#anyway hes rotting my brain from the inside <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[rrogueamendiares]

sleepless nights

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Hiiiii

I really like your blog (especially chan’s fics)

BUT, as much as I love channie, I’m currently in a total Han brain rot so I was wondering if you could write something like “his good girl, always” or “safe word” with a dom jealous/possessive Jisung x fem!reader

if you’re comfortable doing it OF COURSE

Anyway have a good dayyy 😙

only i can touch you here

pairing: jealous/possessive/soft dom!han x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 3 screen shots and ~2.3k words

warnings: mentions of enhypens jungwon and sunoo, jealousy, marking, oral (f.receiving), implied subspace, smacking

an: anon, you’ve waited like 6 months for this. and i have no excuses for myself. but.. good things come to those who wait? at least i hope it’s good? listen.. im doing my best. i’m just a girl. lol i hope you’re still around to read this. <3 also, we’ve got mr minho’s birthday coming up and i have noooo idea what to write for him. i have some requests for minsung but i want something that’s just minho. so if you have any ideas.. send them my way pls. <3

masterlist

anon mentioned: his good girl always and safe word

‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼

the sound of the lock mechanism on your front door whirring pulled you out of your focus. you glanced up to see a tired looking han shuffle though the door. the couple seconds your eyes weren’t on the screen was enough for sunoo to pass you and cross the finish line, winning the race. he cheered and jungwon and yourself threw your controllers down in defeat.

“hi hannie.” you said, smiling up at him from the couch. he toed his shoes off before crossing the apartment toward you. he noticed how closely jungwon was sitting next to you. his knee was touching yours. han thought there was plenty of room on the couch. there was no need for him to be so close. han came around the back of the couch and put his hands on your shoulders. you tilted your head back to look up at him, his face upside down from your view.

“hey there, princess.” he leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on your lips. your skin was warm with the pet name and the show of affection while other people were in the room. han pulled his lips away from yours with a smile and turned his attention to jungwon.

“how’s the game going?” han sat on the back of the couch, his hands still on your shoulders, massaging gently.

jungwon looked a little flustered. “uh. good.” he said. “sunoo keeps winning though.”

“well i knew this one wasn’t winning.” han poked your cheek with his finger. “she’s not very good and mario kart. though it’s adorable watching her try so hard.”

“hey im getting better!” you argued. “i almost won that one!” you pointed at the tv.

the fond smile on jungwons face at your words didn’t go unnoticed by han. and it frustrated him. he hated being this way, knew he shouldn’t be jealous. he was very comfortable in his relationship with you. he trusted you fully and didn’t believe you would ever leave him for jungwon. but han couldn’t help the feeling of anger that bubbled up inside of him.

though he took small comfort in the fact that jungwon could never please you the way he does. and maybe he would just have to remind you of that.

“we should actually get going.” jungwon said, standing up. “we’ve got an early recording session.”

“thanks for having us over.” sunoo smiled. “it was fun.”

you wiggled your way out of han’s harsh grip and stood, walking them to the door. “it was so much fun. we will have to do it again sometime. maybe i can invite felix over next time. he would actually pose a challenge to sunoo.” you giggled.

“yeah that sounds great.” jungwon smiled. he opened his arms and you hugged him. han’s grip tightened on the couch, his jaw clenched, but he remained quiet. the hug lasted a little too long, han thought. with jungwon’s hand rubbing up and down your back before he pulled away. the hug goodbye to sunoo was much shorter. not even a real hug, just a side hug. and then the door was clicking shut behind them, plunging the apartment into silence.

han stood and approached you. he brushed your hair out of your face as you looked up at him, a smile on your lips, excited to see him.

“i missed you, baby.” he said.

you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him in and burying your face in his chest. “missed you.” you mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt.

“i’m glad they’re gone. i’m not sure how much more i could have handled.” your cheek vibrated with the vibrato of his voice radiating through his chest. “the hug almost pushed me over the edge.”

“we’re just friends though.” you said, looking up at him.

“i know you are, baby. i just get a little antsy when another man has his hands on you.” he cupped your cheek in his hand before leaning down and kissing you gently. “you’re my little baby. jungwon needs to keep his hands to himself.”

you couldn’t deny the pulsing you felt in between your legs. you were unsure if it was the kiss, or his words, or a combination of both.

“but it makes me feel better when i think about how he could never make you cum the way that i make you cum.”

you shoved your face back into his shirt, embarrassed.

“isn’t that right, baby?”

“hannie..” you groaned.

“do you need me to remind you?” he gently pushed you away from him, forcing you to meet his eyes. “do you need a reminder of why you’re mine?”

you shook your head no. “i don’t need a reminder. i know he could never compare to you.”

“do you?” he asked, taking a step closer to you. you took a step back, the look on his face letting you know he was going to remind you anyway. he strode forward as you hesitantly stepped back. like a cat cornering a mouse. “if you don’t need a reminder, then why do you let him touch you like that?” you were walking backwards through the bedroom door now, his intense stare never wavering.

“like what, hannie?” your voice came out smaller than you intended.

“he sits so close to you that his leg was against yours.” he says. “his hug lingered way longer than sunoo’s. and that’s just what happened while i was here.”

the back of your legs hit the bed frame and you had nowhere left to run to. he had you caged in. “it’s almost as if you like it when he touches you.”

“i don’t. i pr-promise.” you stuttered. “i o-only like it when you touch me.”

“oh poor baby.. tripping over your words.” he cooed. “do i make you nervous?”

you nodded. “a little bit..”

“there’s no reason to be nervous, little one.” he brushed his fingers over the skin of your neck and down to your collarbone. goosebumps bloomed on your arms and a shiver ran through you. “i’m just going to help you remember why i’m the only one who gets to touch you.”

he leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. his lips soft on yours, a stark contrast to the way he was speaking.

his hands traveled under your shirt and held you by the waist. he pulled you closer, needing to feel your body against his. you could feel him, hard against you. he let his fingertips graze over your skin, causing you to squirm.

“my baby’s so ticklish.” you could feel his smile against your lips.

he made quick work of your shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him. and your bra followed soon after, joining the shirt on the floor. he kissed down your jaw and down your neck, sucking and biting little dark marks into your skin. marking you as his. you had your hands against his chest, your breathing shaky. a particularly hard bite from him caused you to yelp. “sorry baby.” he ran his tongue over the bite, soothing it. “everyone is going to know who you belong to.” he whispered against your skin.

he kissed his way down until he was kissing your shoulders, his fingers finding their way to your bare chest, running softly over your nipples. “lay back for me.” he said, pinching your nipple and tugging on it gently.

you did as he asked and climbed on the bed. flat on your back, head against the pillow, you looked down at him. he took off his shirt, tossing it in the growing pile, before climbing on the bed too. his mouth went straight to your breast, his tongue swirling. your fingers threaded through his hair, soft sounds of his name falling past your lips. he took his time, your nipples tingling and your pussy begging for stimulation. you rolled your hips up into him. his strong hand found your hip and pushed you back down.

“is there something you want, baby?” his breath felt cool against the damp skin of your breast.

“will you touch me, hannie? please?” you tried to roll your hips again but his hold was firm.

“you want me to touch you?” he teased. “didn’t jungwon touch you enough?”

he smirked against your skin, kissing his way down your tummy now. his fingers hooked your pants and your panties and pulled them off in one swift motion. he could see how wet you were, could see how badly you needed him and it made him ache. he palmed himself through his pants, his cock needing to be touched. but it would be a while before he could get to it. he planned to take his time with you. he just hoped he wouldn’t blow in his pants.

“i asked you a question, baby.”

he looked up at you, his body hovering over yours, not making any contact. you needed him but your brain was foggy. what had he asked you? you couldn’t remember.

“hannie..” you whined. “i don’t.. please.”

“are you getting all spacey on me already?” he kissed just below your belly button, your body arching into him, silently begging for him to please just touch you.

“i asked if our sweet jungwon had touched you enough.”

you shook your head no. “he didn’t.. would never let him..” you attempted to form a sentence.

han hummed in understanding. “he definitely had his hands on you baby. but he didn’t touch you… here.” he quickly touched your clit with the pad of his index finger before quickly pulling away. you gasped, your body jolting.

“did he, baby? no.. he could never touch you here.” he ran his fingers up through your slick, slowly circling around your clit. “as much as he may want to.”

he slowly sank two of his fingers into you, curling them slightly. “only i can touch you here.” he started pumping his fingers in and out, the sounds of your arousal reaching your ears.

you couldn’t control the string of syllables that came out of your mouth when he leaned down and wrapped his lips around your clit. thats when he started to loose control too. he always had trouble keeping a level head when he had his tongue on you. the taste of you drove him crazy and he really had to focus so he could finish his little lesson.

he could feel you squeezing around his fingers. and he pulled them out, much to your disappointment. but you weren’t empty for long. he used his hands to spread you wider, before sticking his tongue inside your hole as far as he could get it, licking your walls. he wanted to feel you squeeze his tongue, and you did. he groaned against you, drinking in as much of you as he could get. his own head was starting to get fuzzy, his whole body tingling. he focused on your face, your eyes scrunched tight, your bottom lip between your teeth, your skin flushed with color. god you are so beautiful. he would never get tired of this view.

“fuck— hannie…” you moaned, your fists grabbing at the sheets, then grabbing at his hair.

he slid his fingers back inside you, pumping faster. “are you gonna cum, baby?”

you nodded, your body tensing, your breathing becoming more difficult.

“who does this pussy belong to?” he asked.

you were rocking your hips in time with his fingers, chasing your high. you could feel it building, threatening to snap at any moment. he pulled his fingers out and slapped your pussy with his hand.

“answer me.” he snapped. he slipped his fingers back inside before asking again “who does this pussy belong to?”

you were trying hard to get your mouth to do what you wanted. your brain was screaming ‘it’s your pussy! yours!’ but your mouth couldn’t form the words.

he pulled his fingers out again, not satisfied with your silence. he pinched your poor little clit in between his fingers. “baby.. you’re not going to cum until you answer me.”

frustrated tears were leaking out of the corners of your eyes.

“i’ll ask one more time.” he slid his fingers back inside you, starting his motions again. you were clenching around him, teetering right on the edge of bliss. “who.. does this pussy.. belong to?” he timed his thrusts with his words. you were seeing stars already, your mind swimming in pleasure.

“y-y-you!” your voice cracked. “ s’your pussy hannie!” you cried. “please.. please.. it’s yours.. please.”

he loved seeing you like this. a total wreck and completely pliant in his hands. his life felt so out of his control most of the time, but this.. you.. you were completely under his control and he fucking loved it.

“that’s right baby.” he pumped faster. “you’re mine. i own this pussy.”

“yes!” you blindly agreed.

“cum for me. let my pussy cum.” he ordered. and before the sentence was even finished, you were coming apart under him. everything stopped. your body froze, your breathing stilled. but his fingers kept moving, and your body felt like it was moving as waves of pleasure washed over you. “there you go baby.. fuck.”

he leaned down and took your clit into his mouth briefly before running his tongue around his moving fingers, unable to help himself. he needed to taste you. you whined at the overstimulation.

you were coming down from your high, your body relaxing, your mind slowly returning to normal. he pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean. he kissed back up your body until he reached your lips. you lazily kissed him back.

“only i can make you feel like this.” he muttered against your lips.

“i know.” your voice was hoarse. “you’re all i want.”

he kissed you slowly, pouring all of his love into it. you could taste yourself on his tongue. “i’m all you want?” he teased. “prove it.” he pushed his clothed erection into your thigh.

you moaned quietly, your body still recovering.

“come back to me, baby.” he rubbed his hand on your hip. “we’re not even close to done.”

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[q1ngqve]

hi!! same anon here you dont have to take this as a request bc i just wanted to get this out of my chest yandere or at least obssesive averatio where both overstim the hell out of reader (lowkey mindbreak if you're comfy about that??) after reader rejects their advances NOT OUT OF HATE or anything but bc their insecurities got the best of them and either thought the two were just messing w them or they have abandonment issues (i do not have the second one whatever do you mean i am not projecting do not percieve me) no offense to these two but they look like the ppl to mess w your heart n leave you to rot

mb some predator/prey (they both hunt you down after you avoid them both and as ratio wisely said "what do you do with a cornered prey? hunt it to death" AUGHAHSGA) aphrodisiacs, drugging, etc. anyways after that you best bet you'll be too dumb to ever think of something as stupid as that, and sure, yes ratio hates idiots but well..... you will be the only exception given how cute you look all fucked out and broken on their bed with their cocks deep inside you <3

SKLDJALSDJAL HELP i feel awfully embarrassed w writing this lmao scuse me while i bleach my head.

i am very sorry this took so long </3 i wrote this as a fic at first but i lost motivation so now it’s just in the form of brain rot :(

oh no :( poor reader with insecurities from your past relationships thinking every man out there is a liar, especially the two that gave their hearts to you :( running away from them is a smart move because we don’t trust men in this household!

but you forget how annoying they can be when it comes to getting what they want, and they want you (´▽｀) so don’t be surprised when you find yourself feeling scared out of your mind walking home alone and feeling like you’re being watched! or when you find certain luxury items randomly appearing in your room! or the slightest hint of their cologne when you wake up every morning! because you asked for this by running away 😵‍💫

this was supposed to be holiday for you — coming to penacony, but the headache and blurry room before you has you panicking! you best know that no one is coming to save you when you’re running through the reverie hotel like a lost bunny when you receive a letter saying they’ll have you tonight! and if you think you had any chance of escape, you’re so wrong 😖

oh, and don’t let them know that you’re afraid, it only spurs them on! hunting you down through the corridors of the hotel is so adrenaline inducing for them <3 running shouldn’t be so hard though, so why do you feel as if your legs are going to give out any second? oh right, the drink! they probably drugged it, seems like something they would do

an exasperated gasp leaves you when you finally let your body fall, eyes closing, preparing for impact. and the next thing you know you wake up, hands tied above you to the headboard, your body completely bare. you’d struggle with all your might, soft whines sounding at the back of your throat when you spot the two of them hiding in the shadows, staring down at you with those bright, lust-filled eyes

oh, you’re so dead

your body feels like it’s on fire, desperately needing release, needing someone to touch you, anyone. your voice betrays you as whimpers leave you when they stalk towards you, their burning gaze not helping with the burning sensation.

you really did think you could escape! so why’re you here, tied and unable to move? tears fall as you lock eyes with veritas ratio, your fight or flight kicking in when he reaches out to caress your cheek, wiping the tears away. laughter sounds from aventurine on the other side of the bed, you’re just so naive! all he wants to do is to love and break you until you’re a sobbing mess beneath him 😵‍💫 so don’t blame him when he kisses you, he just can’t help it anymore, not when you’re already shaking when all they did was drug your drink and reveal themselves to you after months of stalking :(

the aphrodisiac is making you incredibly sensitive to their touch, which is perfect for them because that would mean hearing your sweet cries of pleasure! you best prepare yourself though, because they’re not stopping until you’re about to pass out 🧎🏻‍♀️ they haven’t had you for months, nobody is going to stop them from worshipping you, not even yourself.

you’ll be so overstimulated by the end of the night that even just innocent touches can have you whining and trembling like a leaf (^^)

“you really think you can run from us?” — veritas ratio

“who you knew you were so filthy, hmm? you wanted us to hunt you down, didn’t you? dirty, dirty girl.” — veritas ratio

“missed you so much, pretty girl.” — aventurine

“stop? now why would we do that? you’re clearly enjoying this. look at you, making such a mess on my cock.” — aventurine

[whoreforsexymen]

Strong Drinks & Broken Links 🍺⛓️‍💥 CH. 1

Gray Hair & The Absence of Care

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Pronouns: GN!Reader (for now— please see this post for details)

Rating: SFW, except for strong language and consumption of alcohol (drink responsibly, people). Reader is old enough to drink, despite what Vander thinks.

Word count: 4.7k (the rest are going to be far longer, so be prepared)

Tags: Slowburn, Reader is implied to be 21+ years old, Age Gap, Heavy Use Of Language/Alcohol, Reader might be a little too angsty (I’m sorry), Tense Situations, Vander being the caring mentor type he is but in a poorly thought out way.

Notes: I don't think I've ever posted a fic on this account. So, welcome to my only outlet for the brain rotting obsession I have for this man. ALSO I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT SEASON 2, OR I'LL FIGHT YOU.

((If any of you want to be added to a tag list for this fic, please lmk!! Ask box is also open for requests/suggestions/comments 🤍 feedback is always appreciated 🤍🤍))

It had been a terrible night so far.

Not only had you been shortchanged more than two-thirds of the agreed-upon pay for a job you’d completed—but that paltry sum had quickly slipped from your grasp entirely, taken by a gang of thugs.

You had to give the undercity credit—it had an uncanny ability to remain a perpetual cesspool. You’d managed to take down two of the muggers, but the third—the one who’d made off with your coin—had slipped away while you were dealing with the others. Just your luck. The payout had been pathetic to begin with, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. It looked like you’d be scraping the dregs of the city to find enough for your next meal, yet again. 

That is, unless you decide to drink your dinner. As well as your sorrows, in the process. The idea struck you as you neared the central bar of the undercity, still sulking as you were making your way back to the shack you called home. The Last Drop. A name that said it all. If there was any place where the undercitizens of Zaun gathered, it was here. No doubt the owner had to be the wealthiest man in the area, though that wasn’t exactly saying much in a place like this. 

You made your decision. A warm meal might be out of reach, but liquor could suffice—if you drank heavily enough, that is. Or at the very least, it might dull the sting of the night’s failures. 

The bar was an eyesore, a hulking building among the rundown structures of The Lanes. A garish neon sign blinked above the entrance, buzzing like an angry fly, casting sickly light on the grime-streaked pavement. Inside, the din of loud music and the clatter of drunken chatter spilled into the street. It was a haven for folks with any background, no matter if they sought business or pleasure within its walls. 

You pushed through the door, noting how no one even bothered to glance your way. That was how you liked it—under the radar, always out of sight, always out of the mind of untrustworthy beings. 

Then again, you didn’t trust anyone anyway.

You duck and weave through the crowd of rowdy patrons, eyes scanning the bar for a table or booth at which you could hunker down and nurse your drink in peace. Your frown deepens beneath the hood of your jacket when you come up empty-handed. Typical. No matter, though. You’d have to order at the bar anyway, regardless of where you sat.

It’s when your eyes settle in the direction of the bar that luck seems to briefly shine upon you—there’s an empty stool. Without hesitation, you make a beeline for it, not wanting some drunken fool to snag it before you could. You practically dive-bomb onto the seat, landing with a small grunt, air knocked from your lungs. After the night you’ve had, this stool feels like an oasis, despite the new absence of oxygen beneath your chest. You settle into it like it’s the only thing left in the world, clutching the seat as if someone might try to commandeer it if you let your guard down low enough.  

The realization dawns on you that, in order to get a drink, you’d have to interact with the bartender. You hold that fact in high regard with contempt. 

Chit-chat? Not tonight– or truthfully any night. You’ve never been crazy about casual conversation. The events of the evening have only soured your mood further, and the last thing you need is some eager bartender trying to make nice. Normally, you’d avoid sitting at the bar for that reason alone, yet here you are.

Thankfully, the bartender pays you no mind, his attention fully set on the patron he’s currently tending to. That is, until said patron leaves and the barman finally turns to you, his new source of focus. 

The sheer momentum with which you rolled your eyes almost knocked you out of your seat. 

“Welcome to The Last Drop. What’ll it be?” His voice is deep, and heavy, garnering a thick accent that clung to every word. 

He’s an older man, though exactly how old is hard for you to pin down. His hair’s gray, his eyes tired, the lines of age having etched themselves into his face long ago. However, there’s something youthful about him—something that makes it hard to tell whether he’s an old-looking thirty or a young-ish fifty. Frankly, you don’t care enough to continue your mental evaluation of him. Age shouldn’t matter when it comes to bartenders. They either know how to pour a decent drink, or they don’t.

You don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Something strong.” You mutter, your voice mostly flat, but with a hint of irritation that danced along the edge.

The bartender scratches at his graying beard, his gaze thoughtful as he considers your request. You grit your teeth, hoping he won’t try to scam you by giving you something weak and overpriced, just to line his pockets with your hard-earned coin. You’d seen it happen to others, and you’d be a damned fool if you let it happen to you. 

The bartender studies your face, or at least what he can see of it beneath your hood, before his gaze shifts to the shelves beneath the counter. After a moment of deliberation, he selects a bottle with thoughtful ease, pulling the cork out with his teeth. With his free hand, he grabs a tin cup and pours in a copious amount, sliding it toward you with a swift flick of his wrist. You’d almost call it a generous decision on his part, considering the fact that you hadn’t even paid your dues first. His choice to serve you first goes a long way in easing your suspicion, at least for the moment.

You dig into your pocket, retrieving the few gold coins you’d managed to hold onto when dealing with the aforementioned thugs. They weren’t enough for one measly meal, but they were enough for a drink or two– or three, but who’s going to keep track? Certainly anyone but you. You’d only stop once your pitiful wealth ran out. Without a second thought, you toss them onto the bar top, making it unspokenly clear to the bartender that you were hoping for much more than just this one drink. You grab the cup, lifting it to your lips and downing the lot of it in one quick, greedy gulp. The warmth spreads through you almost immediately, and it feels like a small victory over the obnoxious turn your night has taken.

The bartender watches this with a faint chuckle before you slam the empty cup back down onto the counter. He takes it without a word, refills the tiny tin chalice, and begins passing it back. Without missing a beat, you grab the cup from him, draining the contents in a second gulp before he even has time to set the bottle back down. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” he remarks casually, his voice low and steady as he finally reunites the bottom of the bottle with the countertop. 

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” you mutter, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The words come out flat, though there’s a weight to them. It’s more than just a refusal to talk—it’s a refusal to let anyone look too closely. You avoid eye contact like the plague. Eyes, after all, are the windows to the soul. And letting someone peer through them is a risky gamble you’ve never been apt to take.

You were clearly beyond uninterested in the beginnings of this conversation. The lack of willingness to be friendly reigning clear as you shove the tin cup towards him yet again. He grabs the empty cup and refills it once more—your third drink in under five minutes. He seems reluctant to hand it back. He maintains a grip on it as he eyes you again, this time much more thoughtful.

“Care to chat about it? Might be healthier than drownin’ yourself at the bottom of a bottle,” he offers plainly.

You give him a sidelong glance, not even trying to mask the edge in your voice. 

“Doesn’t sound like a good business strategy, encouraging your paying customers to cut back.” You fire back quickly, the sharpness of your words outpacing even your annoyance at the unwanted conversation.

The bartender chuckles again, a spark of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. There’s a glimmer of understanding in his smile—maybe he’s seen more than a few like you in this dive. Or maybe, he knows in the same fashion as you, that sometimes it’s more palatable to fill the silence with alcohol than with words.

“Fair point, but I’d prefer to keep my patrons alive. Helps me sleep at night, y’know?” The bartender shoots back, his eyes fixed on you, all too curious about what’s hidden beneath your hood. The conversation quickly turns uncomfortable, a painful reminder of why you’ve never liked bartenders—they always talk too much and ask too many personal questions. As far as you’re concerned, they should stick to the charade for the sake of their regulars, and leave all unsuspecting customers alone. 

The momentum of yet another roll of your eyes causes your head to bob ever so slightly— your hood creeping back towards the line of your hair. The new, incredibly subtle, view of your face made the barman clench the cup in his hands with rigor. 

His eyes narrow slightly, the amusement fading from his voice. 

“Where’re your parents, kid?” He asks, his voice low and in demand of an answer. 

The question hits you like a slap, and for a brief second, you find yourself caught off guard. You’re not someone who’s usually thrown by imbecilic remarks from the residents of The Lanes, but this one? It’s different. Not just the audacity of asking such a personal question, but the clear assumption of your age being made so boldly. 

Your head snaps up, and before you can stop yourself, you push your hood back, breaking your own rule about eye contact. Why? Who knows. Today has already gone off the rails, and you’re too far gone to care. The liquor’s sudden grip on your senses began to cloud your judgment, and honestly, it was far from shocking. To be fair, you had asked for something strong… Not to mention having no substantial food in your belly to dilute the potency you sought after. All in all, there was no ignoring how the liquor was starting to pummel you like a brick to the face would. 

You meet his gaze, eyes scanning his face for any sign of what he’s gunning after by asking such a question. But there’s nothing obvious behind those gloomy eyes of his. No clear motive. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully trying to get under your skin or if he’s just another fool with a quick tongue. 

“Rotting in their graves,” you mutter, voice sharp and, in addition, spiteful. 

“Which I’m sure you’ve got one foot in, yourself, Gramps.” You make a mockery of the decades that are clearly stacked against you, hoping to push him back into his corner.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he practically snorts, running a hand over his silvery beard as he crosses his arms; resting them across his stomach with the casual authority of someone who’s seen it all. He’s not rattled by your quips—no, not in the slightest. 

“How old are you, kid?” His voice is flat now, a hint of something more serious creeping in, though you can’t figure out why. You’re even more unsure now about his intentions. Constantly expecting the worst from people was your lot in life. 

“Too young for you.” You snap back, pushing forward with your usual sharpness, trying to regain some control over this ridiculous conversation. You reach for the cup he had refilled for you, but before you can even graze it, he snatches it away, clicking his tongue like a disappointed parent.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tuts at you, as if you’ve done something wrong.

“I asked how old you were.” he repeats, his voice now devoid of any amusement. 

He watches you carefully, his gaze inspecting your face as if he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know were there.

You roll your eyes, irritation growing, and narrow them at him, unwilling to back down. You can’t tell if he’s probing for something deeper, or if he’s just getting off on making you uncomfortable. Either way, you’re done playing his game.

“Why are you so curious, huh?” you scoff, leaning in and making a bold decision to double down on your irritation. “I’m just another patron here to drown in my sorrows and drink them away. Not to mention, I’m paying for the privilege.” Your words are bold, and with that same boldness, you reach across the bar and rip the cup from his grasp.

You try to bring the drink to your lips, intent on finishing it off. But just as the cup nears your mouth, the bartender’s large, rough hand slips over the opening of the cup like a solar eclipse. 

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing as he sizes you up with a look that could strip paint. In that moment, something clicks in his mind. The defiance in your voice, the way you’re carrying yourself—it all reinforces his suspicion. You’re not old enough to be here. When you walked in, your hood had obscured most of your face. But now that it’s gone, he can see it clearly: you’re just a kid, trying to score some alcohol. The only thing that kept him from throwing you out on your ass, was your cadence. You looked young, and spoke carelessly, but you sounded grown. If you were in fact grown, he’d ease up. 

However, with the way you look—bloodied and bruised, no less—he’s convinced you’re in some kind of trouble. The kind of trouble he doesn’t want being drug through his bar. He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve pissed off, or what kind of people you run with. But this? This is his bar, and he’s fought too hard to maintain the fragile peace that reigns here. He won’t let you ruin that for him and his loyal patrons by dragging your poor choices in with you. 

“Seems I’ve struck a nerve,” he says, his voice no longer playful but flat and serious. “Either tell me your age, or you’re cut off.”

The room seems to hush around you. The muffled chatter of patrons behind you fades as the bartender’s tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. It’s a quiet threat now, the kind that lets you know exactly how much leverage you have—and how little he’s willing to tolerate.

“You didn’t strike shit,” You hiss. “and I don’t need to answer to shit.” You add. 

The bartender bends over the counter, his face inches from yours. The bitter scent of smoke hangs thick on his breath, hot and rancid, and it presses against your skin like a physical weight. The damp air in the bar swirls around you, brushing your cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth that feels suffocating, as if the room itself is closing in.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll have no problem lettin’ my loyal patrons cut your tongue out for us to hang above the bar.” He says fiercely. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching the eyes of the dozens of patrons who have fallen silent, their conversations and business abruptly halted. It’s clear—they’re waiting for a signal, ready to back up their beloved bartender if things escalate.

“You can call off the cavalry, Gramps. I was just leaving,” you retorted, swiping one of your coins from the counter, as if to refund yourself for the drink you’ve yet to have. You release your grip on the cup, almost slingshotting it backwards from the sheer force you two had each been bestowing upon it. 

“Sit down.” the bartender commands, his voice low and final, as you attempt to abscond. 

You don’t reply, instead moving to shoulder through the row of patrons who are standing like silent sentinels, waiting for the slightest nod from their bar’s gatekeeper. It’s not like you expected them to part, but the way not a single person dares budge makes your blood boil. The crowd might as well be a wall of stone. 

“Sit. Down.” the bartender demands again, his tone sharper this time, a razor edge cutting through the haze of the bar.

You grind your teeth, your patience wearing thin.

“I’ll take my patronage elsewhere—”

You don’t even finish your sentence before a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, pushes you roughly back. You stumble, barely managing to stop yourself from falling flat on your ass. The sudden movement sends a rush of heat to your head, the anger spiking through your veins like fire.

You seethed at the touch, the anger burning hot in your chest, every muscle in your body coiled with frustration. But you knew better than to keep pushing your luck. Not today. Not in a situation like this, with dozens of hungry eyes watching, their hands twitching near their weapons of choice, waiting for the slightest excuse to make a move.

Biting back a torrent of curses, you forced yourself to swallow your pride, choosing to stay quiet—at least for now. It wasn’t worth the fight. You could practically feel the heat of their glares digging into your back as you turned on your heel, eyes locking once more with the bartender’s. You reclaimed your seat at the bar with deliberate flair, each movement oozing a sense of defiance and attitude. It was a performance, one you were used to. To you, it felt like you were playing the part of someone tough. But you knew, deep down, that to anyone else—especially the bartender—you probably looked like nothing more than a naive, immature idiot who didn’t know when to shut up. It wasn’t a great look, but at least it kept people from getting too close.

“I’m sat,” you muttered, voice brimming with the remnants of your irritation.

The bartender shook his head slightly, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. You could feel the tension in the room dissipate, the energy shifting as the crowd behind you resumed their rowdy conversations. The noise began to swell again, and for a moment, it almost felt like the bar was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

He grabbed a dirty glass from the counter, handling it with practiced ease, and pulled a rag from beneath the bar. As he began polishing the glass, he didn’t so much as glance your way. His focus was on the glass, and for a few moments, it felt like you were nothing more than a background detail to him. You could feel your impatience growing with each passing second. If he had something to say, you wished he’d just say it already. At least that way, you could get out of here—and maybe keep some of your pride intact.

The bartender continued his slow, methodical motions, running the rag around the rim of the glass with an almost exaggerated calmness. He didn’t bother to look up, yet you could feel the weight of his gaze on you through the silence.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he said, his tone neutral, almost too much. “How old are you?”

You weighed your options. If you didn’t answer, you had no idea what would happen next. If you did answer, you still had no clue. It was a gamble either way.

“(Insert age here),” you muttered, the words slipping out begrudgingly, each one like a weight lifting off your chest.

The bartender scoffed lightly, a soft laugh escaping him that made your skin crawl. Your fingers began tapping impatiently on the bar’s edge, the rhythm a soft counterpoint to the growing tension between you.

“____ years old and still so naive… You really are just a kid, eh?” His words hung in the air, his eyes still locked on the glass in front of him, but you could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“There are worse things I could be,” you shot back, your voice laced with a mix of defensiveness and defiance.

“S’pose that’s true,” he replied, finishing up his polishing with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. He set the glass down next to the others—clean, polished, and waiting to be used. With a fluid motion, he slung the rag over his shoulder, then placed one hand on his hip and the other on the edge of the counter. He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly into the bar, his posture relaxed yet somehow still imposing.

“But on the other hand,” he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “what you already are ain’t too good either.”

It wasn’t a threat—more of an observation, one that hung heavily in the air, like the smoke in the room. You felt the weight of it, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was a warning or just another way to mess with you. Either way, you could tell this conversation wasn’t over.

You could feel the first few bubbles of anger rising in your chest, the heat creeping up your neck as your blood threatened to boil. You’d always been quick to anger—an unfortunate side effect of your temper and stubborn streak. They were the crosses you’d carried for as long as you could remember.

You scoffed again, the sound sharp and biting, as if it were the only defense you had left. You had already rolled your eyes a dozen times tonight, but it felt like you were on the verge of an explosion.

“What’s your goal here, Gramps?” you spat, your voice dripping with sass, every word a little jab. You didn’t care to hide your bitterness. You liked to fight with words just as much as you did with your fists, and the bartender was starting to see that loud and clear.

“You got the answer you were looking for. Whether you believe me or not, you’ve already served me twice. If my age was such a concern to you, you would’ve kicked me out long before I even sat down.” Your words hung in the air once more, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

He just let out a quiet laugh, as if your logic amused him. And he didn’t bother to answer, not even in the slightest.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, and it was clear he wasn’t going to explain himself. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of an explanation. He simply leaned back, eyes flicking over to the rowdy crowd behind you.

It was infuriating.

You stayed silent for a beat, but only because you knew you’d have more to say. And damn right, you did.

“Do you do this with every new customer?” You snapped, your voice rising now, the frustration boiling over. “’Cause if you ask me, I’m not sure how this shithole’s still in business. You discourage your customers from drinking, even though this is a fucking bar, and that’s all people come here to do. You make it impossible to drink peacefully, just like you make it impossible to drink at all!”

The words spilled out like fire, each one more forceful than the last. Your temper was no longer something you were trying to hold back—it was running rampant, and it felt good to let it out, even if it was in the form of a scream. You weren’t about to let this bartender—this stubborn old man—have the upper hand. Not when it felt like he was deliberately pushing your buttons.

“So if it’s alright with you, Gramps, you got your answer, and I don’t owe you shit. I’m leaving.” You actually raise your voice purposefully this time, slamming your hands down onto the counter as you push yourself off of the stool once more. 

The bartender wasn’t fazed by your outburst. In fact, he’d dealt with feistier, louder, and much more difficult people than you—people who could out-shout you or out-punch you if they had to. He wasn’t bothered by your temper. He had raised four kids on his own, after all. He’d learned a thing or two about handling stubborn personalities, whether they were kids or grown adults who carried themselves like children. And you, in his eyes, were just another brat testing his patience.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was steady, calm, and authoritative, with an edge of finality that cut through the noise of the bar.

Before you could react, his hand shot out faster than you expected, grabbing your shoulder with an unexpected gentleness. He tugged you back into the seat with a kind of effortless force that made your breath catch in your throat.

You shot up from the bar stool in a flash, but his hold was stronger than you anticipated.

Instinct kicked in, and your own hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his wrist with a quick, almost violent motion. You shoved it off your shoulder, irritation flaring up like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, your chest heaving as you glared up at him, the heat of the moment burning in your eyes.

You huffed, your fists clenching at your sides, teeth grinding. The room seemed to close in around you, but you weren’t backing down—not now, not after all of this. The tension between you and the bartender was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could feel the weight of the crowd’s silent attention being drawn to you once more as they waited for your next move, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t have time to be.

The man let out a heavy sigh, the sound thick with disappointment. 

“Look, kid—”

“By the fucking god’s, I’m not a kid!” you snapped, your eyes flashing a level of ferocity that sliced straight through him.

He pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, his gaze cemented on you still as he took a long, steadying breath. Patience was his virtue, and he was willing to endure this sparring match for as long as it took. 

“It’s clear you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe, just maybe, instead of lashing out, you could let someone help—”

You cut him off mid-sentence, your words an unpleasant interruption.

“Help? You want to help? Surely that’s the wrong word. Surely, I heard you wrong, cause, from the way I see it, you’ve done nothing except cage me in here, threaten me, and withhold what I paid for. So if it’s with any consolation, take your ‘help’ and fuck off.” 

Enough was enough. Without another word, you climbed atop the stool, bracing yourself for what came next. You steadied your balance, then launched yourself toward the crowd with calculated precision. The dismount was quick—intentional, forceful. You tucked your legs in, soaring over their heads in a perfect flip, and extended them just before hitting the ground behind them. Without pausing, you bolted for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

To your surprise, you made it—flying through the door and slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying crash. Finally, you were free, never to be seen within a hundred yards of this bar ever again. 

The patrons had made a half-hearted attempt to grab at you as you rushed past, but a sharp, deafening whistle from the bartender stopped them in their strides. He shook his head softly, a silent message that it wasn’t worth the chase. That it was better to let you go. If you were in trouble, it would catch up with you soon enough.

Deep down, the bartender hated seeing someone so young seal their own fate in such a way. But, in the end, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t save them all—no matter how badly he wished he could.

He couldn’t help but wonder— if maybe, just maybe, he’d been a little too assertive, or downright impetuous with you after all.

But it didn’t matter now. You were gone. All he could do was hope you’d survive out on those streets. 

taglist: @blogforhoes @committingcrimes-2047 @dirtandcrime @eternalgoddessofart @woozulo

[merakiui]

This took so long to make buuuttt, your Soul Eater au idea fed me good so I made this ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Honestly, I started getting lazy and made the ocotrio just mini versions. But my thought was I wanted Jade and Floyd to be combined weapons, also I thought Floyd being a long chain fit him cuz of his squeezing <3. I took some inspo from your ocototrio swimsuit preferences and combined Jade and Azuls likes into readers design (Floyds asking them to shed some since he needs some skin)

Honestly, this was just a huge blurb of your little thoughts cuz I also thought it would be cute making Azul readers rival, while Riddles his weapon AND readers childhood friend, hence why they wanna work together instead of the fish mafia. And the tweels, well since they’re, yknow themselves, reader hates working with them but unfortunately netaly she works the best w/ them compared to anyone else. They have their upsides though, they scare people inside and outside of their weapon forms <3. Anyways sorry for the blurb I just had big brain rot abt twst x soul eater ^^

OMG OMG!!!!!!!! (≧ᗜ≦) THIS IS AMAZING!!!! ABSOLUTELY PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL!!!!!

Eating your brain and your art and your thoughts!!!! It's too delicious,,,, reader crying when matched with the tweels is so real and true. T_T the only valid reaction to have when you're now paired with two of the biggest menaces in the school. ;;;;; and the weapon choices for both eels are really good!!!! Very fitting for Floyd to be a chain,, even in weapon form he can still squeeze. <3 I love how you've drawn them. Floyb's longer hair.......... ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

I love your designs and outfits for everyone, especially reader's!!! The beach theme, the swimsuit, the accessories!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ AAAA all of it is just marvelous!!! I'm so in love.

Reader and Azul being rivals is a scrumptious flavor. Imagining poor tako trying to have friendly competition while also being so down bad for her all while Reader would drop anything and everything the moment she sees her childhood bestie Riddle. They're so cute. Such a fun dynamic!!!!

[yzashaven]

✰ ━━━ scara brain rot <3

FEATURING scaramouche x fem!reader

WARNINGS dom!scaramouche, overstimulation, squirting, cunnilingus, rough sex, degradation, praising, choking

NOTE listening to chase atlantic at 2am made me feel things whdbyw anyways here's some scara smut cuz why not? not proofread, just typed out what my brain is thinking fr

"want more of that, don't you?" he says teasingly as he gazes down on your tired figure on his bed, where you've been for the past hour as he's been toying with you nonstop. to his question, you respond with weak whimpers instead of full sentences. "yes... more, p-please- ah~" he cuts you off with a sudden lick on your swollen clit, followed by more movements of his tongue at your sensitive area. inserting two of his long fingers, making you moan louder for him. "fuuuckk, you really are such an adorable little slut for me, huh?" he chuckles in a seductive way, " i'll never get tired of playing with you, my love." he says before focusing back on your pussy in front of him. having his fingers knuckle deep in you accompanied by his lips sucking lovingly on your clit to drive you crazy until all you can think about is him. after a few seconds, you feel your high coming. "go on, cum on my face. i know you want to, sooo badly. i'll indulge you this once." scara's voice husky as he helps you reach the feeling of pleasure you crave and squirt all over him. scara chuckles and gets up as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

still calming down from the intense climax, you close your eyes and try to catch your breath as your heart beats faster than ever. a few moments later, you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading them apart as he easily slipped inside your soaking wet cunt. "shit, you're still so wet for me, my love." he says with a small laugh and pushes himself the furthest possible. you moan out loud as he's deep inside of you, you can definitely feel where it's at. pulling all the way back before slamming himself into you again. he basically folds you in half and kisses you in a gentle manner as his hand cups your cheek lovingly, all the while slowly thrusting in and out of your hole. slowly but surely picking up the pace as he pulls away from your heated kiss to watch your reactions as he pounds his worries away into you. "such a whore." he comments at your already fucked out state. "g-gonna... cum- mmh! ah~" once scara heard your words, his hand made it's way to your neck, not even hesitating to start choking you. but don't worry, he loves you so much so he'll stop when he has to...he won't choke you to death <3

"wanna cum? all over my cock?" he says with that hot as hell deep voice, "beg for it. you know you want to." and so you did. with the best you could, you begged and begged him to let you cum as he continued to fuck you senseless, watching closely how your body reacts to his movements along with your facial expressions. he laughs at your begging, but not in that way- he just finds it cute~ "cum on my cock like the good girl you are then." your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your body spasms as the feeling of euphoric pleasure take over. after a few seconds, he spills his own seed deep inside you, making you whimper as the warm feeling gets to you. removing his hand from your neck, he pulls out gently, looking in awe at your dripping cunt then turning his gaze to you, giving you a sweet smile. "you're so pretty... especially like this." he says before kissing your forehead, your cheek, and then your lips. "i love you, my dearest."

"now, let's continue, 'til the break of dawn. i want more and more of you, come here."

[minotaurs-my-beloved]

You know what time it is (you literally don’t)

Anywhooo

Little bit of something from my searches

https://www.tumblr.com/mouth-rot/165649158276/artist-monstersholdingbitches-mhb-submitted

Like godddd imagine going on a camping trip in cabin by yourself just for some down time or maybe after a stressful breakup and you meet the camp ranger and they seem like super nice kind and understanding, even going as far as to drop some stuff off in your cabin from time to time whenever you called them so it just seemed natural for you to tell him where the spare key, (you wouldn’t want the wildlife getting into your stuff now would you.) After deciding to go out you return a tad bit drunk you had a few drinks at the bar nothing to heavy of course but it does help you decide to take a little nap which makes it all the more easier for your little friend to come in…..

Anyways just a thought I’ve been thinking about ����

Also I’ll be for sure gone for the next week so no thoughts for me 😔

-🩰/🎀

My brain forgot with one you chose sorrryy

Anon, you, you wonderful person, you're helpin my motivation so much<3

We will all mourn your absence😔✊

TW: Noncon/dubcon (reader doesn't consent but likes it?)

Life had gotten far too stressful as of late, so you decided to go stay in a cabin alone for some solace. Planning to spend a day or two in nature, read a bit, maybe even draw some.

After a bit of a drive you reach the point where you can no longer use your car and have to walk the path. You hop out of your car, opening the trunk to grab your bag and when you turn around you nearly get a heart attack as a park ranger stands behind you.

"Jesus christ!" you exclaim, putting your hand over your heart and laughing slightly at yourself.

"Sorry about that sweetheart, didn't mean to scare yah" He grins, "I reckon you're the one here for the cabin? Considering it's been rainin' for the past few days the paths all washed out, so if you don't mind, It'd be my pleasure to walk yah to the cabin." He offers, reachin his arm out slightly, silently asking to help you with your bags.

"Are you sure? Don't wanna bother you" You reply, secretly hoping he'll continue insisting.

"Course I don't mind darlin', it's my job to make sure everyone who comes stays safe and happy, that includes you." He deepens his voice at the end, bendin over slightly, straight up showin off how much bigger he is than you.

And who are you to refuse such an offer?

On the trail he tells you about the history of these woods and some nature facts. Then, he gets to the real interesting stories, detailing the old legends about these parts. They were all fun to listen to, but the ones that stuck out to you the most were about the werewolf that's claimed to roam the forest.

You finally get to the cabin and he puts your bag inside, stopping at the door as you walk in, waiting to see if you'd invite him. You turn around and look at him for a moment, deciding he's nice enough you smile and tell him if he has the time he's more than welcome inside.

He stays for a while before claimin he has obligations, giving you his phone number just in case you "need anything." The minute he leaves you book this cabin for a few extra days, there is no shot you're giving this man up. After that he routinely comes to your cabin when he has the time, always sitting close to you, putting a hand on your thigh, catchin him staring at you.

One night he comes late, you had a few drinks before he arrived, not expecting him and were a bit tipsy, but you let him in nonetheless. He notices immediately and subtly feeds you a few more drinks and soon you're tellin him that you're just going to close your eyes for a minute. He smiles gently, helping you up the stairs and into the bed, tucking you in and even kissing your forehead.

You wake up with a small headache, keeping your eyes closed as though that would help. Furrowing your eyebrows, your body keeps moving up and down slowly, and you for sure aren't the one moving it. Eyes still bleary from sleep, you blink a few times, finally coming to your senses and realizing you're being fucked. You start panicking, as you see a massive wolf is responsible for this. Somehow, you don't question it at the moment, too busy hitting its chest, which only serves for him to growl and pin your hands down.

"S'alright, love, it's just me" You blink in surprise, recognizing the voice as the park ranger's. Then it hits you, he's the werewolf he told you stories about, no wonder they glorified him so much. You start to calm down, trying to rationalize all of this. I mean sure, its fucked up that he's takin advantage of you, and he's literally a werewolf, but god it's really hard to care when his massive cock is driving deep inside you anytime you try to conjure a thought.

So, you let yourself enjoy it, not caring about anything you really should. Moaning along with him, clenching around his cock, and baring your throat to him. He growls again, louder this time and bites into your neck, licking at the wound when he unlatches. You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, and when you cry out that you're about to cum, he starts truly fucking you. Slamming his fat dick in you over and over, you cum which makes him groan. Giving one last thrust, he fills your womb with an unreal amount of cum.

After a minute you start coming down from the high of your orgasm, blinking slowly, you feel his knot beginning to stretch your cunt wider. He shushes and comforts you while you whimper at the slight pain, but it quickly stops hurting and he flips you over. Now resting on his chest, tucking your head into his neck you fall asleep with his fat knot still in you.

[chronically-ghosted]

Little Monsters

rating: 18+ Explicit

pairing: dieter x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: A phone call home to your family has you missing them desperately . . . especially your husband, who always knows exactly what you need.

warnings/tags: pregnancy, Dieter has children and is actually a really good dad, director!reader, 1st half is mind numbing tooth rotting FLUFF, 2nd half is straight filth and dieter has a nasty nasty mouth, masturbation, camera/phone sex, slight breeding kink, one single use of ‘Daddy’, if I had an ounce of shame left in me I would not have posted this

a/n: special shout outs go to @spookyxsam for showing me about how babies work and to @lunapascal and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for talking me off the daddy dieter ledge. this is my first pregnancy fic and i do not know what came over me (she lied, knowing damn good and well what happened to her brain chemistry)

from @yoursoulsunbreakable 's request: Hello sweetie, congratulations on your milestone <3 Here's my request for the little drabble: 5. “Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.” With our precious Dieter and smutty? Hope it'll inspire you 😘

🤍Masterlist

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, Dieter, I’d – I’d –,”

“Yeah?”

You let out a burst of air from your lips, flopping back against the pillows. “I’d ask you for a foot rub,” you whine into the camera. 

He chuckles, the sound a bit garbled through the speakers. He leans forward into the camera, as if trying to see down your body, the angle of the phone against the hotel’s lamp not quite right. 

“Is Bravo Baby number three giving you trouble?” 

You eye your swelling feet over the steadily swelling bump. Well into your second trimester and the list of shoes in your closet you could still wear is shrinking rapidly. This also happened with your second child and when Dieter made one joke about keeping you barefoot in the kitchen, you nearly threw a butcher’s knife at his head. You stroke the left side of your stomach to preemptively soothe the little brat before they start wailing on that spot all night, sighing into your husband’s sympathetic, pixelated face. 

“They’ve been grouchy all day. Tom had to leave me in the car for a bit after we scouted a potential place for the exterior shots to finish taking pictures because somebody was having a grand old time wearing me out.” You narrow your eyes at him through the camera. “As if there was any doubt this was your child.” 

This is a constant inside joke between you. Your first kid, a girl, was a beautiful blend of both you and Dieter. His eyes, but your hair, your cheeks, and his nose. He also got to name her – said it came to him after he bought some chocolate and water at the hospital lounge –

“Zelle, Dieter, ‘Zelle’?? Like the money transaction service?” 

But you had been too zonked out on painkillers and endorphins to object (you thought it was beautiful at the time), and he signed the papers anyway. Neither of you had come up with a fitting name before then and he swears the instant he held his baby girl in his hands for the first time, it came to him, as if the stars rearranged themselves in the sky with that name. Incurably a romantic at heart – your husband – you found it sweet and also idiotic, but it was too late now. 

Your second one, Orion, had his name written down on a post-it note you carried in your purse for months and you made sure to show the nurse when you were admitted. Not that Dieter would intentionally go against the name you had agreed on if the baby was a boy, but there was a slim chance he’d get so caught up in the moment and, with watery eyes, tell the nurse to write something like Mars Bar on the birth certificate. 

And, for all that, Orion could have been a carbon copy of you.

The joke started when Dieter picked him up from his crib one night and brought that gurgling little mouth right up to his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t just spontaneously create this one? I don’t see a single hint of me in this little guy.” To which Orion giggled around a drool-damp fist and promptly bopped his father on the nose with it. 

“Are you saying you don’t remember what happened the night he was conceived?” You asked with a smirk over your shoulder as you returned some baby bibs to the drawer. 

Dieter snorted and slid Orion into the crook of his arm, those onesie-white feet seen kicking over his forearm. “Now Mommy is just being plain silly.”

That was five years ago and you couldn’t exactly deny you were excited for the smell of newborn to be all over your husband again. 

“I’ll be glad when we hit the last trimester,” he says, chin propped up on his wrist to stare down at you in his other palm, “so I can wave that doctor’s note in your face when you try to work too hard . . . like you are now.” 

You shift onto your side to face him, rolling your eyes. “You only like the third trimester for the sex hormones.” 

After spending most of your first pregnancy, and at least half of your second, trying to claw Dieter’s eyes out if he so much as breathed in your direction, he was delighted to find that by month seven, the hellcat who had taken over his wife’s body turned into a needy, whiny little kitten. 

Some of the best orgasms of his life come from those months, he swears up and down. 

“I’m not going to complain,” he grins, peering down at you from those prescription sunglasses. The Dieter you used to know wore them because he was constantly hungover; your husband wears them because he keeps accidentally misplacing his actual prescription glasses. “All I’m saying is you better be back in time so Daddy can play house with Mommy.” 

The shrill cry is heard through the phone, the closed bedroom door, and at least one hallway:

“Is Mommy on the phone?” 

Barely a second later, you watch over his shoulder as the door flings open and a wild blur of arms and legs dogpiles Dieter onto the bed. You hear him grunt, the camera flips up to the ceiling, as Zelle and Orion clamor for the phone. Chuckling to yourself, you take up the phone from the bedside table and hold it in your palm as you lean back against the pillows and your children’s faces flash over the small screen. 

“Mommy, I made a bug out of noodles and string today.”

“Mommy, I saw a cat that looked like a cow today.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s broccoli tasted funny - you cook it better!”

“Hey!” He lunges for Zelle’s little ankle and pulls her up around her waist as she giggles helplessly. 

You can barely see them, Orion’s pudgy little finger over most of the camera, Dieter’s hair and Zelle’s kicking feet visible only in flashes. 

“You better go help your sister, Orion!” 

Needing no other prompting, he drops the phone against the pillows and leaps onto his father, squealing at the noise Dieter makes. Where Orion got your looks, he had all of his father’s mannerism. You blinked twice when as a toddler Orion’s purposeful pout had looked so similar to his father’s, you wondered if they had practiced it together. Orion is ruthless when it comes to the tickle wars and immediately goes for Dieter’s neck. 

“Help!” he chokes, “I’m being overrun by tiny monsters!”

Zelle roars at his hip and Orion howls – he’d be a werewolf for Halloween a third year in a row if the tradition continued. Despite more frequent and loud protests about his poor back, Dieter lunges forward and yanks Zelle under his arm like she’s a football. He does the same to Orion and faceplants with both of them successfully pinned. It’s the oldest trick in the book and you muse what he’s going to do when they are too big to do that to anymore. But, as Dieter likes to say, one colossal nightmare at a time. 

“Peace treaty?” His voice is muffled by the blanket. 

“Stand and deliver,” they repeat, breathlessly and red faced. He lets them go and the two bodies barely move, grins still plastered to their faces. Cheeks pink, Dieter crawls over and snags the phone.

“See, darling?” he says between heavy breaths, “this parenting stuff is easy.” 

“Mommy, when are you coming home?” Zelle pops her head between Dieter and the phone, her cheek pink and her little hands pushing her hair off her face. 

“Yeah!” Orion pipes up, crawling over Dieter’s back, hooking his tiny hands over his father’s throat. Dieter’s eyes bug out for a moment before adjusting the five year old’s grip. “Are you done chasing the dragon?”

At that, Dieter snickers and you can’t glare with fire in your eyes like you’d like to so you plaster on an overly sweet smile on your face. 

“Rori, we asked you not to say that. It’s a stork, remember?” 

Orion frowns into Dieter’s curls. “But I want a baby brother or sister that comes from a dragon’s egg.” 

“Yeah, Mom, a dragon baby is way cooler than a stork baby.” 

Oh, you are going to kill him. 

This was another ongoing joke . . . for Dieter. Orion’s teacher called home one night after Orion proudly announced that his mommy was off chasing the dragon. Understandably concerned about the phrase, she called to make sure everything was alright, only to find out what he meant was that his mother was expecting a new baby and instead of a stork, his father told him that Mommy was going to find a dragon to put a new egg inside her tummy, and then the new baby would eventually pop out from the egg. 

This was something you had to relay through the phone to the teacher . . . because Dieter was curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he went mute, tears rolling down red cheeks. This had been his ‘stork’ story for Orion, and apparently unaware of just how impressionable a five-year-old is, told him that Mommy was chasing the dragon for a new egg. Dieter says his greatest regret in his life is that he wasn’t there to see the look on Orion’s teacher’s face. 

After that, you (and Dieter once he recovered) tried to alter the story enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally imply his mother was off on a drug binge, but evidently too much stuck. 

“I’m meeting with the dragon tomorrow, okay? I’m not chasing after anything. We’re having lunch. Right, Dad?”

“Absolutely.” He nods seriously at Orion and kisses that fat little cheek. 

“When is the dragon gonna give you the egg with my baby sister in it?” Zelle asks, matching Dieter on her stomach. Dieter’s confidence manifested perfectly in his daughter; you and him had told her many times that the baby might be a little brother, but she just stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s a sister,” she said, with a characteristic roll of her eyes. 

“A couple more months, baby,” you smile, unconsciously rubbing at your stomach again. Baby Bravo is suspiciously quiet. Not soon enough. “But I’ll be home tomorrow, but you two have to be good for Dad until then, okay?” 

Orion nods from Dieter’s shoulder, but Zelle smirks up at her father in a way that is well beyond her six years.

“I promise to eat all of Daddy’s nasty broccoli!”

Dieter’s own impish nature, thrown right back at him. The one solace you found is that your husband might have finally met his match. 

He grabs her, flips her on her back, and blows a strawberry on her tummy as she shrieks with glee. 

“Alright – that’s it – it’s bath time for all naughty monsters!” He hikes Orion over his shoulder and picks up Zelle by her waist. He glances back over at you, his eyes bright and a giant smile on his face. 

You swear every time you see Orion, there’s less and less baby in his pudgy face, his little hands. Zelle is constantly saying and doing things that surprises you with the depth of their awareness and you know it doesn’t all come from you or Dieter. 

Your heart actually aches from missing them so much. 

“Monsters, say goodnight to Queen Monster–,” more yelling, roaring, “I’ll call you later tonight, okay, baby?” 

You nod, your eyes suddenly hot and tight. “O-okay – love you all.”

“LOVE YOU!” The three-headed monster yells in unison as it lumbers out of the bedroom.

You end the call, just before the tears spill. Again on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling incredibly sorry for yourself when the baby rolls over and kicks you in the ribs. 

Hey, I’m here too!

You laugh, a little watery, and you wipe your eyes with your palms. Just get through tonight and you’re home. 

“Okay, okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready for bed, would you like that?”

It’s late. You know you should be asleep already, but the shower had taken longer than expected. The phone call with your husband and children lingered in your mind when you turned on the water and stripped down. Your heart was so full to see Orion’s pout and Zelle’s mischievous grin, especially after such a long day on your feet and for all his teasing, Dieter’s own ease and confidence as a father, as well as a husband, left you feeling . . . warm. In fact, your mind’s eye lingers on him in the memory of the call: his beautiful, rich curls – those square black glasses that made him look annoyingly mysterious and so goddamn hot – his biceps flexing as he throws around his children with ease, his shoulders broad and straining against his shirt — his bulging forearm making his triangle tattoo pop – his wedding ring that replaced all the other rings –

The good news is the baby was almost here. The bad news is that you’re suddenly irrationally horny and your all-too-eager husband was a plane ride away. 

Entirely naked besides the white hotel robe around your shoulders, you sternly ignore the plush tingling between your legs and try to focus on rubbing in lotion into your legs, your hips, over the old and new stretch marks over your stomach. Your fingers rub underneath the curve of your stomach and accidentally brush the damp curls, sending tiny shock waves up your pelvis. You gasp lowly, freezing, eyes tightly shut, fighting back that wave of arousal. 

Goddamn it. 

At first you think the ringing is between your ears, your blood rushing hard and fast, and then you realize it’s actually your phone going off.

Daddy Dieter, the screen reads.

You frown at the clock – if it’s late for you, then it’s very late for him. When he said he’d call you later, you didn’t think he meant literally later tonight. Still frowning, you put down the bottle of lotion and answer the phone.

“Dieter?” 

“Hey, baby. How’s your night?” 

He pulls back the phone and your mouth flushes with spit. He’s shirtless, sunglasses replaced with his actual glasses, that silver earring glinting in the low light. In the center of your bed, he’s propped up on several pillows with his arm tucked behind his head. He has thickened over the years, his chest and shoulders taking on a new weight as if he physically grew into fatherhood — and God, if his bicep was bulging before –

“Dieter –,” your voice is hoarse at first and you have to clear your throat to get anything out of your mouth that isn’t a whine. “Dieter, what are you doing up?”

He shrugs like he’s just been bored at home. “Bath time was easy. Orion wanted just one story and Zelle didn’t put up a fight when I told her it was bedtime and she had to put away the crayons.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Did you slip them Benadryl?” 

“Wow! No! Did you ever think that maybe I’m just that good of a dad?” He scoffs, mildly offended. And then he smirks. “I told them you’d come home sooner if they were good.”

“Ah, the old Santa Claus trick.” You nod sagely and sit down on the edge of the bed, the movement tugging the robe slightly. “Always a classic.”

“Yeah, I –,” Dieter’s eyes widen, edges going dark. “Are you naked?” 

You swallow, his sudden shift in tone causing your thighs to clench. You cross your legs as tightly as your belly will allow, your chin held high.

“I’m in a robe, Dieter. Took a long shower.”

His eyes glitter with interest, the tip of his tongue running on the edge of his bottom lip. “How long?”  

Feeling hot and swollen for months now, you flush pink, an overripe peach beneath the slightest pressure of his thumb. 

“Dieter–,” it’s a whine but you shake your head. “Please don’t tease. I’m so . . . sensitive right now, and I won’t be home until tomorrow and–,”

“Baby, baby, breathe. I know it hurts.” He sits up, his eyes big and dark. “I remember how wet you get around now.”

Your cunt drools onto the robe below you, thighs sticky, his words ringing in your ears. 

“Dieter, don’t –,”

“I know I can’t help you but what if I showed you how to help yourself?” 

You whimper, arousal now hot and warm in the pit of your stomach. The strength of it makes your pelvis ache. You know it won’t be the same as him, but his voice, it might be enough. You nod, your heart pounding, hand holding the phone shaking. 

“Then lie back, baby.” Dieter purrs and it’s almost like he’s pushing you back with his hands. You shift up the bed, careful to not step on your robe with your heels as you center yourself in the covers. But Dieter’s moving, off the bed, and he’s adjusting something behind his phone.

The baby inside you can feel your heartbeat racing and they turn, uneasy. You soothe them with small circles just above your hips, your lips between your teeth. But that touch on your skin, the look in Dieter’s eyes, you brush lower on your skin and immediately you shudder. 

“Baby, please, hurry, whatever you’re doing, hurry –,” 

You drop your fingers over your thighs, curling and uncurling, drawing imaginary lines like he does in the mornings against your shoulders and back. 

“Just a second, sorry, almost got it.”

Then he steps back, the phone hovering in the air. Dieter sits on the bed and the camera holds the entire bed in view. Dieter is nothing if not a performer, bringing a tripod into the bedroom when he knows you need him the most. He’s so fucking hot.

“Can you see me, baby?” 

You nod stiffly. “How do you want me?” 

“Whatever way is comfortable,” he smiles and it’s almost as hot as his smirk. Fuck, he loves you so much. You slide the robe off your shoulders, exposing the tops of your breasts as best you can and still keeping your phone up. “Perfect, baby, that’s perfect.” 

Your hand drops to your thigh again, dragging your nails up under the swell of your belly and you twitch. 

“T-tell me what you would want to do,” you begin, your voice shaking, arousal smooth as it licks up your spine, “if you were here right now.” You feel warm all over, the sheets cool against your calves. 

This far away, you can’t see his eyes clear enough to watch them darken entirely, but his low grunt is enough. It’s time for him to perform for his pregnant and insatiable wife. 

He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the bedside table, where they land with a clatter. You can’t even think of scolding him when he lifts his hips and yanks his gray sweatpants down his knees, then to the floor. He’s half-hard as he shuffles back to the pillows, nearly in the same position you are. You shift to match him entirely, needing the immersion to be total and complete. You’d cry if he could actually touch you.

“Are you comfortable?”

You nod again. But Dieter shakes his head, his fingers digging into his thighs. “I can’t see you this far away, baby. I need you to say it. Talk to me.”

He was usually the one vocal enough for both of you, any coherent language impossible with the mess he makes out of you. You can’t imagine what you’re going to sound like, not when you’re this needy and desperate already.

“O-okay, Dieter, I’ll try.” 

“Good girl.” You whimper again, trying to restrain from touching yourself before he tells you to. But you’re throbbing, the heat blooming from your cunt rushing to the rest of your body, the baby in you restless. As if mother and child can only be soothed by their father. “Now, breathe, darling, you’re flushed.” 

You inhale, the air notching on every bone in your spine, and exhale, your lungs shuddering, eyes shut. “Dieter, please, tell me what you’d –,” 

“I’d touch your thighs,” he says with such immediacy, your eyes spring open. He’s got the knee farthest from you bent up, as if putting himself on display, turning his hips towards the camera slightly. His other leg is stretched out long beside him and his left hand strokes his cock. Hair and shoulders backlit from the far lamp, the image of him like this alone — just for you — has your cunt clenching, a moan spilling from your lips. “Touch your thighs, baby.”

You can’t grab as much skin as he does, but you try. You lift your knees, and massage the backs of your thighs, then up to your knees, and back down. You can almost feel his breath on your calves and you shudder. “What else? W-where else?” 

“I’ve been thinking about your tits for days,” he groans, the sound strangled, his cock now fully-hard and red. He cups himself, twisting as slow as he can take it. “Tell me what your tits feel like.” 

“Sensitive,” you gasp as you draw two fingers across your nipple and squeeze gently. Dieter only uses his mouth now on them, so you wet them with yours and return them to your swollen bud, slowly twisting and pulling. 

He’s watching you through the camera, eyes wide, breath sharp when you suck your fingers into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Get them wet. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your lips around my nipple, under my breast. Your teeth. They’re so heavy, Dieter.” 

His hips jerk under his hand, his fingers moving faster now. You can’t quite hear what he’s muttering, but you catch weak mumblings, “gonna feed our baby”, “yeah, your tits”, the baby” —

“Dieter, please–,” 

“Touch yourself with your fingers wet from your mouth. T-t-tell me what it feels like.”

With a relieved cry, you slide your hand down from your tits, over the swell of your belly, and in between your thighs. Wetness clings to the curls, to the curve of your ass, your body so ready to take him, and it locks up when you slip a finger inside.

“So wet. Warm. How many fingers can I put in?”

“One, but – can you already do two?”

You nod, the huff arching into a whine. “Yeah, baby. You have no idea how wet I am. I can slip in two with no resistance.”

“Jesus,” he pants and slows down, his hips rocking of their own accord. “You’ve got me so hard.” 

You curl your fingers inside of you, searching for that spot made and found and praised by him. Your folds plump and achy, you twist your wrist, scissor your fingers, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as his three fingers plugging you up, readying you to take so much of him, it’s enough to ease the sharp ache for a bit. You moan, fucking yourself more. He hears it, sees it, and grunts. 

“You can come wherever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his own hand hesitant to match your speed. He tugs on his balls and his toes curl, his neck long and tense. “Fuck, I need your hands.”

“Me too,” you sob, real tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It feels good but it’s not the relief you need. It’s pathetic but you don’t want to stop. You can’t get in deep enough, even if you could get around your big belly. “Dieter, I can’t reach. It’s – I’m –,”

“Breathe, love, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing, calming. The same one he uses when you’re in labor and the sweet honey warmth of it sinks into your bones, easing the panic. You slow, gasping, tears pooling down your temple. Your orgasm is harsh, sunken in the dark, waiting for you to draw it out.

“What can you reach?”

“My clit.” 

“Then touch that. Can I see?”

You nod, angle the phone down as you rub that electric nub. 

“Oh, fuck, baby. I know it’s frustrating and I know it hurts, but you look so fucking good. So wet for me. Your pussy is perfect, pink, just how I like her.”

“Yeah?” you spin your fingers faster. That hot arousal returns steadily, melting back the resentment towards your own body the longer he praises. 

“Oh yeah.” You can hear the slap of skin on the other end of the phone and you can picture Dieter flat on his back jerking himself off to your pulsating cunt and you moan, loudly, tension evaporating from your body. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Tight. I just need a bit more.” 

“Me too. Let me see your face, pretty girl.” You turn the camera and gape at the sight on the screen. 

Precum drips out of his now-purple cock, his chest flushed and neck sweaty. He’s twirling the head around with his thumb at the pace you’ve set with your fingers against your clit. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait for you to be home so I can eat you out for hours.” 

“I want your cock in me, Dieter,” you gasp, furiously rubbing on your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your cunt clenches in time with your thudding heartbeat. “You’re so thick. I wanna feel the stretch.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you hard.” The confession is a low snarl, a promise made between the ridges of his teeth. He fucks his fist faster, the noise over his labored breathing obscene. “Gonna put your hands on the headboard, your pussy in my lap and I’m gonna fuck up into you until I fill you full again. Wanna make you pregnant twice.” 

Arousal floods your veins, your thighs a gooey mess. You toss your head back, back arching, and you moan as loud as you can. 

“Oh– shit, oh, oh, shit–,”

“You’re gonna leak all over my thighs and when you’re done coming so hard you can’t see straight, I’m gonna lick it up all off you, my wife. Mine. My baby. Mine. Fuck, you look so good full of me.”

He’s never this possessive, never angry that he can’t have you but he sounds livid. He fucks his fist, his hips bucking into nothing, his other hand squeezing his thigh so hard his knuckles go white. 

You circle your clit one more time and finally — your orgasm crests, your body locking up, your cunt gushing – and it leaves your mouth before you can stop it –

“Oh, Daddy–,”

You hear him gasp as if electrocuted, and you have to drop your phone to steady yourself as the weight of white-hot pleasure explodes across your body. You rock, breath gone from your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, and everything slams back into you and you gasp, high and loud, every inch of your skin hot and trembling. You don’t realize you’re sweating until you feel it drip off your neck.  

All you can hear is Dieter panting from your phone amongst the covers, the sound muffled. Your eyes flutter as the warm waves languish, then curl, and finally, you sigh as the last waves drain out of your body. If you weren’t lying down you’re sure you’d be dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter breathlessly to no one in particular.

“B-baby, you still there?”

You blindly feel around for your phone, arm so weak it’s trembling as you pull the camera towards your face

Dieter looks about as fucked out as you feel. Cock limp and still dribbling, his stomach and chest are covered in cum. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. 

“Holy shit, baby, that was …”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing your dry tongue, wishing again he was here so he could get you a glass of water. “I hope that wasn’t all of it because I really want you to say all of those things again tomorrow when you’re inside me.”

He groans and adjusts his limp cock. “You say that now but wait until Baby Bravo kicks you in the kidneys. You’ll be feeling a lot less generous towards this,” he gestures aimlessly to his naked body, “then.”

You chuckle. “Let’s just hope for the best. Besides,” you say, groaning a bit as you sit up to wipe the sweat off your neck with the robe, “I’m pretty sure I can have you eating out of the palm of my hand. Now that I know your secret . . . Daddy.” 

Dieter groans as you laugh. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so surprised by now when you make me discover new kinks.” 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

He rolls his eyes as he gets up and picks the phone off the tripod. Holding the phone to his face, he wipes the cum off with his sweatpants before turning his attention back to you.

“How are you? Feel better?”

“Much better.” You stretch and lean back in the bed. If he was here, you’d probably be asking to eat you out, but at least the knife’s edge of desire has dulled. You can at least wait until nap time to jump your husband’s bones. 

“Good,” Dieter sighs, satisfied. “I’ll be there to pick you up from the airport tomorrow, okay?”

He always gets like this the nearer the due date comes, as if he can’t stand to see you lift a finger unnecessarily. You smile and nod, never wanting it to be any other way. 

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. Good night, my biggest love. I love you, so much.” 

“I love you too, Dieter.” Goddamn hormones, making you cry again. 

“Now lemme say goodbye to our little traveler.”

You wipe your eyes with your thumb as you tilt the phone to your swollen belly. 

“Good night, Baby Bravo. Can’t wait to have you around.”

And, at the sound of their father’s voice, they stir. Not kick or hurt. Just a tiny foot against your tight skin.

You are officially crying now. 

“They said hi, didn’t they?”

You’re nodding, crying, and he can’t see a damn thing. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “They said good night, Dad.”

He’s patient with you as you wipe your eyes, cheeks flushed again. 

“Baby, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’re just a really good dad. And I’m so lucky,” you blubber. “This is it! I’m never leaving to go scouting again. I can’t take it.” 

“Mhmm. Let’s revisit that when you’re about two months postpartum and clawing at the walls.”

You laugh with him, your own sticky and goopy. “Fine.”

“Go to bed, love, and for the record, I’m the lucky one. Don’t forget that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You blow a kiss and he catches it. You roll your eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You stay like that for a bit, cradled by the pillows, and your phone on your chest, thinking about everything from Dieter to the next school picture day, to the next family vacation, and of course, the zillion things you have to get done with work before the baby comes — hopefully all from the home office.

She kicks. 

You smile, wondering how you and Zelle both just know it’s a girl. Dieter has his own suspicions, he says, but he’s saving them. Orion would probably be thrilled to have a dragon in the family. You snort, hand over the place where she put her little foot.

“I miss them too, sweetie. And once you’re here, we’ll outnumber those silly boys. Maybe we’ll have to get a dog. You’ll like dogs.”

She’s silent, maybe sleeping, maybe thinking about what the heck a dog is. You smile, turn off the lamp, and peel back the covers. The sheets are cool and soft.

You fall asleep, dreaming of little feet, and hands, and wedding rings.

[cstlez]

can u do a mafia smut where toms in his 2011 era with a fem reader and he fucks her under a table while on call with his opponents pleasee if not then im fine with jst smut.

no, yes, yes i can! i had to go read a couple things for inspiration tho! (i’ve never written mafia..)

this is lowk tweaked cus idk!

(banner is a joke i needed a giggle!)

i think i missed the point! but still, hope you enjoy!

anyways, enjoy!! :3

———

EAGER

warnings! : smut, (obv!),strong language, mentions of smoking, (dk what else)

;

Tom is always, and will always be an absolute thoughtless, good-for-nothing asshole, though, calling him good-for-nothing would be a laughing matter because having him around, is an automatic save.

He also almost always, wants to fuck, when he’s proud, when he’s not, when he’s frustrated, annoyed, but, you don’t mind.

Secretly, you relinquish in the restless fucking, whether it’s a quickie, or not, you love every minute and moment of it.

He rotted the good in you but maybe that’s why you liked him so much.

You walked into Tom’s office, the very familiar sound of tapping and smell of smoke overwhelming your senses in mere seconds, immediately you were welcomed by the sound of his screaming, you winced, debating whether or not you should even be in there.

The cybersecurity major resided in his office, worriedly typing away on his laptop, pushing in his glasses every few seconds, you raised a brow, walking over to his desk, you slipped onto it, crossing your legs, he looked at you through his lashes, he spun his chair around, ignoring you completely.

“His IP, track it.”

“Yes sir.”

You scoffed, watching as he gripped his phone like it was an animal, he was fuming, just about seconds away from shooting someone.

“Kill one of my men again, and I'll slaughter you and any remaining heir that exists under your name. You owe me Red. You fucking owe me!"

You looked at your hands, waiting, somewhat patiently but not really. He huffed in annoyance, his teeth gritted, his tongue gliding along his lips finding his lip piercing to fidget with. He hung the phone up, almost instantly chucking it across his office, You hissed, pretending not to notice the ongoing tension within the atmosphere.

"Sir, I found him sir. He's headed for Bahnhofsstraße." He spun around his laptop, revealing the markings of Red and his team, he was right, they were headed for Bahnhofsstraße. Your only question was why, though Tom seemed to know.

"Fuck, seriously!? Call Bill, Tell him to head there now. Now!" He scoffed, he ran his hand down his face, a few seconds passed and he begun rushing to get a team out. You opened your mouth to speak but he shut you down within seconds. "You're staying here-" You cut him off, to speak, "My uncle-" He scoffed slamming his fist on the desk. "I don't care! You will only slow me down. Stay here."

-

The clock inside of your bedroom ticked ferociously. Every tick standing for another long second. You skimmed through yet another book from the library, your brain fogged from everything possible.

Though the profound "peace" instantly came to an end when Tom burst through your door, no knock, no warning, nothing. Immediately you set your book down, you raised a brow in annoyance, sitting up as he inched near you.

"What the fuck Tom!"

He looked jagged, his eyes displaying just how tiresome the day must've been. The first thing he did was grip your wrist, grabbing you as if you'd run from him. He kissed you with absolute desire. Like he'd been aching for it.

He shoved you against the bed frame his body engulfing yours entirely, You pushed him away, only momentarily to find words to speak. "You're supposed to call for me-" He pushed himself closer, biting down on your tender skin, his tongue sucking the skin on your neck with such experience it made you ache.

"I don't care." His voice was shallow, it made every single bone in your body ache, he pressed his lips against yours yet again, this time speeding up the process. His body grinded against your, the obvious difference in your strength was something you were used to but everything always became a blur the moment you felt his weight above you.

You could sense the anger and annoyance he held, the eagerness with no apparent attachment. He undressed you even quicker then he had undressed himself, his hands trailing and gripping your body, you squirmed with pleasure as he pushed himself inside you, his relentless strength consuming you. Your eyes grew half lidded, hiding the pleasure in your throat, he groaned impatiently, his hand trailed down your body as he aggressively slammed himself into you, his thumb pressed hardly onto your clit making you swallow dryly, at last a whimper left your lips, he grinned, leaning over you.

He grabbed your face tightly, brushing his thumb across your face, the flush of your cheeks made him mad, he trailed kisses from your jaw all the way to your collarbones. He shoved himself in deeper, his nails digging into your hips, "Don't go acting innocent now- I like you because you're a slut. You're anything but innocent." You dug your nails into his back grabbing him by his braids. "Fuck you." His grin widened, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he fucked you senseless.

His mouth trailed down to your chest, sucking your nipple with yet again, so much experience, you always wondered how much people he might've needed to fuck to get so good at it. He pulled away, the sight of his darkened eyes and swollen lips could've made you finish alone.

He gripped your hips, flipping your bodies over, he guided you, forcing you to move, with every thrust of your hip he grew more and more relentless, his hands grabbing you with every ounce of strength he had, you moaned as you grew close, you wanted to wince at how tightly he held your hips but the pleasure overcame the pain. He threw his head back thrusting upwards until he found what he was looking for.

You both moaned in pleasure, gripping at each-others bodies, he pulled you against his chest, kissing you as he fought back moans and the urge to moan your name. He bit down on your bottom lip, cupping your ass. His dick twitched inside you as you clenched around him, he let out an exasperated sigh, his eyes melted into yours as he slowly pushed you off him. Leaving you with his scent lingering in the air.

[f1nalboys]

Come Inside - Chad Meeks-Martin

Chad Meeks-Martin x Fem!AFAB!Reader

hi guys. this is the fic that was giving me a massive amount of brain rot today!!! i dreamt this (yeah im lucky i know thank you) and havent been able to stop thinking about it since <3 shout out to tatianna (@castieltrash1) for reading it and doing some editing for me, she is the loml and u all need to follow her NEOW! (in fact, she has a charlie from scream 4 fic in the works and its DELICIOUS.) anyways hope u all enjoy this :3

WORD COUNT: 5384 (I KNOW TRUST ME)

WARNINGS: nsfw, first time sex, dub-con except not really?, chad begs to fuck the reader, male manipulator core, 'just the tip' turns into the full thing, unprotected sex, oral (afab and amab recieving,) dirty talk, praise, slight body worship, slight corruption, slight convincing so again, dub con to be safe, high/drunk sex, reader is more high than chad but neither are drunk but they drank if that makes sense, friends to lovers, im just in love with him you guys! reader wears a dress, chad calls reader good girl and pretty girl. actually proofread bc tati is a saving grace angel lady. <3

You feel him before you hear him. You’re at the bar, nursing your first drink of the night, trying to ignore the dull thud the music was giving you when suddenly there’s a large hand placed on the small of your back. “Can I get another beer?” Chad asks the bartender and you feel yourself relax at the sound of his voice, goosebumps rising on the exposed flesh of your arms as his thumb absentmindedly runs up and down. “Hey.” He tilts his head at you a bit. “Nice earrings.”

“Hi. I could say the same to you.” You look up at him and grin, matching his own wide and easy smile. Chad’s standing right beside you, toned body pressed against yours and you don’t know if it’s on purpose or just due to the crowd. “You having fun?” you ask as the bartender hands him the beer bottle. Chad takes a sip from it, looking down at you, grinning against the glass when he notices you watching the way his lips curve against the opening.

It was no secret in the group that you had a crush on Chad. It was hard not to have one on him; he was kind, funny, handsome as hell, and he always seemed to know just the right thing to say. “Now I am,” he teases and you roll your eyes, turning away from him to hide your grin. Just like that. “I’m getting fuckin’ bored though. Too many people. How about you? You find any lucky guys, Y/N?”

“Lucky guys?”

“You know, to take home?” He wiggles his eyebrows for added effect when you look back up at him. “I’m trying to ask if you’re gonna fuck someone tonight.” You nearly choke on your drink and he laughs, deep in his chest, and his hand which was still on your back begins to rub soothing circles. His hands are rough and calloused from his time playing football and they’re so big, with long thick fingers, and suddenly you’re shaking your head in an attempt to get the image of him using them on you, wherever he sees fit, out of your mind. “I take that as a no, then?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Yeah, no, not fucking anyone tonight,” you say, taking another sip of your drink and sighing. “And now my drink’s empty, the music here is too god damn loud, and you’re right, there’s too many fucking people here!” Shaking your head, you dig into the small clutch you had with you, fishing out a few dollar bills and placing them on the bar counter. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“Can I walk you home?” Chad asks, finally removing his hand from your back as you slide out of the bar stool. Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. You had one drink, were the furthest from being drunk you had been in your entire college career, in fact, and you only lived five minutes down the road. “C’mon,” he says, shrugging his broad shoulders and flashing you that fucking smile that always made your knees weak. “It’s late, I just wanna make sure you get home alright.” 

You pretend to think on it, letting out a small ‘hmm’ noise as you tap a finger to your chin. “Fine, but you have to come inside and sober up a bit before you leave.” Chad’s smile doesn’t go away at your request. In fact, it seems to grow. He takes out his wallet and places a few bills beside yours, grabbing the bartender's attention and letting them know you both had paid off your tabs before holding his arm out for you to grab. You do so with a shy smile, trying to ignore the feeling of him under your fingertips, or how close you were to him, or how he kept looking down at you with a smile, or even how his eyes kept darting to your lips. Everything he did seemed to be a deliberate attempt to get you worked up and it always fucking worked.

He leads you out of the club with ease and before you know it you’re out on the New York street. “Which way?” he asks and you nod to the right, following beside him at a slow pace. It was a nice night, a cool breeze helping to offset the hot air that had permeated the city during the day, and the lights and noises of the city still awake helped set you at ease. “You really weren’t having fun in there, were you?”

“Why do you ask?” 

“Because we got out here and you relaxed like you had just gotten out of a fight or flight situation.” He laughs and you smile at the sound. Chad was always grinning, always smiling, but he had been through some tough shit. You used to wonder how he was able to keep this positive attitude but then decided to let it go and try not to dwell on it too much. 

“It was just… too much, you know? Lots of people, lights, that music-”

“I just think you’re old.” You elbow him in the side and he grins. “You are! You sound like my mom.” Chad sniffles and places his free hand on his back, slowing down to an almost complete stop, speaking with a crotchety old-lady voice. “Back in my day, we went to the sock hop! We were pulled by a horse and buggy, not these cars! Your music is too loud, Chady-kins, turn it down!”

You both fall into a fit of laughter, picking back up the original pace you had set. “Chady-kins? Oh, I’m so stealing that.” He shakes his head at you and you giggle, leaning further into his grip. “I mean it! And I’m telling your mom you called her old.” 

You stop walking, finally outside of your apartment building. “Too far,” he says, his smile dropping ever so slightly when you let go of his arm in favor of typing in your door code. “Am I still invited in?” he asks and you look over at him. He’s leaning against the old brick building, the lights of the restaurant across the street bouncing off of his skin and his smile and his eyes and you’re nodding, face burning hot. “Yeah?” His voice is deeper than it was just a moment before and it makes you swallow heavily.

All you can do is nod. 

“Good. M’glad. You know I’m not drunk though, right?” he says as you two walk into your apartment building. He lets you go first, leading the way, but you can feel his eyes on your ass each time you move. You not-so-subtly sway your hips as you walk and you swear you hear him suck in a breath. “Only had a beer and a half before we left, so, no real need to sober up.”

“I’m not drunk either. You can still hang out for a bit, though, if you want?” He hums in agreement and then you’re at your apartment, digging through your purse for your keys. “It’s a little messy in here,” you say sheepishly as you open the door, revealing the mess you had left behind in your attempt at getting ready to go out. Chad just laughs, kicking his shoes off at the door and locking it behind him. “I couldn’t figure out what to wear.”

Your heels are finally off and you hurry around, picking up the pile of clothes you had left on your bed and floor, shoving them in your closet and hamper. “Well I’d say you landed on something good,” Chad says from the kitchen, his voice muffled as he bends down and peers into your fridge. “Because you look fucking hot.” You squeak out a thank you and busy yourself at your desk, fixing up the few items you had left out and trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, poking your head over and seeing Chad in the living room. He turns around and holds up the ashtray you had left on your coffee table, an unsmoked blunt still on it. “You wanna smoke?” you ask and he nods. “Go ahead. You want something to drink?”

“Water’s fine. You’re not gonna smoke with me?”

“I don’t know,” you say, passing by him as you head into the kitchen to grab two water bottles for the both of you. “I get sorta… weird when I smoke.”

“Weird? Weird how?” Chad asks and you hear the sound of your lighter sparking as he sits back on your small couch with a groan. “Do you, like, talk about conspiracies or some shit? Because I’ve smoked with Mindy before and it’s either that or her talking about whatever girl she’s in love with that day.” You chuckle, face heating up as you turn around and see him on the couch. He’s sitting with his legs spread and you realize instantly how well-fitted his jeans are, tight around his thighs. His head is back on the couch looking up, eyes closed as he takes another hit. Smoke plumes around him in a lazy rolling fog. 

You nudge him with the bottle and he takes it with a thank you. Sitting down beside him, you tuck your legs up, knees pressed against his thigh. God, his thigh. You look away from them, opening up your own bottle of water and taking a few slow sips, the image of you riding his thigh, his hands on your hips, building in your mind. 

“So? How weird is weird?” Chad questions, holding the blunt out to you. You consider it for a second, eyes flicking between it and his face which was turned towards you. You couldn’t tell Chad that the ‘weird’ you got was different from what he was imagining. You didn’t spout off conspiracies about the government, or get paranoid. You got horny, and being around him would only make that ‘weirdness’ worse. The days alone when you would smoke, you’d find yourself in bed, hand between your legs, moaning his name. “C’mon.” 

It’s all the encouragement you need and you pluck it from his fingers and settle back into the faux leather of your couch. “There you go,” he says, taking the time to let his eyes drag down your body while you’re taking a hit.

The dress you wore fit you great, tight against your body, the color complimenting your skin tone. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of you since he saw you tonight from across the bar, nursing his drink for ten minutes before Mindy had shoved him towards you, telling him that if he didn’t make a move on you she would on his behalf. And now here he was, smoking with you, so close on the couch that he could practically feel your pulse under his skin. He wanted you so badly and everything that came with it, the good and the bad. 

The two of you pass the blunt back and forth a few times, talking about nothing in between, but you were being affected far more than Chad was. “Are you even inhaling?” you ask with a giggle, passing it back to Chad. He rolls his eyes, taking a large hit in order to prove that he was. “Alright, alright. Show off,” you mutter, blinking heavily. “How come it’s hitting me harder than you?” you whine, shaking your head when he offers the blunt back to you. “I can barely even think straight. M’all… fuzzy.”

“I’m cooler than you, duh,” Chad says with ease, taking a hit and waiting for your laughter to die down before blowing the smoke into your face. You let him, blinking, pupils wide. He thinks you look pretty normally, but he thinks you look beautiful like this. He leans over and places the roach onto the ashtray, sighing as he leans back, his left hand resting on your thigh. You swallow heavily, your vision fuzzy. Your dress had ridden up quite a bit now and his hand was so warm against your flesh. He’s looking at you with such an intense look it has you squirming, face hot when he laughs at you. “I wanna kiss you.”

You blink, sure you misheard him. “What?”

“I wanna kiss you. Like,” he laughs, shaking his head slightly. His brown eyes seemed to sparkle in the lamplight, the whites of his eyes red, pupils blown out. “So fucking bad.” His other hand, the one that had been resting on his thigh, comes up and he places it on your cheek. His thumb runs along your cheek, catching the corner of your mouth. His touch is gentle but everything is so intense still, your skin feeling like it’s on fire, burning against his own. “Can I? Please?”

You nod, closing your eyes when he grins and leans in. The kiss is slow, each movement of his lips done with a purpose. His hand drags from your cheek to the base of your neck, pushing you into his kiss, his touch, just a bit more. You follow his lead with ease, mind too hazy to try and take over. 

He pulls away for a moment to catch his breath, staring into your eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters and he’s kissing you again, harder this time, sloppy. His tongue is slipping inside your mouth and you let out a soft moan, his hand on your thigh dragging upwards, pushing past the fabric. “So fucking hot,” He mutters against your lips, and then you can feel the top of his fingers brush against your underwear, right over your hips, and you’re pushing his hand away gently. “What? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m okay.” He’s still looking at you, hands dropping to his sides, and he looks worried. You can tell he’s wracking his brain for what he did, if he had gone too far somehow. “I’m a virgin.” You blurt it out and squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed. When you had felt his fingers up your skirt it had hit you that if it continued he’d be touching you, that you want him to touch you, but that you weren’t sure if he’d want to.

“So?” Your eyes pop open. Chad is staring at you with a kind smile, dimple evident on his cheek, and you feel your face heat up. “I mean, I’m okay with it if you are, you know?” His hand’s on your leg again, fingers dragging up and down your thigh slowly. “Are you nervous about it?”

“I didn’t know if you’d be alright with it.”

“Well, I am. Besides, wouldn’t it be good to lose it to me?”

“What do you mean?”

Chad’s smile grows and he leans in, lips close to yours. You close your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you. “You know me, right?” You hum. You want him to kiss you again. “You trust me too, right?” Another hum and this time you're leaning in a little bit, a whine stuck in your throat when he pulls away. “Then you should know that I’d make you feel good. I’d take my time when I touch you,” His hand is up your dress again and your body jerks involuntarily into his touch. “That I’d take good care of you and your virgin pussy.” 

He brushes his fingers up your inner thigh and your legs spread instantly, giving him room. He grins at the sight of you, eyes closed, disheveled, breathing hard, legs spread and hand gripping his forearm. “Please?” you ask and then he’s kissing you, finally, and his fingers are brushing against your clothed clit. You keen into his touch, whining into his lips, but he doesn’t stop. 

His fingers begin to rub slow circles against you, a good amount of pressure, and it feels so different from when you touch yourself thinking of him. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the fact that this is happening, but everything is almost too much. You’re surrounded by him in every way possible, his very being filling your own body, replacing your own needs. All you want is for him to feel good, for him to moan, for him to gasp at each press of your hand against him, for him to be begging for more without even realizing he’s doing it. 

You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel.

“More?” Chad asks, parroting your own words back to you with a smile, taking his lips away from your own, his fingers speeding up. His nose is brushing against your neck before he’s kissing it, biting down against your pulse gently, soothing it with his tongue. “Bet you’re close aren’t you, Y/N?” His voice is right there in your ear, breath hot against your skin, but you can barely focus on that. “C’mon, be good for me and cum, okay? Please? Fuck, need you to cum so bad, baby.”

“Gonna-” Is all you get out before he’s biting down onto your neck again and pressing down hard onto your clit and then you’re cumming, nails digging into his arm, a moan stuck in your throat. “F-fuck, Chad, shit!” His fingers don’t slow down for a second but he’s moving off of you, pushing your dress up your body and pulling your underwear down in one fell swoop. 

He shoves your legs apart and you take a second to catch your breath, looking down at him as he slides down the length of the couch. His eyes are glued to your pussy, fingers swiping through your folds and popping them into his mouth with a groan. “Taste so fucking good, so sweet,” he says, prodding at your hole with his middle finger, looking up at you. “Can I taste you?”

You nod, heart hammering out of your chest, and watch as he leans in, breathing in deep, eyes fluttering closed. As his tongue flicks over your clit he pushes his finger inside you slowly, just to the first knuckle, and your hip bucks at the intrusion, forcing his thick finger deeper inside you. 

“Relax, it’s okay,” he soothes, watching your eyes squeeze at the feeling. His fingers were thick, stretching you out with just one, and his tongue kept moving, swirling around your clit and sending shockwaves up your body. You try to focus on relaxing your body and when he feels you do so he pushes his finger in all the way. “There you go, good girl,” he coos, spitting onto his finger as he begins to pump it inside you. 

Chad is moving slowly, finger pumping in and out at a snail's pace, tongue moving even slower somehow. It almost hurts how slow he’s going and you know it’s to prepare you, to make you want him more than you already did. He wanted you drunk on his touch. “Faster,” you gasp and you can feel him laugh against you. “More, please, Chad?” You feel another finger press at your hole and you could cry, your body begging for more. 

The stretch is only a little painful, his tongue helping to soothe the ache. You can feel the knot in your stomach growing with each quickening pump of his finger, each swirl of his tongue, and you swear you see stars when he scissors his fingers inside you. One of your hands grabs onto his head, pulling his head in closer to your cunt, hips rocking up to meet his fingers and tongue, grinding against him. 

You cum without warning, your cry caught in your throat when he pushes in a third finger. It was too much. Your brain was still fuzzy from smoking and everything he was doing to you was heightened. You could feel every taste bud on his tongue as he flicked it against your clit, every groove in his fingers as they pumped inside you. 

“Ok, ok, too much,” you get out and he stops, finally pulling away from you. His fingers are coated in your cum and you watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he sucks on one of his fingers, groaning at the taste of you, before holding his other two fingers out for you. They press against your lips and your mouth parts, tongue sticking out, and you wrap your lips around them as he pushes them inside. 

“Don’t you taste good?” he asks with a grin, leaning over you, his free hand resting on the arm of the couch beside your head. You hum, swirling your tongue around his digits. Your hands begin to fiddle with his belt, tugging at it, and he grins. “Wanna suck my cock, that it?” You nod, his fingers still inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. “Yeah, I bet you do. Bet you’ve thought all about my cock inside your pretty mouth haven’t you? Fuck, you’re so pretty, you know that?”

You grin, running your hand down his face, mimicking what he had done to you earlier, thumb brushing against the corner of his lips.“You’re pretty,” you say, compliment muffled by his fingers in your mouth, and he gives you a soft laugh, his head falling to hide his grin. He finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to your lips. “Wanna touch you,” you whine, going back to working on his belt. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says, leaning back and shoving his jeans down. He leans backward on the couch, jeans tossed onto the floor, his cock straining against his underwear. You’re practically salivating by the time you are leaning over him, placing soft kisses over the fabric of his underwear, looking up at him through your lashes. “Hey, I didn’t tease you,” he says with a sigh, eyelids heavy with lust at the feeling. He had been hard since he kissed you and the taste of you was still lingering on his tongue and he swears it‘s fucking him up more than the weed did. 

You finally tug at his underwear, pulling them down just enough to pull his cock out. He grabs your wrist, turning your hand palm up and spitting in it, giving you a wink before leaning back, arms behind his head as he enjoys the show. “I’ve never…” you say, suddenly nervous. It was clear to you that Chad had experience in this regard with how easily he had made you cum and you were beginning to worry that you were in over your head, too nervous and inexperienced and high to make sure you did alright.

“That’s alright,” he says, giving you a soft smile, one that instantly quells your anxiety. “Just take your time with it, okay? There’s plenty of time for me to teach you, okay, pretty girl?” You nod, wrapping your spit-slick hand around his cock and he hisses, head tilting back as you begin to stroke him. You start off slow, tightening your grip at the base of his cock and loosening it when you get to the top, swiping your thumb over the tip. “Fu-uck,” he says, tripping over his words with a laugh and a thick swallow. “You sure you’ve never done this before? Feels fucking amazing, Y/N.” 

Leaning down, you keep your eyes on him as you lick over the tip of his cock, collecting the bead of precum there and swallowing it. He groans and you can feel him throb under your hand. You flatten your tongue and lick from the base of his cock up to the tip, following the prominent vein he had, and his hips buck at the feeling. This is exactly how you wanted him; his eyebrows scrunched together, eyes struggling to stay open at the feeling of you, him fucking into your fist with an eagerness he couldn’t control. You were making him feel good and fuck, it went straight to your cunt. 

You don’t try to take all of him in your mouth. It was like he said; there would be plenty of time for him to train your throat, just like he had always dreamt of. You keep your hand on him, moving at the same pace, and you take the tip of his cock in your mouth, swallowing around it. He was big, bigger than any toy you had used before at the very least, and when you take him a bit further down he bucks his hips, plunging his cock down your throat. You gag and pull off of him and he’s apologizing.

“Sh-shit, sorry! Sorry, Y/N, just, fuck, your throat felt so good, couldn’t help it. C’mere.” He pulls you in for a kiss and you know he’s sorry but even if he wasn’t you wouldn’t care. It hits you then, while his tongue is down your throat and his hand is cupping your cheek, that you’d let him do anything to you and that you’d thank him for it. “Can I fuck you?” he asks, pulling away from your lips and resting his forehead on yours. 

“I don’t know…” you start, chewing on your bottom lip. “You’re big… it’s gonna hurt.”

“How about just the tip, then? If you want more we’ll keep going, if not, that’s fine.” You ponder the offer for a second. He told you he’d take care of you, that he’d take his time, make sure it felt good for you. “Don’t you trust me, baby?” You do trust him. You know him, just like he said. You nod and he smiles. “Good girl. Okay, let's go to the bed, yeah? I’ll get you out of this sexy fucking dress and I’ll make sure you feel good, alright baby?”

He helps you stand and keeps kissing you, unzipping your dress as he moves you through the apartment, pulling your straps down. The dress is pulled off of you a second before your knees hit the back of the bed and you’re both falling onto it, giggling. “Hi,” you say, hands on his shoulders. He grins.

“Hi.” Chad stands, pulling his shirt off and tugging his underwear off, tossing both somewhere behind him. You both take a moment to stare at the other, nervous giggles leaving your lips. You had dreamt of this moment dozens of times before, had cum to it just as often, and now it was happening and it was somehow better than what you had ever thought up. “Look at you,” he says, hands dragging up your legs to your chest and back down again. He’s slotted in between your legs and you whine, wrapping one leg around him and pulling him in closer. “Use your words.”

It’s the first time he was really telling you to do something and you swallow heavily. “Please, Chad, can you?”

“Can I what?”

“Can you fuck me? Please? I want you to take my virginity so badly, I need it, please? I’ve thought about it so much, wanted it for so long.” You’re whining now, begging, and you swear you can feel the tears begin to fill your eyes. He’s smiling down at you and his eyes are so dark you’re not sure how much of his iris is left. Your legs spread for him when he nods and you watch with bated breath as he grabs ahold of his cock, spitting on it, before swiping up your slit.

He groans at the feeling. “So wet, baby. Bet your pussy will let me just slide right in.” He pushes the head of his cock in slowly and you gasp, tears filling your eyes at the stretch. It felt good but it hurt and you can feel him rocking his hips ever so slightly, pulling out and pushing back in, never going too far inside you. His hands are on your thighs, digging into your flesh, and you’re overwhelmed again. 

The two of you stay like this a moment, the head of his cock pushed inside, your cunt clenching around him desperately. When he leans down over you, resting his forearms beside your head, he pushes in just a bit more and you whimper at the feeling. Chad wipes a stray tear off of your cheek and kisses you, short soft kisses in an effort to distract you from the pain and him from the overwhelming urge to push all the way in.

“Can I move more?” he whispers against your lips and you shake your head a little, too fuzzy to really think about it. “Please?” he whines, nuzzling into your neck. “Don’t I feel good, baby? Doesn’t my cock feel good inside you?”

“It does-”

“It’ll feel even better all the way inside.” His voice sounds so desperate and now he’s rocking his hips further, plunging another inch inside you and you moan because he’s right, it does feel good. The burn and pain of the stretch have gone away, giving way to pleasure. You want more, you want him, you just don’t know how to say it. “Please, baby, fuck. Your cunt feels so good, so fucking tight and wet and fuckin’ perfect for me. Let me fuck you, god, I need it so bad. Don’t you trust me? You know I’ll take care of you, right?”

You nod, babble out some response close to ‘yes, please, more,’ and then he’s pushing all the way inside, hips snapping forwards. You yelp at the intrusion, caught off guard by how full you feel, and then he’s thanking you over and over and over again as he sets a brutal pace. Chad’s weight is fully on you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you even closer to him. He can’t get enough of your skin against his, of the noises you make, of the way your pussy clenches around him and pulls him in closer, milking his cock. 

“Thank you, oh fuck, thank you, Y/N. Christ, so tight.” His voice is cracking, raising an octave as he begins to lose himself in the feeling of you around him. The pain of his thrusts is quickly overtaken by the pleasure and you’re moaning, wrapping your legs around his hips, driving him deeper inside you. You both could die happy like this. “So close, fuck, how am I so close already?” He’s talking more to himself than you at this point and that’s okay because you’re too focused on the building pleasure in your gut to care. 

The position you’re in has his pelvis grinding against your clit with each thrust and you swear your mind melts just a little bit more each time he fucks into you. “Please, please, please,” you say and you’re not sure what you’re pleading for but all you know is you don’t want him to fucking stop. You’re right there on the edge, can feel it through your entire body, and then Chad is moaning your name loudly and you feel him cum inside you, hips flush against yours.

You cum at the feeling of him filling you and he whines, hips rocking as you pulse around him. He’s sensitive, his head swimming, and the two of you stay like that for a moment, his head in your neck and your arms and legs wrapped around him. “So good,” he finally says, pulling his head back to look at you, his eyebrows stitching together. “You okay? M’sorry, I got carried away, I didn’t even ask-”

“It’s alright,” you say, running your hands up and down his back. You can feel him shiver underneath your touch. “I liked it.”

“Yeah?” he teases, kissing you on the lips a few times, biting down on your bottom lip as he pulls back. “Wanna do it again?”

You gasp as his hips begin to move again, the squelch of your cunt and his cum being fucked back into you filling the room. “Y-you wanna go again? Already?” He nods, hand snaking down in between you two, pressing against your sensitive clit and grinning when you whine. “If you can handle it.” You nod despite not knowing if you could; he grins. “My good girl, right? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you cum till you’re stupid. You’ll look so pretty when you’re dumb on my cock, won’t you?”

[somedayillbepeterpan]

Finally, I am able to continue this series.

I started doing The Butterfly Ball analysis as a way to get it out of my head because it had burrowed deep inside my brain that it was rotting my thoughts (which still hasn't stopped).

To understand my ramblings fully, you can go to the other parts here:

Start here | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Here we go for: PART 5: BLOCKING AND WHERE COLIN WAS WHILE PEN WAS REVEALING HERSELF AS LW

I've decided to chop this part into smaller pieces too because when I started part 5, the whole thing was way too long for my attention span. I really am so sorry about the deluge of thoughts that I have for this scene. I'm half tempted to copy Sammy Bates and create videos but I do not have the same talent that she has. So, you're stuck with me and my barrage of written thoughts.

Anyway, Part 5.1 - The stage layout

We've talked about the shape of the venue. We've talked about the aesthetics of the event. We've talked about clothes. And we've talked about music and dances.

Now, let's get to the nitty-gritty of things. Let's talk about the blocking of the whole scene. To start it off, we have to understand the layout of stage.

Just for context, at one point in my life, I studied cinematography and I love movies so I get keyed up with blocking and camera angle choices.

To give importance to how important this scene is, sweeping/panning shots that is 360 degrees in motion with about 150, maybe 200 people, in one room is a nightmare in logistics. Every shot has to matter and every shot has to be reviewed and set up precisely. Most of the ball scenes takes 1 week to shoot because of how technical it is. There is an interview of Tom Verica talking about plotting the whole scene (I think it was the Vanity Fair one).

The particular weight of this ball is shown in how it's set-up like a centre stage. Even the lighting and the floor design draws your attention inward. Out of the three seasons' Ep 8 balls, this is the only one elevated and without anything disrupting the centre.

I've drafted a diagram to fully understand how the whole stage looks like.

**you guys are allowed to call me crazy after this post.

There are 4 major sides that I will call anchor points as we go around this layout.

Entrance (in between the two bug cages)

Side entrance 1

Side entrance 2

Ostrich feathers

One particular stand out for me are the pillars around the stage. The pillars hides and distinctly divides each of the 4 anchor points. While this might go past a regular viewers' head, someone looking for it (or a crazy person like me) will understand the significance of each anchor point. It helps easily assign people on each side and and use blocking (+ camera shots) as a great storytelling device.

These 4 anchor points become very important when Pen goes on stage.

Because every single one of it stands an important woman in Pen's life.

(going clockwise from the entrance) Anchor point 1: Prudence by the entrance

Anchor point 2: Portia by side entrance 1

Anchor point 3: Philippa (+ Albion) by the Ostrich feathers

and Eloise (next to Fran, Alice Mondrich, and Lady Danbury) right by Anchor point 4: Side entrance 2

I just loved that every time Pen turned around, there was someone for her to look at and ground herself. Because what she did, being vulnerable and exposing that part of herself she has kept hidden for a very long time, couldn't have been easy.

(We will get to Colin after the next post if you're wondering where he is in all of this).

I understand that some people were disappointed in how the LW reveal/fallout was portrayed but just for a while, let me help you appreciate that in Pen's most vulnerable moment, these women had equal parts surprise and awe on their faces as they watch their sister/daughter/best friend own up to her mistakes and face the Queen herself. And while we didn't get much out of them in the aftermath in terms of communication, it was still wonderful to know that in the end, all these women become/is important for Pen to fully embrace who she is.

I'm hoping to put all of these out every 1-2 days so I can finally move on to writing other things.

Next up: Part 5.2 The Queen and the bugs

[caesariawritesstuff]

I would like a story on the topic "jealousy" with .... of course Scarecrow :3

A Flicker in the Dark

Summary: After his encounter with you, Jonathan realizes he might just want you for his own. A slight continuation of Damaged Goods.

Content Warning: Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: A slight continuation of Damaged Goods. Not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse, but it might be one day? My brain is a mess now that I've got the Detective x Jon brain rot. Someone send help.

The GCPD was still. An odd thing, for this time of night, but there was an eerie silence cast over the entire precinct. Jonathan Crane was quiet as he packed up his things, stuffing his work papers into his briefcase: documents all on the latest case that he had been pouring over for hours, trying to figure out the chemical compound this new criminal was using. He was getting closer to discovering it, but still; pain throbbed behind his eyes, a dull ache in his damaged retina. His entire face often ached from the numerous surgeries he’d had, and from the brutal assaults from Batman. He frowned at the thought of the Dark Knight, and yet, there was still a sick sense of satisfaction bundling in his stomach at knowing he’d won three years ago.

It felt like so long ago now, but Jonathan shook the thoughts from his mind, finished gathering his things, and quickly headed out of the GCPD. A dozen eyes averted from him, and numerous people leaned to whisper things to one another, but he ignored their stares. Not like he cared much about what people thought of him. He had far too much on his mind, anyways – but as he came into the lobby and headed towards the front door, something caught his eye.

He lifted his head slightly, gazing through narrowed eyes as he watched you and Edward wander down the hall, arm in arm, whispering to one another as his footsteps came to a slow stop. He couldn’t help but notice the way you clung to Edward, so tightly, as if you needed him to ground you to the very stone underneath your feet. Edward leaned down, whispering something into your ear, that made you laugh. Even from here, Jonathan could see the flush that crept across your cheeks, a rosy hue. He knew you were involved with Edward – well, the whole precinct knew – and Jonathan couldn’t deny his fascination and curiosity as to why someone like you would be involved with someone like Edward. Of course, the little incident he’d had with you down in the forensics lab had answered some of his question, but it didn’t quite fill the void he was seeking. A void, which Jonathan discovered, he could not quite explain.

You and Edward disappeared out of the GCPD and into the night. Jonathan tightened his grip around his briefcase and continued on his way, his thoughts once more straying back to the case at hand he’d been recruited to help with. But as he called a cab and made his way back to his court mandated apartment, he found his thoughts once more straying back to you. He could not deny that you were an attractive woman; even someone like him could see that. Not that he paid attention to such things, but he couldn’t deny that you’d caught his eye.

As he arrived at his apartment and made his way inside, he shut and locked the door behind him, taking a look at his bare, empty apartment. A cold chill clung to the air, and he sighed, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the coat hook beside the door. He rolled up his sleeves and headed into the kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink. He filled a tumbler with ice, and some top shelf whiskey, taking a slow sip, letting the flavor linger on his tongue. Glass in hand, he wandered over to the window and took a long look out at the city, a city he’d once bathed in his fear toxin, desperate to show them all how ruled by their own fears they really were. He’d wanted this city to be his domain, their King of Fear. Interesting how things had changed so drastically in the last three years, and he found himself picking apart the events in which they’d happened – and how he’d come to be here.

Taking another sip of his drink, he found his thoughts straying to you once more. It’d been an interesting conversation he’d had with you, and a part of him found himself curious to pick apart your fears once again, to get to know you better, to understand just what made you tick. He wanted to study you, and if it was up to him, he’d slip you a nice little injection of his toxin and relish in just what your nightmares might show him. But the more he began to think on it, the more Jonathan began to question these strange feelings stirring in his stomach, awakening something foreign within him he had not felt in a very long time, something even he was struggling to understand. But what was it?

He turned away from the window and sat down in the nearby recliner, bathing himself in the darkness as he swirled his drink around in his glass. The clinking of ice filled the silence. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to vanish you from his mind, he found he could not keep his thoughts from straying back to you. You’d stared at him with such defiance in your eyes, a fire that burned brightly – a fire, he suddenly realized, that he wanted to consume for his own.

And that was the moment Jonathan suddenly understood what he was feeling.

Jealousy.

It was jealousy stirring in his stomach. An emotion he had not felt in years. Jonathan was not a jealous man; in fact, it was an emotion that often alluded him entirely. Jealousy was simply a symptom of someone’s fears, and he had mastered his long ago.

So why was he feeling it now?

He had not experienced such an emotion in so long that it was hard to pinpoint where it was stemming from – but the more he pondered it, the clearer the issue became: he had come to see why someone like you would capture Edward’s attention, but he could not understand why someone like you would give him your attention at all. Was it the simple fact that you feared no one else would give you attention like Edward did? Or was it rooted in something else, some deep-rooted trauma you tried to suppress? And what was it about Edward that held you so tightly in his grasp? Jonathan knew the man was egotistical, full of bravado, something which annoyed him more often than not, but he’d learned how to navigate Edward’s ego long ago.

But…Jonathan knew Edward would not let you go so easily. The man was possessive, and he would not share you. But if Jonathan wanted to understand you for himself, if he wanted to come to consume your fire and study it under his own gaze, he’d need Edward out of the way.

Another bolt of jealousy stirred within his stomach, spreading through his veins, blossoming in his stomach like a balloon. Your fire was enough to bring a man like Edward Nigma to his knees, and Jonathan wanted to exploit that for himself: your vulnerability, your fears, your fire, the things that he knew he could bring to the surface and exploit for his own. It was simply too bad Edward had gotten to you first – and another sliver of jealousy rippled through Jonathan’s veins, wondering what it would have been like if he’d have met you before Edward, if he’d been approached about this silly reform first.

He took another slow sip of his drink, and when he lowered it back to his lap, a smirk touched the corners of his lips. His jealousy was like a flicker in the dark, a match lightning gasoline, a small flame being stoked to life.

And that was the moment Jonathan realized he wanted you for himself.

Everything about you – he wanted for his own. To consume. To nurture. To help you master. To take and exploit, to mold you into the image he wanted you to be.

His own Mistress of Fear.

All it would take were a few words, a few whispers, a few thoughts planted in your head. He wanted to watch you squirm, to watch those fears rise from the depths of your soul, and when he finally hade you where he wanted you…

He would take you for his own.

[003soy]

Kat’s Character Overanalysis of Murasaki

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

The content below may exhibit multiple instances of confirmation bias due to over a year of brain rotting.

Do not proceed if you dislike excessive analysis of characters that only appear in official tweets and random merchandise.

I treat this guy like an oc so don’t be mean to me ok 💔 just my headcanons and personal observations!!!

Viewer discretion is advised…

Ok so I'm going to start with the basic stuff (i.e. inkipedia)

From 2015-2018(?) Murasaki was the drummer for the band Squid Squad. He was the youngest member of the group.

While this excerpt from Inkipedia may seem small, there are a lot of traits described here that can be further analyzed (if you have nothing better to do)

The Squid Research Lab describes him as rough around the edges.

The term "rough around the edges" is used to describe something that has small imperfections, but is generally good. When describing a person it can mean someone who is unsophisticated or impolite. In this instance, "rough around the edges" could be describing Murasaki's drumming skills as he's said to have potential, but he also needs some practice.

this characterization was probably made to resemble his appearance as well! (sea urchins don't have very smooth edges...)

2. Murasaki is referred to as a wild child.

A "wild child" is usually someone (likely a young person) who is headstrong, rebellious, and/or uncontrollable. To me, this info matches nicely with the impolite interpretation of the phrase "rough around the edges."

3. From here, it sort of goes on about his playing which I sort of addressed in the first point. Basically, he has a natural gift in drumming because he has a good sense of rhythm, and despite lacking in technique, he always tries his best.

4. He is prone to crying

The Squid Research Lab states that he could be caught crying during a drum solo which goes to show how much effort he puts into his playing :). I feel like this part tends to override his other traits in fan stuff (if he gets included at all). I personally view this as a subversive aspect of his personality. Normally he has an abrasive personality because of the rebelliousness and lack of manners, but he is also a sentimental person and his emotions are expressed through tears even if he isn’t sad (samee). Think of how urchins have a spiky hard external shell that hides soft uni inside of it ok...

5. Energetic

I know the energy think is probably referring to his playing style, but I picture him to be a fidgety person who doesn't like to stand still. I guess it matches with the wild child thing.

6. He's the youngest

Expains the previous behavior. rude + rebellious + more talent than practice. teenager.

Moving onto other sources! Bye Inkipedia...

Here is the original japanese text of the Squid Research Lab info on twitter. Yes, I know google translate isn't that accurate, but I think it's interesting and deepl says something similar as well.

7. Ignoring the strange grammar, Murasaki is additionally described as mischievous (やんちゃ?). Definition: playful in a naughty or teasing way or troublesome/irritating.

I guess this was translated into the wild child in the english version because I'm assuming the term in japanese refers to more childish behavior. I think the word mischievous is easier to understand though since I've never heard the term wild child before. Anyway, he's silly.

8. I sort of glossed over this in the english version but apparently he can take the lead when it matters most. In english, the phrasing kinda made this confusing. I thought they were just saying words lol. Anyway, this ties in with him trying his best while in the band + being compassionate/sentimental.

topic-adjacent kinda. I've seen people interpret this in a sort of sad way, but I interpret this as him being mischievous! I think he's walking towards them to scare them. The little star next to his head reminds me of the animal crossing mischief emote.

another bonus thing because it shows that hes silly. a silly goose. I think he likes to doodle.

God I haven't even gotten to the splatune articles yet...

yeah this kinda repeats what I already said but here it says his playing fits well with Ichiya. I think that both of them are kinda similar. Both are sort of lacking in technique but make up for it in other areas. Both have ADHD (lying). To me, Murasaki is if an asshole turned out to be kind, and Ichiya is if a kind person turned out to be an asshole. #crazy

Splatune 1! No more numbered list I forgot what number I was on :)

Cool and edgy urchin

I have no idea what that means. Ok.

Cool means cool.

I don’t know if they mean edgy in the internet way because ???... Anyway, edgy can mean: 1. tense, nervous, or irritable, 2. trend setting, daring, or provocative. I think the word choice was for the sake of an urchin pun.

I think they meant to convey the second definition by saying hes cool and unconventional (I don't think it makes sense to say someone is cool and nervous in the same sentence). Kind of matches with being rough around the edges. I like to apply the first definition sometimes though. I like to stress him out.

he boldly pushes up to the front like a blaster

information about his drum playing is information about his personality! this relates to his previously described energetic playing. I like how this sort of frames him as unusual compared to other drummers. It shows how his playing style relates to his character... energetic, headstrong, he can lead the way if necessary. all things previously stated.

mean to him :(

I think this is trying to say how the others keep him around even though he doesn't match the theme. They keep him around because he looks cool? (this information is probably useless because machine translator. grain of salt)

very brief splatune 3 cameo

can drink in bars now? (old...)

likes to talk in circles (old...)

looks depressed now. aware of the horrors... evil leg bouncer...

thats it for official stuff i think. I like to add on bonus traits to him during the front roe era, but yeag ✌️

[waklman]

fake it is my bread and butter I’m in love thank u. I feel like reader is going to start pulling away. OMG WHAT IF jake kissed the reader in front of a bunch of people when he was beyond drunk or did something that made the reader embarrassed and uncomfortable so she isn’t talking to him and jake pleads for her forgiveness and it’s angsty and fluffy

note: okay i don't really know what this was but i'm just happy i was able to finally write something honestly, anyways here is more jake and princess until i pull myself together to work on the next chapter </3

warnings: mentions of drinking, insecurities.

If you were merely a book, you’d be a forgotten composition of bounded paper, quietly collecting dust on the unreachable bay of a shelf inside a fading bookstore—barely visited by anyone but the owners themselves.

And Jake would be the first person to ever be drawn in by you, setting off the soft chime of the entrance, walking right up to the shelf you sat on, extending himself to gently pluck you from the rotting oak that previously held you upright, and take you home with him.

When it’s finally just you two surrounded by the shrouding walls of his bedroom, Jake would slowly run his calloused finger down your uncracked leathered spine to ease you open, gaining your trust. Eventually, your pages would unfurl themselves to him—revealing stories that breathed life into your biggest aspirations and smallest insecurities, laid bare for his naked eyes to see.

And Jake would read those inked lines, over and over again until he could recite your contents in his sleep, until his heart filled with fondness when he thought of you, until you became his favorite piece of literature. 

That’s how you’d like to think of your relationship with Jake, anyway. You were something that existed solely for his mind to study, for him to understand. No one else. 

Jake would never return you back to that shop, Jake would never make you feel a semblance of regret for opening up to him, Jake would never laugh at things that would wear down your stitched pages. 

Oh, but he did, right in your face too. 

The moment Jake’s drunk laugh spilled out his chest at Jeremy Duncan’s sloppy joke about you being so quiet he forgot you were there—it was like you entrusted a stranger to hold your red solo cup. 

The same lips that read over your fear about feeling invisible, were the same ones that curled into a smile when a jab was made at you.

Rather than facing that reality head on, you glued back shut, reverting back to that lonely collection of narratives that you didn’t let anyone read. But this time, you couldn’t go running back to that high shelf that hid you away—all you could do was slowly withdraw from the person who took you off of it. 

Jake knew you needed solitude at times, and he respected that, it was how you recharged your energy after any social event.

So, for the last few days he let you do just that. He let you wordlessly walk past him when he tried to reach out for you to join him on the couch. He let you say less and less to him when he just wanted to hear your voice over dinner, afraid he might forget how it sounded. He let you sneak out earlier each day, just so you could avoid walking to class with him.

He let you do all of that, suppressing his slight worry—until he picked up on how you would nervously stand outside his door at random points in the night, only to eventually go back to your own room. And to make matters worse, if Jake hadn’t been staying up late, racking his brain about you rather than sleeping, he wouldn’t have even noticed that you started to do that.

Jake knew you needed solitude at times, but he also knew that something was wrong. 

So, that’s when he decided to stop letting you walk away from him, because it was starting to plague him with concern at this point. 

But, when Jake weakly trailed past your door frame, and kneeled at your seated figure at the corner of your bed, you flinched when he instinctively extended his hands to hold yours. 

Refusing to meet his stare, you miss the subtle traces of disappointment that flit across his features.

“You..don’t want me touching you?” Jake’s quiet voice is colored by hurt, hands cautiously dropping to fiddle with the cuffs of your loose sweatpants instead. You at least let him do that, because it keeps him at a distance, because the fabric he’s gently playing with acts as a safeguard between you and him.  

Gaze casted down into your lap, you reverently shake your head. “No, Jake,” you refuse him, your own strained voice mirroring his own. 

If you were merely a book, he’d laugh at the way you awkwardly sat, he’d playfully bump shoulders with the same people who looked through you like you weren’t there. 

With that, he feels an unsettling guilt well up inside his stomach, rising up to his throat like bile. “Okay, I see. Will you tell me what I did wrong then?” Jake sucks in deep breath, only releasing it when he sees you let out a somewhat steady breath for yourself. 

Even when a burn spreads through his lungs for what feels like a full minute, he still doesn’t feel deserving when he goes to cool it, not when you probably don’t think he’s deserving of it either. 

“No, Jake,” you reinforce, shoulders beginning to tremble from the pressure of refusing him, from the pressure of closing yourself back up.  

If you were merely a book, you wouldn’t let him take you into his careful hands, he’d only read your unshared secrets to the world. 

For Jake, it feels almost sinful to hold himself back from soothing his palms over your shaking body. His fingers clutch the ankles of your pants tighter, a desperate bid for solace. “Please, talk to me princess,” he helplessly begs, not knowing what else to do with himself. “You won’t even come into my room.”

“No, Jake,” you repeat, unaware of the tear that glides down your cheek. “You laughed, when Jeremy said I was practically invisible. You laughed at me.” The crack of your spine urges you to stay resilient like you did before, but the crack of your spine can’t help how much it aches for him to gently coax it again.

Jake stills as realization washes down on him, chest unwinding at your explanation. 

If you were merely a book, you would want to be perched on that shelving unit. You don’t need Jake to be drawn in by what your pages held, you don’t need him to not feel put off by the plain cover that held you together. You don’t need—

Without a warning, Jake scoops you up from where you’re sitting, forcing you to encircle your legs around his middle as he leads you into the threshold of his room. 

“I laughed because I thought it was the stupidest shit I ever heard,” he carefully explains, keeping you in lap as he goes to sit on his sheets. “You’re funny if you think I didn’t tell him off the morning after,” he continues, recounting the string of threats that fell off his tongue when found Jeremy after class.

When you finally look at him, cheeks sticky from streaky tears and waterlogged lashes fluttering at him, Jake feels his heart swell in his chest. Naturally, he goes to playfully tousle your hair, gently, mindful of the migraine that tends to follow after your crying. 

If you were merely a book, he would have corners of the most important pages gently folded in, ingraining each word and punctuation mark that made you vulnerable into his memory. 

“Jake, what would you do if I was a book?” You ask through a weak smile, heart gently throbbing as you notice the tenderness reflected in his eyes.

Smoothing down the hair he’s ruffled with both hands, Jake gives your question some thought. “Is this one of those, would you love me if I was a worm kinda questions?” 

Clutching the hems of his shirt between your hands for solace, you nod at him, waiting for one of those lighthearted responses he always gives you.

But sensing that you’d want a genuine answer instead, Jake gives you just that. 

“If you were a book,” he starts, brushing strands of hair behind your ears. “I would never get sick of reading you princess. Think you’d be my favorite,” and he means it.

[lathepoquerose]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thank you @sulphuricgrin and @pocket-vvardvark for tagging me this Wednesday :3 Obvi I tag my dearly beloved @hadvarandralof , @kiir-do-faal-rahhe , and @gavalaa (if you wish, this might have other motivations hehe)

I've been too busy hating myself too really do much other than cry and rot in bed and be numb at work so I haven't got much done on Epistle & Elegy. I managed a meager 1.3k words of utter slop last night, so I gave it an equally meager edit. Anyway! Yeah! Here's my trash!

It’s half past the twentieth hour when exhaustion settles heavily on the boy priest’s shoulders, eyes half-lidded, writing growing woozy on the page. He rubs his weary eyes and tries to make sense of his most recent scribbles: Fire=hot? WEAR GLOVES. 

Profound, really, so much so that he flips the leather backing of his book about the page and makes to change into his nightrobes. No Mika yet; a blessing on this occasion. Lately, Mika has consumed his thoughts so ardently that he’s driven to the point of distraction in his presence. And it isn’t just the matter of Morokei’s book; impossibly, frustratingly, Mika is like…a flower? A bee? A sky on a sunny day?

It’s not quite the eloquent metaphor he hoped for; he had never claimed to be a poet. He has little time to push Mika from his brain before a fluff-and-tumble scurries across his unsocked toes, a distinct, high-pitched coo its gentile manner of excusing itself. He shivers and shakes the feeling from his foot. He thought surely Mika had given up on that awful spider by now. 

Thankfully, the subject of the crime is the adorable matter: a tiny horned owl, eyes wide in a perpetual state of starstruck awe, patters about the floor beside Mika’s bed, wobbling on uncertain feet. Loukas’s heart could melt at the sorry state of the disheveled fluff. He scoops it up, much to its confusion and abject displeasure. 

“Foolish creature, you. How lucky you are to have found a friend,” He lectures as the downy bird trembles in his hands. “Come. We will have to find your mother, then.” 

Lacking the blessed visual rotation of an owl, Loukas makes for the door to find himself face to face with a notably flustered Mika, hands clutching tightly to a rustling basket, a mess of tail feathers poking out rather suspiciously from the side. His suspicions are confirmed as the lid shifts just slightly, revealing a feathery brother to his unfortunate friend in hand.

“Mika,” Loukas starts slowly, not breaking eye contact with the basket of baby owls scrambling to escape their root weave prison. “Good evening,” 

Hands occupied, Mika winces, embarrassed, setting the basket of owls on his bed. Gingerly, he returns Loukas's discovery to the pile, another gladiator for the fluffball arena, burrowing into the comfort of his sibling's wings. 

[No mother. Nest fall.] Mika signs before readjusting the lid to cover the furious hatchlings. [Helping owls]

“Kind as that may be, I'm not entirely convinced at the thought of hiding a basket of owlettes in our quarters,” He says, eyeing the basket warily. “Have we so soon forgotten Spots?”

Spots had been a three-legged fawn Mika became bent on domesticating, a plot Ahzidal put a decisive end to when it hobbled into his laboratory and ate his entire supply of fire salts. Thus, Spots was forcibly relocated to the pine groves, which sent Mika into a mess of teary despair. Loukas had comforted him and promised Spots would fair well; honestly, trolls probably ate her. 

He bites his lip and waves his hands in denial. [No. No hiding. Baby escape.] He explains, gesturing to where Loukas had picked up the owl. [Taking outside.] 

“So you've brought them inside, basketed them as an unpleasant bouquet of rage, and now intend to take them outside once more?” Loukas questions reasonably. His answer comes in the form of a sheepish smile. 

[No. Show you. Come.] He suggests, hoisting the basket of owls into his arms. Mutism has a singular perk: one must only occupy one's hands to indicate the time for talking is past. He nods at the door encouragingly, turning in a flurry of layered royal robes and loose feathers. 

With the season's tide, one would expect warm nights and wet grasses, but there is almost always snow at Labyrinthian. As such, there is nothing Loukas wishes to do less than deliver a basket of owls to the snow-covered wilderness at nearly the twenty-first hour. But it's Mika -- and so he finds himself throwing on his over-robes regardless and tailing along hurriedly behind his owl-encumbered friend. 

Their weavings go long into the corridors; Loukas hurriedly makes an excuse to an attending night watch regarding their late-evening traipse. However, the ordinarily sour-tongued Deacon only offers a friendly wave to Mika in response. It's amusing; he's not sure even Archbishop Hevnoraak, in all his brutality, could resist Mika's good nature and better intention. Ahzidal certainly can't -- he'd procured Mika an elegant set of robes as consolation for the loss of Spots -- and even the solemn-mannered funeral Bishop seems to have a softness for him. It's by Mika's power alone that they find themselves stepping beneath the snowy stars without too much hassle to show for it. 

Their path had not been unlike the one Loukas usually takes to the crest. So it comes as a surprise to him, when Mika thrusts the basket of owlettes into his hand and flicks a ball of mage light in and out at once from his fingers, that he had so many times missed the fairly ample crevice nestled in the side of the mountain barrow. 

“Surely you don’t mean to-,” he begins moments before Mika slides into the rock, gesturing for his roommate to follow. Though Loukas had succeeded in putting some weight on Mika, he’s still obnoxiously thin, a waif, really, this being an advantage Loukas does not possess. He sucks in his belly and stances his shoulders, still finding it to be a tight squeeze. 

Once popped into the corridor, he follows the steady flow of mage light blooms accompanying Mika’s far more familiar pace, hands feeling on either side of the passage for support. What exactly he intends to do with a basket of rowdy owls in a cave the size of a birthing canal evades him entirely. But he’s in no position to communicate with his guide, being bound entirely to the mercy of his hands. 

Yet as they continue to move forward, he feels the walls bearing down a little harder, his chest growing tight, his stomach twisting -- tight spaces have never sat well with him, particularly freezing, damp ones that render him sightless. When he feels the ceiling crouch down further overhead, the cut of the rock requiring him to enter another crawlspace, he seeks to swallow his pride. 

“Mika, I can’t go further,” he chokes, hanging his head below his heart to try and slow its unruly flutters. Thankfully, Mika seems to have heard him, his quiet footsteps echoing between whatever further cavern walls await. A few moments pass before a hand slowly creeps back beneath the crawlspace—Mika, or rather, Mika’s hand, waves. [Open inside] he signs before beckoning him forward and slipping away like a tease. 

The silliness alleviates some initial terror, and he begrudgingly slides onto his belly. From this angle, he can see a strange glow coming from the side of the crawlspace and the just-there shadow of Mika waiting at the entrance. He sucks in hard, suddenly regretting having three servings of grits, and hoists himself up through the hole. 

“Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” 

Loukas doesn’t think any of the three would blame him for cursing, not now. Illuminated by dancing towers of candlelight cast upon salvaged baskets and urns, pulsing with the glow of fireflies and luminescent faunas, tens of animals chirp and chatter amongst their tiny stony home, blanketed soft with brush and leaves. He catches the gaze of a one-eyed wolf, a cracked-beak hawk, many bent-leg spiders; this is a proper sanctuary, each animal cast in an unfamiliar purple gloam. 

At the center, on a mossy stone bench, Mika sits with basket beside him in favor of nuzzling a little deer. Upon closer inspection, a three-legged deer. 

“Dragon’s fire,” He breathes in something akin to disbelief. “Spots?”

[megumimania]

connie x black! fem reader, in a connie brain rot need him real bad i fear !! likes and reblogs r greatly appreciated <3

best friend!connie who has known you since you were toddlers, with there not being a memory in his life that you weren’t apart of.

best friend!connie who always picks up when you call, whether it’s talking shit about someone or picking an outfit for an event, he’s always there for you

best friend!connie who joins you when you go to the nail salon to get your nails done, often asking for a matching design with you

best friend!connie who always pays for everything despite you constantly reminding him that you can pay for things yourself, saying that his grandma would roll in her grave knowing that he’s letting a pretty girl like you buy things with her own money

best friend!connie who likes catching you off guard when he compliments you which happens like all the time tbh

best friend!connie whose bald head makes him a perfect impromptu wig stand but when he gets bored of being your test subject, he’s quick to make you work for that wig by making you chase him for it 😭

best friend!connie who loves taking candid shots of you when you guys hang out with his captions being so ambiguous that people don’t know if you’re dating or not

best friend!connie who is your biggest hype man, always reposting your shit and changing his pfp to a pic you recently posted

best friend!connie who still calls you by your childhood nickname to this day, only saying your name when shit gets serious or when he wants to scare you.

best friend!connie who doesn’t reply when people ask if you guys are dating, preferring to let them believe what they want

best friend!connie who is the only person that knows you inside out and vice versa. he always knows when its time for you guys to head out from your body language

best friend!connie who feels slightly territorial when a guy approaches you to ask you out even though he knows you can hold your own

best friend!connie who always helps you detangle and style your hair when its wash day (i wish someone could do this 4 me omds 😔🙄)

best friend!connie who puts on your bonnet on your head when you’re too tired to do it yourself

best friend!connie who stays over at your house so much, he practically lives there, i mean he literally has a spare key to your house

best friend!connie who is always eating your food like damnn 😭

“con, how the hell have you been here for 3 days and managed to clear out our entire fridge??” you said staring at the fridge dumbfounded

“im a growing boy sweetheart i gotta eat! plus you know I’ll pay your mama back for the food i ate anyways” he replied with a smile

“i’m a growing boy, my ass.” you muttered to yourself storming out of the kitchen.

(dw connie bought you wingstop later that day to make it up to you.)

best friend!connie who will ride for you until the very end because you are one of the people outside his family that he actually cares for

best friend!connie who loves you more than you know and is grateful for your presence in his life