions of dollars in dope cash that should've gone to home growers like the business you work for.

You snake around the back of the house, and check the window. It's cracked open an inch. Looking around, you push it open a bit farther, and carefully, ever so silently, you climb in. Pope is already in the house, in the living room. He's got his back pressed to the wall, and his head tilted to look up the stairs.

You're about to turn to check the kitchen, when you feel something in your back. You turn slowly, preparing to meet the barrel of a gun and your untimely demise, but you just find the end of a dirty wooden spoon in a soapy pot.

"Oh," you breathe, putting a hand on your chest. You hear a gun cock at the back of your head.

"What the fuck you doing in my house?" You look behind you, and maneuver around. It's him. It's Daeg. And he's in his bathrobe.

"Hi!" you suddenly say, the first thing popping into your head the option you're going with. "You must be the neighbor!"

"What?" Pierce growls.

You wave to Pope, who's staring at you with some mix of contempt and confusion. "Honey, come here!"

"What the...?" Pierce mutters, and points the gun at Pope as he reluctantly walks over to join you. "Who are you people?!" 

"We just moved into the cabin next to yours! We're Mr. and Mrs... Warner!" You pick a name off the top of your head. You grab Pope's hand, and the death grip you get back tells you he's not in support of this tactic. But, there's no going back now.

"Yeah," he grumbles, "This is my wife. Ain’t she a sweet little piece of ass?"

You give a giggle for good measure, tightening your grip on his hand in warning, and this guy looks so utterly dumbfounded, it's hard not to laugh.

"I'm gonna ask you this again, you stupid shits. What the FUCK are you doing in my HOUSE?!"

"Looking for sugar," you say.

Pope falls into his role. "Yeah. My wife here was... baking."

"I tried to tell him he gets enough sugar at home, but he wouldn't listen, the scoundrel!" You slap him lightly on the arm.

"Well. Just can't get enough of the girl. But that river flows both ways, don't it?"

You shudder slightly, but keep your smile up. Then it hits you. Ingredients... baking! You know just how you can get put of here without an ass full of this guy’s buckshot!

"Now, the reason we found your place, was..." you move in a little closer to Pierce, "I was looking for a certain kind of ingredient. If you know what I mean."

The man's demeanor changes. He looks around, tucks his gun. "How do y'all know about that?"

You wink. "I know lots of things."

"Now, sweetheart." Pope tugs you back, a little too roughly. "Remember to be modest. At least for my sake." His hand travels down to your ass, and you bite your lip.

"Of course, honey. Of course."

Is he getting a little too into his role?

---

You both can't believe you were able to make nice with Pierce long enough to get out of his house. It was a life-saving idea, but it also posed a problem. The two of you had been invited back for dinner the next night, to supposedly buy some of his ‘stock’.

"It's perfect! That's when we kill him!" you hiss, as Pope walks ahead of you through the bramble.

"The tone of this whole thing is fucked up. It’s not right. This isn't how things work."

"What, not used to having a fake wife along for the hit? A little imagination can save your life."

"Don't talk to me about life," he mutters, "I'm ready to end yours."

"Yeah. Fine. Threaten to kill me."

"Oh, I'm not just threatening."

"At least we didn't get shot to bits by the most notorious drug dealer in the American midwest."

"I do things my way," he replies calmly, "I don't need a little brat like you telling me how it's gonna be." You ball your fists and beat against a tree. He's infuriating!

"Will you at least show me how to cut the wood you were chopping this morning? You're right, we should stock up." He looks back at you, that same indifferent expression back on his face.

"You chose to come out here and bother me. Make yourself scarce, or I swear to God or whatever the fuck, I'll drive you out to the middle of the woods and leave you for the wolves."

With that, he walks inside, screen door banging.

You sit down on a log by the car. After a minute, you get up, start the car with the keys on the seat, and turn the radio up.

More honkey tonk wailing. Whatever. Maybe country was good for the soul, and all that.

You lay down on the log, and watch the forest flora sway around you as Hank Williams croons through the open air.

 ---

You open your eyes. It's dark out.

The car radio is still going, and you're not sure quite what time it is.

You hear footsteps behind you, and look up to see Pope walking over to the car. You sigh, rubbing your eyes and waiting for his complaints. "Sorry," you murmur, "I should've turned it off before I--"

"It's fine," he cuts you off curtly, and you give up trying to explain yourself, waiting for him to disappear again. This was such a mistake. Coming out here with him, wanting to be a part of this. You wanted to see the job done, sure, but maybe you are out of your depth. Christ, the guy is an expert sharpshooter, with the lack of mercy of a navy seal and the personality of a hermit. It's time to give up.

You look up again when you don't hear the door close. He pauses, walks over to you, and sits down. He takes his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, puts one in his mouth, and lights it. He tilts his head up to look at the stars, and takes his glasses off, setting them down beside him.

"C'mere," he whispers. You sit up, frowning, and follow his line of sight. You inch closer to him in confusion, and settle in next to him to watch the sky too. He takes another drag of his cigarette, the embers glowing in the low light. You find the scent of him, along with his presence out here, comforting.

The night bugs grow in volume around you, and soon, you begin to hear coyotes in the distance.

"They're beautiful," you murmur. He hums.

"They’re dangerous."

"Like someone else I know," you whisper. If he hears you, he doesn't let on. He just exhales smoke toward the sky, and listens to the noises of the night. His voice, low and gravelly, rises above the sounds.

"You ever heard of a Wendigo, kid?"

"No," you tell him.

"It's an old legend my grandfather told me. He says there are skinwalkers out here in the forest. They can shapeshift, take the form of whatever they want. Animals, people. Strangely odd. Just a little too odd to be considered human."

"You think those coyotes are skinwalkers?" you ask softly. 

"Nah. The only things here pretending to be something they're not are you, and me."  

---

You wake up in bed, not quite certain how you got there. It's still nighttime... you don't know exactly what time it is, but you don't want to reach for your phone. You stare out the window for a minute, and frown. The scenery outside doesn't look quite right, like it’s too foggy to see. 

There's a slight creak in one of the floorboards, and you see a shadow eclipse the dim lantern light from the hallway.

You roll over in bed, and see Pope standing by the door. He hasn't got his glasses on, and his hair looks a little messed up, as if he's been sleeping.

"What is it?" you mumble, trying to sit up, "Something with Pierce? Did he... is everything okay?" Confusion fills you as he walks toward you, but it's replaced by desire with every step closer he takes. He looks like he's been kept awake by something. "Pope?"

"Shh." He sits down, making an indent in the comforter. "I want you, sweetheart."

You breathe out, and after a second, you lean forward slowly. He meets you halfway, reinforcing the kiss, and you moan softly against his lips. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he lays you down, resuming the kissing once he's got you against the pillows. "Couldn't get you outta my mind," he whispers, "Couldn't get this... outta my head."

"This feels strange," you murmur, "You hate me."

He doesn't respond, just moves a hand down beneath the covers to stroke between your legs. An exhaled prayer of his name falls from your lips, and he presses a kiss to your chest, tongue swiping out every so slightly. You look down at him again, and reach out, starting to unbutton his shirt, all the way down. With each button, more tattoos are revealed, even though they appear blurry to you, as if your mind is trying to fill them in for you. Must be the dark.

"You're so fucking sexy," he whispers, and pushes your panties aside.

"Please," you beg.

"Let me give you what you need, baby girl. That's it." He looks into your eyes with his own dark orbs. "Trust me now?"

Your chest rises and falls quicker as he adds another finger, rolling your clit with his thumb as he pumps in and out. He's making soft noises as he does, grinding his erection into your thigh on the bed. You start to gasp as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"I'm... P... Pope, oh god, I'm... c-c--"

He strokes you just right with those rough fingers, and just as you come undone, your eyes open.

Pope is gone. You're alone, in bed. You stare at the headboard, realizing you're on your stomach. Shit, you've been grinding into the mattress. You regain a little more consciousness, the events of your dream all fresh in your mind.

 Giving a disoriented moan, you flip over, lying on your back. Your hips wiggle, and you tug down your panties, dipping your own fingers into your soaking wet heat. You didn't think he had this kind of effect on you.

You moan to yourself softly as you quickly curl your fingers in a hurried motion, hips arching slightly. Yeah... yeah, like that. You gasp, and finally cum hard thinking of Pope on top of you like that, kissing you, touching your body, sending you over the edge.

You come down to earth, head spinning in the cold, dark bedroom. You can hear soft snores from the other room. He must have brought you upstairs and put you in your bed before turning in. If any of that outside was real. What if that was part of the dream?

No. You can still smell the faint scent of Pope's lingering cigarette smoke on your jacket, which is still on. You shake your head, taking it off and tossing it on a chair across the room. All you need is a good night's rest.