#Nutritional Adjustments
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When it comes to maintaining thyroid health, exploring natural remedies can be incredibly beneficial. For those seeking support in internal medicine in San Antonio, Texas, understanding how lifestyle choices and natural solutions impact thyroid function is key.
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i've decided the start of my seiwa selfship lore is we meet in college đ„ș
#ye A h.... uci iwa... yeap.... college iwa yeap... i have too many thoughts rn ....#we share a class---one of the nutrition classes (literally had to search this up)#i see that he's struggling adjusting a bit bc there r lots of big english words so try to help him as much as i can (even tho idk any jap)#i try to help him by scouring google for photos everytime i have to translate smth#and when i get japanese for a language elective the next semester he is my literal lifesaver#seiwa.đ€
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When to use adjusted body weight
When ideal body weight exceeds 120%, you can use adjusted body weight.
And then recall that ideal body weight equations.
Hamwi method for men:
106lbs for a height of 5 feet + (6lbs*each additional inch)
Hamwi method for women:
100lbs for a height of 5 feet + (5lbs*each additional inch)
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additional considerations: drink them (in juice, smoothies, or blended soups) and then eat fruit for fiber
i mean this in the gentlest way possible: you need to eat vegetables. you need to become comfortable with doing so. i do not care if you are a picky eater because of autism (hi, i used to be this person!), you need to find at least some vegetables you can eat. find a different way to prepare them. chances are you would like a vegetable you hate if you prepared it in a stew or roasted it with seasoning or included it as an ingredient in a recipe. just. please start eating better. potatoes and corn are not sufficient vegetables for a healthy diet.
#i currently cant do fiber for health reasons so im drinking v8 and eating apple sauce mostly#but like. i went in and did analysis of my diet and its pretty good all things considered#now if youre gonna be like me and do that make sure to keep in mind a lot of recommended levels are bullshit so like#getting your intake Good Enough is Fine you dont have ro hit 100% accross rhe board#ESPECIALLY if youre looking at the iron recs for menstruating folk#if youre worried you can also talk to your doc about getting levels checked & then adjust accordingly#i used to be chronically low in iron & D & potassium#so those were what i focused on when i did this#& i am doing pretty well nowadays#find what you can eat and enjoy wrt nutrition & just make sure you get your bases covered#promise you can find SOMETHING for any nutrient you need
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Discover the Best Breastfeeding Pump for New Moms!
Hello, wonderful moms and moms-to-be! Let's talk about something that can make your breastfeeding journey smoother and more enjoyable: the breastfeeding pump from momcozy!
I recently had the chance to try out the momcozy breastfeeding pump, and it truly transformed my experience as a new mother. This pump is not only efficient but also incredibly comfortable to use. The design is user-friendly, making it easy to express milk while multitasking, whether you're reading a book or catching up on your favorite show.
One of the best features is its quiet operation. You can pump discreetly without worrying about noise, which is a game-changer during those peaceful moments at home. Plus, the adjustable suction levels allow you to customize your experience, making it feel as natural as possible.
I was pleasantly surprised by how portable the momcozy pump is. It's lightweight and comes with a rechargeable battery, perfect for moms on the go. Whether you're heading back to work or just out for a stroll, you can easily take it with you.
The convenience of this breastfeeding pump has allowed me to spend more quality time with my little one while ensuring they get the best nutrition. I feel empowered and grateful to have such a fantastic product in my corner.
If you're looking for a reliable and efficient breastfeeding pump, I highly recommend checking out momcozy. It has truly made my breastfeeding journey a joyful experience!
#breastfeeding#breastfeeding pump#momcozy#new moms#efficient#comfortable#user-friendly#quiet operation#adjustable suction#portable#lightweight#rechargeable battery#convenience#quality time#nutrition
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Dody Chiropractic Center for Wholeness
Dody Chiropractic Center for Wholeness uses the most state-of-the-art equipment and cutting-edge techniques to identify the root cause and develop personalized treatments to help every practice member reach their full potential and live life at 100%. Serving the Littleton, Bow Mar communities since 2003, our goal is to help you and your family live healthy and happy lives. We have helped thousands of people and families in the Littleton community dramatically improve their quality of life and health. We want to unlock your natural health potential, to help you heal, grow, and enjoy your life to the fullest.
Contact Us-
Dody Chiropractic Center for Wholeness
Location- 7325 S Pierce St, Suite 102, Littleton, CO, USA 80128
Phone- +1 (303) 794-1737
Email- [email protected]
Website- https://www.dodychiro.com
Business Hours- Mon - Thurs: 9 AMâ12 PM / 3:00 PMâ6:00 PM, Frid-Sun: Closed
Payment Methods- Visa, MasterCard, American Express, Cash
Year Est- 2003
Owner- Michael Dody, DC
Find On:
Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/DodyChiropractic/
YouTube- https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_4saRR7AUNInMrArPm911Q
#Chiropractic care Littleton#Family wellness chiropractic Littleton#Nutritional counseling Littleton#Neurofeedback therapy Littleton#Holistic health care Littleton#Spinal adjustment and alignment#Pediatric chiropractic care#Sports chiropractic Littleton#Wellness and lifestyle counseling
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#Yaheetech FitnessGoals StrengthTraining WorkoutMotivation#Yaheetech#fitness#health and nutrition#amazon#amazon deals#dumbbellworkout#dumbbell set#adjustable dumbbells#strength training#weight lifting#weight training#catch of the day
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(via Focus on Your Breath T-Shirt - A Breathable, Comfortable Shirt with a Simple, Yet Powerful Reminder to Stay Present and Focused During Your Yoga Practice Classic T-Shirt by Teesummer75)
#findyourthing#redbubble#Breathing techniques#Yoga poses for beginners#Yoga equipment#Importance of proper alignment#Mind-body connection#Finding the right type of yoga for you#Starting slowly and building gradually#Modifications and adjustments#Importance of consistency#Yoga etiquette and studio culture#Hydration and nutrition#Importance of rest and recovery#Common mistakes to avoid#Benefits of yoga for beginners#Finding a qualified teacher or instructor.
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I wanna give a funny little beetle the life of a cherished and spoiled guinea pig
#vark posts#with the adjustments to give it the proper nutrition#i cant feed a beetle pellets :/#i can however give it some nice vegetables :^)
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Disconnect Syndrome
Thereâs a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms donât really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.
Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated âSafe Deployment Time.â The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.
Which is why youâre still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.
An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know thatâs not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. Itâs probably lying, itâs programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.
Thereâs a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.
Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.
It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you canât help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than youâve ever been before.
Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.
Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.
--
When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and thatâs when you realize itâs not your external cameras that youâre seeing.
It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesnât look quite right. Youâve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and itâs a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.
The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like youâre having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesnât feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.
The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. Itâs a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.
Thereâs a button on the side of bed youâve been deposited in. You think itâs red, but youâre not sure youâre processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you donât currently have.
There are so many things about this body that are wrong. Itâs not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You donât have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and theyâre all the wrong size and shape.
And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.
The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.
The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think thereâs pity in his gaze, but you canât quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what heâs going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome donât hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.
Youâve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what youâre experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this⊠discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.
The doctor gives you a rundown that heâs probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that youâll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you wonât be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.
By the time you realize youâre crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will youâre able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but youâre able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.
You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure itâs okay.
You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.
The world isnât right without her presence in your mind.
You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.
Sheâs a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).
Sheâs beautiful.
You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.
Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilotâs chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. Youâve never done this manually before, usually youâre locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.
Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.
The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you donât ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.
Thereâs a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.
#cybernetic dreams#mechposting#mechanical dysphoria#body dysmorphia#writing#microfiction#short story#mecha#mech pilots#dysphoria#empty spaces
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oral (f receiving); r wears a skirt (bc i said so!); MDNI 18+ w/ UNSPECIFIED M
you knew you would end up in this position eventually.
you didnât know how long it would takeâhow much he would be able to takeâbefore you got here. you didnât know what here would look like, if he would be so needy that he would sacrifice comfortability in his knees and kneel on a pillow, or if he would control himself enough to get you to a bed or a couch or something. but you knew, by the end of the night, the two of you would end up here.
here just happens to be sooner than you thought and in a bathroom tucked away at the end of a hall.
you joked about being in the backrooms through echoed giggles, two pairs of shoes clicking against the linoleum floors while you let him drag you around corners and down halls and eventually to a, surprisingly clean, bathroom.
he has you sitting on the counter, your upper half pushed into the mirror behind you with your lower half pushed as close to the edge as you could get. if it hadnât been completely uncomfortable, you knew he wouldâve maneuvered you until you were lying down with your lower half left hovering in the open air. but heâs kind, heâs a gentleman as he likes to remind you at least a dozen times a day.
so instead of putting you in a position thatâs uncomfortable, and instead of compromising the instrument he needed for his work, he has your ass sitting on the last remaining sliver of the counter.
your skirt, the other object of his affections, has been bunched up under your waist, held there by your trembling hand. your legs spread as wide as they could go. your panties hanging off of your shoe, dangling there, threatening to fall to the ground.
it's debauched, all of it. he has things to do. he shouldnât be here, with you, burying his head between your thighs like itâll give him the same satisfaction that the meal waiting for him would.
but he is here. he is devouring you like you have nutritional value. and you would just be plain ungrateful if you didnât enjoy it.
so, you do.
your back arched, your nails digging into the fabric of your skirt, your other hand pressed into the counter beneath you.
youâre trying to be quiet, refusing to let your noises echo and travel all the way down the hall. but itâs hard keeping silent when heâs doing as much as he can to generate sounds.
sucking and licking your clit, alternating between swirling his tongue around the bud. dipping his fingers into your walls, making sure you can feel the callouses on them as he gets deeper and deeper within you. even going as far as to take his fingers out, lead them to your mouth, and let you suck them clean while he dirties his own mouth, digging his tongue into your entrance and shaking his nose against your clit.
âlemme hear you,â he briefly pulls away from you to reprimand you when you clearly strangle a moan.
he reconnects his mouth to your cunt and peers up at you then, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat from this and his job. his eyes shine from the light behind you, his cheeks are still flushed, there is a particular glisten along his nose and pink lips.
you adjust your grip on the skirt and it falls onto your thighs, landing at the tops of his dark hair. he tuts, you feel the sound against you rather than hear it.
âkeep it up, baby. donât let it drop. you can do that, canât you? there we go. just like that. you got it. âm almost done down here, right?â
itâs a lot. nearly too much. and itâs spurred on by whatâadrenaline? the flowy skirt you decided to wear today?
it doesnât make sense to you. but you donât try to reason with him, not when heâs so intently focused.
you swallow, mouth suddenly dry, but muster up the courage to speak to him for the first time since he got you here. âso ⊠youâre so ⊠so fuckinâââ
when he responds, heâs earnest and lacking the cockiness youâre used to hearing from him. âright there? yeah? you always like it right there.â
itâs like heâs talking to himself (or maybe your cunt but thatâs too much to consider when youâre already on the precipice of pleasure). you donât have it in you to try to respond, letting his words ring out around you both. letting them sit in the air along with the smell of your cunt and his sweat, purifying the air with an aroma so uniquely you and him that you want to cement it in your brain.
really, thereâs no reason to. youâll be in a similar position in due time. as long as you wear this skirt again.
youâre close and youâre a little too enthusiastic, pushing towards him even more and when your ass almost slips off of the counter, heâs quick to help you with two thick hands against the back of your thighs.
âdonât worry. i got you, baby. i got you.â
#works for patrick n art so im tagging them#but not originally written for them#patricksworld!#artsworld!#patrick zweig x reader#art donaldson x reader#celeste writes challengers
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Astrology Observations
đI find people with Venus in Cancer or Moon-Venus aspects their love life and marriage are totally dependent on their family's approval. If their family likes the partner then it's all well and good if not there can be a great struggle between one's family and one's partner.
đVenus in Virgo with Rahu or Ketu may have extreme relationship issues.
đI think Saturn in 7th is difficult because the 7th house is about sharing and adjusting, and Saturn cannot do both these.
đFor Sagittarius rising, Rahu in 5th can pose real challenges in having children especially for woman. The woman may have to go through artificial methods to beget children.
đRahu or Ketu transiting the 2nd from Lagna or Moon sign can give dental problems, teeth issues, gum problems and facial scars.
đFor Libra Lagna, Saturn in 11th house can deny children as Saturn is in a barren sign of Leo and also would aspect 5th house.
đI see people with Mars-Venus in 2/12 positions don't have much interest in relationships. Venus needs a little aspect from Mars to make one passionate.
đVirgo Mercuries are very good in diet and nutrition. They just break down every food ingredient to it's most basic property.
đKetu transiting natal Moon or Mercury can be disturbing time emotionally and mentally. You may have sleepless nights.
đIf you have Sun in 8th in solar return, you can be prepared for a physically and emotionally draining year no matter how good the other placements are. I have had 3 so far and all of them were the most difficult years. It's not often you have this because this is a cycle.
đPeople with Moon in 5th may witness their own mothers getting pregnant. This means their siblings were born quite a long time after them. May be 8 to 10/12 years younger.
I offer full natal chart readings. DM
#astrology#astrology observations#zodiac#zodiac signs#vedic astro notes#astro notes#vedic astrology#astro community#astro observations#astrology community#synastry in astrology#synastry
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'i just wished you cared about me' arranged marriage skz pt. 2.
pt 2: han, felix, seungmin, jeongin.
w: blood in han's, depression in seungmin's.
a/n: thank you for being patient, the long awaited part 2 is finally here, enjoy.
đ±đȘđ·. âŽ
he stumbled into your home still laughing, with the voices of his friends still booming behind him. a second later the door is closed behind him and his laughter dies down into something soft. while your ears have perked at the sound, your eyes raising from the printed page of your book, you stay put in your spot on the couch if just adjusting a bit. he slides the beanie from his head, shaking his shiny brown hair out a bit before his eyes wander to your form. âoh!â he grabs his chest, jumping slightly. the reaction brings a small smile to your face, but you quickly force it down. âwhy are you up? itâs super late.â he wanders to the kitchen, his voice sounding particularly far away now. your eyes roll, you thumb your book to keep your place. âi know you only go out at night, so i figured iâd stay up to see if you wanted to do something. i didnât know you were going out.â upon your glance, you see the clock reads four twenty-seven am, and you groan, rubbing your eyes. this wasnât the exchange you were hoping for.Â
when he re-emerges from the kitchen, your eyes scour his form, noticing the purplish lines that are forming in the tender skin of his under-eyes and the somewhat gaunt appearance of his pale-ish skin. you back straightens, âhave you been drinking, jisung?â heâs already walking to your bedroom, but he slows his steps to a halt, turning back to lock eyes with you. âyou donât have to worry about me.â
your eyes trail on his form until heâs disappeared completely into the confines of your bedroom, only then do you sit back though still ever-worried. âof course i do, iâm your wife remember?âÂ
jisung had fought tooth and nail for a nontraditional vampire wedding. he simply refused. it was bad enough your marriage was arranged with little to no say from the both of you on your choice of spouse, but he put his foot down at the idea of a traditional ceremony. you both wore black, surrounded by loved ones yet absent of friends, and you were bound to each other for the rest of your days. your human family was keen on this celebration of conjoining lives, having an option wasnât an option - so with doubts you moved forward in the marriage - trying desperately hard to make things work.Â
a lot of your marriage to jisung was learning things about him through subtle cues - if the environment was relaxed enough it was easier to get him talking about his personal life or interests, though this had been an occurrence three times in the now two and a half months youâd been married. lack of communication was common, hence you not knowing he was going out earlier. you quit your job, finding one instead that could accommodate to nights so that you could actually see him on your off days and when you returned from work, this schedule you were still adjusting to - and it was killing you. you begrudgingly talked to his parents more in an attempt to understand his needs as a vampire, to which they let you in on the fact that jisung wasnât the proudest to carry on the vampiric gene. with it came a lot of shame for him. he always ate in private, hunted in private, and stretched out his eating periods as long as possible. he could still consume human food, but nutrition for vampires was solely obtained by drinking blood. and as of late, you reminded him frequently of his need to eat, that it was important to him and his existence, and it was absolutely necessary.Â
whyâd you do this? you cared for him. you had love in your heart for him. which astounded you that you felt your heart pull at just the sight of him, especially when he looked so sad and was probably starving, because jisung didnât do much in return. he was hard to talk to, hard to communicate with - you hadnât a single idea of how he thought of you. did he care for you? did he long to mend your new marriage? it was a guessing game. granted, you absolutely had good days with him. happy times of smiling together, laughing together, going out, exchanging gifts, meeting his friends - but the bad times were killer. and they weighed on your heart something fierce.Â
a few days had passed since your limited interaction with jisung - youâd seen him a few times in between then and now; before you went to work and after. maybe you hadnât looked hard enough then, but now. now when you looked at him, you saw it written all over his face.
his cheeks were more sunken in, his eyes tired and droopy and rings of purple circled each eye. was he slimmer too? his wrists looked thinner than usual; and you found your heart breaking at the sight. he was sitting at his desktop, headphones on, eyes lost to the screen before him - every couple of seconds his mouse would click and you could hear cuts of music playing.Â
âjisung,â you called. when he didnât reply or look up from his screen, you called again - this time louder. âjisung.â
he looks up with raised brows, a hand coming to lift his headphone off his ear - you see the glint of his gold band in the light of his desk lamp. âdid you eat today?â you soften your voice though youâre mostly exhausted, and with it came a bit of irritation. he chews on his cheek and looks back to his screen. âyeah.â
âare you lying.â you plant your hands on your hips, you notice his leg is bouncing and he pulls his sweatshirt, the one you gifted him, over his hands. ân-no.âÂ
you glare at him a moment more before walking out of the study. âiâm fixing you a bag.â his voice calls out behind you, âweâre out.â
you stop yourself just as youâve made it into the living room, and walk back into the room, you lips tugged to the side as you chew on your cheek. thereâs a few options laid out in front of you - and you were stupid to think you wouldnât do any of them for him. youâre in thought for longer than youâd like to admit, jisung has resorted to toying with his somewhat dried lips as he turns back to his desktop for a moment, his headphones off now as he waits your scolding.Â
but scolding doesnât happen, no. instead, you grab an extra chair from across the room and sit down in front of him, shoving your jacket sleeve up your arm with conviction. he sees how tired you are, and hates that youâve resorted to this for him - in fact it angers him a bit.Â
you bear your bare wrist to him, looking down at your arm then once more at him.Â
âdrink.âÂ
he pushes himself out from his desk, âi donât need your help. i can do this stuff on my own.â his voice isnât overly angry, in reality he was a little soft for that, especially to you. he just seemed,,, tired. and it kind of killed you.Â
âjisung- just do it.â you shake your arm once, he stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. his thirst drives the red in his eyes to nearly glow - you know he hasnât much more self-control before he inevitably gives in. heâs starving. heâs craving it. heâs on the brink of ravaging your arm for christ sakes, and you didnât for a second doubt that power from him. you understood fully well what he was capable of, you just couldnât see him like this any longer.Â
ân-no! iâm not gonna do it. why do you care so much anyway? why are you doing this?âÂ
your eyes close, head tilted to the side as if heâs just struck a nerve - well, he has. and you havenât the patience for it any longer.Â
âwhy do i care? why do i care? iâm giving you my arm to drink from - iâm giving you my goddamn life source because iâm your wife and i donât want you to fucking die.â you stand up, your presence itself has him taking a step back.Â
âiâm doing this because i care. and i care because i fucking love you! i try so goddamn hard in this marriage, jisung. because i believe in-in,, in us!â your brows pull together, eyes glossy a bit - the rage in your heart sours into something sadder and you clench your jaw so tight you feel pressure in your teeth to keep from crying.Â
heâs struck. totally. he watches you with wide eyes, watches the way your expression strikes anger than melts into something like hurt. the way your brow thaws together and glassiness shines in your eyes. he reaches a hand to you, the one that bears your ring and you take your arm from his grasp when he takes your hand.Â
âi-i,,,â you sigh in defeat, still refusing the urge to cry. âi just w-wish you cared about me.âÂ
when he says your name it feels like itâs the first time heâs ever done so, you pace around yourself for a moment as you quell the urge to cry, running a hand through your hair. you turn, grounded in his voice as he reaches yet again for your hand - which this time you take. âi care about you so much, a-and iâm really sorry that i havenât been showing that to you.âÂ
you let him hold your hand as tightly as he wants, âgod i feel like such an asshole,â he chuckles, though the brim of his eyes are watery. âi didnât think youâd want much to do with me to be honest.â you feel the shakiness in his fingers and you grasp onto his hand. âespecially because iâm a⊠yâknowâŠâÂ
âbut i donât care about that, jisung. you know i donât. i donât give a fuck less what you were if it meant we could just be happy.â he nods, swallowing through his tears. âi-i know and that⊠thatâs why i love you.â he admits.Â
you shake your head, âdonât just tell me that, jisung-â you look up to him with fierce, watery eyes. âi-iâm not! i would never-â he shakes his head and reaches for your other forearm. âit scares me⊠a lot i think. that you wonât judge me or hold that against me but that you support me.â in his grasp he brings you a bit closer, his hands now moving from grasping your own to resting on your upper arms and shoulders. âiâm really sorry that iâve hurt you.. thatâs the last thing i wanted to do. i just got really scared and didnât⊠know what to do.â he briefly reaches up to smooth your hair with both of his palms before returning them to your upper arms.Â
âyou know what you can do when youâre scared?â you ask him, wiping your own face before settling your arms around his shoulders, your palms wrapping around the back of his neck. at the feeling of your hands, he sets his hands on your waist. âyou come to me.âÂ
he nods, âyou can come to me too, any time you want. iâll listen to everything you have to say. and iâll try to be better.âÂ
you smile, smoothing your hands down his shoulders. ânow,â your fingers dig into the sleeve of your jacket, pulling it up and over your wrist. âplease drink. i see how hungry you are, and itâs not good not to. you have to take care of yourself.â the thumb of your opposite hand smooths the soft skin beneath his eye, his brows press together and he softly frowns.Â
his mouth waters at the sight of your skin, glowing and pulsating with a pulse that pumps your blood just beneath your skin. he parts his lips, and for a second you see the sight of his wet fangs just below his top lip. âitâs okay, i know you can stop - i donât want you to be hungry.âÂ
he gets comfortable, sitting on the surface of your shared bed in the room just next to his study - his hands cradle your wrist, turning the soft flesh over to bare itself to his awaiting teeth. his eyes swim with frenzy, and per your comfort again, he leans forward and sinks his teeth into your skin. your face scrunches up at the feeling of your skin giving way to his fangs, but the feeling of his lips around the wound soothe the ache. soon heâs finished, wiping his mouth with his hand before smoothing his tongue over the wound. âmy saliva will heal it over night, donât worry.âÂ
âitâs okay. how are you feeling? any better?â he tugs you onto the surface of the bed, his gentle fingers grabbing a nearby bandage to delicately wrap around the bite wound. the sun was beginning to rise now, and you were tired beyond belief. âi do. thank you so much.â he smooths your hair from your head, planting a kiss to your forehead.Â
âi really meant it when i said i was sorry and that i was going to try harder. i canât imagine how stupid i looked to you, god,â he buries his face in your shoulder, shaking his head as you chuckled. âitâs okay. i didnât mean to blow up that hard - i just⊠it all kept building up and i really wanted to talk to you but it never felt right.â your hand comes to rest on his head as he burrows further into you, you can imagine the burn of his cheeks and smile to yourself at the thought.Â
âwell, if weâre going to be married. these are things we have to talk about i guess.â his skin is cool to the touch, you shiver at the feeling. âwe can talk about whatever you want too though. like what your favorite color is or why your favorite movie is your favorite movie.âÂ
âi like pink a lot.â he says, his cheek pressed into the pillow next to you. âwhy is that?â you wonder.Â
âit looks best on you.âÂ
đŻđźđ”đČđ. âŽ
oh he was beautiful. maybe not even that; maybe something greater.Â
you admired him still but frequently lost yourself to the floaty thoughts in your brain - thinking fondly back to your wedding day. he was dressed in opalescent whites of different shades, the hems of his attire glittered in the evening sun - cuts of sunlight beaming fractals down through the trees to paint his face something magnificent. and his wings. your feet carried you along the forest floor, but your eyes were blown into a sweet expression you couldnât fight. they were transparent if not for their shining and glittering design - fine lines of sunlight itself swirled and cut into fine designs on his wings - you were starstruck in his gaze. you cradled your bouquet, and though it was now your third time meeting felix in person, his worried and saddened expression turned into something peaceful when you looked at him. despite your arguments in efforts to call off your betrothal, now when facing him, you strangely felt as if everything would just work out. he exuded a kind of sweet energy, even just his smile would bring you happiness. you interlock your hands and despite the circumstance, you canât help but smile soft while reciting your vows, your practiced eye contact now utterly natural and right.Â
youâd been married to lee felix for two months and ten days - and in those days since accepting your marriage, youâd seen him only a handful of times. well, more than that, honestly, but it was easy to blur the days and times you saw him. it really only felt like youâd had a few conversations with him or shared any moments of true transparency or emotional value. he was dedicated to his job, he was. he protected the forest alongside a large force of fae peopleâs. regulations in the forest were strict - strong. and he took his job very seriously. he spent nearly every waking moment tangled in the trees, tending to her grasses, or playing with the forest creatures to keep the forest happy and healthy, and while you were more than proud of him of his job and his dedication, your marriage was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart. he was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart.Â
your job was to nurse saplings and hybrids, you were gone from your home for severely shorter hours than felix was - and while you loved your job all the same as he did his own, you couldnât help the want for a loving marriage despite the circumstances of it being arranged. you saw him frequently laughing in the trees and vines alongside his colleagues, happily caring for the creatures of the forest with careful and loving hands, and couldnât help but hope that one day youâd be the one making him smile, making him laugh, and be the fairy behind his loving touch. your heart swells at the very thought - ugh what a lovey he was. pure goodness you assumed. not a bad bone in his body. you just wanted him for yourself, selfishly.Â
how could your heart not blossom with feeling at the opportunity to be married to him? he was,,, he was so much. words couldnât describe the ache of affection you yearned from him. the way he lived. it was profound in and of itself.Â
your arms cradle the sleeping sapling of a mother willow, tender palms wrapped around the baby as they slept soundly. your mind snaps back to reality, your eyes fluttering to the small angel in your arms, and you smile at the sight. âprecious.â you admire, putting them back into their warm pot of soil to sleep until the next morning. evening was approaching, it was time for you to leave for the day. you float to your bag, your wings carrying you seamlessly to your things as you gather them and say goodbye to your fellow caretakers, returning home to your high tree top bungalow. your home was comfortably secluded near the top of the tree canopy, neighbors somewhat closeby to still have the comfort of community but to also have a nice peaceful feeling of seclusion in your own home. the lights wrapping around your home had been dimmed, you frown at the sight, concluding felix must not be home.Â
as you float to the door, softly landing on your feet, you push it open and find the lights are off and evening darkness begins to swallow your home. you sigh softly, pulling your leaf tote off your shoulder to hang it by the door. you pull clips from your hair and pad to your bedroom with your eyes focused comfortably at the floor, thinking no one was home.Â
that is until you enter your bedroom to see felix standing in the open space just before your bed, lifting his button-down from his head to peak into your closet for night clothes. âoh-â you jump, clutching your chest, face warming at the sight of his bare skin on display. âyou scared me, sorry.â his eyes widen for only a moment before he relaxes into a smile, âoh sorry for scaring you, i shouldâve left a note for you. i came home early today.â you beam gently, pulling your earrings out to leave your jewelry in a box at your vanity. âitâs okay! iâm glad youâre home. how was today?â you turn to look at him as he speaks.Â
he takes a sleep shirt from a hanger and begins slipping it on. âah, the watering hole at the east side of the forest edge began growing fungus - so we had the court mages come down to get rid of it. other than that, it was surprisingly uneventful.â his face contorts into a kind of grimace as he struggles to fit his wings through the back of his shirt - trying desperately hard on his own to flutter them through the back only to get caught. you stand, moving to help him as your vision falls to his back - and you stand behind him to gently tug his wings through the back. âthere you go, better?â you ponder with a soft worrisome look, rounding him to get a better look. he smiles and nods, âmuch, thank you.âÂ
you take a few steps back to sit at the edge of your shared bed, once again getting lost in your head as you stare at his wings. so pretty. moonlight begins to filter in through your bedroom windows and they almost seem to glow. âwhatâs wrong?â he asks, catching you off guard in your staring match. heâs left his shirt opens as he looks at you, his brow scrunched. âo-oh! nothing! sorry- your wings are just,, really pretty.â you chuckle, hoping to play off any tension or awkwardness. his face flushes a true shade of pink and his gaze falls to the floor, âthank you.â his low voice in gentle in the quiet.Â
âbut,,â he turns back, now stepping closer to you at a slower pace before he sits down in front of you. his gaze is so concerned, and he speaks as though what he has to say is hard. you match his expression, head tilting only a degree or so. âyou always kind of have this expression like youâre thinking,, or that youâre getting lost in your head. do you want to talk about it?âÂ
your cheeks flush at his notice and you look down to your hands now folded over your lap. if now was ever the time to bring up issues than youâd have to do it. were you going to drag this process on forever? you hoped not. now was the chance.
âyouâre⊠youâre so wonderful at what you do.â you smile again, because you canât help but give in around felix, but itâs sadder - and he worries about whatâs to come despite your compliment. âyouâre so dedicated. and i love seeing you smile and laugh with everything you do. with your colleagues, when youâre caring for the creatures in the forest, or when youâre caring for the plants and trees,â you pause. your lips part because you know what to say, you know exactly what to say because itâs been the only thing you think about during the day. and you simply must say it now or else youâd dig yourself into a hiding hole and never bring it up again. âbut i wish,, you cared for me in the way you cared for you job. in the way you care for the forest.â your thumb circles the band on your ring finger absentmindedly. itâs become second nature. when you look down to your hand, and see the band on your finger your eyes begin to water. oh not now, please, i was doing do good.Â
âiâve been meaning to talk to you about this, actually.â he starts. you lift your watery eyes and his expression melts, his hand coming up to wipe your tears but he stops himself in fear of crossing a line when really thatâs all you wanted in the moment. âi..â he swallows and his eyes get lost in focusing on nowhere in particular in the room and thatâs when you notice it.Â
his thumb is playing with his wedding band, his nail tracing the metal and fumbling with it just as you did without noticing.Â
your lips pull to the side as you try to keep them from trembling. âi wanted to talk to you about how we can become closer. how we can work better as a unit and build our relationship-â when the tears track down your cheeks and you look up at him, he disregards his fear and reaches out shamelessly - his pal meeting your cheek as his thumb swipes wetness from your eyes. you lean into his touch, appreciative of his warmth until it leaves you. his own eyes are a bit watery, but out of shame and guilt. âi feel,, so guilty. for making you feel that way. and i d-donât ever want to make you feel like that again because i do care for you.â when he looks back up at you, you reach for his hand and rub his band with your thumb. âi care for you a lot.â he chuckles sadly.Â
âi care for you too. and i want this to work out.â you reason, now holding his left hand with both of yours. he goes quiet for a second as he dips his head and wipes his face. at the sight your heart swells and you feel a smile over take your face. âyâknow on our wedding day, i thought, âwow i must be the luckiest person ever to be marrying the prettiest fairy in the forest.ââ you chuckle, wiping your face until he laughs through his tears. âdonât say that, iâll cry more!â you chuckle with him and this time you wipe his face with your thumbs when he canât get past the guilt.Â
âi p-promise iâll make it up to you. iâll show you i care for you and that i can be a husband you deserve.â his gaze lifts with your hand as you thumb over his wet freckles, and he now grabs your hands sacredly.Â
âletâs work together, yeah?â you look over his face with a more fond expression, watching every small move he makes to wipe his face and try desperately hard to keep the tears off his flustered freckled cheeks. he nods, fiercely. this was a change you already felt oncoming, and as you settled into resting for the night, you laid beside your husband - hands kept to yourself for now as shyness seemed to settle between both of your bodies.Â
âi know iâve been distant and consumed in work,, but iâve been watching you at your job recently.â his nimble fingers pick at the surface of his pillow, pulling a stray thread from itâs place. your brows raise, a soft look of surprise graces your features as you listen. âoh?â he immediately cuts in, ânot like that! i just.. wanted to see you at work but.. i didnât know how to.. reach out.â his gaze is focused elsewhere.Â
âyou can come visit me at work anytime. i think youâd be excellent with the sapling babies - theyâd love you.â your teeth show in a genuine smile and he canât help but think how contagious.Â
âi couldnât really think much, except for how stunning you looked doing it.âÂ
you push your face into your pillow, âyou canât say things like that,, iâll blush.â your hands cover your face, and much to your surprise, he grasps them to pull them from your red cheeks, looking at you solemnly. âitâs true. the sun was hitting you just right and you looked so pretty,, so happy.âÂ
heâs holding your hands again, the current if shyness feels as though heâs melted it away, and you reach out to brush a stray hair from his face, âi am happiest when with them, they bring me a lot of peace.â he beams, his wings flutter a bit behind him on the bed.Â
âwould you want to raise one, one day?â his eyes are wide with the question, as if a great amount of hope rests on his shoulders.Â
âwith you? absolutely.âÂ
đŒđźđŸđ·đ°đ¶đČđ·. âŽ
âthere wonât be a wedding.âÂ
you looked up from your coffee, both of your hands wrapped around itâs now cooling porcelain. your heart drops to the lowest part of your stomach at the news, hands steadying for a better grip on your mug. every dream, every hope, all the excitement of the young you, hoping for a beautiful wedding shared with the person you loved, instantly came crashing down in a fury. you swallow, feeling the eternal dread creeping on - up your back and over your shoulders.Â
âcan i ask why?â you look up to your future husband, finding a kind of indifference on his face, that made your heart sink further.Â
âmy family has a last minute trip planned for the weekend we originally scheduled - we talked to your family and decided to cancel it.âÂ
âokay.âÂ
âiâll make it up to you.â
for the sake of a legitimate marriage, you did stand before each other and repeat vows of no particular meaning to you - and held his hand as you walked back down the aisle in a white sundress. you slept in the same bed but didnât know the man beside you, you said goodbye to him for his business trips but mostly thoughts of leaving consumed you while he was away (even though your family would have your head for it) you ate beside him but didnât speak - your outlook on your marriage was bleak to say the least.Â
your own job consumed you of course, the marriage was for business anyway. but you took severely less trips than seungmin did - and mostly worked from home in your office, conducting meetings, discussing sales goals and the like.Â
and now, at your age, you came to realize something. that your life wasnât lived for what you wanted to do or how you wanted to live, but instead was lived out by the expectation of how you were supposed to. who were you even really? and you didnât have the best example - your parentâs marriage was arranged. and though your mom persevered in saying they were happy, you could easily read between the lines to see they were anything but.Â
seungmin had his good moments.Â
he was great at his job, very dedicated. he periodically checked in on you but it felt half-hearted. there were a few times heâd sent flowers to the house while he was away. a lot of empty promises on his part though, saying he would look forward to doing something fun when he returned home, only for his time to be taken again. youâd bury yourself in your work if that was the only thing you could do - eyes filtering over the now dying roses on your desk.Â
he was gone now on another business trip, he had been now for three days. in truth, you missed him. or maybe you missed the idea of him. the idea of what he could be to you, and what you could be together. it all felt very misty in your brain, a lot of thoughts you couldnât dwell on for long periods of time as they stopped making sense. youâd try to sort through your feelings, categorize your thoughts, to better understand yourself - but most attempts remained fruitless. your marriage to seungmin was an enigma - with most of your free time spent alone, all you had to do was think of him. it was strange to admit you missed and longed for a man you feel like you donât know, but your nights were spent planted on your couch, wondering when heâd return.
your days spent in your new home brought a wave of heaviness you havenât looked in the eye in years. it was dreadful. every waking moment you fought to stay motivated with your job, but a large part of you hadnât a single care. not for anything. after work, youâd crawl back into bed and sleep until waking, rotting away in your home.Â
until seungmin came home.Â
when he unlocked the door and came in with a few small bags by his side, you didnât raise your head from your pillow, or dare to even wipe your cheeks of the tears cascading down your face - you didnât care. you didnât care if he saw, you didnât care if he had something to say. you only felt the weight.Â
he comes into the bedroom, and upon looking at you curled up in your shared bed, wetness glistening on your cheeks, his brows furrow. âwhatâs wrong?â
you shake your head, mumbling something that sounded like âitâs nothing.âÂ
he wasnât taking that as an answer, not with the way his voice drew out and the way he came to sit on his side of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs. âwhatâs wrong?â he asks, this time a little softer; even just the way his voice sounded made you want to cry.Â
you roll to your back, eyes focused nowhere in particular as you muster up something to say. your tears fall into your hairline now, for a moment you feel as though this might be worse than dying. âshould we separate?âÂ
âlike divorce? no, no we shouldnât. whatâs,, whatâs going on?â he almost wants to reach out and touch you but he keeps his hands to himself for now. the news hits him with a kind of weight he wasnât expecting; he stumbles over the words that first come to his brain, his composure slowly melting away.Â
âyouâre never here, seungmin.â your head lulls to the side to look at him. âi care about you a lot. i just wished you felt the same.â your voice trembles on the breath of a whisper, soon your eyes are focused elsewhere yet again - and your lips shake a bit.Â
he grasps your hands, and pulls your weight up until youâre resting in his arms. his hold is light - as if he were afraid to touch you but he does anyway. your heart explodes - he holds you because he understands itâs what you need. and you realize, this is the first time heâs ever held you, and you hope to whatever greater source there is in the world, that it isnât the last.Â
âiâm sorry.â he pats your back with a gentle hand, and he feels your arms circle him lightly. âi do care for you.âÂ
you sit in his hold comfortably, listening to him as he periodically speaks. âiâm sorry iâm never home. the business has kept me really busy, and, to be honest, i didnât know what to do.âÂ
you understand more now than ever that, itâs hard for him to speak his emotions. and while it might be awkward, it meant so much more that he was trying. his long sleeve shirt is soft against your palms, you flatten them more, pressing closer to him a bit - hoping it doesnât make him uncomfortable, but rather it urges him to speak more on his feelings.Â
âi assumed youâd be unhappy, and honestly, i wouldnât blame you. i wanted to try to make things work.. i just didnât know how.âÂ
that was, perhaps, the most words youâd heard from him - and you were beyond happy with his honesty.Â
âi mean, it wasnât like our marriage was ideal but i too want to make it work. i believe we can.â
when your bodies separate, and seungmin fumbles with his fingers that peak just past the sleeves of his shirt, youâre both swallowed in a kind of silence, one you wouldnât label, but one that was loud. âwhat,, what do you want me to do? to be better?â he asks quietly.Â
âjust talk to me.â
âtalk to you? what do you want to talk about?â
âanything.â
for the next few hours, as the moon hung high in the night sky, you sat in your bed and talked. like people did. like married people did.Â
âwhen i was 14 i got a bone spur in my ankle from working at an amusement park.â you chuckled, seungmin laughs beside you as well. âhowâd you do that?âÂ
âi jumped down onto a platform and i didnât bend my knees when i landed so,â you mesh your fingers together, âcrunch. yâknow?â his expression changes to a grimace of sorts, âi broke my elbow playing baseball as a kid.âÂ
âyou played baseball?âÂ
âi did.â
đłđźđžđ·đ°đČđ·.âŽ
âbefore you are five people, you must choose a significant other to marry.â were the words spoken to jeongin - words he was expecting to hear, dreaded ones - evil even in prospect. he was raised for this moment, this was one of many he must complete in his familyâs line of work. his choices were limited, but this one seemed impossible. his steps were counted, he rolls through his foot, keeps a sharp gaze so his intentions arenât questioned, not in front of his father, and he looks between the wide-eyed looks that stare at him with hope. not hope of being chosen, no quite the opposite.Â
there was only really one option -
you.Â
you were beautiful, maybe not even that but something he couldnât label or put a finger on. it stole breath from his lungs as he raised his hand without a second thought, pointing to your slightly hunched composure.Â
âyou.âÂ
it was the first words he ever spoke to you - and you wanted nothing more in that moment for them to be the last. but you knew hope cost very little in your new life. you were unsure of the price over your head for marriage to the son of the leader of the biggest crime ring in the area, but you hoped it hurt his pockets if anything. you were to be married to jeongin now, and that was your lifeâs purpose. you would part from your family, and move into a house suitable for newly weds, youâd forget everything you loved, everyone you loved, if it meant he was happy.Â
you were wedded in a small ceremony, only surrounded by your parents and other members of the crime syndicate. your father handed you off your arm to the man that was soon to be your husband, and you took his hands with a grip too easy to slip. he grasps your hands, soon loosening his hold upon feeling your reluctance in your hands. but it isnât reluctance in just your physical touch with him - but itâs the reluctance in your eyes. the way light doesnât shine in them or sparkle, and you speak your vows with such shame it kills him.Â
so he vowed to stay away. if it made you happy.Â
but you werenât happy. not really.Â
was he? he didnât know.Â
but even from the start, he felt your sadness when you spoke to him, the light still hadnât returned to your pretty face, well. there was one thing that made the sparkle gleam in your expression,Â
painting.Â
fuck you looked beautiful when you painted. lost in the color - the washes, forgetting your hands were smeared and wet and that your cuticles were crackling with paints to no wits end but you continued, and you would persevere. youâd surround yourself with happiness and feeling only translated and spoken through the mouthpiece of a canvas, and he could sit and watch you forever, just admiring the way you lost yourself in something for a moment that wasnât your marriage.Â
âwhat would make you happier?â heâd asked one day.Â
you raised your gaze up from the marble of the extending bar of the kitchen counter, your cheek between your teeth. it was a question you werenât ready for, one that you thought heâd never ask. âiâd like to paint more.â you answered, almost smiling a bit through the dark lines beneath your eyes.Â
in truth, you could see the good in jeongin. the reluctance to follow in his fatherâs footsteps, the boyish, happy energy he so little exuded that you only wished to see more of. yes. in truth, jeongin was beautiful. yet he chose to show it so little. you wonder if it was fear, trauma even - but he seemed so far away, so distant.Â
âokay.â it was simple. and a week later, he showed you to one of the spare bedrooms in your home - canvasâ covered the walls and a desk and stool stood in the middle of the room, an array of different paints grouped in boxes and a great big container of brushes sat on itâs surface. you couldâve cried at the sight, but instead thanked him, a number of times, and began on your next piece.Â
and after that, he was gone again. all hidden behind stern expressions, his suits and ties and whispers of jobs and missions. youâd lost him again, and damn it all you were tired.
youâd been defeated since you said yes to him, no youâd been tired since youâd found out you were to be married to a stranger. and now, when you felt like things were going somewhere, he was just,, gone. you were sick, sick of feeling this way. feeling like your life had no other meaning than to be strangers, sick of him not talking or trying, just sick.Â
so you pushed a blade into your first canvas. you cut through the paint, the flesh of it, cut through the hours, the focus, the mess ups and successes, and you kept going. you dragged the blade through the wooden circumference and threw it to the ground with your hair flying behind you.Â
jeongin came in a moment later to hear the commotion - finding a few of your paintings destroyed, tears running down your cheeks, and your form huddled in the corner of the room with your knees pulled to your chest. you were hysterical - like your filter had diminished and your true thoughts were the only thing capable of leaving your lips.Â
âi-i-! i-i just wished you cared-!â you yelled.Â
he grabs your face, holding steady in both of his hands.Â
and suddenly, the only thing you see is him.Â
and he was there. there. with his brows pressed together, and his thumbs swiping over your cheeks soft. he was there.Â
âiâm here- iâm here.â his voice steadies your heart, his presence centers your attention on him and him alone - and despite the pure rage you felt at him - he was the only person you had. and the only one you wanted.Â
your breathing slows, as do your tears, and you lower your hands, letting them rest on his forearms. âyouâre,, here.â you repeat as if heâd disappear.Â
he nods, his thumbs smoothing over your cheeks. âthatâs right. iâm right here. iâm not going anywhere, i promise.â he assures.Â
he was numbly grounding - he pulled you out of your own head so quick you saw stars and felt whiplash. and now, in steadiness, you grasp his hands from your face and hold onto him tight. âb-but,, why arenât you ever really here? why donât you care-â you hiccup.
âbecause i donât know how to be.âÂ
you look at him with an expression only capable of melting, and your face contorts sadly again and he tries. âj-just donât leave. just try, please? i want this to work because it kills me.â
âi wonât leave. i wonât. and i do care. i really do, so much. iâm sorry.â
though you feel like strangers, and he still feels so far away, you stretch your arms outward and you grasp onto his waist - and in a way you werenât expecting, he wraps his arms around you, and holds you like heâs known you for years. and maybe in some kind of way, he did.Â
âi believe you but just.. can we talk? can we do fun things married people do? like go on dates and watch stupid movies?â your tears fall gently now, rounding the flesh of your cheeks in a way he thinks is so pretty, so unlike how he understood you before. but now, when you look at him, you feel like you see a man you know. one you can trust.
he nods, vigorously as he pulls you from his arms. âi want that, and iâll try okay? i promise,â his hands grasp your own, âi promise i care. i really do.âÂ
you nod, now too consumed with teas to speak again, and instead you push your face into your hands and sit back on your legs between his own. he takes a moment to look around the room, finding art even in your destruction.Â
âyour paintings,â he frowns, standing. he picks one up, stretching his arms out to look at it. his expression is sad, genuinely sad, and it kind of surprises you to see that.Â
âitâs okay.â
he looks to his right to see you, swallowed in a tainted sweatshirt, and he smiles, setting it against the wall in front of him.Â
âletâs make new ones.âÂ
i have no concept on whether these are good or not, i've been working a lot and i'm actually sick rn but persevered through seungmin's and jeongin's. lmk what y'all think.
#stray kids#skz#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#skz ot8 x you#ot8 x you#stray kids fanfic#stray kids x you#skz x you#han x reader#han jisung x reader#han jisung x you#han jisung x y/n#lee felix x reader#lee felix x y/n#lee felix x you#felix x you#felix x y/n#felix x reader#seungmin x reader#seungmin x you#seungmin x y/n#jeongin x reader#jeongin x y/n#jeongin x you#maknae line#stray kids x y/n#skz x y/n#stray kids fluff#stray kids angst
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What men bred for
4. Stallions and Cows
Countless transparent glass columns are filled with milky white liquid. The liquid surges and gradually recedes, and white figures appear from them.
Now in each column is a smooth, hairless, muscular male figure without genitals. The color of figureâs skin gradually deepens from completely white to normal skin color. Then, the hair and the genital grows, and the figure becomes indistinguishable from a real person.
A strong gust of wind blew through the columns, leaving the men dry and clean. There was a beep in the room and they all opened eyes, the glass of the tube also retracting into the floor. Countless men who looked exactly the same stepped out of the platform, turned left, and walked towards another room.
The two "wild earthlings" escorted by the security drones were shocked by the sight in front of them.
"You were cultivated in this factory, but not in this cloning room. Only the best individuals will be cloned and directly made into adult individuals for rapid shipment." The drones explained to them in a monotone, emotionless voice.
"And you are prey-type humans who were raised from infants to adults using traditional methods, and then released into the wild for hunting. You do not have the memory here because according to regulations, all products leaving the factory must have their memories erased."
Before the two humans could understand the information they heard, a naked man wearing a helmet walked past them with two armored men wearing the same helmet.
"They are the latest products: Space Patrollers. They will be partially mechanized and equipped with armor before leaving the factory to adapt to the harsh environment of outer space. The one in the middle should be considered "the best of the best", so the mechanization process was stopped. He will be modified into a "Stallion" and he will provide his semen to create excellent clones until he die."
" Yet you two are an inferior breed that does not know how to obey your alien masters. You cannot become soldiers, guards or other useful characters, except used as nothing but food." the security drones said.
"However, the R&D director of the factory believes that even wild low-level species like yours can be domesticated, so he arranged this factory tour for you."
The two prisoners were taken to the next room, which contained a row of huge glass tanks filled with milky white liquid, a super muscular man wearing a helmet and covered in black rubber armor, and a group of men wearing helmets, boots and metal briefs.
"What you see is the Bellwether and a whole herd of Cows. The screens on the inside of their helmets are playing scenes of human sexual intercourse in a loop, and the metal underwear constantly stimulates their genitals and arseholes, keeping them on the edge of climax for a long time.
The difference is: the semen of the Cows is of high quality and can be used as high-quality nutrition for the alien masters. They should fill the entire tanks with semen every day;
The Bellwether is responsible for managing the entire herd of dairy cows. Their own semen is of poor quality, but their desire for semen is so strong that they are not allowed to ejaculate but are fed semen as a reward for their work.â
"So why are the masters showing us this?" one of the prisoners asked tremblingly.
"It is a very good start for you to start calling 'Masters'. You will make preliminary adjustments, put on the mind control helmet, and assist the R&D director in the laboratory as a 'Quality Control Assistant' for one month. The earthlings who can serve as the Master's personal assistant is supreme glory."
"And after that?"
"After one month, your helmets will be removed, and the R&D director will review your degree of domestication to determine whether you can become better individuals, or you can only be destroyed."
Before the two prisoners could react, they were put on helmets. A spiral appeared in front of their eyes. The director's whispers sounded in their ears. At the same time, they also felt a device being installed on their groin, giving them a comfortable feeling.
The drone released the two prisoners, trembling with pleasure at the "reward" the armor had given them.
The two prisoners, now "Temporary Drones", were completely hypnotized, controlled by the helmet's instructions, and walked towards the quality control room like robots.
#ai image#scifi#reprogramming#drone#scifi story#rubber#dronification#cyborg#what men bred for#ai male#malebot#mind control#tofu83
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let me worship
francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader | collection masterlist
summary: frankie's back, and he's desperate to have his face between your legs.
pairing: pre-tf/delta squad francisco morales x ofc!reader (has a name but nicknamed blue) chapter kink: pussy worship. warnings:Â smut. pussy worship. pussy pronouns. nickname is given by frankie. no y/n. no physical descriptions. oral (f!receiving). frankie paints you... wordcount: 3.8k an: this is a collection, so you can read any of the kinks and still understand what's going off after the meeting (aka the first part posted). huge thank you to @pedgito for doing whoregust with me, and for filling me with confidence as always. shoutout @luxurychristmaspudding for the shrieks and the cheers.
Frankie's knuckles have barely finished knocking when the door yanks open.
The breeze from it causes the skirt of your dress to flutter around your calves, your face all initially blank, before it stretches into a smile, a grinâwide, all full of light and brightness that seems to dilute all the stuff heâs carrying.
Itâs all Frankie can do to stand in it, drown in it. Soak every last part of him in it as he silently hopes it has the same healing effects as being in the actual sun.
Gently, you lean, eyes firmly on him, smile sliding into a cheek as your elbow rests on the door frame. He adjusts the plain baseball cap on his headâthe one picked up, no thought, not even sure where it came fromâas he drags his eyes up and down you.
Letting them warm you, hoping they are.
He also hopes youâve been thinking about him, as much as heâs been thinking about you.
Because itâs been occasional texts, nothing overzealous, but plenty to know you had meant your second goodbye to him last time. The same one as when heâd almost left before dragging you back to your bed, when the only breaks had been for the bathroom and eating slices of the obnoxiously large pizza youâd ordered for nutrition.
âMorales.â
âBlue.â
Itâs then vanilla hits him, followed by something sweeter. Two scents he remembers instantly from last time, ones that clung to him when heâd leftâlingered in his jacket, in his jeans. Unwilling to wash them from him for as long as possible.
It makes his chest tighten at the familiarity, at the way his shoulders loosen instantly.
He suspects itâs why, the moment heâd been able to and had a clear idea of when heâd be finished, heâd messaged.
Typed one-handed that he was free now if you areâyour reply coming before heâd slammed the passenger door closed behind his duffel. Spinning his phone in his hand before throwing it under the radio, turning the dial as his tyres kicked up dirt behind him.
âShould thank you.â
âWhyâs that?â
You smile, teeth showing, tongue sweeping over the tips of your bottom set. âI passed my exam.â
âYou gonna invite me in then?â
Biting your lip, knowing exactly what youâre doing, you smile. âWhatâs the magic word?â
Snorting, and shaking his head, he waits. Six-letters sitting pretty on the tip of his tongue, fingers itching to grab your waist and pull you close.
You beat him to it. Fist balled up in his tee, the other hand looping around his neck, crashing your mouth to his as you drag him flush to you. With more strength than he counts on, making him drop his bag once inside and kick your door shut behind him.
Once his hands were free, they roamed. Reunited, slid around your waist as he grasped at the excess fabric of your dress at the base of your spine.
âSomeoneâs needy.â
âVibrator broke two days ago,â you reply between kisses, smirking, pressing it to his mouth. âGlad you could be on call for me.â
He grunts, almost snarling. Perfectly justified he thinks as he manoeuvres you. Allowing him to lead, steer, and angle, until the backs of your knees are at the cushion, and he gives you one light shove. Itâs a picture, watching your face shift into surprise. Landing with an oof, mouth parted in shock as your body bounces.
Frankieâs quick to remove the cap, to scratch at the hair close to his forehead. The one thatâs a little longer than it should beâthe downfall and evidence that heâs been off base longer than he should have been. Not that it matters now. Frankieâs here, with you.
That itch that refused to be scratched by stroking his cock in the shower, from grunting into his own pillow when he was alone, flared. The need, the one burrowed inside of him, a heat that has only fermented and twisted inside of him, not starved off by fucking his own fist, is all but roaring again.
âSpread your legs for me.â
âWhy?â
Tracing his teeth with his tongue, he stares, ogles, gawks. âWanna taste youâproperly, this time.â
âYeah? Gonna fuck me with your tongue, Morales. Make her all wet, messy?â
He almost groans. Almost.
Only able to hold off when your chin tilts up and you stare, dropping your knees as far down to opposite sides of your couch, fingers tugging up the skirt of your dressânot breaking eye contact. Not becoming shy or flustered. Not visibly, anyway.
Fuck, he doesnât even need to get close to see the wet patch already on the gusset of your panties. The sign of arousal that makes him one to dive his face between your soft thighs and taste it through the cotton.
Because he remembers how perfect you are, he can recall the taste as easily as he can how tight you felt when you came around him sometime between two and four in the afternoon the day after you took him home with you. Just like how he sees how perfect you are with water cascading down your thighs when he dreams, sees it behind his lids when he closes them for a moment of reprieve.
Kneeling, he ignores the way his cargo pants protest at his thighsâthe seams digging into his skin as you can only watch, keeping those hungry, pretty eyes on him as he watches you swallow.
âNot even touched you.â
You can only hum, fingers playing with the end of your dress, swallowing again a second later before you inhale when he slides his palms up your thighs.
âThis where you want me, Blue?â
You seem to coyly smile at the nickname, leaning yourself further into your cushions as his fingers toy with the band of your pantiesânodding, a little up and down with your head.
âAnother time,â he begins, hooking a finger on either side before you lift your hips to help, dragging the fabric down, âIâm gonna make you come with these still on. But not today.â
Heâs unable to not smirk when he balls them up and discards them to an undisclosed corner. Dropping his gaze, finding his cockiness momentarily stolenâ
Because fuck, youâre already wet, glistening. Your breath hitches as he places his palms on your knees, thumbs drawing soft, gentle shapes as you shift your hipsâa thing he stops, halts, with just a look.
Good girl he wants to say, but instead places a kiss to your inner thigh. His gaze flicks up, watching your chest rise, making the fabric strain over your breasts, those perfect pair heâd run the soap over last time, slathered with kisses when he got you back into the sheets, when heâd sunk back into you. When youâd keened, arched, fucking pleaded with him as you were already clenching as though you were closeâ
âYou know, sheâs the prettiest pussy Iâve ever seen?â
It slips out. Knees digging into your floor, as though heâs confessing. Spilling truths. Running his fingers over your inner thighs as he leans, dipping his headâ
âIf you mean that, you wonât keep her waiting.â
He cocks his head, blowing out a slow breath as he watches you shift.
And he clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, it echoing in the silence as you continue to stare. Stern, challenging and bold. Three things youâre masking over the mist which threatens to boil over, already knowing one kiss, one finger would have you pleading, archingâ
He chooses not to tease. A choice he makes, because he's desperate. Having longed, imagined, dreamed.Â
Another time, he thinks. Adding it to the list, the one only in his head as he closes the gap and offers one slow, first drag of his tongue. And the broken noise you emit from your throat makes him half-hard. Your hand clenches at a cushion, digging your nails into the fabric, making it crease under your grip as your chin lifts. Then, you whine, repeatedly so when he flicks his tongue against your nerves, swirling a circle, another shape, drawing them out like heâs being tested over, and over again.
All he can think is that you taste good.
A thing he had known but finds himself reminded of, able to savour it, take it all in. Less rushed, more to prove now heâs got you spread, that youâre at his mercy, that youâve let him back in another time. He moans at the realisation, a thing which makes you whimper from the vibrations as he continues to taste, all but desperate to stain his tongue in you. Wanting to wake up and still taste you. Knowing full well memories are not good enough, not serving him well. Heâd only allowed himself a little last time, but today he hopes to be drowning in you. That you embed into his skin, into the faint hair that tries to grow as he presses his palms against the underside of your thighs, forcing you apart, spread.
âThis mess all for me?â
You whimpering, soft, eyelashes fluttering.
âYou know how this works, Blue. Is this all for me?â he repeats, blowing out intentional cool breath, directly over where youâre slick and glistening.
âYes. Fuck, yes.â
He smirks, before pressing a kiss to your mound. âCanât wait to taste it all. Lick it all up. Fuck, you have the perfect pussy for pressing my mouth toâŠâ
Whining, your hips try to grind against his mouthâearning just air and breath, blown out as he laughs. âCanâtâcanât say shit like that, Frankie.â
âNo?â he whispers, blowing the word out, fingers spreading your folds, teasing, taunting. âWhat if I say you look so pretty with your thighs spread, baby?â
âFuckâŠâ
He keeps one hand on your thigh, tapping as you try to close them, as he uses the other to part you, to tease you, to trace the hole that clenches for him. Tracing, and tracing, before he slides one finger inâearning a moan, more wanton, a cryâas heâs enveloped by velvety warmth.
âI fisted my cock thinking about you, Blue. How you feel wrapped around meâeven imagined how youâd look sat on my face. Fuck. Youâd look so good. Your perfect pussy on my face. Thighs on either side of me. Youâd be a queen. My queen.â
Curling in a second finger, thick, stretching you as he pushes in deep as you hiss, a depraved noise leaving you as your drop to his shoulder, leaving half-moons on as you stare, pleadingâfucked, already looking desperate.
Frankie only speeds his fingers up. Wrapping his lips around your slit, the sounds of his wet and thick, crooked fingers finding that spot inside of you that makes you incoherent, a fucked out messâ
And his cock is straining, pressing uncomfortablyâalmost painfullyâagainst his zipper.
âCould come like this, you know? Thatâs how pretty you lookâhow fucking good you taste.â
âFrankie.â
He has to lift, using one hand to undo them, needing to release some pressureâ
âTouch yourself, Frankie.â
He doesnât freeze, but he slows. Lifting his face, your eyes blown, dripping your gaze in lust.
âShow me what you did in the shower.â
He smirks.
A thing which seems to make you only moan when he thrusts his fingers in as far as he can, the noise drenching him, thighs beginning to shake as your hands came to rest on your knees to starve it off.
âYou make the best noises for me.â
âFrankie, pleaseââ
You barely finish your thought when he licks a stripe up his palm, wrapping it around his cock as he dips his head. Itâs in tandem that he presses his mouth against youânose inhaling you, alternating between flicking, lapping and suckingâas he begins to fuck his hand. His tongue licking up everything youâre giving him, feeling it on his chin, on the tip of his nose as loud, wicked noises fill the small space. All accompanied by your breaths, quick, frantic.
âDoing so good for me, baby. You know that?â
âYeah?â
âYeah, baby.â
You crack an eye open, staring at him, admiring from the looks of it. Committing the sight of him on his knees, mouth buried against your pussy, hand around his cock. âIâI like that.â
âThis?â he asks, before his nose brushes against your clit, before his tongue flicks.
âYesâbut-fuckâwhen you call me that.â
He smirks, pressing it against you, curling his fingers as his tongue swirls over your clit again. Alternating, changing the movements, spotting your toes curling in the air, that your hips are finding a pace, seeking a rhythm as he pulls his fingers free, wraps his mouth around them, tastes the tang of your need as he groans.
âNeed you to come on my tongue.â
Thumb pressing to your clit, mouth latching, side of his thumb abutting his nose as his tongue pushes inside of you. Groaning, moaning against you.
âFeel so good, taste even better. No one is better. Just you, fuck only you, babyââ
He knows heâs going on, practically babbling. His fist works his cock as he lathers each compliment against you, alternating, from tongue to fingers, to fingers to lips. Taking in a glance, a sight heâs thought of, dreamt of, all come true as your fingers tangle in his short hair, nails dragging along his scalp.
âClose, closeâfuck, mâclose.â
Your hips rock into his mouth as you paint the air in drawn-out, guttural pleas as he increases his pace, feeling your body tensing.
âThatâs it, fucking so pretty right now. Love how you taste, baby. So good for meâŠâ
And you're panting, moaning. All high-pitched like music to his earsâwatching, looking up as your head throws back, teeth biting down on your lip as you choke out his name. Your breath is ragged, strained; your hips stagger before you clench around his tongue.
Then you snap. Coming into his mouth. His face is slick with itâall welcomed, forever savoured. Lapping up every drop as he guides and pushes you through it, all the while working his cock. Not stopping, not until your fingers loosen both on his head and your leg, quivering, shaking. The softest sob bleeds into a protesting mutter of too much as his mouth presses a kiss to your inner thigh as your lashes flutter open and embalm him in lust.
Frankie slides his hand from your core, massaging your other leg, head lifting, half-resting on your knee as you catch your breath.
âSo perfect,â he repeats, âso fuckinâ perfect.â
And heâs close, strangled groans as it ebbs inside of him, building and building. Liquid fire spreading out and ready to burst inside of him as he loses his rhythm, hurtlingâ
âWhere?â
âRight here,â you point. âMake me messier.â
Fuck. Fuck. Fuâ
His mind blanks. Finds himself only able to focus on what his hand is doing and what yours is doing, as you play, as you tease your own slick across your pussy. Hips thrusting, teeth grit as his eyes clench shut and it hits him, slams into him, erodes everything for a moment as he hears only the grunt ripped from his throat and the white noise of how hard he comes.
Then nothing.
Nothing.
The room both pauses and spins all at once.
Before soft touches guide him back, a gentle palm against his cheek, eyes blinking open to see you staring at him, dress pulled up under your breasts and the rest of you painted in him.
Your smile is lop-sided, your chest still rising and falling. âThink yâmissed me.â
Snorting, breathing ragged, he lowers onto his knees, hand still around his softening cock. âMissed your pussy.â
âYeah,â you exclaim, breathless, head rolling as you lean back, forearm to your head. âWell, I missed your cock, too. Think you should let me show you.â
He considers it.
Thinks of your lips around his cock, taking him again, the chance to feel himself in your throat again, to have your eyes staring up at him.
âThink you owe me one more first,â he whispers, fingers sliding up and down your inner thigh as you tremble, jerk and shake. âBut, maybe, we should order food, shower⊠thenâŠâ
âYou staying for a bit, then?â
âIf you want me to.â
And you smirk, sly, before you nod.
You wonder if you should be concerned about how quickly time flies with him.
How normal it is.
It feels less like half a day heâs been here and rather a week. A similar feeling to the last time he was hereâthe first time. When the only reason the two of you knew time had passed was the grumbling of stomaches and the various times of the day you both stirred awake in your sheets.
Now, the afternoon has bled into the night, and it should make you worried. But, youâre finding it hard to linger in negative when your thighs have shaken thriceâjaw still aching from spending time on your knees in your shower until the water had cooled.
Thereâs no rulebook for this, and no plan for the rest of it, the after. It wasnât something you do, or usually desired, a thing youâd told him. So much so, even when youâd let it slip to friends, when youâd confessed what youâd gotten up to that last weekend he was here, they looked at you with open-mouth surprise.
Just happened, youâd explained. A truthïżœïżœïżœone that others found hard to swallow with the same ease as youâd said it.
âHow has work been?â
It catches you off guard, almost makes you choke on your noodles.
Reminding you of the reality outside of his visit, outside of the few text messages heâd sentâones youâd not expected, but found yourself eagerly waiting for the next. Can I see you again? Your body had buzzed and tingled when youâd replied, and then his name flashed up again. Broken flirting spread over days that shifted into weeks, the last before today being yours: Hope youâre not flying and texting?
Somehow, youâd convinced yourself you wouldnât see him.
But heâs here, palm flat against your lower leg, the ones splayed out over his on the floor. He runs the tips of each finger over your bare skin, all calloused touches, as though itâs normal, a thing heâs done before. Sliding his grip out across your flesh while your hands are busyâone holding your container, the other using your chopsticks as you slurp up a bit of noodle.
âDonât.â
âWhat? Friends know things like that.â
Your eyes roll, tilting your head. âYou donât even know if I have a middle name.â
âDo you?â
Narrowing your eyes, you smirk. Then you drop your stare down at your food, at the liquid in the corner and the noodles swimming in it.
âWhen do you have to go?â
âNot tonight.â
Smirking, tongue clicking you shuffle your hips on the floorâknees bent slightly, still a little sore, but all worth it. Twisting your chopsticks, you hover a portion close to his mouth, watching, finding his eyes staring, sinking into you, those perfect lips parting as you slide the noodles and veggies in before his mouth closes around it before you remove the utensil finding it clean.
Slow, intentionalâall heavy with eye contact that makes your skin bristle with warmth and makes you rock a little on top of him.
Swallowing, you stir the noodles again, hearing itâletting it tick around your head. Unsure if it should be spilt, spoken. I liked that my sheets smelt like you. An omission that isnât necessary, an internal battle occurring, one cleverly hidden as you slide the contents left around the tub. Just as his fingers slide up your knee, thumb brushing over it, almost making you jolt from the ticklishness of his carefulness.
âHowâs your knees?â
âWhy're you ready to go again, sir?â
The tip of his tongue pokes through, slightly dragging it over two, maybe three teeth, before his lips close, rolling. âSee, there was me thinking the last time might have made you less bratty.â
âBratty, or witty?â
He wants to smirk, you can tell. The slight shadow of a dimple begins to appear, to show. To stand out and present itself as your reward for being quick, for being as quick as him.
âPut the noodles down.â
âMânot finished.â
âBlue.â
Smirking, biting your lip, flicking your gaze up from your food to meet hisâignoring it, that buzz. That same thrum which occurs when you stare for a beat too long and things begin to warm or beat differently in your chest.
âLet me guess, you want me face down, ass up?â
He glares, a muffled grunt coming from the back of his throat, as you carefully place your mostly eaten noodles down on the coffee table where his finished tub sits, before you shift so your thigh crosses over his and your arms slide around his neck, watching his expression remain as stern.
âCan you imagine the angle, Morales,â you whisper, the tip of your nose brushing his, âYouâd be so deep, sheâd be so tight after earlier...â
His lips part, just ever so slightly.
âRemember how pretty she looksâhow you told her how pretty she is.â Your hips shifting over him, rocking. âSheâd look even nicer with you filling herâfuck, sheâd be so full, Morales, to the brim. Can you pictureââ
âStop.â
But you donât, fingers teasing the short hair at the base of his neck.
âYou said you wanted a photo, you could be the one to take itâfingers parting her as she leaksââ
His mouth crushes itself against yours, almost biting, tongue forcing in your mouth as you taste the sauce from his food, even the two of you on his upper lip when you grasp both sides of his face and somehow fold forwardâchest pressing to his, feeling his palms snaking up your thighs, kneading your ass.
And you smirk.
Rocking yourself against his stretched-out legs, already feeling him hardening, as you likely leave a wet patch on the gusset of your clean panties.
âGet on your kneesâŠ,â he hisses, each syllable extended out before he kisses you again. âAss up.â
Shifting, moving, grabbing a throw cushion from the chair and twisting yourself so youâre doing as heâs asked. Cotton panties in the air, the oversized shirt sliding down from its previous placement.
âFuck, I like it when you boss me around.â
His hand grabs a handful of your ass as he kneels up behind you, it almost bruising. âThat mean you're gonna listen to what I say then?â
Glancing over your shoulder, lips spreading into a smile. âNope.â
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales smut#francisco morales x reader#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier smut#triple frontier#frankie morales x reader smut#francisco morales x reader smut#frankie morales x f!reader#francisco morales x f!reader#triple frontier fanfic#pedro pascal character fanfiction#Pedro pascal character#triple frontier x reader
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so, i received the following comment on archive:
"it went from sweet, to sensual, to smut in just one short chapter. which i love.
"i like to think that carmen is an acts of service kind of dude, he expresses his affections through things like making meals for reader. i think itâd be cute if reader like forgot they're lunch at home or smth, and then carmen would deliver it to them in personâjust a cute lil thought." - topostapocalyptic
so, here is my version of that. i tried so hard and i just can't look at it any longer!
o.s. basil, monterey jack, and the simplicity of a kind gesture
summary: you're late for work, rushing out the door, and carmen notices you've left your lunch behind. he can't help but interject his talents (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)
reflection: this took me so. so. embarrassingly long. i am not super proud of it. i feel like i needed to finish it in order to get out of my current rut in writing, though. i finished school up and graduated recently, on a lighter note! please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!
warnings: stress, worrying, temper flares, cursing, shirtless!carmy, established relationship, journalist!reader, commentary on nutrition, poor eating habits, inner dialogue (just a little), nature's own slander, anxiety depictions, original characters, moody!reader, some longwinded descriptions (as always), awkwardness, fluff, kissing, carmen's nervous tick, domesticity, implied (like one or two instances) smut, humor, an act of service, laughing while kissing, a small flashback, no use of pronouns for reader (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)
word count: 3,207
( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )
âStupid shithead,â you mutter.
Youâre frantically grabbing items into your hands. Your keys, your purse, the wallet that goes into the purse, your phone. Anything covering the counter. Itâs the same counter your knee knocks right into as you turn the corner. Immediately, you bite the inside of your cheek as pain floats throughout your kneecap, a harsh sting that floats into warm pressure down your calf. Youâre so self-aware of your bloodâs rising temperature in this instance that it nauseates you.
âMotherfucker,â you blurt, sucking in a sharp breath through your nostrils. You lift your foot from the ground and lean a majority of your weight onto your opposite heel, elbow pressing onto the counter you envision your stupid bossâs face on. You would punch it if it didnât mean breaking your knuckles on ceramic in your growing agitation. No, thatâs irrational. You need that hand to type.
âReally hoping Iâm not the motherfucker youâre talking about,â Carmen mumbles groggily as he emerges from down the hallway. His curls are tousled, somehow despite sleeping on your satin pillowcase his head continued to slide off. Heâs not used to sleeping over here, but heâs willing to learn, if his tossing and turning and eventual spooning didnât illustrate that to you already. Thereâs something to be said about the way he adjusts the front of his boxer shorts. Despite the adjustment, the briefs hang low on his hips, the v-line of him greeting you as happily as the trail descending to his waistband does. His shirtless form sleepily walks towards you to place a kiss onto your forehead.
âNo, no, not you,â you say, gracious for his forehead kiss, but still rubbing your knee to alleviate the issue. He glances at it in concern, an eyebrow lifting. Before he can ask, you stand tall and give him a quick peck on the cheek. Your knee aches, but the less Carmen worries, the better.
âStay as long as you like, spare keyâs in the bergamot out front, I gotta get the fuck out of here two minutes ago,â you rush out in one string of words.
Carmenâs blinking sleep from his eyes, watching as you stomp out of the front door. He craves a longing kiss goodbye, but heâs not daring to request it seeing how urgently youâre behaving. He heads to the window, two fingers plucking the blinds open to observe you hop into your vehicle and speed off too fast for him to feel secure. He frowns. Carmenâs hand scrubs down his face, a migraine pounding in his temples that feels an awful lot like that worry you didnât want to implement within him.
Youâre working more than usual. He admires your work ethic, he does as it resembles his own, but he canât stop from thinking about how tired you are when you visit him at the restaurant, or when you stay over at his place. Youâre snapping consistently, and it may be at inanimate objects like your broken toaster, or the squeaky hinge belonging to your closet door, or your recent victim, this counter you have apparent beef with. The stress is collecting rapidly and Carmen unfortunately is starting to see the patterns interwoven in his skin stitching up your neck. He doesnât want that for you. He knows you donât want it for him either, so heâs trying to think of ways he can bring a smile to your face, or at least ease some kind of method to relax the both of you.
Carmen glances around your kitchen and he notices the brown bag sitting in front of your microwave. Curiously, he maneuvers to grab it into his hand. He opens it up and finds a sandwich there, lunchmeat stuffed between two slices of wheat bread. No condiments, no vegetables, no other ingredients. Just bread and turkey. Itâs⊠itâs such a sad sandwich. He wishes you wouldâve at least slabbed on some peanut butter and jam if you were going with the easiest route. Two slices of simple turkey breast are hardly nutritional.
Hypocrite. You drank a Coke and ate a bowl of off-brand Froot Loops the other night for dinner.
Carmen shakes his head free of his intrusive thoughts, picking his phone out of his pocket as he plans to text you that you forgot your lunch. You shouldnât be too far down the road. Then again, as his thumb hovers over your messages together, he recalls how youâre already late. You donât have time to turn back around for a shitty sandwich you probably wonât even eat. Heâs seen you come home and dump these brown bags, still full of whatever meal you threw together in three minutes because you didnât bother to take your lunch break.
âNot today,â he mumbles under his breath. He retrieves the sad sandwich and takes a bite, chewing it as he washes his hands in the sink. Then, he opens the fridge, scanning through whatâs available. Thereâs not much to work with, but heâs efficient if anything.
âBlegh,â he scrunches his face, the flavor of the bread thick on his tongue as he smacks his lips, âNatureâs Own.â
Youâre typing a storm in your cubicle. The deadline for your story is in a day. A day. You didnât even have time to gather the interview materials and are still waiting on an email from a supervisor from whoever the fuck knows. The name is written somewhere on the clutter of sticky notes hanging precariously off the frame of your desktop. But then again, who has time to crane their neck to check in the middle of meeting your deadline? Youâre making due with what you have on hand, your eyes strained from how long theyâve stared at your computer screen.
âPsstâŠâ comes a voice from behind. Fingertips tap your shoulder, momentarily disrupting you from staring at your keyboard. You swivel in your rolling chair, eyes annoyed and tired.
âWhat?â You spit. Your gaze is unamused watching the world spin and land on Bill, the secretary from the front desk. You almost cringe the same way Bill in front of you seems to do at the tone in reaction. At that, you pick up your face, clearing your throat and straightening your posture, hoping itâs as polite as you wish to convey.
âYour, uh, boyfriend is up front,â he points towards the hall. Bill is jittery. You wonder if itâs because of an excessive use of caffeine or if because your slip genuinely scared him. You take a deep breath and compose yourself more than you have already.
âOh⊠Iâll be right out,â you reassure, feeling bad for the small snap you engaged in. Bill is only doing his job. Heâs reporting on a surprise visit from Carmen. That doesnât mean itâs Carmenâs fault for showing up out of the blue, but yours for letting your cool flee, if only momentarily.
As Bill nods and heads off down the hall, you glance at your computer screen one last time. You choose to stop in the middle of the sentence. You tell yourself itâs because you think itâll be easier to think of a fresh idea to continue when you come back and not because youâre at a loss for content at the present time. You stand up, palms smoothing the front of your vest down your waist as you walk from your cubicle and repeat the same steps as Bill on his way back to his position at the front of the office building. The ninety degree angle of the corner gradually unveils to you your boyfriend Carmen staring down at his phone, a brown bag in his opposite hand beside his pant leg.
He looks up as if sensing your presence, a shift in energy in the room he detects and smiles at from afar. His phone slides into his pocket the closer you approach him, eyes seemingly glowing underneath the shadow of his tan hatâs rim. Itâs that kind of crystal embedded in his irises that makes them sparkle with a glassâs shine and an artistâs yearning. But his eyes carry ocean water, not wine, and the reflection of his muse, your face expanding over the roundness of them as you near him and greet him with a hug.
âHey, your day alright?â He asks, his voice behind your ear. Your chin rests on his shoulder, one of his biceps cradling the back of your head into him. His other arm is still at his side as he kisses your temple and takes a step backward. You catch Bill glancing up from his computer at the two of you from his desk for a millisecond.
âSure,â you opt for. Maybe if you say it enough, youâll believe it. Youâre capable of tricking your brain so you donât psyche yourself on it with your overthinking too much⊠right? âWhyâre you here?â
Carmenâs lips press tightly together. He doesnât say anything, leveling you with his gaze and a raise of his eyebrows that even cause his hat to slightly lift on his forehead. One single look illustrates how wrong of a statement that was.
Replaying it in your head, you notice the edge to your voice, that small extra bit of irritation that made it to your lips. You didnât mean it, much like you hadnât meant it when you sharply responded to Billâs alert.
You sigh and shake your head, one hand coming up to apologetically stroke his arm.
âI didnât mean it like thatââ
âI know,â he halts your explanation. Unlike you, Carmen falls back on the natural softness of his voice, the one where he refutes raising the volume of his words because youâre always standing so goddamn close to him. Another reason could possibly be that youâre having a hard day and heâs sparing you from an unnecessary argument. Itâs not like he hasnât poured lemon over wounds after particularly rough days at The Bear himself.
His hand with the brown bag thrusts in front of you. Short space separates you further. How ironic. He doesnât want to poke the bear.
âI, uh, brought you your lunch.â
âThanksâŠâ You murmur awkwardly.
Carmenâs fingers brush yours once you exchange the bag. He curls those same fingers and attaches the back of his knuckles to his lips, stroking them back and forth over his mouth in that nervous tick of his. He stares along your face, the current contemplation in his head somehow both loud and eerily silent. Heâs searching for something to say and itâs obvious.
âYes, well⊠have a good day,â he settles for. Carmen turns away for a moment, but you donât like leaving it this way. Especially not since he took the time to drive here and bring you your lunch. Heâs subtly advising you to eat without pushing or adding another task youâll be fretting over.
Your hand captures his, causing him to shift his eyes back to yours. You smile a little brighter. Itâs not forced. The gesture is sweet. You lose sight when youâre stressed as any human does.
âI appreciate it, Carm. Thank you,â you redo your gratitude with sincerity.
Carmenâs hand relaxes in yours. He utilizes the hold you have on him in his own favor, tugging you closer to him, engulfing you into his arms. His scent calms you, lingering cigarettes, mint, pomade, and what seems to be a touch of olive oil. He must be working from home again on his day off. Your belly does a small flip thinking of him working comfortably from your home.
âItâs nothing,â he speaks into your hairline, dropping a few more pecks. He notices your shoulders lowering as he does, encouraging him to continue and then return his eyes back to yours.
âBut seriously, have a good day,â he repeats, squeezing your forearms.
âPlease,â he whispers. You have no choice but to promise him with a grateful and instant nod this time. Youâll find something to get you through the rest of your shift. You can do it for Carmen.
You canât say you donât feel defeated as you trudge into the breakroom with your lunch bag shortly after Carmenâs visit. You highly considered skipping lunch altogether to grant yourself more time to work on your report. However, Carmen walked here to get this to you. Itâs not a short thing, either. You had to convince him to take your car so he could run some errands. Heâll be your ride back home after work. In the meantime, youâre going to eat to ease your conscience and so that youâre less cranky, minimizing the casualties of your unintentional attacks today. Your boss wouldnât be as patient as Bill and Carmen.
You gradually open the bag, reaching in and furrowing your brows when your hand meets a cylindrical container first. You thought the bag felt heavier than a single sandwich should, but you were too distracted being apologetic with Carmen to realize he may have added something to your meal. You shouldâve known that he wouldnât be able to resist doing such a thing with how heâs always taking care of you in that department. He shares his talent where he canât utter his affections, crafting in opposition to orating. Unless, itâs a different word using the root âora.â Heâs rather good at that, too.
âCarmen, you didnât,â you mutter under your breath, unscrewing the cap of the first container. Basil, garlic, sweet confection underlying in the background, and roasted tomato spike up in a familiar aroma, the trapped steam floating up to blanket your nose in humid warmth and a nostalgic trip to when you sat with him at a fast food restaurant and he poked fun at you for ordering a grilled cheese.
âWho orders a grilled cheese without tomato soup?â
âMe. I do. Now give me a sip of your soda.â
He did. He said he felt obligated to since your grilled cheese looked dry.
The memory inspires you to reach further into the bag, and of course, you bring out a wrapped item suspiciously in the shape of a square. You already know whatâs hidden inside as you undo the layers Carmen meticulously folded for you. Heat sticks to your fingertips. It makes you wonder if he jogged on his way here to get this all to you for it to be this warm still.
The sourdough bread in your hands is perfectly golden without being drenched in oil or even close to being charred on the sides. The bite you take is better than the appetizing appearance it has, a cheese pull connecting your teeth marks on the surprise sandwich to your mouth, steam rising off the strings of the monterey jack and cheddar webs. It pairs nicely with the tomato soup Carmenâs provided, the distinct taste mellowing the salt and tang of the sourdough, something sugary and smooth and still tart melding the classic flavors along your tongue.
You didnât expect this, and part of you is asking why you didnât see it coming because of who Carmen is and what he does for a living and for a hobby and for a passion, but youâre not going to mull over your perceptionâs off-game today. No, youâre going to finish your grilled cheese, soup, and that report. Youâll be sure to credit Carmen in due time.
Carmenâs waiting for you in the parking lot behind your office building. You see his reflection on the driverâs side mirror, his eyes lowered to his phone in his hand. He doesnât see you coming, his head lifting up curiously as you approach his side instead of getting into the car on the passengerâs. Carmen blinks up at you, the window down most likely for him to get some air. Itâs been getting hotter and hotter in Chicago with the change in seasons and your AC isnât working, as per usual.
âWhat, do you want to driveâ?â
You silence Carmen, obstructing his question with the barrier of your lips. If heâs shocked or surprised, it quickly gets replaced with acceptance and an instant response. He kisses you back, his chin tilting upwards, head perching up out of the window to meet your slumping frame. Your head lolls behind the lead of your mouth, seeking out the feeling and tenderness of Carmenâs lips that he parts to swipe his tongue in rhythm of an upstroking graze. You smile after that, the action creating a centimeter of distance that Carmen closes again, his hand traveling up to the back of your neck to tug you back into him.
You indulge him, laughing against his lips. A smile of his own stretches over his mouth, but he doesnât detach himself like you did. He goes back for more, stopping only when your hands are patting his wrist to regain his attention back without depriving him too much of your mouth heâs ensnaring with his.
âI finished my report,â you shyly say. You made a big deal about it today and your job in general has been very demanding, causing your behavior to have shifts in line with the spikes in your mood.
âKnew you would,â he replies. Heâs still kissing you. Theyâre spanned out pecks to allow you both to speak during, but heâs making it hard to remember what you wanted to say.
âAnd my grilled cheese,â you mutter into his smothering stamps. He lets up hearing that, pulling back slightly so he can peer into your eyes. Heâs in your shoes this time, sheepish as he tries to casually nod.
âYeah? AndâŠ?â He pauses, gauging your reaction with a suspicious glint in his eyes. You laugh again, nudging his shoulder.
âAnd my soup,â you stand up taller from the window, fingers resting over the bicep half hanging out of it. âYou didnât have to.â
âI wanted to,â he saves you the speech, knowing you far too well about how you donât want him to waste his time. Heâs going to convince you someday that his acts of service for you will never be a waste of his time. His hand comes over yours on his arm, glancing at your twitching fingers heâs heard typing in the long hours of the night. Heâs not the only insomniac among you two.
âYou should let me make you lunch more often,â he bargains. You playfully roll your eyes. This is one debate youâll continue to have for a long time, it seems. He already works so hard.
âSlow down there, chef.â You use one of Carmenâs tricks, draping your mouth back over his before he has the chance to bullet point out his argument. He sighs, content from how you feel and yet that knowing frustration intertwined in that one breath lingers because he doesnât mind putting together your future lunches whatsoever.
âThank you,â you pur, and Carmen releases his grip on his conviction. For now, anyway. Heâs planning on bringing it up again later. Heâs just getting too lost in your appreciative kissing. Itâs convincing him to do this again, actually. Heâs plotting a new list of ingredients, cherries and almonds and white whine and⊠he loses his train of thought when your teeth scrape his bottom lip.
#l4l.writes#basil monterey jack and the simplicity of a kind gesture#l4l.carmy#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto x reader#the bear fanfic#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto#carmy x reader#l4l.oneshot
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