#but I’ve been spending very consciously

[crimsonwolf715]

Parting Words of Regret

(Alternately, Jason left Damian with the LoA to start getting revenge on Bruce and the others who wronged him in Gotham. He reunited with his little brother upon returning to his family, but things aren’t the same.)

Damian’s studying in his room. 

“Hey, buddy,” Jason says from behind him. 

“Hello,” Damian replies, turning to face Jason. “Why do you look guilty? Did you spike Ommi’s coffee again?” 

Jason smiles. “No, nothing like that. I just have something I wanna talk to you about.” 

“What is it?” 

“I have to go.” 

“Go where?” 

“Going to do some training before I go back to Gotham.” 

“So you’re not coming back?” 

“I am coming back, just once I’ve dealt with Bruce.” 

Damian’s face gets hard. “So you’re not coming back. You and I both know that if Grandfather couldn’t beat him, then you can’t.” 

“I know him better than Ra’s does.” 

“Don’t go.” 

“You know I have to. I’m sorry that I have to leave you.” 

“No, you’re not. Go.” 

“Damian…” 

“Go deal with your strife and we can talk once it’s done.” 

Jason pulls Damian into a hug, which Damian barely accepts. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Don’t make that promise.” 

Two years Later

It’s been a long three months. Three months since Jason joined back into the Wayne family. Damian made no sign that he recognized Jason, so Jason’s been pretending that he doesn’t recognize his little brother. Jason’s reading in the living room of the manor because he’s waiting on Bruce to show up so he can try to talk him out of making him get a GED. Damian storms into the house and goes straight for Jason. He almost gets to Jason when he stops. He gets this angry kitten look, then turns and storms upstairs. Jason feels a pang of sadness and shifts uncomfortably. 

Bruce walks in. “Where did Damian go?” 

Jason points to the stairs. 

“He got suspended for fighting.” 

“That’s what he was taught to do when he has a problem, but I find it unlikely that he started a fight.” 

“Why? I mean, I know he didn’t start the fight, but what makes you think that?” 

“Common sense,” Jason answers, dodging the real answer as best he can. 

Bruce heads up the stairs and Jason decides that it isn’t worth having this fight today. Jason heads into the kitchen and starts making a sandwich. Tim comes down. 

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Jason asks. 

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” Tim replies. 

“Fair. Do you want a sandwich?” 

“No, I ate lunch at a normal time, not two o’clock in the afternoon.” 

“Lucky you, I guess.” 

“I do have a meeting to go to, so I’ll be back.” 

“Bye, Tim.” 

Tim heads out and Jason ends up spending the rest of the day in his room, skipping dinner. All the little things are really getting to him concerning Damian. He’s used to his little brother running over to very aggressively tell him that they have to spar or he’ll commit a murder. Or that he’s just been struggling with his grandfather’s impossible standards for him. Damian would tell him everything. He ends up falling asleep without coming to a consensus on what he’s gonna do considering he hasn’t slept much the last week. 

The explosion buries Jason in debris. He can’t breathe, he struggles to get out from under the rubble. He feels himself losing consciousness and he cries out for his dad one time before losing consciousness. 

Jason wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. He sees a small pair of eyes at his door. 

“Dami?” 

“Are you alright?” Damian asks. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Jason answers between breaths. 

“Alright, goodnight.” 

Jason’s door shut and footsteps retreating. Tears spring up in Jason’s eyes and he aggressively tries to rub them away.

I deserve that. I left a little kid.  

Jason lays back down and tries to fall asleep again. Instead, he spends the rest of the night wide awake. He’s exhausted, but he can’t seem to fall asleep. 

“Jason, breakfast!” Dick shouts. 

Jason groans, then gets up and heads downstairs. 

“You look…” Dick starts, but Jason cuts him off. 

“Comment on it, and I’m going to take out your knees.” 

Jason sits down at the breakfast table and everyone’s there. Jason glances at his watch and remembers that it’s a Saturday. Breakfast is rowdy, but Jason avoids talking to anyone. Dick keeps trying to make conversation with him, but he shuts it down with one to three word answers. He gets up and heads down to the Batcave to blow off steam and hopefully tire himself out enough to sleep. He doesn’t tire himself out enough and he spends the day mostly like a zombie. 

That night on patrol, a major villain attacks, bringing all hands on deck for damage control. Jason’s dealing with civilians when he sees Damian running. Damian trips and falls, and he looks terrified. 

“Damian!” Jason runs towards his younger brother and scoops him up quickly. 

Damian blinks slowly. “Jay?” 

“Yeah, I’m here. You’re safe.” 

Damian grabs his jacket and puts his head on Jason’s chest. “Don’t leave me again, please.” 

“Is Robin okay?” Tim asks. “He got hit with a gas and he made a run for it immediately.” 

“I’ve got Robin, he’s alright,” Jason says. “I’m gonna take him home.” 

“Do that,” Bruce replies. “I don’t want him in harm's way if he’s been gassed. Run blood tests when you get back. If he needs it, get him to Leslie.” 

“I will.” 

Jason takes Damian back to the Batcave and easily distracts Damian so he can get his blood. 

“That’s it,” Jason says. “That was easy.” 

“What was easy?” Dick asks. “How is he?” 

“Still fine, and getting blood.” 

It gets quiet on comms. Jason ignores it and starts running tests, keeping Damian held against his chest. 

“How did you do that easily?” Dick asks. “I need you to teach me that.” 

“Maybe later,” Jason replies. “His blood’s got some drugs, but none that will do any lasting damage.” 

“That’s good,” Tim says. 

“Keep an eye on him, Hood,” Bruce says. “At least till I get back.” 

“Will do, boss. Signing off.” 

Jason pulls his comm out. “Do you wanna change?” 

Damian nods, so Jason puts him down. The two change, then Jason picks Damian back up. He carries him upstairs and they settle down on the couch. Damian falls asleep not long after getting settled. Jason runs his hand through Damian’s hair, careful not to make contact with the healing injury near the front of his scalp. He makes sure to keep up on where Damian’s injuries are. 

“I’m sorry I left you, buddy,” Jason whispers. 

Damian makes a soft noise and turns a bit, but doesn’t wake up. Jason’s chest feels tight and he forces back tears. He pulls Damian a little closer and puts his cheek against Damian’s head. 

“I love you.” 

Jason ends up falling asleep too. He wakes up hearing the door slam shut. The sun is out, so he slept for a while. 

“I’m here!” Dick calls out. 

Jason looks and Damian’s still asleep. 

“Shut up, Dickie,” Jason hisses. 

Dick pokes his head into the room and his face lights up like a Christmas tree. 

“Don’t you even…” 

“Awww. Look at you two.” 

Jason glares at him until he raises his hands. 

“I’m gonna go find Dad. Love you, Jay.” 

“Get out.” 

Dick goes upstairs, so Jason returns his attention to Damian. He gently picks his younger brother up and takes him up to his room. Once he’s covered up and still soundly sleeping, Jason heads to his room. He spends an hour in the shower, then heads down to the Batcave. He starts wrapping up his hands so he can punch the punching bag. Damian comes down and goes right over to Jason. 

“Hey,” Jason says. 

“May I speak with you privately?” Damian asks Jason. 

Jason stops mid-taping up his hands. “You mean without cameras? Because we’d have to take a walk.” 

“That is fine with me.” 

“M’kay, let me finish this up and we can go,” Jason replies, continuing to tap up his hands. 

Damian walks over and holds out his hand. Jason hands him the tape without hesitation. Damian starts taping up his hands quicker than Jason was doing it, but just as carefully. Jason smiles a little as his brother finishes taping up his hands. 

“You’re slow. Let’s go.” 

Jason gets up and follows Damian upstairs to the living room. Damian grabs a jacket and offers Jason his. 

Jason takes it. “Thank you.” 

Once they’re out of the house, Damian sighs. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

“Don’t want to do what anymore?” Jason asks. 

“Pretending that we didn’t know each other before. You seem to want to, but I don’t want to keep this up.” 

“Hey, I just did it because you didn’t act like you recognized me when I got back.” 

Damian cuts his eyes at Jason. “I did it when you first came back. Like to Gotham.” 

“Oh. Well, I feel stupid. I never want you to do something you don’t want to do, buddy. Except eat your vegetables.” 

“It’s just cauliflower and it tastes horrible,” Damian replies. “You can’t make me eat it.” 

Jason smiles and puts a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I was just thinking about how I couldn’t keep this up.” 

“Because of yesterday?” 

“Straw that broke the camel's back.” 

“So we’re going to stop this weird act?” Damian asks. 

Jason nods. 

“Good, I’m far past sick of it. Mother’s been wanting to talk to you since you came.” 

“Oh yeah, not dealing with that right now. I’m still too tired for that. Tell her I’ll call her when I’m up for it.” 

“Sure, that’ll blow over well.” 

“What is she gonna do?” 

Damian shrugs, even though his face says he does know the answer. “We should get back before someone comes looking.” 

“Yeah, come on. You gotta hold my hand while we cross the street.” 

“I will kill you.” 

“I love you too, buddy.” 

“Love you.” 

They head back to the manor, Jason holding Damian’s hand.

[seravph]

CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC: i now only have 2 more things on my buy list until I’m DONE and I can STOP SPENDING MONEY ON BULLSHIT and actually save my money 🫶🫶🫶 be proud of me

[sweetmodel]

How I became a master shifter (+ why methods aren't working for you)

Hello! I’ve been seeing a lot of disinformation lately, and I’ve noticed that some people might need help, so I wanted to chime in. I can shift whenever I want, and I see a LOT of limiting beliefs—but I understand because I was once on the other side.

Disclaimer: This is all based on my personal experience with how I became a master shifter. You’ll want to read everything—it’s important.

I first shifted around March 2022. I would always use methods. I would affirm, tell myself I was detached from this reality, and so on. During my very first shift, I literally affirmed all night long (if this sounds familiar, it’s because I used to have another blog here, lol). You know, really complicated stuff. Then... things changed. I couldn’t shift anymore. I kept using the same methods, but they didn’t work!

That’s when I started questioning everything about shifting and consciousness. Why was it that I could be in another reality where things like magic exist, but then suddenly I couldn’t shift anymore? Why were the methods, like lucid dreaming or the void, seemingly more powerful than the act of switching realities itself? Why, when I shifted from my Desired Reality to my Current Reality, all I needed to do think of my CR to shift back—but it didn’t work the other way around?

None of it made sense! And I’m sure many others have asked themselves these same questions.

I came up with two theories:

This reality has something unique compared to the infinite other realities. To shift from here, you need something extra, like a method.

There’s something else at play, something unrelated to the realities themselves.

I dismissed the first option. There’s nothing inherently special about this reality. So why do we use methods here but not in our DRs?

Then, I thought back to how I used to shift... detaching from my body, affirming until I shifted. It all aligned with my subconscious beliefs. The method didn’t work because that’s how shifting works, but because it made sense to my subconscious. Of course I would shift if I did these things—because that’s what I believed shifting required.

Well... kind of. As I said, it made sense because it aligned with my beliefs. So when the method failed, I wasn’t letting myself shift.

Did you catch that? I didn’t let myself shift. Of course, it wasn’t the method. At what point do you actually shift? Is it when you affirm? Do you really think the universe is just waiting for you to say the right thing enough times before it switches you to your DR?

No. It’s you.

So, you have two choices:

Find a method that truly aligns with your beliefs, or

Change your subconscious beliefs.

Changing your beliefs might seem hard, but I’m going to explain why it’s not as difficult as it feels.

All your life, you’ve had certain beliefs, but those beliefs came from somewhere. You weren’t born thinking you need methods to shift—it’s something that developed over time. Which means it’s not set in stone. It can be changed.

I realized that every reality holds the same weight. There’s NOTHING you can do in this one—no intrusive thoughts or negative emotions—that can stop you. Why? Because those thoughts and emotions are products of this reality. Shifting is simply changing what you’re aware of. That’s literally it. Anything outside of that can’t stop you.

Yes, we’ve all seen those posts saying things like, "Oh, you’re not focused enough" or "You spend too much time on X, Y, Z" or even "You don’t go outside enough" (I legit read this on here—y'all are wildin’). Are you in your DR thinking "Oh, I thought about failing to shift, it means I won't :("? Of course you aren't! But nothing can stop you from shifting. Nothing can stop you from being aware that you are a master shifter.

So, how do you become aware of that?

I started affirming throughout the day. I would tell myself these things:

I’m pure consciousness. I create my reality, and everything around me is just what I choose to perceive.

I’m a master shifter. I don’t need methods. All I need to do is choose to shift, think of my DR, and it happens.

Nothing in the 3D can stop me from shifting, because I’m in the 4D and pure consciousness.

I told myself these things constantly, and I truly understood what I was affirming. What being pure consciousness and being a master shifter actually meant. I stopped using methods. I stopped acting like this reality was special compared to the ones I wanted to be in. And then... it happened.

I shifted. During the day. I simply thought of my DR, told myself, I want to shift, and there I was—in my DR. It happened because, as I said, my subconscious beliefs changed and then manifested in my reality. The same way they did when I believed I needed methods.

Naturally, I stopped using methods. I stopped trying to shift. I no longer thought, Okay, tonight I’m going to shift, and I'm going to use X method. Because that’s not how you think or act when you’re a master shifter. I let go—why would I bother using a method before sleeping when I could just stand up, think about my DR, and be there? Why would I bother doing a method before falling asleep when I knew I'm a master shifter?

I allowed myself to shift. It was me! When people ask, What method did you use? What did you do to shift?—do you really, truly believe it’s the method that makes you shift? Of course you do, because you live in a reality that seems logical, and you apply that logic to shifting. But shifting isn’t logical! It just happens! I have no idea why—it’s literally just magic to me—but that’s how it works.

So, you need to understand: You make it happen. That’s a good thing, right? It means you don’t need methods, and you don’t need to keep searching for “the key.”

Anyway, I hope this helps someone. (Also yes, before you tell me, I know this is basically Law Of Assumption. But I wanted to explain it in more of shifting terms)

(Also if someone wants to post this to another social you have my permission- especially reddit since I was active in that community but I deleted my acc lol)

Edit: Hey guys there are some additional notes in the comments that might be useful!

[hedgehog-moss]

hi! i’ve been following you for years, silently in awe of the bright & fulfilling life you’ve built for yourself, and wishing that i could do the same. in between all the charming stories about pandolf & pampe & pirlouit i’ve been noting all your experiences with fence building and foraging and whatnot, in the hopes of putting them to use one day. and that day is today !! today i head out to spend the first night at my little cabin, a long-abandoned seter from the late 19th century, so right now life will be very much like camping with a roof. a lot of work to be done, and it will be a while before i can support animal friends in addition to myself, but i just wanted to say thank you for sharing your life with us! it’s been an invaluable resource + source of inspiration for me :))

Oh that's amazing!! I'm so happy for you 😊 I wish I could send you a housewarming gift (might I interest you in a gremlin cup?)

Your "camping with a roof" comment reminds me of my first spring & summer here, when there was nothing in my kitchen except a table with a small backpacking stove and I had no means of heating the house so I made a fire in the wood oven at night and had to compete with the cats to sit in the 1 square metre of warmth right next to it. They're good memories too, so I hope you enjoy these early days of getting to know your home and working on it <3

I wish you all the best, and especially that you get to feel the "brooding sense of peace and of possession" described by Kenneth Grahame in this quote about a dream home:

First, there would be a sense of snugness, of cushioned comfort, of home-coming. Next, a gradual awakening to consciousness in a certain little room, very dear and familiar [...]: solitary, the world walled out, but full of a brooding sense of peace and of possession. [...] I was there already, ensconced in the most comfortable chair in the world, the lamp lit, the fire glowing ruddily. [A]lways the same feeling of a home-coming, of the world shut out, of the ideal encasement. On the shelves were a few books—a very few—but just the editions I had sighed for […]. On the walls were a print or two, a woodcut, an etching—not many. […] All was modest [...] but all was my very own, and, what was more, everything in that room was exactly right.

[otter-pup]

having slow-rapid pregnancy thoughts

we have a fun, rowdy evening, and i fill you up multiple times. we didn’t use protection, but based on the time of month, it’s probably fine.

(spoilers: it’s not)

later that night, after we drift off to sleep, i have a bleary moment of semi-consciousness. i’m spooning you, hand on your tummy, and i can feel just the slightest unexpected resistance. at first i figure it’s just you breathing, but… i could swear there’s just an almost nonexistent stretch, so subtly rounding you out. i grin and pull you closer before drifting off again.

the next morning, you definitely look bloated, but not unnaturally so. you check it out in the mirror (i check you out in the mirror), we get breakfast, and you leave to go about your day.

you keep looking down at your bulging tummy throughout the morning, expecting it to go down, rather than do the opposite. by lunchtime, you start feeling fluttery movements, and you know something’s wrong.

it’s slow enough that no one can SEE you growing, but you very clearly look pregnant when you obviously weren’t the last time your classmates saw you. i’d guess you’re expanding at a rate of a month of gestation every three hours or so, and you’re definitely carrying more than one.

it certainly doesn’t help that your outfit is about as far from obscuring your figure as your wardrobe can get. when you sit down, you can hear seams stretching ominously.

- 🦑

I’ve been keeping track of my cycle for long enough now that i don’t think twice about letting you fill me up, even begging for it, pleading dumbly for you to breed me while im completely drunk on pleasure.

we both like when you keep your hand on my belly after sex, so of course you notice when i start swelling. im already asleep by then, and you don’t mention it in the morning - you just look at me in the mirror while i check the bloating, before we both move on with our days.

the bloating doesn’t go down. im a little self conscious of how tight my shirt is around it, and my jeans are fairly tight, like always, and if i weren’t in classes i would have them unbuttoned by now. I ignore it the best i can. my stomach isn’t upset or anything, if anything im more hungry than usual, so im having lunch when i start feeling flutters inside me.

i finish eating and rush to the bathroom, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling up my shirt — which feels even tighter than it was before — enough to see how obviously swollen I’ve gotten. i rub my hands over my belly a few times, making sure I’m not imagining it. im not.

i can’t do anything until im done with classes for the day. At least, I try to finish classes. i make it through my next one, but my third and final class of the day is interrupted by the seams of my jeans tearing - and not quietly, either. i go bright red and excuse myself, heading straight home after that.

by the time we’re both home, im five, maybe sixth months along, size-wise — though i look well past full term. im surprised my shirt lasted as long as it did, though the seams on that tear during my commute back home.

we have at least another nine hours left. and, past the concern, im indescribably turned on.

it’s not like i can get any more pregnant if we spend the next nine hours breeding, right?

[ramblings-of-a-detrans-woman]

Why I will never support the radical feminist movement, as a detransitioning woman.

note: this is not meant to be any sort of hit piece or slander, I respect every feminist, even ones I disagree with. This is just my reasoning for why I do not like the radfem movement.

For a bit of context, I’ve indentified as trans since I was 12. At 18, I’ve decided to live my life as a lesbian woman, and i’ve never been happier with that choice.

Now, being a young trans man, I interacted a lot with pro trans content online (of course I did), and so of course I’ve heard about radical feminism. A passionate branch of feminism that takes a unique approach to women’s rights- deconstructing gender entirely. It sounds wonderful in theory, because of course gender is oppressive, most notably of women. I would know, being one. Even when I was trans I had to worry about being out at night. I even got chased once, and a man attempted to lure me to his truck another time. It’s brutal. But radical feminists devote their activism to ending this in a straightforward, logical way.

So why do I, a woman who has experienced both misogyny and transphobia, not support that? I feel that this is a good question for both trans allies and radfems alike to to ask. Knowledge is power.

Well, I’ll be direct. Radfems are some of the most depraved people i’ve ever met. I know, that sounds like a lot, but there’s no other words I can use that don’t perfectly encapsulate my experience with radfems. It’s depravity.

For weeks, I was harassed by transphobic radfems. Radfems, who are insistent on their love and support for TIFs aka trans men. It’s strange then that they would be so cruel towards one, wouldn’t you say?

Detransition is hard enough. It’s difficult to tell family that you were wrong. It’s difficult to reconnect with my gender. Hell, i prefer the term detrans over cis just because i have such a disconnect from my gender. So why do I have to deal with transphobic radfems sending me gore and death threats?

Thankfully all of the accounts doing this seem to be deleted or repurposed. But it’s only a matter of time until a new account is made just to send me an ask telling me to kill myself or a message about how much of a loser i am.

It’s this reason alone why i’ll never be a radfem. They’re just sick people. They don’t want liberation for women, they just hate trans people. It’s not even thinly veiled, their accounts are fully based around how horrible trans women are.

The truth being, trans women aren’t bad people at all. It’s easy to think they are because the news and media cherry picks some of the worst ones, but every community and minority group has bad people in it. some of the sickest people you could imagine, really. yes, they can be trans. but does being trans make you a sick person? does it turn you into a predator? no, it doesn’t. it just means you’re trans. trans or not, it’s up to men to be mature and take accountability for their own actions that they consciously make. a cis man is as capable to walk into a women’s room as a trans woman is.

if radical feminists cared more about women and detrans women, i could consider getting along with them. but sadly, all these passionate and dedicated feminists care about is hating trans people with a fiery passion. and i’ve been a casualty. it’s very difficult for me to sympathize with radfems when they’ve upset me to the point that they have

let me make it clear that gore and death threats don’t upset me, i’m not easily offended. So it’s not the threats that make me angry. It’s just the principle. The fact that radfems are spending their time scrolling reddit for gore pictures to send to fellow women instead of supporting us makes me SICK. it’s heartbreaking to picture a woman, raped and beaten by her boyfriend, and a radfem standing in front of her, readily available to help, but choosing to yell at a passing detrans woman. It’s really sad.

hopefully those reading this can take my words into consideration and use it to improve yourselves or your community (if you’re a radfem). i love womanhood and being a woman and i would love to share that joy with my sisters, but i just can’t when these issues i’ve experienced are in the back of my mind. I want radical feminism to be a safe space, a place where sisters can go to talk to women, relate to women, cry with and support women. but so far, the only love and support i’ve received has been from the trans community. that speaks volumes.

i am going to post more about my experience with finding my womanhood again in the future, so if you’re a detrans woman yourself, trans ally or not, consider following me :) i’d love to build myself a little community

[katemoneymartinsgf]

Training Room - Kate Martin

Summary: Kate martin x Waterpolo player fic. Multiple part story this is just kind of getting everything going

Warning: Mention of injury

a/n: Please bare with me guys this is the first time i’ve written since my wattpad days 😔 . I know my obsession with kate martin is a problem if it’s thrown me back in to writing. Also if someone wants to help me make this page presentable pls do. Hope you enjoy

—————————————

Brrrrr...

The sound of the whistle rings through the air as the sprinters swim towards the ball dropped at mid-pool.

It was overtime in the Big 10 Women’s Water Polo Championship game. The next goal scored would win the conference and secure you a spot at state.

This would be the first time in school history that Iowa’s team has ever won a conference title. You had promised your coach that you would bring a championship to this team back when you were a freshman. Obviously, it was said as a joke considering you weren’t the greatest swimmer back then.

You went into your senior year of high school barely learning about the existence of the sport, looking to get extra conditioning in before basketball season that year. Also, just interested in learning a new sport in general. Your friend, who was on the swim team, encouraged you to join so you guys could spend more time together. She taught you how to swim and you caught on quick. Since it was a very young team, you earned yourself a starting spot, soon falling in love with the game. With some help from the coaches and putting together a highlight tape, you caught the eye of Iowa's head coach, who offered you a spot not too long after.

Iowa's polo team was very new and they wanted to build. You were perfect for the team: a fast learner who was passionate and competitive in everything you did.

You didn’t take it right away, hoping an offer for basketball would be coming soon, but to be honest, it was either water polo for Iowa or the JUCO route for basketball.

After thinking about how quickly you fell in love with the sport, you couldn’t turn the offer down.

A freshman who couldn’t tread water properly to four years later being in the last minutes of a conference title game.

Your friend, Jade, had possession of the ball and passed it back to the goalie. You swam to the top of the pool and got the ball passed into you.

You were immediately fouled and the whistle was blown for the defender to back away. You knew that if you got the ball stolen it was an easy 1-on-1 against your goalie.

This defender had been on your ass all game. She had gotten away with drowning and kicking you the entire time.

Your teammates were all being face-guarded so you had no choice but to get around her yourself. You took a mental note of the shot clock before turning her and swimming straight down the middle of the pool, dribbling towards the goal.

“YOU, YOU. YOU.” You heard your coach scream as you had a clear path to the goal.

The crowd erupted at the move as you got on your hips and motioned to pass the ball to your teammate, Keira. The defender jumped towards her and you faked the ball and turned to aim straight at the corner of the goal. As you rose out of the water to take the shot, you felt a hand tug on your shoulder, you felt and immediate tearing pain You yelped in pain as you dropped the ball and immediately went underwater.

You didn’t think about swimming up, gripping onto your shoulder in pain. You can’t remember much after that when the last things you felt was a player’s foot hit your head as you lost consciousness.

…..

“What happened to her?” a voice asked softly as you stirred awake.

“She got shaken up pretty badly at the polo game,” you recognized the voice of your athletic trainer as you looked to see who she was talking to.

“I think she’s awake,” the girl said.

“Go get her some more ice, please,” the trainer said before turning to you and immediately asking you how you are feeling.

“Try not to move too fast. How’s your head feeling?”

“Did we win?” you asked, wondering how the game ended.

“Y/N, that’s not important right now. How’s your…”

“My head is fine. Did we win?”

“No, the game’s still going on but you need to…” You moved immediately, ready to leave the room and head back to the pool deck.

She puts her arms in front to stop you and you look back at her in confusion. This was the championship game; how could you not be out there?

“You can’t leave. You really need to stay sitting down; you hit your head pretty hard. It’s not good for you to be up right now.”

“Please, I have to see the end of it. This could be my last game,” you pleaded.

“I can go out there and get you an update, but you need to stay here. Deal?”

You nodded with a little attitude behind it, closing your eyes and leaning your head back.

"Also, I was kicked; I didn’t just 'hit my head,'" you stated.

“Drop the attitude, kid. Kate’s bringing you ice. Safety first, always,” she said before walking out.

You relaxed a little, understanding that she was just trying to help. You’ve grown really close to Regina. She's 100% your favorite trainer and she’s learned how to manage your stubbornness.

“Here, this should help," Kate said, her voice soft but firm.

"Thanks," you replied, pressing the ice to your shoulder. You glanced up, meeting Kate's gaze.

It didn’t fully register with you that this was Kate Martin. If you were in any other state you would be freaking out.

Kate hesitated, then sat down on the chair next to you. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, this is good," you said, then added nervously, "What about you? Aren't you busy with practice?"

Kate shrugged. "Practice just ended. I was supposed to ice and heat, but I guess I got roped into being your ice delivery."

You laughed softly, wincing slightly from the pain. "Well, thanks for the delivery. I owe you one."

Kate smiled, a bit shyly. "It's no problem. I’m just glad to help."

An awkward silence settled between you. Both girls fidgeted, neither sure what to say next. Finally, you broke the silence. "So, you play basketball, right? I’ve seen you on the court. You're really good."

"Yeah, thanks. I’ve seen you play a little too. You’re amazing out there," Kate responded, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

"Really? Thanks," you said, your heart beating a little faster. It didn’t make any sense to you that she knew who you were. "This is my last season, so I’m trying to make it count."

"I understand. It's my senior year too," Kate said, her voice tinged with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "It's a lot of pressure."

"Yeah," you agreed, nodding slightly. "But it's also exciting, right? Knowing you’re giving it your all."

Kate looked at you, admiration in her eyes. "Absolutely. And it looks like you were doing just that before... well, you know.”

You chuckled, despite the pain. "Yeah, that defender really did a number on me. i can’t stand her”

Kate's expression softened. "I'm sorry that happened. I hope you’ll be okay for the next game."

"Me too," you said, trying to stay positive. "If there even is one."

As if on cue, the door opened, and Regina walked in. She glanced at both of you, then at you.

"I’ve got an update," she said.

"You’re not cleared to go back in. I’m sorry."

“No shit” you thought. You didn’t expect to go back in, obviously; you were knocked unconscious. It’s honestly a miracle you aren’t in the hospital right now.

"But," she said, her voice filled with excitement, "You won! You’re a Big Ten champ, kid!"

Your eyes widened in disbelief, a rush of joy flooding through you despite the pain. You turned to Kate, a radiant smile lighting up your face.

"We won?" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement.

Kate's own smile mirrored yours. "That's amazing! Congratulations, Y/N!"

The trainer nodded, her grin widening.

You and Kate shared a moment of shared jubilation, your eyes sparkling with pride and happiness.

Soon your team came flooding into the room with their Big Ten champ hats on.

You hadn’t noticed you were holding onto Kate’s hand until she pulled away.

“Congrats again, I’ll be at the next game for sure," she said before walking away. A small blush formed on your face as you watched her walk away with a smile.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Jade pulled you into a hug.

“CAREFUL, SHE'S FRAGILE RIGHT NOW,” Regina scolded.

———————————

a/n: again i’m new at this, literally my first time eve posting any fic on tumblr so any help is appreciated.

[bits-and-babs]

i have this idea for joel miller, where him and the reader spend some time together practicing following the rules, since the reader has been lacking im that department, but during that time joel takes it upon himself to find your most sensitive spots and it eventually turns into an overstimulation session where you still gotta follow his rules and hes having the time of his life just ruining you 🖤

-ˋˏ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 ˎˊ-

— pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

— word count: 1k

— warnings: Dom/Sub themes, very light verbal degradation, a little impact play, fingering, use of the honorific ‘Sir’, overstimulation— phew! Very 18+, ya nasties.

joel miller masterlist I| main masterlist |I send me an ask

“Discipline ain’t your strong suit, is it, Darlin’?”

You shake your head slightly— as much as you can, considering your chest is pressed to the mattress, arms bound behind your back by Joel binding your wrists with his hand. He has you leaned across the bed, toes to the floor. It’s stiff and a little awkward, but you just about manage. “No, Sir.”

Your admission doesn’t match your submissive headspace; muscles slack and vulnerable to the palm that Joel slowly smooths over the curve of your ass.

“You’re going to be quiet for me.”

It’s not a request. It’s an order. Joel’s tone is firm, his voice gravelly as he digs his fingerprints into the flesh of your ass. It smarts slightly, capillaries bursting and blooming beneath in a bruise.

You swallow thickly, immediately falling in line. No verbal response, just a simple nod seems to suffice, because Joel is beginning his cruel torture already as he begins to glide his fingertips over your clothed cunt. He starts at your entrance, up and over your clit. You hold in the sigh that threatens to breach your lips.

“Greedy already,” he murmurs, voice a husk as he holds his hands out before your face. Wetness clings to his fingerprints, glistening under the light. You chew on the inside of your cheek, tilting your head slightly to look at him through your lashes. “Greediest little cunt I’ve ever seen.”

Joel’s fingers dip beneath the crotch of your panties, slipping his middle finger inside of you with such ease that it rocks your consciousness. Your eyelids flutter, and a silent moan catches in your throat. Quiet.

He hums in appreciation at your tight, wet heat, easing his finger in and out of you before slipping in another. Your hips rise from the mattress, balancing on your toes as you rock back onto him.

“Barely touchin’ you, and you’re already misbehavin’,” he points out, his tone clipped. It makes you want to apologise, your heart leaping out of your chest, but you hear his order replay in your head. ‘Quiet’. You smother your appeals.

You feel red hot, your face burning from his attention. The wet sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers practically drowns out your laboured breathing, and you hear a tsk sound from behind you.

“So desperate. Ain’t even noticed how noisy you’re being.”

Joel sounds so close, your brain lagging in realising that his mouth is right beside your ear. He presses a kiss into the soft flesh just below, nipping at the skin so hard it will surely leave a bruise in the morning. He twists his fingers inside you simultaneously, pressing up against something that makes your bones vibrate.

“Auhhh-“ you moan loudly, unable to hold the noise within.

Joel punishes you for it.

His palm collides with your ass sharply. The sound of the slap rips through the room, and your wail of anguish quickly follows. Your skin stings beneath it, prickling hot and smarting. His hand would undoubtedly leave a print, branding you like a cattle iron.

“Hm,” Joel huffs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he presses his arousal into the tingling skin of your ass. “What did I tell you?”

“T-To be quiet,” you squeak.

“Not a sound,” he reminds you, his hands coming up between your abdomen and the mattress to squeeze at the mound of your breasts. Joel’s chest drapes over your back as he takes your earlobe between his teeth. His clothed cock grinds at your entrance, granting you enough friction to tease your neglected cunt while pinching at your nipples.

It fires off nerve endings across your body, your forehead slumping onto the mattress when the pressure begins mounting in your guts.

“But this-“ he pauses, working his fingers inside you so you can hear the wet, slurping sound of your pussy, “This is a sound I don’t mind.”

The buttons of his flannel bury into the skin pulled across your spine, skin aching from the pressure and the circular indents it leaves. Your jaw is agape, throat loose in an attempt to prevent any moans or whines from slipping out of your lungs.

“Such a sloppy cunt, Sugar. Can feel that you like that- is it this, here?”

He works his fingers against that obliterating part inside you. You gasp loudly, the sound pulling itself out of you before you have the chance to swallow it back down.

“So hard for you to be quiet, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, his thumb is pushed against your clit, flicking back across it at an immobilising pace. Your legs give out beneath you, hips falling against the mattress as you cum, a tingling warmth flooding your body and crashing over you all at once.

“Ffuh-fuhck-“ you slur, eyes rolling back as your peak dips. Joel doesn’t relent. His thumb continues to brutalise your throbbing clit, his fingers pistoning in and out of you and drilling into that mind-shattering spot. “Fuck-fuckfuckfuck, stop- Sir, pleasestopplease-“

You’re sobbing, fat tears tearing down your cheeks. The wet noises of your cunt bounce off the walls, and Joel groans softly as he watches your hips squirm against the bed.

“Nuh-uh. Get back here,” he scolds when you try to fight him, try to get away. Gripping your wrists tighter, he yanks you back into position, releasing you only to force your hips to stay and bear down on your overstimulated pleasure points.

“Please please, pleasepleaseplease,” you beg him loudly, your raised volume edging towards a scream as you sob around the syllable of his name. “Joel I can’t! Ican’tIcan’t, Joel!”

“You’re a greedy thing, ain’t you? You always want one more from me. I’m givin’ it to you.”

Your mind goes blank, words you thought to shout to force him to capitulate turning to a static buzz as he pushes his fingers up against your g-spot.

“What is it?” He asks, sounding almost bored.

“Iiiiuhh-“ you keen, you moan. It’s long, high pitched and loud enough that you’re sure half of Jackson can hear you fail to form a coherent sentence with Joel’s fingers buried knuckles deep inside of you.

“What happened to bein’ quiet, Darlin’? Did I make it difficult for you?” His voice twangs with amusement, enjoying watching you suffer like this.

It forces a hiccup from your throat when you cum a second time, cracking through you and wracking your exhausted muscles until you scream.

END

-

[dira333]

Bonded - part 2

Spock x reader

“How is it?” McCoy asks when you walk into med-bay.

“How is what?” You ask back while crossing the distance towards the replicator, requesting two cups of coffee.

“Having a bond with that green-blooded hobgoblin.”

“It’s been a day, okay?” You quip and hand him one of the cups, “So far we haven’t killed each other.”

McCoy grins at that and takes a sip.

“You acting like you hate him won’t fool me, dear. You’re pretty obvious about your feelings.”

You groan and step aside, hoping that will end the conversation. It doesn’t.

“Date night?” McCoy asks two days later when you step out of your office after having gone through all your paperwork - or more accurately, PADD-work. You rub your lips together self-consciously, aware of the color of the lipstick you rarely use.

“What does it matter?” You ask back, hiding your anxiety behind a cool facade. Not that it works, McCoy sees straight through you.

“Nothing. Have fun.” He grins while saying so and you roll your eyes at him and step out of med-bay.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that date night with Spock usually means the choice between two things: Meditate with him or play chess with him.

You usually opt for chess as it gives you the opportunity to talk while doing so, but you’re rather bad at chess so you’re mostly quiet as you try not to lose too badly.

It takes you two weeks or four date nights until you’re tired of it. But how do you tell him that without offending him?

You don’t want him to realize it by reading your feelings through the bond and keep calm as much as possible until you’re tired of that too and drop in the seat in front of McCoy’s desk with a groan.

“What?”

“How do I tell him that I hate chess?”

“By using your mouth, for example?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I would have done that if it was easy. For someone so intent on nosing around in my matters you could have better advice.”

“You want better advice?” McCoy puts down your PADD and looks at you, “Do you think you two are still bonded because you are a shy wallflower that says yes to everything he likes and does? If he wanted something like that, he could have found plenty of those on Vulcan or elsewhere.”

You stare at him wordlessly for a few seconds before you push yourself out of your seat.

“This must be the worst version of ‘Be yourself!’ I’ve ever heard,” you tell him as you walk out his office.

“I hope so!” He calls after you as you leave.

“You are early,” Spock tells you as you step into his ready room.

“Well yeah,” you say, “I like spending time with you.”

He looks up at you, eyebrow raised in question.

“You have something to say?”

“Yes. I hate chess.”

Spock stops short and you take a breath.

“Well, I don’t exactly hate it, you know, but I’m really bad at it, but I figured we could still talk while playing chess whereas meditating seems just plain impossible to me.”

“What do you propose then?”

“There are so many things to choose from. Watch a movie, listen to music we like, make music even or just, I don’t know, talk like we did that first time. And that’s just the innocent part of my ideas.”

He quirks the left side of his mouth upwards until it positively looks like he’s smiling and you grin back at him.

“I’m open to all of your ideas,” he says and you nod.

“Well, how about you show me what we can do with that bond thing anyway?”

You feel a tingling sensation at the back of your head where the connection rests and close your eyes involuntarily as pictures, sounds and feelings trickle in.

You can see yourself talking on a conference, can hear Spock talk to Captain Kirk how you would be a viable addition to the team and feel his eagerness to talk to you when you first step onto the Enterprise.

Your eyes snap open as you realize what he’s trying to show you and the connection stills.

“I am very interested in what you might have to tell,” Spock tells you softly and gestures towards the couch for you to take a seat.

-months later -

It feels different to date when you’re bonded.

It feels different to be bonded.

You are not just yourself anymore and everytime you say or do or feel something, you are reminded of that.

When Ensign Kreger vomits all over your shoes you can feel Spock’s annoyance pricking you right at the back of your skull. It makes it harder to stay calm.

It also makes it harder to stay friends with Dr. McCoy because you can literarily feel Spock’s feelings whenever the CMO makes you laugh. Not that Spock would acknowledge himself having feelings at all, anyway.

“Stop that,” you tell him one morning as soon as you’ve made it to your quarters after an exhausting Gamma shift. You’re sprawled out on the bed and Spock is standing in the doorway, face passive, but annoyance ringing loud and clear through your bond.

“I merely wish you would take better care of yourself,” he states and you grunt.

“Liar.”

“Vulcans do not lie,” Spock claims and steps forward to pull your shoes from your feet.

“But you keep information to yourself. You are annoyed by the fact that I’ve managed to have fun with Dr. McCoy.”

He stops what he’s doing and it’s getting harder for you to stay awake.

“That is true,” he finally confesses, “I admit that the logic of your friendship with the CMO appeals to me in a way I do not particularly like.”

“What?” You turn your head to look at him. “What logic?”

“Doctor McCoy has similar interests, a similar sense of humor and he is fully human. You fit together.”

You snort. “But he does not make my heart jump whenever I see him. Something you should know because we are bondmates.”

“That is a feeling and therefore purely illogical.”

“Illogical or not, I love you.” You tell him, your tongue made loose by exhaustion.

He leans forward to press his lips to your temple.

“I love you too,” he mumbles softly against your skin as you slowly but surely lose your fight and fall asleep.

A relationship is always hard work.

Sure, the bond helps you understand what the other is feeling and it makes many things easier, but not all.

The bond intensifies feelings, the positive ones and the negative ones as well.

You feel twice as happy when you’re happy with Spock, but you also feel twice as angry when he’s angry with you. Or when you’re angry with him. The lines blur until the source of the feelings are no longer clear.

“You could just tell me what she’s telling you,” You snap as you pull out a new uniform from your cupboard.

“I did. She informed me about the progress of the new vaccine.”

“And why did she giggle then?” You throw him a look, annoyance coursing through you, “Don’t tell me vaccines have turned into some new joke nowadays. Or is it just the French way to look serious?”

“Are you jealous?” He asks back, too calm for your liking, “Of Dr. Lefebvre?”

“She never talks to me, okay?” You tell him, huffing out in anger, “And when she does she speaks French which she knows I don’t understand and now she’s talking to my boyfriend, all giggly and smiley and I’m sorry if that makes me feel anxious, okay?”

“I do not think smiley and giggly are terms that-”

“Spock!” You interrupt him, “I don’t want a grammar lesson! I want you to tell me that no French Doctor could ever take you from me because you don’t like French or something like that.”

You wave your hands in the air, trying to capture what you’re feeling as if Spock didn’t already feel that through the bond.

“Dr. Lefebvre thinks we are married,” he says instead and you gape at him.

“What? Why?”

“Because we are close, we’ve been dating for almost two years. I told her we aren’t and she was giggling because she mentioned something about getting down on one knee and found it amusing that I did not get the reference.”

You lean your head against the door of your cupboard.

“Humans go down on one knee when they propose,” you explain to him and he nods in understanding. “That makes sense. Vulcans sing when they propose. Or hold a speech, whatever feels more natural to them.”

“Do you want to?”

“What? Sing? Hold a speech?”

You smile at him trying to copy your humor and shake your head.

“Get married.”

“Oh… well, we are bonded. In Vulcan terms, we are already engaged.”

You laugh at that and step over to where he’s standing, waiting for you to get ready.

“Take my hand, Spock.” You can feel your heart picking up speed, your brain trying to get you to rethink what you’re doing, but you’re not one to rethink yourself.

“Why?” But Spock is.

“I’m trying to ask you to marry me, so take my damned hand!”

He pulls a face at you but takes your hand and watches you with curious eyes as you go down on one knee. It’s difficult in the uniform you’re wearing, but possible.

“Will you, Spock, do me the honor of becoming my husband as soon as we make it to the next starbase?”

Spock crinkles his nose. “Our next stop is on Delta Vega, which is an ice desert void of any civilization. If you do not want to get wed by the poor man working the starbase, I’d advise waiting for a more suitable place.”

You groan.

“Would you marry me then on the next starbase we are both happy with?”

He sends you a strong feeling of happiness through the bond instead of answering and you laugh and jump up to wrap your arms around him.

“And now, the custom of kissing my fiancé,” you joke with a smile before leaning in.

He meets your lips with his own and you can feel an emotion through the bond, taking over your mind.

It’s happiness in its purest form.

It’s love.

[autumnmobile12]

Helluva Boss S2 Trailer:  “You don’t love mother and you don’t love me!”

I have a problem with this line, and I’ve had a problem with Octavia’s character for awhile now, so I’m going to talk about it.

To cut her some slack, her house and family life is a mess.  Fighting parents, cheating dad, feeling neglected by both parents, and she’s a teenager on top of that.  I get it.  Moody, angsty teen with a really good reason for being moody and angsty.

And Stolas isn’t blameless in all this.  With the cheating, he’s actively a problem, but we can see that he loves his ‘little owlet.’  But he is a terrible father.  In the Seeing Stars episode, I thought that it was going to be a lot more Stolas and Octavia-centric on their relationship, but no.  He and Blitzo spend most of the time looking for her just dicking around in some human comedy act when they really didn’t need to be there.  Seriously, it wouldn’t have been the first time Blitzo massacred a group of humans to get out of an awkward situation, but if Stolas is so concerned about his daughter, then why didn't he do something about their situation? If he loves his daughter so much, why is he okay with this distraction? He's not even the one who gets him out of it in the end.  That was the first time Helluva Boss actually disappointed me.  I don’t think the brief bit of backstory we got with Blitzo and Loona justified the rest of that whole bit, so it was really pointless.  That piece could have been handled better.

Throughout the Stolitz ship, Stolas is 100% ignoring Octavia.  But terrible dad aside, the line from the Season 2 trailer, “You don’t love Mother and you don’t love me!” should be emotional.

Except…. “You don’t love Mother….”

…why would he?

Does Octavia not see what a violent, toxic bitch her mom is?  She has seen her screaming, getting violent, and throwing things. I suppose Octavia could have the opinion that Stella's anger is justified with the cheating and all, but then that explanation implies she thinks reacting violently like that is acceptable behavior. And let’s not forget Stella straight up ordered a hit on Stolas, which nearly succeeded.  Does Octavia not know about this?  Again, Stolas being a terrible dad for not taking steps to get the daughter he supposedly loves away from the psycho who ordered an assassination, but did none of this get back to Octavia?

Not that any of it makes Stolas' infidelity okay. If you're unhappy in a relationship, leave it. But with the way Stella behaves, there's no rational way Octavia can expect her parents to love each other. It sucks to be the child in that position, especially a teen still figuring things out, but that is very much an 'it is what it is' situation and you gotta make the best of it in whatever way you can.

As it stands, it isn't fair for Octavia to entirely blame Stolas for their family falling apart.

"You don't love mother and you don't love me," makes it sound like Octavia is consciously choosing her violent, narcissistic witch of mother over her dad. This also doesn't make sense with the plot because there's no sign of Octavia having a close relationship with her mom. There are no portraits of them together in a loving embrace as we see with her and Stolas. Plus, Stella doesn't care about Octavia. The only two times in the show she vaguely mentions her is as the 'one egg that finally dropped out of her' and when she and Andrealphus are discussing the inheritance that will go to Octavia. She doesn't care about Stolas either. The only effect the cheating had on her was the idea of public embarrassment for their family.

Neither of Octavia's parents care for her the way they should, so for the, "You don't love mother and you don't love me," line to work to its fullest impact, it should have been phrased as, “You don’t love me!  Neither you or Mom love me!”

I do love Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel…but Octavia’s character is really poorly handled.  I remember it being said in an interview that Helluva Boss does have heavier focus on its male characters while Hazbin Hotel was supposed to be more female-centric, but when it comes to Octavia, that structure in the storytelling is crumbling under its own weight. There is a story here and it has some major gaps that need addressing.

To give them some benefit of doubt, maybe this’ll be addressed in an episode before that line hits, so maybe it’ll make more sense. Or they could make it clear she said it out of anger.  At least, I hope so because I really need some righteous retribution for how Stolas behaves with his daughter.

...

Edit for clarity: The point of this post is a criticism of the lack of story we get for Octavia that justifies her motives, not a criticism of why she herself behaves the way that she does. The dysfunctional family is heavy stuff and since it is a front and center issue with Stolas' background, it needs more attention than the series gives it.

[luvrodite]

THE VERY FIRST NIGHT JASON TODD (college! au)

↳ the first night you spend at his place

You don’t mean to stay over, the first time that you do. Truly you don’t. But it’s late, and you’ve spent the entirety of the afternoon dozing in and out of consciousness on the–quite frankly, illegally comfortable–couch in Jason’s living room. The both of you lie, pressed into each other, against the couch cushions and watch the reruns of old tv shows that are showing. 

A cool wind breezes in through an open window, and at your back, Jason is warm. The sun has long since set, but neither of you have mustered up the will to shut the blinds beyond the comments made every so often when a car will beep loudly, or a truck drones down the road, so loud the both of you flinch awake where you’d lingered on the precipice of true sleep.

It’s this such disruption that pulls you so meanly from sleep, startling you where you’d been so very comfortable in the arms of your boyfriend, and your movement in turn wakes him. He grumbles, and the both of you blink blearily in the dark at each other.

“What’s wrong?” he yawns, making to tug you closer. You stay upright, and he frowns at you, greatly inconvenienced. You would laugh if you were more awake, but sleep clouds your senses still and you reach for your phone. The time blinks at you, a mocking 12:19 and you let out a breath that is heavier than Jason feels it ought to be.

You show him the time and he stares blankly at you. “I’ve missed the last bus,” you say, and he screws his face up as another yawn tears out of him. His arms come around you once more, this time successfully pulling you closer.

“So what, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tucking his nose into your neck.

“Be serious,” you murmur, brushing a hand over his hair. “I should get home.”

He lifts his head to look at you. “‘M being serious. Just stay.”

You pause. 

“Stay the night?” you murmur, unsure. He nods, earnest and sleepy. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll drive you home, if you want,” he says gently, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your mouth. Your heart snags on how he grows a little shy as he pulls away, eyes flicking away to where your necklace has slipped out of your shirt collar. “Just thought it’d be more convenient….y’know…you could borrow my clothes if you want.”

“Jason Todd, you romantic, you,” you breathe out, a surprised laugh colouring your voice. He grumbles as you giggle, heat crowding in your face. You cover up your shyness with a false bravado, peering down at him to tease, “Will you make me breakfast in the morning, too?”

He glares up at you, teeth nipping at the tip of your finger. “I would. ‘Cos I’m a gentleman. And a good host. And your boyfriend.”

Everything in you seems to turn topsy turvy at his words, heart melting into a syrupy sweet, treacle-like mass in your chest. You can’t help but kiss him again. 

“Okay,” you whisper, and his eyes brighten in the dark. “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. If you promise I’m not being a bother.”

“Could never bother me,” he says plainly, happy. “C’mon, sweetheart. Get you something to wear, think I’ve got a spare toothbrush, somewhere.”

You think that your first night together is going to be nerve-wracking. That you’ll stiffen up in bed and never fall asleep for fear of–fear of what? Getting too comfortable, you think. You think you’ll do something ridiculous and be laughed at for it. You don’t know if you could bear it from Jason.

But as it happens, you are guided down the dim-lit hall, hand in his, feeling very much as though you have already fallen asleep. A soft shirt is pressed into your hands, and shorts you forego–sleep plies you soft and uncaring, you’re here anyway, aren’t you? Jason says nothing, only pressing a kiss to your shoulder and leaving. He returns some moments later, takes your day clothes from your hands in exchange for a red, unopened toothbrush. 

You slip under the sheets and sleep claims you with a kiss. 

me when i lie and say i'm saving writing jersey boy for friday and the weekend. september and october are my peak jason months i think. the weather turns gentle and everything starts to bloom again, and i feel so much love for this silly little fictional man. he makes my heart ache. i love domestic jason. i think mid afternoon in september is always so pretty and the evenings are even lovelier. it makes me think of love so much even though i think i'd run away if it came within six feet of me.

[the-night-that-feeds-if]

Hey everyone, dunno how long this might be, kind of doing a stream of consciousness style ramble about TNTF and me and stuff :)

alright so, tntf is getting a huge rework, this is my first if game ever, the coding is a little overwhelming, i know it’s fairly simple but it’s A LOT.

the reason i’ve been pretty quiet is mostly due to burnout, as some of you know i have health issues, i have crohns disease, i’m also autistic with adhd—something i love about this community is the understanding and acceptance for people/authors like me who may want to write but are just too stuck to be able to do it.

i know everyone is so jazzed for the next update, and i am too, there’s a few changes i’m making in regards to the technical aspects of the story, i’m removing stats, for the MC and for relationships. part of it is… i’m not a numbers person, trying to balance out the stats going up and down is a pain when this is planned to be a pretty damn long story. i also just don’t like it for my story personally, i don’t want you, as the player to feel like you have to game-ify personality or relationships.

this also opens the option for me to write more player responses to situations without having all of that annoying code in my brain~ MORE FLAVOR!

My writing has also vastly improved when it comes to fiction, a lot because i have been practicing so much while i’ve been sick (i’ve been playing with and writing AI chatbots on Janitor.AI, learning how to create a complex and realistic personality, an engaging character and world.) It’s been useful as a stress reliever and as a tool to help me write better, more descriptive etc.

on that note, smut in my game is also a very yes, i feel much more comfortable writing it now… heh.

i’ve also decided that all of my books are going to remain free, tntf was a planned three book series, it may just be one or two HUGE books, we’re going to have to see what i, and twine are capable of. but the story is going to span four countries and two continents of the world, so yeah.

the new rewrite is also going to slow things down considerably, because now we’ll have MC on a ship for four months as the intro, then meeting maddock and spending <insert amount of time here> with him while traveling to that little inn. it also gives me more room to introduce the characters a lot earlier but in their own POVs and not just while they’re with MC. i want the world to feel alive.

my decision to make and keep tntf free is because i want to.

i would not appreciate minors interacting with my content, but i also grew up with the internet, i know that no matter how much prevention we put in, minors are going to access our content regardless if it’s free or not. i just ask that if you are a minor and reading adult fiction, please don’t comment, dm or whatever, this is for your safety in the community as well as, i don’t want to deal with other people’s children on the internet, it’s nothing against any of ya’ll, you’re awesome, children are great but i’m almost 26, i really don’t want to deal with kids in what’s pretty much an adult space (i haven’t really seen books catered to the younger than 18 crowd, but like i’m saying, i’m more interested in forging connections with the adult community here, considering i am one, lmao *bats children away with pool noodles*)

i think that’s it

i might post more stuff but that’s my general direction

also to the asks in my inbox from last year on my birthday and forward… I READ THEM ALL AND APPRECIATE EVERY WELL WISH AND FEEDBACK, GENUINELY. i’m just bad at social media.

[aheathen-conceivably]

In the first weeks of 1930, a slow passenger train rode through the desert hills of New Mexico. It had begun its journey in the city of New Orleans before heading north alongside the snaking brown waters of the Mississippi River.

From there it had stopped in St. Louis, Missouri before it turned back south, following old pioneer trails as it cut through the American Southwest on the way to its final destination in Los Angeles, California.

In one of the cars, the light, determined click of a woman's heels fell in line with the rhythm of the rails below her feet. The sound had defined her life for weeks, yet she found it just as droning now as the day she had first boarded the train. She made her way from her own cabin, where her niece and brother were spending the final hour of their journey, to the room where her soon to be sister-in-law was readying herself. 

As she approached the door a rail attendant appeared in the car to alert the passengers, “Next stop Strangerville, New Mexico! All passengers ready your luggage! I repeat all passengers ready your luggage!”

Josephine increased her pace and rapped loudly on the door, wanting to ensure that her arrival could be heard above the railway attendant's call in the next car. A small voice told her to enter, barely audible alongside the thundering sound from below.

Josephine entered Zelda and Antoine's suite, which was larger than the one she had shared with Violette during the journey. Half smoked cigarettes and thrice-read books clattered against opulently carved woodwork bolted to the walls. Amidst it all stood Zelda in a white silk wedding dress, preoccupied with her reflection as she pinned a final curl in a perfect curve.

For a moment Josephine forgot the rail’s droning sound or the conductor’s hurried call, “Zelda, you….you look marvelous.”

Zelda turned briefly to acknowledge Jo’s presence, self consciously smoothing down the silk of her dress before she turned back to the mirror to fiddle with the clasp of her pearls, “Do I, truly? I’m afraid it’s quite old fashioned now, isn’t it? I suppose I should have gotten something new rather than just dyeing this old dress…”

Josephine walked over to her, taking the pearls from her shaking hands. As the car rattled on, she couldn’t tell if it was from the constant movement or her friend’s nerves. She spoke to her as she fastened the necklace, “It’s perfect, ma sœur, absolutely perfect. Are you ready? It’s time to put the luggage near the door; we’re the next stop.”

When Zelda didn’t answer Josephine turned her around, softening her face and her voice, “Zelda, you can talk to me, if you need to. Whatever it is. If you aren’t ready I’ll speak with Antoine. Whatever you need.”

Zelda looked at her curiously before an immense happiness overtook her face. She grabbed Josephine’s hands and smiled, “Jo, I’m only nervous because I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. I’ve waited so long; we’ve waiting so long, it simply feels surreal. Like it’s impossible to feel so much happiness all at once without something going wrong.”

Josephine’s heart soared for her, and then sank as she realized that Zelda had learned to expect misfortune so much that she couldn’t even truly give herself over to excitement in that moment. “Zelda, everything will be wonderful, I promise you. You’ve been through enough, okay? Both of you. Today will be perfect.”

(A very special thank you to @simtleman for creating this gorgeous train build and then sharing it with me as well as all the CC creators you used to make it so stunning ♥️)

[lil-spider]

So Damn Pretty

Chapter 10

Part 9 : Part 11

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter X Female Reader

Summary: Johnny is sex starved and you’re very attractive, so attractive that he doesn’t want to kill you. Instead he finds ways to keep you around longer.

Note: The story is coming closer to completion but that’s okey cause I’m gonna be in this fandom forever even if it has died a little lol. I’ve got plenty of Johnny fics planned :3. This chapter is for those who have been so patient! Love you all😘

Warning: This is 18+ and please do not read if your sensitive to heavy descriptions of non/con and violence. Including bondage, blood, gore, assault, objectification and unsafe sex. For those who don’t mind, I hope you enjoy.

I stare vacantly at the couple of eggs on my plate, not feeling hungry for them. I sink further into my seat and take a glance over at Johnny. Its just him and me sitting at the dining table; the rest of the family have already finished up their breakfast, but it seems he has an appetite this morning, digging in his second plate of crispy bacon. I look back at the two eggs; things in pairs have been bothering me lately. It seems my mind still can't get over those two girls. I thought I would be over it; at the time, it didn’t bother me, but the guilt comes in waves. Crashing heavily against my consciousness. I try to keep it down, not letting it depress me. I've gained trust from the family, and I don’t want to ruin it with my emotions. 

 

With their trust comes more leniency. So much so that Drayton brings me along to the gas station, helping him out with whatever he tasks me with. 

 

A surprising amount of locals come by. They didn’t question me; they just went about their own business. I didn't know how to go about it. I guess no one back home really cares that I'm missing. Even though I'm somewhat content with my current situation, I can't help but feel sad. No one bothered at all to look for me. I know I didn't have much family, but Nate and Jessica sure did; both came from big families. There should be people searching for them. 

 

I quickly moved on from those thoughts, especially now that it's too late to go back. It's easier to just focus on other things. Even if there isn't much to focus on,.

 

At least today I can spend the rest of my time with Johnny out in the field. I love keeping him company while he works on the cars, and sometimes I help out by passing him tools or handing him a rag.

I glance over at him again while I smoosh around my runny eggs with my fork. He shoots me a small grin. I was going to smile softly back at him until a sudden shot of nausea hit me. Instead, I must have given him an ugly face because he looked at me with a raised brow. 

 

Salvia starts poring up into my mouth, and with panic, I sit up, making the chair scratch on the floor, and bolt past Johnny to the front door, slamming it open. No longer able to hold it down, I grip the veranda's handrails tightly, lean over, and vomit my breakfast onto the poor bushes below.

 

"Ya' alright, darlin'?" Johnny asks as he walks up behind me, confused. He sees what is happening and places a large hand on my back and rubs it in soft circles while I spew out misery. Thinking I was finished, I turned around to face him, smiling wearily, but a second punch of nausea came flying in, and I turned back to vomit in the bushes again.

 

“I’ll go get Sissy.” He says this, grimacing at the sight of me puking, unsure of what to do.

 

He leaves, and in a quick minute, a concerned Sissy comes with a damp hand towel, and she guides me to take a seat on the white bench, dabbing my forehead while I try not to throw up straight bile.

 

"Oh, pumpkin, this is not good," Sissy worries, still wiping my face. Johnny comes back outside, also looking concerned. 

 

“Take her to the living room, Johnny; she needs to lay down.” Sissy tells him, feeling my forehead and checking for my temperature. I’m not sure if I’m sick; I don’t feel hot. 

 

Johnny, grumbling at being told what to do, still picks me up bridal style, carrying me effortlessly to the living room, and lays me down gently on the cowhide-covered couch.

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Johnny asks, turning to Sissy, wanting an answer to my sudden sickness. She places an old, rusty bucket down next to me, just in case I get sick again. 

 

"Well, she ain’t burnin' up. Maybe it’s something she ate.” She’s replies are also confused about my sudden sickness. 

 

I lay there on the couch, trying to keep whatever wants to come up down while Sissy and Johnny keep me company for a bit. It’s comforting to see how much they seem to care for me. However, after under an hour of resting and sipping on some water, I feel much better.

 

“I'm feeling better.” I said this to both of them, who looked surprised and relieved about my comeback.

 

“Somethin' must've upset ya' then.” She reasons. With that little incident over with, the rest of the day goes by as normal without any sign of sickness. It must have been something I ate. 

 

That’s what I believed until the very next morning, and then the next thing happened on the third day. Sissy keeps my hair away from my face while rubbing my back. 

 

It's another morning, and I'm back outside vomiting; it seems to be my usual puke spot outside on the veranda. 

 

 I know I've made everyone else concerned now. I can hear Nubbins questioning Johnny about why I'm throwing up so much. But he wouldn't get a solid answer from him, as he is just as clueless about my ongoing vomiting. I don’t understand either; at first, I thought I was dying, but what Sissy came up with seemed worse than dying. Her sweet voice contradicts the heavy words coming out of her mouth. I feel like I've been strapped to an anchor, and it's dragging me down, deep below. 

 

 “I think you may be pregnant, sugar; you ain’t got no fever, and sure, dang, know Johnny hasn’t been innocent with you." She explains smoothing my messy hair. 

 

Now I feel like I’m really drowning. Oh, my good I’m pregnant, oh fucking hell. It explains everything: the weight gain, my emotions playing up, and of course the morning sickness. My legs start to wobble. Holy shit, I’m pregnant with Johnny’s baby. 

Sissy notices my shaky form and decides to help me back inside. Holding my arms steady, she shuts the door behind us with her foot while leading me to the sofa. As I sit, she’s skipped off to grab a glass of lemonade while I try to calm down. Just as quickly as she left, she came back with a glass of delicious cold lemonade. Sissy places the drink in my shaky hands as I take a sip. Its sweet yet bitter flavour soothes me. 

 

“When I was in California, some of her sisters from the ranch always threw up every morning when they were pregnant. It's called morning sickness, and it's always a telltale sign that you're going to have a baby.” She explains joyfully, sitting down right next to me and giving me an excited hug. 

 

She then claps her hands together cheerfully. "Oh, how joyous a little baby!" She throws her thin arms around me again in another big hug while I sit frozen, completely gobsmacked by the revelation that I'm pregnant. I guess I must have forgotten how babies were made while I’ve been here; Johnny and I have been going at it enough. There is no denying that.

 

I placed my lemonade down on the coffee table and placed a hand over my belly. Johnny's baby is growing inside me and will later give birth to his baby. 

Sissy stands back up, going over to a sleeping grandpa. I didn't realise he was there. But Sissy, with all her excitement, accidentally woke him up, to which she apologised by telling him about the new member of the family and how he’s going to be a grandpa again. How many generations old is this baby going to make grandpa? I wonder.

Grandpa Sawyer just let out these wistful groans in reply. Sissy explains that he’s excited for a new grandchild. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand him. 

Then Johnny comes stomping in, shirtless and sweaty from being outside in the Texas heat. "What’s all the squealing you’re making? I can hear it from outside." He asks, annoyed. 

I would've hoped Sissy would keep my pregnancy to herself until I was ready to tell her, but instead she just blatantly spills out to him that I'm pregnant. 

“Bout’ time.” He says plainly, I gap at his laid-back attitude on this situation. He turns to my surprised face, and he smirks. He inches closer, bending down so his face is in front of mine. 

“I told ya I wanted to be a dad, didn’t I? It’s why I've been working so hard on you.” His smirk widens as my face flushes red in embarrassment. Have I been baby trapped?

The day goes by like usual, even though I'm an emotional, vomiting mess. Now during dinner, and for some odd reason, I never get sick eating supper. The smell of any other food makes me queasy, except cooked meat. My mouth starts to drool when I smell it being cooked. Just barely being able to keep anything else down has made me famished, and tonight, Drayton's chilli has never tasted better. Going in for seconds and now thirds.

“I should've made extra batches just for the way you eat, girl.” Drayton commented, slightly impressed with how much I can put down. 

“It’s just so good.” I moan out with a mouthful of chilli.

“It's better than good; it's the best chilli in the whole damn county.” Cook proudly states, sitting up a bit straighter.

“Oh god, enough of the chilli talk.” Johnny groans out, already frustrated with the conversation.

“Y-yeah enough!” Nubbins joins in, trying to entice a fight. 

"Oh, shut it; look at the girl; she loves it.” He points over to me, still stuffing my face with utter pleasure. 

“No more of this arguing! Y/N is in a delicate situation, and I want none of ya' messing that up!” Sissy puts her bit in, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. Ironically, this is her way of enticing an argument.

“What delicate situation, girl? She's just hungry.” Drayton asks, confused by Sissy’s words. 

“She’s pregnant, and ya' can't do anything about' it.” Sissy again spills the beans on my pregnancy, but now to the rest of the family. 

I look over at Johnny puasing my eating to see his reaction to Sissy not being able to keep anything to herself. “They'll find out sooner or later.” He just sinks further back into the chair, crossing his muscular arms under his chest, waiting for the onslaught of words from Drayton. 

Bubba, who is next to me, is the first to react. He places his large hand on top of his head and pats it, like if I were a puppy. He groans gleefully, I guess, letting me know that he is happy with the new addition. He can be a real gentle giant when there isn't anyone to murder. 

Cook has gone absolutely red as a tomato, while nubbins start snickering. "Oooh, J-Johnny, I-I-is in trouble.” It seems the night has gone his way for wanting drama.

"God, Damnit, boy, I knew this would happen. You can’t control yourself, can you? Always chasing tail, and now a baby.” Drayton stood up at the start of his rant but now has sat down, looking almost deafted.

“Your mother will go ballistic once she finds out.” Drayton points his finger at Johnny, warning him.

“Shut it, old man! You got nothing to worry about; it’s bout time; we’re all getting old, and we gotta keep the family going.” He counters Drayton's words. 

It looked like Nubbins wanted to say more, but with Johnny quickly standing up and leaving, it was pointless. 

Dinner practically finished up after that fight, and I just sat there silently, not sure what to do. I was supposed to help clean up, but I sneakily decided to go find Johnny. Anyway, with all the commotion still going on with Nubbins and Sissy messing with Drayton, it’s best I stay away. 

I check the front veranda; Johnny has a few smoke spots he always goes to: the front, the back garden, and his shed. But luckily, my first guess was right, as I found him sitting on the outdoor bench. While walking to him, he quickly puts on his smoke, squishing it under his boot. “Shouldn’t smoke around you anymore.” He grins at me, and just as I take a seat, he places his warm hand on my stomach. 

“The second I saw you, I knew you were the perfect girl to have my kid. So fucking pretty, I'm going to look after the both of you, I promise.” 

His words send tingles all throughout your body; it’s electrifying. You place your hand over his, smiling back at him.

“Soon you’re going to get real big, darlin’; ya tits are going to get nice and fat too.” He teases with humour, but a familiar, hungry look starts building in his eyes. 

As he inches closer to me, his large hand moves away from mine and glides up, grabbing a breast. He squeezes it firmly before starting to massage it. His warm breath is on my neck as he kisses right below my jaw. Wetness begins to pool in my panties. 

“Run up the stairs to your room and undress before I take you right here.” As much as I wanted to tease him, it’s better to listen, or he really would take me here, in any position too. He gets very creative when he's horny. 

I get up and leave, going to my room just as instructed. I closed the door behind me and set myself on the bed to undress. I wore a blue sundress today, so I just unzipped the side and let it slip right off. Leaving me in my white panties. Even though it didn’t take me long to undress, it wasn't quick enough for Johnny. He was already here, striding in and locking the door behind him, already semi-undressed too.

“Come on, darlin', only your panties left to go; take em off for me.” I happily obliged, hooking my fingers into the side, purposefully bending over, and sliding them down. 

I look back to see the bulge in his jeans while he takes them off. Now he is just as naked as me. I will never get tired of looking at his body. His large muscles, pecs, sprinkled on chest hair leading down to his happy trail—the sight of his scars always makes me throb. Fuck, he is gorgeous.

With my ogling, I fail to notice him getting closer. Wrapping his large arms around me, he whispers into my ear, “I want you to take a seat on my face while keeping your mouth busy with my cock.” He groans before going to lay down on the bed. This is a new position, and with only a little hesation, I gingerly climb over him, placing my legs on the side of his head. Before I sink down, he grabs my hips roughly, bringing my swollen heat to his mouth. 

I gasp as his tongue slides back and forth over my clit. I lean further down, grinding my wetness along his mouth needing more. His impressive cock, comes into view, precum leaking out; it’s red and aching to be sucked. 

I lick his tip timidly before taking his whole length, making a sloppy mess while focusing on his head, I hear him groan as I go deeper. His grunting sends small, delightful vibrations along my clit.

My muffled moans fill the room as he holds me in place, my aching pussy being devoured while I simultaneously suck off Johnny. I hallow out my cheeks, pinch my lips, and let my tongue slide along his shaft. Working extra hard to get him to finish first. 

It's difficult; he knows exactly how to get me off. He knows where I'm most sensitive and what feels best. My plans to make him cum first are starting to falter; I'm struggling to even keep myself steady. I put my tired arms on top of his muscular thighs, giving them a rest. I take a deep breath and continue to encompass his cock, swirling my tongue along the base. I’m a little sloppy with the rhythm now, but I don’t think he cares. 

I can feel my orgasm building as Johnny doesn’t even stop for air, still sucking and licking my clit with undying hunger. His grip on my hips still remains strong, making me unable to pull away. 

My limbs are starting to become sore. Needing him to finish, I start sucking his cock faster, my salvia drenching him, making it easier for it to slide along my tongue. My moans turn to whines as my own orgasm is right on the edge. 

I feel him twitch in my mouth while his groans continue from below. "Fuck, I’m gonna cum." I choked out, stopping to take a deep breath. 

Johnny slides his hands along my thighs as his tongue stays strong, massaging my clit, while keeping a steady pace.

I take his throbbing length back into my mouth right before my orgasm hits. The force of it makes my legs turn to jelly while I moan incoherently around him. I try to move away, my clit becoming increasingly sensative, but his hands grip back to my hips, holding me captive while he moves his hot tongue in my cunt, licking up my juices as he thrusts himself deeper down my throat. Not letting me until he cums. 

I’m a whimpering mess; my thighs squeeze his face while I lick and sucking, getting him closer so my poor pussy can have a break. 

My efforts were deemed successful as his cock started to twitch and stiffen. With my last lick, he spills himself. He groans as his cock pulsates while I swallow his whole load. With revenge, I continue to suck him, knowing he's going sensitive. He hisses and quickly pulls me off.

“Naughty girl,” he chuckles, slapping my ass hard.

I yelp from the harsh slap and roll my body to the side, recovering from the intense orgasm. Johnny, too, lays still panting. I move up and lay my head on his chest. He throws an arm around me as we both relax into each other. 

Before I knew it, I'd fallen asleep on his chest. 

It's in the middle of the night that I wake up to long, thick fingers inside me, thrusting in and out slowly. 

“You awake, baby?” Johnny asks, now teasing my hard clit with his thumb. I moan out in response, gripping the bedsheets.

"Yeah, does that feel good?" His whispers, his face moving into the crook of my neck, his hardness pressing up against me.

"Ah-ah.” I try to say yes, but it’s morphed into moans.

“Fuck, your tight baby girl, gonna' feel so good when I put it in. He groans while I spread my legs further apart from his words. I'm going to cum soon with the way he’s going.

Instead, he pulls his fingers back, slides over on top, and plunges his hard cock inside me. He slips his wet fingers into his mouth, tasting myself, while his cock goes further deep inside. 

I groan out while he stretches me. A mixture of sleepiness and arousal makes me clench around him. Johnny, in turn, pulls out his fingers, replacing them with his tongue and pushing it into my accepting mouth as he starts a fast rhythm, pounding into me.

All noise is blocked out, except for my moans and the slapping sound of his cock fucking in and out of my sopping hole. 

“I'm going to keep you on my cock forever.” He groans into my ear, grabbing onto my swinging chest. Groping the fatty flesh.

I whimper at the thought of being his cock slave, as if I weren’t already. 

He sits up, holding my hips tightly in one hand, and as the other goes to rub my clit, I hold my tits, stopping their swinging from his hard thrusts.

“I'm going to be full of milk soon.” I moan out, teasing him, thrusting back against his cock. I felt his cock twitch as he groans, knowing he's imaging my tits spilling milk. The hand that was squeezing my hip goes to squish a boob, swatting my hand away and pinching the nipple.

I throw my head back in ecstasy and wrap my legs around Johnny’s waist, getting closer to my second orgasm of the night. 

“Ya' gonna' cum on my cock, sweetheart?” He teases, rubbing my clit achingly slow.

I whine as he also starts to stop his thrusting, keeping me on edge. Repeatedly pulling himself fully out of my cunt and slowly pushing back in. 

Not giving in to his teasing, Johnny takes his cock and starts jerking it, leaving me feeling empty and frustrated. 

“Use your words, darlin'.” He groans out, now stopping his rubbing on my clit, only focusing on getting himself off. 

“Please! Please, I want to cum.” I moan wantonly, fucking desperate for him to continue.

It’s not enough; he is still waiting. 

 

“please daddy.” I moan, testing out a new nickname.

It does the trick as he groans deeply, gliding his hardness back inside me and thrusting away.

Relief floods me when his cock goes back into my aching heat. I’m so close to finishing. 

“I-I-I’m cumming!” I cry out as my pussy squeezes him tightly. My orgasm sends Johnny over the edge as he cums just as quickly inside me.

“Fuck yeah, baby, cum on daddy’s cock.” He moans out, shoving himself deeper. 

I whimper from the overly sensative feeling of being filled and having two orgasms in a short amount of time. 

It’s been a few weeks, and my bump has become more visible. It seems each day I just keep getting bigger and bigger. It does help my confidence that Johnny just can’t seem to keep his hands off me since I’ve become pregnant. It’s like the animal inside of him has changed. Becoming more protective and sex-hungry.

I won’t lie. Being pregnant has been a nice change; I’m doing less labour. Sissy considers me too delicate, and she doesn't want to stress the baby. Drayton has even been forcing Nubbins to actually clean up the messes he makes; he didn’t listen until Sissy and Johnny got on his ass about it too. Three against one, it took him to actually listen. It’s mainly bone scraps he leaves around, always making new traps. He even showed me how he makes him; it was impressive, especially how well they worked on the animals nearby. He explains that it was Grandpa who taught him everything he knows, from killing, slicing, and cleaning his blade, "back when Grandpa was still in his killing form." He told me enthusiastically. 

It’s hard to picture Grandpa in his so-called 'killing form', even if it was years ago. He's just so old and motionless, but with the way he enjoys his blood, I can understand that he may have been more ruthless than anyone here. 

Having less work has made me bored, only spending time in the lounge. I’ve been trying to find my stuff to do. I have no more clothes to patch up or anything to make. And I’ve cleaned so much that there is barely anything else to clean. I need to find something to do before I go crazy.

Johnny has noticed me being a little slumped, so he decided to bring inside some dead rabbits and teach me how to skin them. How lovey. Though it did cure my boredom, even if it was gross, and he did a much better job than me, he made it look so effortless. It was like it was his thousandth time doing it. Unfortunately, it probably was. During my time here, I learned that Johnny is an efficient hunter. The skulls of the animals and other people he killed are used as decorations in the house. 

Those rabbits that we skinned went into a crockpot meal with mashed potatoe; Sissy made it with a bunch of herbs and veggies from her greenhouse. You can't get this type of fresh food in the city. Not including people. 

I decided to try and work on my baking skills, asking Drayton if he could bring back some condensed milk so I could try to make some caramel fudge. He agreed; we already have butter and sugar, so it wasn't too much of an ask, and let’s just say my caramel fudge was a hit. Everyone has a surprising sweet tooth. Maybe not too surprising, as the pantry was stocked with tubs of chocolate drink powder. 

So now during the day, to help my boredom, I've been baking treats and deserts, and it's nice that everyone likes my baking. Even Johnny, who seemed like someone who hates sugar, eats up the sweets much like everyone else. Sissy always gets excited to see what I've made for dessert. She tells me it's become her favourite part of the day. 

Time goes by, and so I get even bigger. Including my chest, I think it's doubled in size; it’s embarrassing how big I’m getting. It doesn’t help that Nubbins snickers around me, poking fun at the size of his chest; he called me a cow one day, and sweet Bubba, who would do anything for his family, smacked Nubbins really hard on the back, making the lanky man tumble embarrassingly forward on the ground. which I've believed humbled him, as I got no more teasing after that.

Some of the spare clothes I’ve had that were modest are now very form-fitting and showy, just because of my growing size. Thankfully, there are old male button-up shirts that I can use to give myself some dignity. 

I don't even know why I worry about my dignity when I let Johnny strip me naked and put me in compromising positions. Thanks to my growing breasts, Johnny couldn’t seem to hold himself back, and now we've been fucking everywhere, more than before.

One moment I’m relaxing outside in the middle of the day, the next I’m nude, riding his cock on the old, ripped-out car seats out back near his shed. I have to hold on to his shoulders tightly because he's making me go. Moving me up and down. He does it purposefully because he likes watching my tits bounce. 

Being pregnant has made everything more sensitive. So when he places his mouth over my nipple and pinches the other, I almost cum. At least fucking outside, I get to be loud. I just hope no one is watching. 

But as I get closer to cumming, the less I care if anyone can see. I’m enjoying myself. So I throw my head back, and I grind down on Johnny while I peak. Milking his cock through my orgasm, he squeezes my chest, holds me down tightly, and fills me up with his hot cum.

Just as my chest grows, so does my ass, so a day later I’m on all fours, holding the headboard for dear life, trying to keep my moans low as Johnny slams into me from behind. He smacks my ass as I thrust back onto him. He grips the fat hard. Making sure this time I finish from his cock alone. Just as I came, he pulls out and pumps himself until he shoots his load over my clit  and pussy, making a mess. He reasons that since I'm pregnant, he can decorate me with his cum. He's especially loves shooting his cum over my face and chest. It's nice that he makes sure I have an orgasm right before he does.

Yes, all my assets may be growing; but most importantly, my stomach is too, With the baby getting bigger, Johnny's softer side comes out.

So now he has a pillow under my hips while he slowly ruts his cock while softly sucking my nipple. He slides his hand over my body, feeling all the curves. He slides his hands down and up my leg till he brings it over to my clit, rubbing it in delicate circles. I groan; going slow is new, but fuck, it still feels good to get pampered like this. 

 

“We’re not fucking like this all the time, are we?” I'm still addicted to the hard and fast fucking Johnny is known for. 

"Nah, Darlin, I just like the way you glow tonight and want it slow.” He says this while ironically speeding up, causing me to whimper.

As my orgasm gets closer, I hold his face in my hands and stare into his handsome eyes. “I love you, Johnny.” I pant out as I cum around him.

“I love you too, doll,” he responds, filling me up with his cum and kissing me hard.

[sunderingstars]

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✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ EIDOLONS ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— what the stars reveal: interpretative analysis, heavily aha!sampo

— word count: 3k (can you tell i'm an english major? :3)

— overview: (as of 2.3) hello and welcome back to sampo theory time! this time, i’ll be looking at his eidolons, their names & art, and how they might factor in to his overarching identity and story. there will be a few conclusions i reference in this post (like eidolons progressing in a linear narrative), so if you want more on that, i highly recommend reading my eidolon names as narratives and eidolon art as facets of character posts first! it’s not required reading though (god i sound like a professor) — otherwise, enjoy!

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To begin, I would like to humbly say this post will likely be the most nerdy thing I’ve ever posted in my life. I have written entire paragraphs about two singular words for this. Two words. And I have even more I can say about them! But anyways, just a heads up, this is the type of thing you’d probably see spoken by a stereotypical “nerd” archetype in a high school movie. But without further ado, let’s get started!

(Yes, I am sad that I still only have him at E2 despite pulling every time he’s on a banner. And both of these are from event character selectors :))

My main thesis for this analysis is that Sampo’s eidolons follow a similar narrative structure to other eidolon sets in that they start with his backstory and progress to the present (and open-ended future) of where we are in the story; additionally, the placement of these names with the facets of his eidolon art add to further implications for his personality and development. This can lend itself to multiple of my theories — the main ones I will be interpreting for are Aha!Sampo, Emanator!Sampo / Functional Aha, and Dual Consciousness!Sampo.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ AHA!SAMPO ⌝

Starting with Aha!Sampo, I interpret these eidolons as beginning at his “rise” to Aeonhood, then following through to him “spending” some kind of cost in the present/future for whatever his plans are. 

“Rising Love,” his E1, has two important components — “rising” and “love.” “Rising” seems the most obvious to me, as Aeons have been referenced to “fall” before, so it makes sense that they would also be able to “rise.” Additionally, Himeko has explained that Aeons “ascended from the form of intelligent beings” (Parlor Car Dialogue); beyond “ascend” being a direct synonym of “rise,” this shows that Aeons can come from physical and perhaps even humanoid beings. In fact, Aha’s lore in the data bank, while not explicitly stating that Aha used to be mortal, implies the “climbing” of the tree of existence and laughing, which is a very human act. (However, it is good to keep in mind that this is a parable told by the Masked Fools, and given the nature of Elation factions may not be entirely truthful.) In this way, “ascend” and “rise” may be interchangeable, and the “birth” of an Aeon could also refer to the “rise” of a mortal to Aeonic status.

Next is “love.” For this we need to think not as followers of a Path, but as an Aeon Themself. While it may be easy to think “If he’s Aha, it should say rising elation” — 1. That might be a bit too obvious from a writing standpoint and 2. From an Aeonic perspective, Aha may very well view “Elation” as “love.” They may view spreading Laughter throughout the universe as the ultimate form of love, and as such “rising love” could refer to the rising of a being capable of dispersing “love” (Elation) on a wide scale throughout the universe.

After the ascension, or “rise,” to Aeonhood comes Sampo’s E2, “Infectious Enthusiasm.” This is one of the more obvious ones in my opinion, as “infectious” implies a status capable of imposing itself on others — influencing them in ways that are perhaps beyond mortal comprehension — and “enthusiasm” is closely linked to “Elation” both in wording (starting with the letter E) and in connotation. “Enthusiasm” and “Elation” are both high-energy words, carrying the idea of excitement and even mania. I would view this as “Aha proper,” in which Sampo has come into his full identity as an Aeon and is thus capable of dispersing “infectious enthusiasm” onto others (Pathstriders). (Aha is also directly described as having “infectious enthusiasm” in the Simulated Universe!)

“Big Money!”, his E3, is particularly interesting to me because it seems like an intrusion — a departure from the other, more grounded names. The exclamation mark especially lends itself to the exact kind of “infectious enthusiasm” present in his E2, to some kind of encroachment on his previous mortal existence. This ties into my compulsory existence theory, in which Aeons by nature live in a sort of compulsive state, needing to adhere to their given “concept” just by virtue of existence; this is heavily influenced by the game’s discussion of “Primum Mobile”s, or the idea of “restrictions” that come from existing as an Aeon. Aeons that ascend from mortal beings would experience the brunt of this, as their previous state would essentially be overwritten by this eldritch, compulsive concept. 

I think “Big Money!” could symbolize such a change in Sampo. After ascending to Aeonhood from a potentially mortal form, intrusive thoughts of Elation encroach on his very being — the feeling of momentary thrill, of “Big Money!” — likely leading him into his next state: “the deeper the love, the stronger the hate”.

I’m not going to lie, I’m absolutely in love with the name for Sampo’s E4. It links back to so many aspects of his character in a way that sets up an amazing juxtaposition between his outward appearance and inward feelings in so few words! For me, “The Deeper The Love, The Stronger The Hate” highly relates to compulsory existence. As we see in Aha’s splash art, the smiling masks — the Elation, the “Love” — are always at the front in the spotlight, while the frowning masks — the sadness, the “Hate” — tend to be obscured in the background by shadow. 

In a compulsory existence, I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to constantly be forced into performing a singular emotion or concept. In all likelihood, these negative emotions are barely able be felt at all, leading to extremely repressed layers of fear, anger, sadness and, yes, “hate.” “The stronger the love” — the stronger the Elation — means more repression, more hiding, a stronger fermentation of despising one’s own existence lingering in the background like shadowed masks — “the stronger the hate.” In this way, I believe Sampo’s E4 may convey this dual existence, of an existence where one side is so deeply, powerfully out-of-proportion with the other that any emotion from the other side is left to fester unchecked below the surface. 

(Note: The name could also be referencing the talent level-up, which would show the self-aware aspect of his character. This would apply to his E5 as well.)

This hate, of course, is then covered up by “Huuuuge Money!” (E5), because we can’t have those feelings swirling around in a being of pure Elation, can we? they must be taken out with the trash, overshadowed with yet another encroachment of exclamation marks and the thrill of sudden gains. After Sampo’s rise to Aeonhood, it must’ve been a constant battle between these underlying negative feelings and his compulsory, Elated existence — and given the linear progression of most eidolons, this must’ve been a pattern that repeated for millennia, over and over and over again, one he can never escape or solve. Perhaps it still is. 

Which is why, in his E6 “Increased Spending,” I believe Sampo may be “paying a cost” to try to alleviate this issue. Whether by becoming mortal, sectioning off his power to others, passing along his title, or any other number of potential solutions I don’t know, but I feel like he is turning his compulsive nature of Elation to the thrill of the “cost” in the hope of changing some part of this ever-chaotic, ever-stagnating existence. Either that, or it is to further a master plan we the audience don’t know about.

Overall, in terms of Aha!Sampo, I interpret these eidolons of tracking his rise to Aeonhood through his compulsory existence and fermenting self-hatred, all the way to “increased spending” trying to find a way around this problem.

Now, let’s take this a step further and add his eidolon art into the mix. This is where I’ll start to get into some of the conclusions I discussed in my eidolon art as facets of character post.

E1 (Rising Love): Keeping in mind “rising” as potentially referring to the rise of an Aeon and “love” as potentially referring to Aha’s idea of Elation, I see this figure as an ascending or untouchable silhouette; “walking” (or perhaps more aptly, climbing) into a new role. It also creates a distance between a potential “past” mortal form and a “current” Aeonic or ascended one.

E2 (Infectious Enthusiasm): I find it so interesting that “Infectious Enthusiasm” was chosen for the eye-centered eidolon. Since “Infectious Enthusiasm” is so, well, Aha-coded, this matches with the conclusions of first impressions and inciting incident from my eidolon art post. I believe this eye is meant to represent the first true “glimpse” of Aha people get — it is very close to the face without being too personal. It also spotlights Sampo’s unique facial features, mainly the almost condescending furrow of his brow. However, the eye itself has deep shadows, most likely referencing the dual hate within his being. This would be the “inciting incident” of Sampo in his Aeonhood proper, at the height of his power.

(Note: “Infectious” + the focus of an eye may further imply the presence of a “gaze” and the ability to distribute power in an Aeonic way.)

E3 (Big Money!): E3s are by far the most character-specific eidolon, with each character interacting with an important object to them. I feel like money is only fitting for Sampo, since it matches both the eidolon name and his obsession with making money. It very much leans into the “con-man” aspect of his character, and would make sense as the way acquaintances or those he keeps at arm’s length would view him (probably his customers).

I also find it extremely interesting how he is looking down. We see this a lot throughout his mannerisms and idles, with him always seeming to have a condescension that looks “down” on others below him. While this could be just another facet of his character, it also matches up with the way an Aeon may view the mortals around them — no matter how close They get to someone, that someone will always be “below” Them. It’s not even a conscious decision, just a natural byproduct of Aeonic existence, much like casting Their gaze down to bestow power on Pathstriders. Whether Sampo has become truly mortal at this point or not, it’s probably a bad habit to kick regardless. (I would also love to point out how him looking down at the money is also reminiscent of this (albeit more nostalgic and “loving”) face he makes towards Sparkle, a whole human being:)

E4 (The Deeper The Love, The Stronger The Hate): Here, we zoom in even more on his personality. Beyond the superficial impressions people get from seeing him at a glance, we have now entered a more complex emotional understanding — his eye, unlike in his E2, is more faded and shadowed, the hand scratching his head and his smile pointing towards a sort of “act” he puts on for others. This shows multiple dimensions of him: both the charismatic, smiling con-man, and the hatred lurking beneath that façade’s surface. This would be in a more present timeline, highlighting his “fake” and mysterious nature as well as how he is portrayed to people who know him better like friends. It shows a clear dissatisfaction with the façade he has to put up; whether the “love” is also a true emotion to him is up for debate, but either way this eidolon has him balancing between these two sides of his being (potentially balancing between an eldritch and mortal consciousness, or dealing with the aftermath and residual power of a past Aeonhood). (He also seems to be looking down at the spot the masks would match up with if the silhouette was looking down in Aha’s splash art — it is possible that this “hate” refers to the hate he has for his power or the power of the masks. Or, perhaps, this looking down is a general way to symbolize a being of higher power looking down on those below them like Pathstriders.)

E5 (Huuuuge Money!): This eidolon is more casual and comfortable than the others — there seems to be no dual-sided hate, nor does there seem to be as prominent of a focus on obsessive moneymaking in the art itself (the name is a different story). Instead, the main focus is drawn to Sampo’s outfit, the moniker of his existence in Belobog. The upper half of his face is still cut off, but the art seems to be hinting at a potential comfortability in Belobog, as well as the future mystery of his true identity (and if he will choose “Sampo Koski” as his real self). I actually love this combination, because it shows how Sampo may be at his most casual in Belobog; it’s clear he’s made real connections with the people there, and regardless of his motives, it seems to be a place he deeply cares about. This would be his appearance to close friends, most likely those aforementioned connections in Belobog like Natasha or Seele. (However, the looming encroachment of “Huuuuge Money!” still hangs in the air, perhaps signaling a bigger issue with Aeonic consciousness persisting despite his best efforts.)

E6 (Increased Spending): Finally, we get to the core essence of Sampo’s being. This is him at his most vulnerable, his appearance to only a select few special people. His head is tilted, his neck bared, showing clear trust and confidence in this position. The main thing of note here is the similarities between E6 and Aha’s splash art — the same pose and build with a different tilt.

This would mean that Sampo’s identity as Aha is his most vulnerable form of being — the fact of others knowing who he truly is, of wading through his personable exterior to reach the truth at the core of him, is a privilege only a trusted few get. This most likely points towards the “cost” implied by “increased spending,” the idea that, for whatever reason, Sampo’s true identity being revealed at the wrong time or too soon would put him in a less-than-ideal situation. As such, it is something he holds close to his chest (at least in Belobog) either willingly or unwillingly. (Note: This could also reference a past identity as Aha, it does not necessarily have to be something he experiences currently.)

It also shows that the silhouette in the splash art is the “core essence” of either Sampo, Aha, or both. Beyond the masks (much like Sampo’s façade) lies a deeper, truer version of who Aha is. The true Sampo is not the masks or the smiles or the laughs, but the shadowed figure beyond them, the silhouette that holds the hidden emotions of an Aeon.

I would also like to point out that, on the whole, Sampo’s eidolons (and kit in general) focuses on damage over time. Interpretations can be varied, but I personally like to think this further references the idea of “cost,” and that staying in mortal form as Sampo may be hurting him over time just like his DOTs affect others!

Overall, the art for these eidolons paired with the names create a fuller picture of who Sampo might be and what he might be hiding. There are a lot of hidden clues and implications that can be applied to several different interpretations, and I tried to account for multiple in my analysis! The standouts for me are his E2, E3, and E6, but that’s just because of personal preference. Before I conclude, I want to briefly interpret these eidolons for some non-Aha!Sampo theories.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ ALTERNATIVE INTERPRETATIONS ⌝

There are other interpretations to be had, namely Emanator!Sampo and Dual Consciousness!Sampo. Many of the points I made for Aha!Sampo can be applied to Emanator!Sampo, as we know Aha is both capable and willing to give others entire mastery over Their path for shits and giggles. It is possible that Sampo, as either an Emanator or a “functional” Aha or both, could have a similar “rise,” “infection,” and compulsory existence as a result of Emanator status. Additionally, any kind of dual consciousness where Aha is trying to impose Their will on Sampo could contribute to the constant push-and-pull of two schools of emotions — even minds. We could read this as a more literal encroachment of Aha on Sampo’s mindspace, quite literally trying to force Elation into his brain while Sampo’s consciousness fights back. In this way, the “love” and “hate” mentioned could refer to more of Sampo’s feelings towards Aha as a separate or encroaching entity, rather than himself or his own existence.

(Note: This could also work for Aha!Sampo where Aha’s power & status is passed down or won like a sort of crown or title — a “mask” if you will — and Sampo is the latest inheritor/receiver of it. The eidolons would then track from a more recent experience of receiving power and dealing with the encroachment that comes with it. I think it would also lend to much more fear and confusion as this new existence would be a stark departure from Sampo’s previous mortal life.)

(Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: This could also work with a “transformation” theory where Sampo’s more human form and his eldritch-Aha counterpart have two distinct mind spaces, and the “encroachment” of “Big Money!” and “Huuuuge Money!” could be indicative of the literal mental change that happens when he transforms, leading to increased spending (or the “cost”) of him trying to stay in human form as much as possible because he doesn’t like what he becomes when he changes.)

(Note 3: I promise this is the last one: It is also possible that Aha has sectioned off these feelings of “hate” into a separate being — i.e. Sampo — and “The Deeper The Love, The Stronger The Hate” shows that how despite being separate physical beings, Aha and Sampo share an emotional space in which the “love” of Aha directly influences the severity of the “hate” in Sampo. Just a thought.)

Anyways, I find these eidolons super cool! I love how Sampo flips through his bills in his E3 and how his E6 mirrors the silhouette in Aha’s splash art. Even if the Aha! or Emanator!Sampo theories don’t end up being true, there’s some really cool psychological stuff going on that could speak broadly to his relationship with money, gambling, and his own self-image.

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ if you read this far, thank you for doing so! it means a lot to me when people take the time to listen to my silly little theories, so yes, thank you! if you have anything else you want to add or if you just want to talk about these theories (which i am happy to do at literally any time) my askbox is open! hope you enjoyed my nerdy rambling :3

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© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

tom is my tall baby girl so more about tom here 🥹

Mechanical

Tom Wambsgans x fem!Reader

Oneshot

Summary: you finally get your husband to take a break.

ahh I’ve been wanting to write for Tom so badly!! thank you so much for requesting <3 very fluffy, very feel-good. enjoy and let me know what you think x

Word Count: 2.872k

“Tom, you’re doing it again,” you murmur gently, poking his jaw. He’d zoned out as you’d been telling him about your day. He only did that when he was stressed. No, you don’t like it, but you can’t hold it against him. He was so perfect and attentive normally. He deserved to have you be the same when he was upset.

“I’m sorry, honey. Tell me, I’m listening.” He sets his head on your thigh and looks up at you expectantly. You’re perched on the couch, him on the floor so you can easily play with his hair and scratch at his scalp.

“I think you need it more than me.” You use your knuckle to gently stroke up his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

He leans into your touch. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about me.”

“I know you well enough to know when you’re lying,” you murmur. “I’ll always listen to what you have to say.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It’s so trivial. You shouldn’t have to worry about my work.”

“Well, regardless, I’m going to be worrying about you.” You’d begun to trace his features with your thumb, his eyes fluttering shut. “And I’m worried.”

“How’d I get so lucky with you?” He sighs. “It’s nothing serious, really. It’s just so much to do, every day, back to back. It all just keeps piling up.”

“Take a day off,” you suggest. “Stay home with me tomorrow.” You’d weaseled your way out of work tomorrow, and you’d be damned if you didn’t stay home and do absolutely nothing with your husband.

“You think that’ll help?”

“Hopefully it will.” You gently stroke his bottom lip. “Spend the day in bed, on the couch. Pawn off all your work to someone else.”

He laughs. “You’re cruel.”

“No more than you.” You lean down, gently kissing him. “Tommy, baby, come on.” You make a face at him, your features softening.

“You know I can’t say no to you.” He kisses your knee. “I’ll call in sick tomorrow.” He gets to his feet, sliding onto the couch and hoisting you to sit comfortably in his lap. “And take you out on a nice date.”

You stay like that for a long while, watching something on the TV. It doesn’t take long for you to start nodding off, face buried in Tom’s chest.

“Honey, go to bed,” he murmurs gently in your ear, mouth then going to press soft kisses to your forehead.

“Come with me,” you murmur back.

“I’ll join you, I promise. I’m still in my suit.” He takes his tie and pokes you with its tail end. You’re already in pajamas- you get home earlier than Tom does. You burrow under the covers, sighing contentedly at the cool touch of the sheets to your skin. You lie on your side, sinking into the mattress.

You can hear Tom going about his nightly routine in the bathroom, washing his face, brushing his teeth. Now, you’re falling in and out of consciousness, desperately trying to hold on until Tom gets into bed with you.

You don’t have to wait that much longer. The mattress dips on his side of the bed as he climbs in after you, it leveling back out when he’s laid down. He reaches out to you, also lying on his side, and you don’t hesitate scooting closer. One arm curls around your waist, the other allowing his hand to rest on the back of your head, both pulling you close. His lips brush against your brow, kissing you hello. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you bury your head into his chest.

His large palm massages soothing circles into the small of your back, and you can feel yourself slipping away. You want to say something, but you know no words will come out. Instead, you take his chin and bring his mouth to yours. You share a tender, loving kiss that tells him all the things you can’t. I love you, I love you, I’ll never stop loving you.

He makes a soft noise, pulling you tighter against him, fingers winding through your hair.

Before you know it, the warm morning light is peeping through your half open blinds. In your sleep, Tom had managed to get himself completely on top of you, cheek pressed against your chest. His breathing is deep, slow, his sleep peaceful. You take your hand and gently stroke the nape of his neck. He murmurs in his sleep, shoulders relaxing.

You drift in and out of consciousness, Tom a comforting weight settled atop of you.

You wake up fully an hour later, Tom no longer next to you. An appetizing, inviting smell wafts into your bedroom, and you slide out of bed groggily. After rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad into the kitchen and silently wrap your arms around Tom from behind. You press your cheek into his back, closing your eyes and sighing happily.

Tom startles slightly, turning in your arms to steal a glance at you. He deposits a kiss in your hair before turning back to whatever’s on the stove. “Good morning, honey.”

You plant a kiss in between his shoulder blades before nuzzling your face into his back. You can feel his muscles flex at your touch, relaxing after a moment. “Good morning. What’re you making?” Your voice comes out quiet and soft around the edges.

“Just an omelette. You can have it, I’ll make another.” With a flick of his wrist, it’s plated, and he’s pushing the plate into your hands. “Go eat. I’ll be right there.”

Reluctantly, you oblige. You don’t want to leave his side, but your stomach is growling. Minutes later, he pulls the chair next to you as close as it can to you yourself. You both eat quietly, just happy to be in each other’s company.

“I have something fun planned for us today,” he tells you in between bites. “Dress pretty, okay? We have to go at two.”

You finish your food, then lean over to kiss him. “I thought I told you to take a break. To relax a little.”

He grins. “This is me relaxing. I’m happiest when you’re happy, especially when it’s because of me. Spoiling you is like therapy.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Spoiling me?” You grin back.

“Well, if it’s not obvious that it’s what I’m doing, then I need to turn it up,” he says, hand brushing against your thigh.

The two of you spend the rest of your morning trying to fix your broken dishwasher. You could both easily afford a hundred mechanics to fix it in a matter of hours, but Tom was adamant he could do it himself.

“Baby, I did this all the time as a kid with my dad. We were a well oiled machine.” He’s sitting on the floor, neck craned as he peers into the dishwasher, fiddling with a screwdriver somewhere in the washer’s insides. “The drain is probably just clogged.”

You’re sat next to him, following his gaze, your hands braced on his knee. “I love you, Tom, but I don’t think you know where the drain is.” He leans back against the cabinets, fingers smoothing over a knick he’d given himself exploring the dishwasher.

“Can you get my phone and Google it?”

When you slide back onto the floor at his side, dissecting the ‘how-to’ now pulled up on his phone, he sighs defeatedly.

“Why are there so many different panels?” he asks incredulously, peeping over your shoulder. “It’s a fucking dishwasher, not a bomb.”

You continue to scroll through the information, leaning against him. “I mean, based off all the junk in it, you could make a bomb out of it.”

“I think it’d be easier to do that than fix the damn thing,” he grumbles.

“We can always just hire someone, honey,” you remind him gently.

Tom makes a face at you, frowning. “Absolutely not. I can do this myself.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m very sure,” he says distractedly, taking the phone from you and readjusting his body so that he can work easier. “Honey, go do something you actually want to do. I’ll come when it’s time to go, okay?”

You crawl over and plant a kiss on his lips before he disappears into the dishwasher. “Good luck.”

When one comes around, you’re still on your own. You’re catching up on some reading on the couch, the suns rays spread through the living room. Since you need to leave at two, you decide to put the book down and start getting ready. On your side of the closet was a floor length mirror Tom had gotten you as a gift. You liked sitting on the rug you’d laid in front of it and do your makeup. You were so absorbed in your own little world that you didn’t hear Tom at all on his side of the closet.

You take your time, humming to yourself. Once you’ve finished, you get to your feet and find that one dress you know he loves you in. He thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous in every instance of time, but there was something about this in particular that drove him wild. You step into your favorite pair of heels, then out of the closet and into the hall.

“Tom? Are you ready?”

“I’m sorry, honey, just a moment. Go wait in the car for me?” He brushes lightly past you, tucking his dress pants into his slacks and gently giving your cheek a kiss. “You know what? No, just wait here. I want to walk with you.”

After he finds his socks and shoes, he has your hand in his and is leading you to the car. He doesn’t let you lift a finger, opening the passenger door and helping you in so you don’t face plant on the asphalt because of your heels. He holds your hand over the center console, refusing to be without your touch for more than the few moments it took him to round the car and get in the driver’s seat.

He has your hand raised to his lips, absentmindedly kissing at your knuckles over and over again. He drives, one hand on the wheel, glancing at you every so often.

He’s taken you to a nice, quiet park not too far from your home. “Tom, you said dress pretty. You let me wear heels to a park?”

Your hand is tucked into the inside of his elbow, and he uses his free hand to gently stroke yours. “I wanted you to feel pretty. I feel good if you feel good,” he murmurs, smiling down at you. He bumps his hip with yours as you walk.

Eventually, you come across a small gazebo that sits over the lake in the middle of the park. You walk to the railing of the gazebo, Tom trailing behind you, his hand a ghost on the small of your back.

It’s a beautiful sight. The water glitters as the sunlight reflects off of the surface, the water suspiciously clear and blue for New York. A small table for two is set in the middle of the gazebo, and in your periphery, you see Tom pluck something from one of the seats. When his hand finally makes solid contact on your back, he prods you gently to turn.

He’s holding a bouquet of flowers, the same type you had in the bouquet in your wedding. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”

“You cheeseball.” You tilt his head down and kiss him.

There’s a picnic hamper set by the table, and you’re sure Tom has filled it with more snacks than things worthy to be deemed an actual meal. He pulls out your chair for you, tucking you under the table as if you weigh nothing at all. He fishes Tupperware containing chocolate covered strawberries from the hamper setting it out between you both. You take a bite from one, the chocolate cracking and breaking off of the strawberry. You catch the fallen crumbs of chocolate, a dreamy smile gracing Tom’s face as he watches you. His eyes twinkle with affection, pure adoration. They’re soft around the edges, the corners wrinkling with a gentle joy as you both take in the moment. Take in each other. He reaches across the table and wipes away a bit of stray strawberry juice from the corner of your mouth.

“I’m so thankful you made me take the day off,” he says, taking your hand in his. “We haven’t done this in a while.” He uses his other hand to lay out more tins of Tupperware full of various picnic foods from finger sandwiches to more chocolate fruit. “I’ve missed staring creepily at you.” He brings the back of your hand to his lips, kissing gently.

“I miss you too, when we’re both at work.” You’re both eating, fingers twined together. The soft sounds of the lake’s tide on the shore was music to your ears, and the world was so, so peacefully quiet. You inspect his hand, your fingers dancing over his wedding ring. “I can’t get over this.”

“I like it.” He disentangles his fingers from yours, instead holding his hand out for you to see. “I get to carry a part of you with me everywhere that I go. When things get… when things get difficult, I look at my ring, remember you have one too… remember that I get to go home to you. And then everything is fine.”

You both stare at each other, the two of you so madly head over heels for each other. It was so evident just by the way he looked at you, and you pray he sees the same thing when he looks into your eyes.

“About the dishwasher.” You have to fight off a laugh. He’s also staving one off, but he continues. “I know you just want to hire a guy, but I swear, I’m so close to figuring out what’s wrong. I promise.”

“If you say so.”

You spend the next few hours just talking. You could do this for the rest of your life, just sitting here, staring at him as he talks. Tom’s animated, passionate about everything he says. You love watching the little flickers of emotion across his face, how his expressions change. You find him both adorable and ridiculously hot.

You’re there until the sun sets, when you both reluctantly decide you have to get up and go home. You walk slowly back to the car, Tom’s arm wound right around your shoulder. He rubs up and down your arm, trying to soothe you from the beginnings of a shiver- the breeze is becoming a wind.

Once you do get to the car, you don’t leave immediately. You both sit, side by side, both your arms wrapped around his one and your head set on the side of his shoulder. He kisses the crown of your head before burying his face into your hair, heaving a sigh laced with fatigue and strain.

“Stay home tomorrow, too, Tom. You need it.”

“You won’t be with me.” You can feel his lips twist into a frown, as if this was a no brainer.

“Tomorrow’s Friday. We have the weekend right after. As your wife, I’m demanding it. You need a nice, long break.”

He gives one last kiss to your forehead before pulling away and starting the engine.

“What you say goes.”

Tom complains the entire next morning, doing his damnest to get you to call in sick. When you don’t give in, and after you plant a final kiss on his lips, he gives up, waving you off with a loving smile on his face.

The workday is slow, as always, and you make sure to check in on Tom periodically. He’s gone to the grocery store- you’d gotten him to start going after the two of you had gotten together, and he loved it, for some reason. He texts you asking if you want to try various different snacks, but you know he’s bringing home your favorite regardless.

When you get home, you find him lying on the couch, grinning to himself. When Tom sees you, his face lights up, and he opens an arm out to you. You slide onto the couch, into his embrace, and kiss him.

“It’s been lonely without you,” he tells you matter-of-factly. “But,” he continues, “I got the fucking dishwasher fixed. All on my own, like I said I would!”

You can’t help but laugh at his pure joy. “I’m proud of you. But,” you mimic, “it took you two weeks.”

“Oh, it’s fixed now, so what’s it matter?” He pulls you closer.

“Okay, whatever. You’re my very own live in mechanical engineer.” You relax in his arms, letting the tension of the day go. “What was it, anyway?”

“The spray bars were all mucked up. They were so clogged no water could go through.” He taps the side of his temple. “Figured it out myself.“

You laugh again before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Good job, honey. I appreciate you.”

“I’ll start taking more days off,” he murmurs, changing the subject. “Just for you.”