#hannah did it as a cover

[jaimeski]

in desperate need of a c!hannah spider-man au

say less

[borplecolored]

another finger curls on the monkey's paw

god gives his silliest battles to his strongest of clowns

it's the climb!

it's [day of the week]!

it is what it is

roll for constitution

and the wheel keeps turning

the eternal cylinder

i think it's time for the big hammer

i need a soda

funny phrases to use when something goes wrong instead of jokingly saying "i'm going to kms":

i'm going to kill god

i'm going to delete my blog

i'm going to explode

i'm going to blow up this entire website

i'm going to become the joker

this is going to be my villain origin story

i'm being so brave about it

fuck it we ball

god had to nerf me because i was too powerful

i'm too pretty for this

all according to plan

feel free to add on

[yeoldenews]

A Guide to Historically Accurate Regency-Era Names

I recently received a message from a historical romance writer asking if I knew any good resources for finding historically accurate Regency-era names for their characters.

Not knowing any off the top of my head, I dug around online a bit and found there really isn’t much out there. The vast majority of search results were Buzzfeed-style listicles which range from accurate-adjacent to really, really, really bad.

I did find a few blog posts with fairly decent name lists, but noticed that even these have very little indication as to each name’s relative popularity as those statistical breakdowns really don't exist.

I began writing up a response with this information, but then I (being a research addict who was currently snowed in after a blizzard) thought hey - if there aren’t any good resources out there why not make one myself?

As I lacked any compiled data to work from, I had to do my own data wrangling on this project. Due to this fact, I limited the scope to what I thought would be the most useful for writers who focus on this era, namely - people of a marriageable age living in the wealthiest areas of London.

So with this in mind - I went through period records and compiled the names of 25,000 couples who were married in the City of Westminster (which includes Mayfair, St. James and Hyde Park) between 1804 to 1821.

So let’s see what all that data tells us…

To begin - I think it’s hard for us in the modern world with our wide and varied abundance of first names to conceive of just how POPULAR popular names of the past were.

If you were to take a modern sample of 25-year-old (born in 1998) American women, the most common name would be Emily with 1.35% of the total population. If you were to add the next four most popular names (Hannah, Samantha, Sarah and Ashley) these top five names would bring you to 5.5% of the total population. (source: Social Security Administration)

If you were to do the same survey in Regency London - the most common name would be Mary with 19.2% of the population. Add the next four most popular names (Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah and Jane) and with just 5 names you would have covered 62% of all women.

To hit 62% of the population in the modern survey it would take the top 400 names.

The top five Regency men’s names (John, William, Thomas, James and George) have nearly identical statistics as the women’s names.

I struggled for the better part of a week with how to present my findings, as a big list in alphabetical order really fails to get across the popularity factor and also isn’t the most tumblr-compatible format. And then my YouTube homepage recommended a random video of someone ranking all the books they’d read last year - and so I present…

The Regency Name Popularity Tier List

The Tiers

S+ - 10% of the population or greater. There is no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. 52% of the population had one of these 7 names.

S - 2-10%. There is still no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. Names in this percentage range in the past have included Mary and William in the 1880s and Jennifer in the late 1970s (topped out at 4%).

A - 1-2%. The top five modern names usually fall in this range. Kids with these names would probably include their last initial in class to avoid confusion. (1998 examples: Emily, Sarah, Ashley, Michael, Christopher, Brandon.)

B - .3-1%. Very common names. Would fall in the top 50 modern names. You would most likely know at least 1 person with these names. (1998 examples: Jessica, Megan, Allison, Justin, Ryan, Eric)

C - .17-.3%. Common names. Would fall in the modern top 100. You would probably know someone with these names, or at least know of them. (1998 examples: Chloe, Grace, Vanessa, Sean, Spencer, Seth)

D - .06-.17%. Less common names. In the modern top 250. You may not personally know someone with these names, but you’re aware of them. (1998 examples: Faith, Cassidy, Summer, Griffin, Dustin, Colby)

E - .02-.06%. Uncommon names. You’re aware these are names, but they are not common. Unusual enough they may be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Calista, Skye, Precious, Fabian, Justice, Lorenzo)

F - .01-.02%. Rare names. You may have heard of these names, but you probably don’t know anyone with one. Extremely unusual, and would likely be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Emerald, Lourdes, Serenity, Dario, Tavian, Adonis)

G - Very rare names. There are only a handful of people with these names in the entire country. You’ve never met anyone with this name.

H - Virtually non-existent. Names that theoretically could have existed in the Regency period (their original source pre-dates the early 19th century) but I found fewer than five (and often no) period examples of them being used in Regency England. (Example names taken from romance novels and online Regency name lists.)

Just to once again reinforce how POPULAR popular names were before we get to the tier lists - statistically, in a ballroom of 100 people in Regency London: 80 would have names from tiers S+/S. An additional 15 people would have names from tiers A/B and C. 4 of the remaining 5 would have names from D/E. Only one would have a name from below tier E.

Women's Names

S+ Mary, Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah      

S - Jane, Mary Ann+, Hannah, Susannah, Margaret, Catherine, Martha, Charlotte, Maria

A - Frances, Harriet, Sophia, Eleanor, Rebecca

B - Alice, Amelia, Bridget~, Caroline, Eliza, Esther, Isabella, Louisa, Lucy, Lydia, Phoebe, Rachel, Susan

C - Ellen, Fanny*, Grace, Henrietta, Hester, Jemima, Matilda, Priscilla

D - Abigail, Agnes, Amy, Augusta, Barbara, Betsy*, Betty*, Cecilia, Christiana, Clarissa, Deborah, Diana, Dinah, Dorothy, Emily, Emma, Georgiana, Helen, Janet^, Joanna, Johanna, Judith, Julia, Kezia, Kitty*, Letitia, Nancy*, Ruth, Winifred>

E - Arabella, Celia, Charity, Clara, Cordelia, Dorcas, Eve, Georgina, Honor, Honora, Jennet^, Jessie*^, Joan, Joyce, Juliana, Juliet, Lavinia, Leah, Margery, Marian, Marianne, Marie, Mercy, Miriam, Naomi, Patience, Penelope, Philadelphia, Phillis, Prudence, Rhoda, Rosanna, Rose, Rosetta, Rosina, Sabina, Selina, Sylvia, Theodosia, Theresa

F - (selected) Alicia, Bethia, Euphemia, Frederica, Helena, Leonora, Mariana, Millicent, Mirah, Olivia, Philippa, Rosamund, Sybella, Tabitha, Temperance, Theophila, Thomasin, Tryphena, Ursula, Virtue, Wilhelmina

G - (selected) Adelaide, Alethia, Angelina, Cassandra, Cherry, Constance, Delilah, Dorinda, Drusilla, Eva, Happy, Jessica, Josephine, Laura, Minerva, Octavia, Parthenia, Theodora, Violet, Zipporah

H - Alberta, Alexandra, Amber, Ashley, Calliope, Calpurnia, Chloe, Cressida, Cynthia, Daisy, Daphne, Elaine, Eloise, Estella, Lilian, Lilias, Francesca, Gabriella, Genevieve, Gwendoline, Hermione, Hyacinth, Inez, Iris, Kathleen, Madeline, Maude, Melody, Portia, Seabright, Seraphina, Sienna, Verity

Men's Names

S+ John, William, Thomas

S - James, George, Joseph, Richard, Robert, Charles, Henry, Edward, Samuel

A - Benjamin, (Mother’s/Grandmother’s maiden name used as first name)#

B - Alexander^, Andrew, Daniel, David>, Edmund, Francis, Frederick, Isaac, Matthew, Michael, Patrick~, Peter, Philip, Stephen, Timothy

C - Abraham, Anthony, Christopher, Hugh>, Jeremiah, Jonathan, Nathaniel, Walter

D - Adam, Arthur, Bartholomew, Cornelius, Dennis, Evan>, Jacob, Job, Josiah, Joshua, Lawrence, Lewis, Luke, Mark, Martin, Moses, Nicholas, Owen>, Paul, Ralph, Simon

E - Aaron, Alfred, Allen, Ambrose, Amos, Archibald, Augustin, Augustus, Barnard, Barney, Bernard, Bryan, Caleb, Christian, Clement, Colin, Duncan^, Ebenezer, Edwin, Emanuel, Felix, Gabriel, Gerard, Gilbert, Giles, Griffith, Harry*, Herbert, Humphrey, Israel, Jabez, Jesse, Joel, Jonas, Lancelot, Matthias, Maurice, Miles, Oliver, Rees, Reuben, Roger, Rowland, Solomon, Theophilus, Valentine, Zachariah

F - (selected) Abel, Barnabus, Benedict, Connor, Elijah, Ernest, Gideon, Godfrey, Gregory, Hector, Horace, Horatio, Isaiah, Jasper, Levi, Marmaduke, Noah, Percival, Shadrach, Vincent

G - (selected) Albion, Darius, Christmas, Cleophas, Enoch, Ethelbert, Gavin, Griffin, Hercules, Hugo, Innocent, Justin, Maximilian, Methuselah, Peregrine, Phineas, Roland, Sebastian, Sylvester, Theodore, Titus, Zephaniah

H - Albinus, Americus, Cassian, Dominic, Eric, Milo, Rollo, Trevor, Tristan, Waldo, Xavier

# Men were sometimes given a family surname (most often their mother's or grandmother's maiden name) as their first name - the most famous example of this being Fitzwilliam Darcy. If you were to combine all surname-based first names as a single 'name' this is where the practice would rank.

*Rank as a given name, not a nickname

+If you count Mary Ann as a separate name from Mary - Mary would remain in S+ even without the Mary Anns included

~Primarily used by people of Irish descent

^Primarily used by people of Scottish descent

>Primarily used by people of Welsh descent

I was going to continue on and write about why Regency-era first names were so uniform, discuss historically accurate surnames, nicknames, and include a little guide to finding 'unique' names that are still historically accurate - but this post is already very, very long, so that will have to wait for a later date.

If anyone has any questions/comments/clarifications in the meantime feel free to message me.

Methodology notes: All data is from marriage records covering six parishes in the City of Westminster between 1804 and 1821. The total sample size was 50,950 individuals.

I chose marriage records rather than births/baptisms as I wanted to focus on individuals who were adults during the Regency era rather than newborns. I think many people make the mistake when researching historical names by using baby name data for the year their story takes place rather than 20 to 30 years prior, and I wanted to avoid that. If you are writing a story that takes place in 1930 you don’t want to research the top names for 1930, you need to be looking at 1910 or earlier if you are naming adult characters.

I combined (for my own sanity) names that are pronounced identically but have minor spelling differences: i.e. the data for Catherine also includes Catharines and Katherines, Susannah includes Susannas, Phoebe includes Phebes, etc.

The compound 'Mother's/Grandmother's maiden name used as first name' designation is an educated guesstimate based on what I recognized as known surnames, as I do not hate myself enough to go through 25,000+ individuals and confirm their mother's maiden names. So if the tally includes any individuals who just happened to be named Fitzroy/Hastings/Townsend/etc. because their parents liked the sound of it and not due to any familial relations - my bad.

I did a small comparative survey of 5,000 individuals in several rural communities in Rutland and Staffordshire (chosen because they had the cleanest data I could find and I was lazy) to see if there were any significant differences between urban and rural naming practices and found the results to be very similar. The most noticeable difference I observed was that the S+ tier names were even MORE popular in rural areas than in London. In Rutland between 1810 and 1820 Elizabeths comprised 21.4% of all brides vs. 15.3% in the London survey. All other S+ names also saw increases of between 1% and 6%. I also observed that the rural communities I surveyed saw a small, but noticeable and fairly consistent, increase in the use of names with Biblical origins.

Sources of the records I used for my survey: 

Ancestry.com. England & Wales Marriages, 1538-1988 [database on-line].

Ancestry.com. Westminster, London, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754-1935 [database on-line].

[disteal]

Since I haven’t seen anything about it on Tumblr yet;

For around 12 hours now, IDF forces have been raiding and sieging Al Shifa hospital in South Gaza. If you know anyone stuck in Gaza who’s been injured, had family who was injured or is medical staff, odds are they were taking refuge in/around Al Shifa. Accurate reports on casualties/wounded are hard to come across at the moment, but there’s video of IOF forces firing at patients and hospital staff and “trying to kill anyone who moves” [al jazeera].

If you weren’t aware; Al Shifa is the largest hospital in Gaza, and it was their departing ambulance convoy who were struck by IOF air strike on November 3rd. The hospital is well over its 700 bed capacity and has been asking desperately for supplies and fuel for weeks, after IOF destroyed their solar panels on Nov 6 and put the entire facility on backup generators.

There are a staggering amount of injured Palestinians and newborn babies in that hospital who cannot be moved from their wards, and are in critical danger without care. Nurses have been forced to either flee or stay behind and risk enemy fire.

It’s worth noting that despite Israeli claims Al Shifa is sitting on top of a Hamas-run bunker and the hospital is a front, the only tunnels they’ve found appear to be the tunnels built BY the IOF in 1983. The ‘terrified Palestinian nurse in Al Shifa’ video from 4 days ago, where a young covered woman appears to cry about Hamas forces in the hospital, is almost definitely Israeli influencer Hannah Abutbul in a bad disguise. Despite this being a ‘targeted operation’ Israeli spokespeople have not been clear on where exactly they think Hamas is operating out of in the enormous complex, and IOF radio reveals there’s been no evidence found of Israeli hostages.

This is a HOSPITAL, full of injured people, mourning families and children being cared for by hospital staff and volunteers.

The real ‘reason’ for the assault becomes obvious when you see footage of IOF soldiers marching the Israeli flag to the top of the hospital. Al Shifa was a conquest for Israel, a humiliation for surviving Palestinians and a message to the region. They did not like a facility that existed outside of their control, that put hope in the hearts of the people they’re trying to slaughter, and so they attacked it.

If you are able to join the Cairo Convoy and march on Rafah, PLEASE GO. If not, PLEASE SPREAD AWARENESS.

[catiuskaa]

need you to [Lee] Know.

SUMMARY: minho loves you: to him, it’s as clear as water. Its only after he finds out that you’re starting to doubt it—he needs you to know just how much.

REQUESTED! here by an anonnie. I hope you like it, pookie, ‘cause I had fun doing this! <3

CW: slight hurt/comfort if you squint, but it’s just fluffy fluffy lino being really down bad and not knowing how to grasp it tbh which just gives me my serotonin dosis for the rest of the month lol

WC: 1.2k

A/N: also omfg kats posting two requests on the same day? that’s right baby, look at me go! 🤩🤩🤩

[🔅★🌼★🔅]

Minho was not the type to show his affection.

He comes off more like a shy kitten that slowly gets used to you, your sweet smell and how soft your touch feels, and then slowly opens up.

“But, uh… can I be real with you for a sec?”

It’s a feminine voice with a strong accent. He can hear it comming from your room, and the slight glitchiness of it makes it obvious that it’s a phone call set on speaker.

“Sure.” He can almost see you shrug, but he just closes the main door as soft as he can, pleading for the cats to stay silent for a little bit longer.

Minho can’t exactly place together why he’s overhearing your phone call. He knows who you’re calling, he can recognize Chan’s sister by her tone. But still, he keeps quiet, gently placing his bag down and silently taking his shoes off.

“I just— and don’t get me wrong, but, your boyfriend kinda seems… bored of you.”

What? Minho has to hold back a scoff, remaining as still as a statue next to the front door. He’s waiting for you to deny it.

“You think so?”

And then, he frowns, because you didn’t. Instead, your tone sounded hesitant. Dubious.

As if you weren’t sure if Minho loved you.

“You say he keeps cancelling your plans together. He has stopped making time for you. Like, girl, you can’t remember when was the last time he told you he loved you.”

Hannah pauses, and that only makes it worse, because it lets every word sink in.

“I uh, well. I ain’t gonna say that he should throw flowers at you every single second, but, uh, you know.”

He can only hear you groan loudly, almost picturing that cute motion you usually did when he meaningly teased you, taking your hair and covering your face with it.

“Can’t say anything for sure with him,” Hannah adds. “But, just by what you’re saying…”

Minho’s heart clenches tightly in his chest. He doesn’t want to keep hearing this... this nonsense. God, he loves you. And you… can’t see it? Frowning, he starts walking to your room, but his movements end in a halt, his hand just above the doorknob, threatening to grasp it and fully open the door.

“Girl, it’s gotta be late down there. Sorry this whole call was about me.” Your chuckle comes off slightly dry. “I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay? Go get some good sleep.” Your tone just screams how bad you’re feeling, and it just makes his chest swell with guilt that slowly creeps up his body.

Maybe he had been taking you for granted?

He opens the door as soon as you press the red button, sighing loudly after ending the call. When you see him, you jump in your place, startled by his presence, and you stand up awkwardly.

“Minho!” You say in a squirm. He can’t help but cringe slightly.

“No.” His tone sounds childish, like a petty toddler who didn’t want to eat the carrots in their lunch.

You frown slowly, the slightly wary grimace melting on your face, allowing a soft confusion to step in.

“No what?” You mutter.

He walks to you slowly, and grabs your hand, taking it to his chest, pressing it flat against his clothed skin, over his heart. You can feel his heartbeat, a not-too-slow rhythm: thump, thump, thump.

“Call me by a pet name. Any pet name.” He says, his tone equally firm and soft. “Call me by a pet name and say you love me.”

He’s serious, but god, so fucking nervous. His brain is slowly melting away because he’s so bad with words and he isn’t sure any action could be enough. He’s already blushing.

“I, huh… I love you, jagi.” You mumble, still confused.

And even if you don’t say it as fondly as always, or if your smile isn’t beaming like how it usually did, you can feel his heartbeat quickening.

“You can feel it, right?” His eyes are soft and worried.

Oh, God. You just know you’ve gotta be pouting. It’s hard to react with words, and the only thing you can fathom doing is linking your arms behind his nape and sinking your face on the crook of his neck.

“Min, I’m so sorry.”

“N-no, kitten.” He mumbles, hugging you tightly too. “I am the one who’s sorry.”

He breathes in, drowning in your soft fragrance. Home. It’s you, it’s warm, and he loves it.

He loves you.

So, he says it. He has to say it. He can’t not say it.

“I love you.”

And it feels so good to let it out that he chuckles. He has to say it again. “I love you.” And again. “God, I love you.” Just once more. “I love you so much.” He’s giggling like a fool, but he’s a fool in love, and that makes him blush even more. “I can’t not love you. Not loving you would turn everyday into Mondays. Like, I can get it tattoed if you want me to. I just. I love you so much that ‘I love you’ can’t even—.”

You move from his shoulder, now facing him, and you cradle his face, pulling him in a kiss that’s so sweet that threatens to give both of you type 1 diabetes.

“Y-you’re crying.” Minho mumbles, softly brushing the stray tears away with his thumb.

“It’s your fault, silly.” You sniff, giggling too. “How can you say stuff like that?”

Your heart is beating like crazy, the butterflies in your stomach are multiplying by seconds and in your cheeks glistens a bright and deep shade of pink.

You want to say it too. But in his own way.

So, you take his hand and settle it on your chest. Right above your heart.

It’s a rapid thump thump thump that Minho feels right away. He can’t help but smile widely.

“I super-mega-love you.” He teases, picking you up in between his arms.

You’re laughing, squirming in his hold.

“Lee Minho! Put me down!”

But he just grips your body tighter to his, and walking as if you weighted nothing, heading towards your bed, plopping you down there.

“Good girl.” He snickers, and you blush even further. Minho takes your chin tenderly and pecks your lips. For a moment, certain kind of idea flashes through his head, but he just kissed you again, following his previous thought.

He opens your closet with a toothy grin, and halfly eyes the window before picking up a random shirt, a grey hoodie that used to be his, a dark skirt and your thigh-high socks, going as far as to the suspenders for you.

He then turns to face you, his eyes glowing. He can’t wait to see you all dolled up. Minho feels like a teenager, and he loves it.

“You have twenty minutes.”

You blink at him, and you can’t help but smile, confused.

“I’m taking your cute ass to a date.”

It may not be an instant fix to the struggles to your relationship, but as you two walk down the beach, looking for colourful rocks that match each other’s eye colour, you know that he’s worth fighting for.

Regarding Minho, he happily hums to himself, eyes glued to your figure as you cackle and run in the beach, as you look behind you and giggle at the prints your boots leave in the humid sand.

He smiles, running towards you, tackling you and holding you in his arms.

He’s not letting go anytime soon.

~Kats, who always struggles to choose a picture for the fics because istg lino looks good in every single moment!!

[adalindofcabinsix]

that kind of love never dies (I)

summary: the one where barbara thinks about an act of rebellion.

pairing: jake x mc

word count: 1.3K

warnings: tkolnd takes place after the events of episode 10; cover images found on pinterest; english is not my first language.

author’s note: even though she lives in the usa, my main character, barbara, is brazilian. i added terms and expressions that we use in our country, as well as cultural elements, to this fanfic. the words that appear in portuguese are highlighted and you can contact me if you have any questions.

masterlist

Barbara was sprawled out on the dorm carpet, reading a Lucy Maud Montgomery novel she found by chance in the university library, when her cell phone began vibrating on the nightstand. Without wasting time, she closed the book and got up, waiting to hear from her roommate, Meera, but, when Barbara swiped her finger across the lock screen, she found some text messages from an unknown number.

i would like to invite you again to eat something at that chinese restaurant

if you want to meet me, just show up there tomorrow

i'll be waiting for you :)

Her head started to throb just at the possibility of it being who she was imagining, but she quickly pushed the thought away.

Jake wouldn't put himself in danger like that.

After everything that happened in Grimrock, Duskwood's chief of police, Alan Bloomgate, personally went after her to conduct the interrogation, and, more than once, made it very clear that it was best for her to stay away from her new friends for a while. He didn't go into detail when he told her about what happened at the Ironsplinter Mine, but he confirmed that Richy was alive — despite having some serious injuries — and that Jake had fled from the FBI agents during the confusion caused by the explosion.

All the messages she sent and received during that time became evidence. Barbara had what it took to close Hannah Donfort's case literally in the palm of her hand, including the kidnapper's confession.

Consequently, she also had the means that could lead the people who were after Jake straight to him.

She was interrogated by the FBI countless times for months, until Alan decided to intervene and convinced her to hand over her cell phone to them in exchange for her old life. Since then, Barbara has not been part of the joint investigation. Or at least that's what they say — she's too smart to really believe that.

For a few seconds, she considered the chance that it was someone trying to play a trick on her. The video Lilly Donfort posted accusing her of kidnapping had gone viral across the Columbia University campus. Even her grandmother, who lived in the interior of Brazil, found out about her involvement with a hacker wanted by the North American government. However, no one else knew about the brief conversation they had about the chinese restaurant.

Except, of course, the FBI.

Without a doubt, it was a trap. Barbara felt her face turn red. It seemed that solving an old international murder case, giving up her privacy, being forced to abandon her group of friends and possibly cheating on the guy she was in love with was not enough. She also needed to act as bait when it was convenient.

Barbara huffed, irritated. Little did they know that Jake had no contact. Their partnership in crime had ended almost a year ago.

Still, there was no reason to decline the invitation. She could very well take advantage of the opportunity to tell some truths to those nosy agents, and as a bonus she would have an excuse to go to Germany without Alan being able to question her too openly.

Her lips lifted into a smile as the plan emerged in her mind.

After going through customs at Zurich Airport, picking up luggage and going to an exchange office to exchange some notes, only an hour and fifteen minutes by car separated Barbara from Duskwood. Luckily, there were several yellow taxis forming a line next to the sidewalk, because it would be a nightmare to have to deal with someone trying to compete for the same vehicle as her.

She walked out of the lounge, pulling her hot pink rolling suitcase, and turned on her smartphone to announce on the family's group chat that she had arrived safely. But before she could check her contact list to see if her parents were online, she collided with a young man's broad chest.

She jumped away from him, apologizing — or at least trying to — in german. He laughed softly, grabbing her arm to stop her from tripping over herself, and for a moment, Barbara forgot to even breathe. The young man seemed to be a few years older than her, he was tall, had dark hair and prominent round eyes that resembled the curve of a teardrop, he was wearing a white sweatshirt with a hood and black jeans.

“I'm sorry, I didn't see you.” He spoke in english, with a slight accent.

“No problem, it was my fault.” Barbara quickly straightened up, realizing that she had somehow stared too long.

The young man analyzed her from head to toe with amusement before bending down and picking up the cell phone that had flown out of her hand during the impact.

“I believe this is yours.” He joked, handing the device to her.

“Thank you.”

He nodded curtly and turned, making his way through the travelers entering and exiting the airport, as silent as a wraith.

She was inexplicably disappointed to see him leave, however she had more important things to deal with. Then, she handed the luggage to the driver to put in the trunk and got into the taxi, giving the address of the Gates Hotel, on the outskirts of Duskwood.

Barbara ran across the room, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. She was considerably late, but as far as she remembered, she had never arrived on time to participate in the interrogations, so whoever was waiting for her at the restaurant wouldn't mind too much. She put on a black strapless dress, put on her highest heels and curled her wet hair with her fingers, leaving a small trail of water on the floor.

Through an opening in the peach curtains, she noticed that the rain had picked up outside, beating violently against the window pane. She cursed under her breath, hoping someone at the front desk could lend her an umbrella, and before Barbara could procrastinate her meeting with the FBI Special Agent any further, she took one last look at the floor mirror near the entrance hall, realizing that she was dressed for revenge.

“Someone would definitely approve of that.”

Smiling to herself, she went down a small flight of stairs to the ground floor, where the girl at the reception was reading a magazine with Nicholas Galitzine's photo on the cover.

“How can I help you?” She asked in english, without taking her eyes off the celebrity gossip.

“Hey, how you doin'? Could you lend me an umbrella, please?”

“Of course.” She said, reaching for the object under the counter and handing it to her. “A fee of two euros will be added to your room bill.” Barbara sighed, surprised, as she mentally converted the currency. “What?” The receptionist looked up, frowning. “Did you think it would be free?”

“No, obviously not.” Barbara lied, smiling politely.

“Return it by midnight or I will have to charge the full value of the item.” The girl announced, turning her attention to the magazine. Then she added: “Nice dress.”

“Okay, I'll pay when I check out.” She assured, walking towards the glass doors while opening her rented umbrella. “And thank you.”

“Have fun, Cinderella!”

Barbara regretted walking out the door as soon as she set foot on the sidewalk. Not just because of the rain, but because of the wind blowing your hair back. In any case, she had come too far to give up, and despite the storm, she could see the lights of the chinese restaurant through the blue haze a few meters ahead, on the other side of the street.

Before she could take another step, someone grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“What?” She blinked in amazement at the handsome young man she had met at the airport.

“Come with me.” He said, pulling her away from the hotel entrance.

“You are crazy? I do not know you!” Barbara shouted, dropping the umbrella near her feet. The rain completely drenched them both in moments. “Me solta!”

“Barbara, please.” He asked, breathing short.

The sadness in his voice stopped her struggling.

“How do you…?” She gasped, eyes wide. “Jake?”

taglist: @daniiiworlds; @labemquarts; @deinily

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

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Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much—it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings… and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad—but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[kingcael]

yes, please, what inspired the portraits of the gods? did Matt/Brennan have ideas or did they give you free reign? i particularly like the paint dripping down, it feels so...authentic.

When the concept of the project was being brought up Hannah kindly asked me to join for the Divine aspect and together we had come up with murals or secret shrines within Aeor, so that’s why the characters are all depicted with the stone wall. We worked a bit with everyone, actually the players had done a lot of thought and had some excellent input about their gods! I also referred to the Taldorei Campaign guide for any bit of canonical appearance but largely I had a lot of freedom. We all generally agreed the idea of secret shrines behind walls or painted in forgotten ruins was a good one and everyone signed off on it!

When I was painting them I imagined painting them as a follower might, so some of them have hastily done sections, or areas carved and overworked like many different hands contributed to the piece. Notably the Wildmother has the moss, which I imagined people would connect with her by touching her image with hands covered in blood or water to nourish the moss.

The Dawnfather and Everlight also represent life and light, but I cast more shadows on the Everlight where the Dawnfather is painted to make you almost squint with his brightness. The Raven Queen was not particularly far from our original concept sketch for proof of concept, she definitely encompasses vibes I enjoy painting haha

Hannah and I worked in tandem to make them overlap 1:1 which was an interesting challenge but the animation when they invoke their godly forms worked exactly how we hoped!

[rafesangelita]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 ART DECO

PAIRING: toxic!rafe x fem!kook!reader

SUMMARY: ❝you’re so art deco, out on the floor. shining like gun metal, cold and unsure.❞ — your attempt to cut things off with rafe only fuels him to come back with a vengeance.

WARNINGS: friends w benefits, rafe is terrible, jealousy, manipulation, arguing at a party, topper kisses you, fighting, rafe ‘breaking’ in your house

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

LINKS: series masterlist | next chapter

“i have to get going.” you were still going through the aftershocks of your orgasm when rafe started pulling his clothes back on. even though this wasn’t anything new, it didn’t make you feel any better. you watched him, sitting up with the sheets covering your chest. “see you tonight?” he was looping his belt when he sighed. “we’ll see.” he shrugged, not sparing you another glance before leaving altogether.

your friends would be so disappointed in you right now if you told them that you allowed yourself to go through this again. “you’re so stupid!” you muttered to yourself, quickly making your way to a shower, wanting nothing more than to wash the feeling of him off. you knew rafe would never take you serious, but you liked him so much that if having a no strings attached arrangement was the only way you could have him, you were willing to do just that. you wouldn’t let yourself cry over him, but you did go through the motions each time.

you’d swear you would tell him you didn’t want to do this anymore, but the second he was in your ear, whispering to you all the ways he wanted to take you, you never failed to bend at his will, quite literally. tomorrow would be the first day of spring break, so in your best friend’s fashion, it was only right to throw a complete rager with open invitation. you spent the remainder of your evening getting ready before chloe texted you that she was outside.

“you look insane?! are you serious?” chloe’s jaw hung open as you walked to her car. “this isn’t the y/n i know. what did you do with her?!” you laughed, giving your friend a spin. you were wearing a lacey black see through dress, and a matching black set underneath. “good girl is staying in tonight.” you posed as chloe snapped a picture of you. “you look so hot, i love it.” she ushered you into the passenger seat, both of you riding back to her place. “fuck, it’s this packed already?” you got off, the heel of your boots clicking against the cement of her driveway. “just wait till you see inside.” she warned.

sure enough, you were greeted with the sight of at least a hundred people in the living room alone. chloe took your arm with hers, weaving through the crowd of people. you met with some more friends, everyone ogling your outfit since it was a drastic change from what you’d usually wear. “don’t let rafe see you in this.” at the mention of his name, you felt your stomach drop as you looked around towards the kitchen. “has anyone seen him? he’s the last person i want to run into right now.” you accepted the drink one of your friends came back with.

“oh, you don’t have to worry about that, he’s been pretty occupied out on the balcony.” hannah raised her eyebrows, the girls looking at you for your reaction. “occupied?” you took a sip from the red solo cup in your hand. even though you didn’t want to see him, you didn’t want him with anyone else either. “topper and kelce are betting a whole bunch of money on a card game, apparently rafe is too.. just with a random sitting on his lap while he does it.” you licked your lips, nodding your head slowly as chloe watched you carefully.

“that’s cute.” without wasting another second, you started walking upstairs, your friends trailing behind you. chloe’s balcony was connected to the master bedroom, the double doors wide open for anyone to come in and out of. your eyes fell on rafe, the blonde draped across his lap was no one you’ve ever seen before. she was most defintely a touron. you walked outside, the guys so into their game that no one looked up from their cards. “hey.” you smiled sweetly at the girl across from you as you did the last thing you thought you’d do tonight, and sat on topper’s lap.

“well you look really good.” you hit his shoulder playfully, meeting rafe’s heated gaze when he did a double take. “aw, thank you ‘top. you wouldn’t mind if i sat here, would you?” you trailed your fingertips across his chest, a teasing smile gracing your lips as you watched how nervous you made him. “o-of course not, maybe you could be my lucky charm.” he showed you his cards, the giant stack of cash in the middle of the table catching your eye. “who’s winning right now?” even though you asked topper directly, rafe answered. “i am.” your head shot in his direction, his hand running up and down the girls thigh.

“i’m sorry, i’ve never seen you around here, like ever,” you laughed, “do you have a name?” the girl looked embarrassed as you gave her a once over, her body visibly tensing the longer you stared at her. “i’m just going to go get another drink.” she got up, leaving rafe by himself as he shot daggers at you. diverting your gaze back to topper’s cards, you whispered in his ear to put down the ace. “that’s the winning card.” you reassured him, moving your hips slightly as you put the card down yourself, rafe following suit. “whoever has the highest gets the green, baby,” kelce leaned forward as you and rafe flipped your cards over. “fuck yeah!” topper shot up from the couch, holding you against him as you cheered.

“five thousand dollars, all yours ‘top.” kelce’s smile dropped as he glanced over at rafe. “let’s go!” before you could pull away, completing your mission to piss rafe off, topper grabbed a handful of your ass before kissing you roughly. “oh, fuck no,” rafe grabbed topper by his shirt, pushing you out of the way as he landed a punch square in his mouth. you sat there dumbfounded as kelce rushed to break them apart. “i don’t give a fuck about a few thousand dollars, keep your hands to yourself or i’ll fucking kill you.” before you could get up, rafe dragged you away by your arm. “leave her alone!” chloe shoved rafe, who didn’t even budge before taking you outside to the front.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he backed you up against one of the cars, his arms caging you in. “you trying to fuck my friends now, is that it?” you turned your head away from where he was grabbing your chin. “don’t touch me.” you swatted his hand away. “sitting on topper’s lap? what’s your fucking problem?” his knees dug into your thighs, your last band of resistance snapping. “you’re my fucking problem!” you pushed his chest, causing him to stumble back a few steps.

“you tell me that you don’t want a relationship, but then freak out like this? meanwhile you’re still going around doing whoever you want? i hate this, rafe! you don’t even look at me afterwards, how do you think that makes me feel?” he stared at you, his jaw ticking as you kept the tears from falling down your face. “this isn’t about you not being able to commit to someone, this is about you keeping me to yourself and having me around only when it benefits you. i’m done.” you didn’t allow him to respond, chloe jogging up to you just in time.

“you okay?” she pushed your hair out of your face. “can you just take me home please?” your best friend didn’t hesitate, walking you down the driveway before yelling; “get the fuck off of my property, asshole!” making you laugh softly. “fuck him. don’t let him have access to you anymore until he proves to you that he can take you serious. you deserve a million times better than that.” once the car door shut, you let the water works loose. after reassuring chloe that you’ll be okay by yourself, she finally let you off the car, not driving off until she watched you go inside.

your phone started chiming with new messages, all of them from rafe.

[10:47 PM] rafe <3: can we please talk about this?

[10:47 PM] rafe <3: that touron came onto me first, alright? you could ask topper.

[10:48 PM] rafe <3: actually, don’t talk to topper at all.

[10:48 PM] rafe <3: y/n i know i fucked up alright, please call me. or at least let me go over, let me make this up to you, let me make you feel good..

you scoffed at the last message. that’s all you were to him, a good fuck. nothing more, nothing less. you blocked his number, deciding to call it a night. you would have to be joining your parents tomorrow for the country club’s annual luncheon, which you were sure rafe would be at as well. you spent the rest of the night regretting your decision to get rafe riled up, topper kissed you for crying out loud. you made a vow to yourself, swearing you’d never do anything outlandish to get anyone’s attention, especially rafe’s.

“you ignoring me now?” you sucked in a breath, not daring to turn around and face the one man you couldn’t handle to see at the moment. “leave me alone, rafe. seriously.” you walked faster, hoping to reach the main dining room before he yanked you back. “blocking my number and my instagram? i didn’t think you had it in you.” you scoffed, looking up at him as he smiled, shaking his head. “didn’t think i had it in me?” you arched a brow, prying his grip off of your arm.

“come on, y/n,” he looked around, placing a hand on your hip, “we both know no contact isn’t going to work. i’ll show up at your house if i have to.” you didn’t doubt his words for one second, but the fact that he felt this comfortable dismissing your feelings was enough for you to realize what you had to do; tear down his ego. “and why wouldn’t it work? because you wouldn’t have anyone to run to when your daddy makes you cry?” rafe visibly recoiled, his hand moving as if touching you burned him.

“what the fuck did you just say?” his eyes narrowing down at you. “you heard me. it seems like you forgot we were best friends before we started having sex,” you laughed bitterly, “what happened? lost respect for me or something?” not being able to be in his presence for one more second, you left and met your parents at their table. for the rest of the luncheon, you could feel rafe’s gaze piercing through your skin. you knew you struck a chord, but it was all true.

“me and your father will be going to the mainland for the next few days for business, will you be joining us?” your mother’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. “chloe’s only here for a week before she goes back to uni so i’m gonna stay.” she nodded. “alright, i’ll have the driver take you home then, and sweetie,” she leaned in close, “you might want to see what that cameron boy wants, he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you sat down.” you glanced up, your stomach dropping at the sight of him. “it’s complicated.” you whispered, you and your mother getting up to leave.

the ride back was quick, your parents letting you know they’ll call you when they get off the ferry. you were about to walk inside before you noticed the door cracked open. what the hell? you turned around to see if your parents were still there, but the car was already gone. you tried to brush it off, going in cautiously. it was still early in the day, the sun still shining brightly overhead. you made your way to the security system, your eyebrows knitting in confusion when you saw it had already been reset. “that’s impossible..” you whispered, jumping when you heard a clash come from upstairs.

you stood frozen, debating if you should run out or go check for yourself. the last thing you wanted to do was call the cops and it wasn’t anything to worry about. you cursed to yourself, slowly making your way upstairs. “is someone there?” you called out, opening the room doors and looking them over. obviously you expected no one to answer, but you still felt relieved when you saw that nothing was out of place. that was until you got to your room, where one side of your bed looked like someone had been laying in it.

you ran your hand over the sheets, the soft material still warm. “i told you i was gonna show up to your house if i had to.” your head shot up to your bathroom, rafe leaning against the doorframe. “what are you doing?” your heart was beating in your ears, his gaze making you feel powerless in this situation. “i’ve been a dick to you, i’ll admit that. i’ll apologize for that. i’m sorry, y/n, i really am,” he started moving towards you, “and you know what? you’re right. it is about me wanting to keep you to myself.” rafe a took a seat in front of you. “i want to work on this. i want us to work together, we could really make this a good thing.” you didn’t know you were crying until rafe wiped the tear from your eye.

“you’re lying to me.” you shook your head, pushing his hand away. a flash of hurt passed over rafe’s face. “i wouldn’t lie to you about this. i’m not as cold and unsure as you think i am.” his hands rested on your thighs. “i can’t even put into words how bad i wanted to hurt topper last night when i saw you sitting on him, and when he grabbed you and kissed you? i wouldn’t have stopped punching him if kelce didn’t get in the middle.” you listened, eventually relaxing under his touch. “i will do everything i have to do to prove to you i’m serious about this. about us.” he started moving closer, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“what do you say, baby?” you swallowed, sitting in thought for a moment. this was all you ever wanted from rafe. the sincerity, the reciprocation. “you promise?” your voice was shaky, his eyes softening as he pulled you against his chest. “you have my fucking word.” he whispered against your skin, his hand running up and down your back. you smiled, pressing a kiss to his adam’s apple. slowly, he brought his hands up to your shoulders, his fingers running through your hair before you felt him gripping your neck. “as much as i want to take you slow, i have to punish you for saying what you did at the countryclub.” your eyes fluttered shut as rafe laid you down, his knee wedging itself between your thighs.

“say it again.” his hand was still wrapped around your neck as you looked up at him with tear clad eyes. “rafe..” he smiled, the action that usually has your heart melting, now had a shiver running down your spine. “say it.” rafe said through gritted teeth. you shuddered, ultimately giving in. “i told you, you wouldn’t have anyone to run off to if your dad made you cry again,” saying it to him after you resolved things just felt cruel now. “and that was very insensitive of me, i’m sorry.” rafe shushed you. “it’s alright.. ‘cause i’m gonna make you regret opening your mouth at all.”

[writing-fanics]

Happiest I’ve ever been

Josh Washington x F!Reader

Josh holding his newborn child holding her so delicately in his arms. Staring in awe and amazement at the life he created with his partner. she was so tiny so helpless.

She squirmed in his arms, slowly opening her eyes taking in her surroundings. His heart skipping a beat as she locked eyes with him.

Her tiny hand wrapped around his finger, and his heart melted as tears brimmed his eyes. He chocked back a sob as he stared down at little Hannah Elizabeth Washington.

He walked over to you, placing the baby on your chest. Causing you to cry tears of joy seeing your newborn daughter. You ignored the blood and fluids that covered her; gently rubbing her back.

Josh leaning down as you two admired your newborn, “Oh Josh, she's perfect.” you whispered, staring at her in awe. She seemed to relax on your chest, her eyes slowly closing as the rythmatic beat of your heart lulled her to sleep.

You watched as the doctor took her to get her cleaned up, and you looked over at Josh. Watching the entire process as they cleaned your baby, you reached over and squeezed his hand reassuringly. You smiled at him lovingly, he squeezed your hand back gently.

“We made her.” He whispered, in disbelief. “We sure did.” You said, rubbing his hand with your thumb.

“A-and you..”

“You did amazing I’m so proud of you.” He said, kissing the side of your head. Causing you to tear up. “I don’t deserve either of you,” He said, holding your hand as he looked at you.

“Yet, after everything I’ve done you stayed by my side and in return you’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been in a long time.” He said, and you smiled bringing his hand to your lips.

“Of course you deserve us.” You said reassuringly as you pressed your lips, against his knuckles. The nurse placed Hannah on your chest, and you smiled. Josh placed his hand over yours as you two cooed over your daughter. You turned to look at Josh and smiled leaning up to kiss him passionately.

“Thank you,” whispered Josh as he leaned in closer, “No, thank you.” You said, as you leaned his head against yours.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Need Me Most

Jeongin x Reader (implied female but can be read as gn!)

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Cheating, Victim Blaming, Mentions of glass shattering

Pt2 Pt3

MASTERLIST

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The day had been longer than usual. Exhaustion clung to your bones as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, your thoughts preoccupied with the idea of a quiet evening in. You hadn’t told your boyfriend you’d be home early today; maybe surprising him and inviting him over for some quality time would lift your spirits. You usually worked second and third shift, so your free time never overlapped with his, and even if it did you spent it asleep. But your boss had graced you with a paid third shift.

And now you got some extra time. You had been extremely busy these past few weeks, and so had your boyfriend. He was a trainee at JYP, and you had met him through Chan.

You had done an exchange program in Australia, met Hannah, who introduced you to Chris since she knew you wanted to work in South Korea; and she wanted you to have a confidant. And one day as he was showing you around his place of work you had run into a timid trainee who was shaking at running into the Christopher Bahng. But when his eyes met yours something had sparked.

These past couple months had made you happy, even if it was rough due to your schedules.

The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and you pushed the door open, expecting the comforting silence of an empty home. You wondered if you should call your boyfriend to come over, or if you'd go over to his. He had to be awake. He was a night owl.

But instead of silence, the first thing you noticed was the trail of clothing leading from the front door to the living room—shoes, a shirt that wasn’t yours, and a jacket that definitely didn’t belong to your boyfriend. Confusion knitted your brows together as you picked up the jacket, the fabric slipping through your trembling fingers as you realized it wasn’t just any jacket -it belonged to another woman. The scent of the perfume staining it making you nauseous.

The apartment was unnervingly quiet, save for the faint sound of voices coming from the bedroom. Your bedroom.

No, it can’t be.

Your legs moved on their own, carrying you down the hall with a heavy heart thudding in your chest. Each step felt like you were trudging through quicksand, dragging you deeper into dread. You felt like throwing up. The closer you got, the clearer the sounds became—soft moans, whispered words, and the creak of the bed. Your bed.

Your hand shook as you reached for the door, pushing it open slowly, hoping, praying that what you were hearing wasn’t real. Praying that it was anything else than what you thought it was. But as the door swung open, your world shattered.

There, tangled in the sheets you had picked out when you first moved in, was your boyfriend. His body was intertwined with another woman’s, her face unseen, their limbs a mess of sinful intimacy.

His lips were kissing places he had no right to be kissing, leaving trails of his betrayal on her skin - on the skin of the female idol trainee you now recognized from the same agency your boyfriend- ex boyfriend - worked at.

The choked gasp that escaped your lips was involuntary, and it was enough to break their trance. They both jolted, eyes wide as they met yours. For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing - shallow, erratic, as if the air itself had been stolen from your lungs.

You couldn't even muster tears up.

"Y/N…" he started, his voice a broken whisper as he scrambled to cover himself -as if modesty had any place here now. "This isn’t-"

"Don’t," you choked out, feeling the bile you had tried to hold back rise in your throat. "Don’t you dare try to explain this to me."

The girl- no, the other woman - had the decency - no audacity - to look ashamed. As if she wasn't aware of your boyfriend's relationship. Everyone in the company knew he was in a relationship due to his inability to shut the fuck up.

She clutched the sheets to her chest, her eyes darting between you and your boyfriend, searching for a way out. But you didn’t care about her; all you could see was him, the man who had just shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces.

"What the hell is going on?" The question was pointless, rhetorical, but it tumbled from your lips anyway, more a cry of pain than a demand for answers. You didn't even know if you wanted an answer. You just wanted something anything to drown out the unbearable noises you had hooked into every crevice of your mind.

He stood, grabbing his pants off the floor, slipping into them as if getting dressed would somehow make this situation better. "Y/N, listen to me-"

"No!" your screams cut him off. You never screamed. He stared at you in shock. "No, you listen to me! You were in my bed with her! In my home! MY fucking home. How could you do this? Because you didn't want your group members see how royally fucked up their leader is? How much of a piece of shit he is?" You spat, the venom in your voice something you didn't realize you even had stored in you.

For a moment, he looked genuinely remorseful, his eyes softening in a way that had always made you weak. The eyes he gave anytime he did anything remotely wrong. And for a moment, you felt your heart twinge with regret of yelling at him - and for a split-second thought of a life where you both put this behind you.

But then, just as quickly, his expression hardened, and you saw the shift- the anger, the defensiveness. The complete opposite of remorse.

"You weren’t supposed to be home," his tone was accusatory, as if you were the one who had done something wrong. "You never come home early! If you hadn’t-"

"If I hadn’t what?!" you interrupted, your voice cracking as the tears you so desperately didn't want to show spilled over, streaming down your cheeks. "If I hadn’t come home, you’d still be fucking her in my bed? You think that makes this, okay? You would've never told me huh? If I hadn't caught you and this bitch." You turn to her. "Don't think I'm the type to only blame one person. Because it's a two-way thing. You knew he was in a relationship. But you're so desperate that you'd fuck another person's boyfriend in their home? Not even his home?" You laughed without humor.

The girl looked at your ex to have him defend her.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You’re never around, Y/N! You’re always busy, always caught up in something else. What did you expect me to do? Sit around waiting for you to remember I exist?"

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of you. "You’re blaming me for this?" you whispered, disbelief lacing every syllable. "You cheated on me, and now it’s my fault? Because I was busy? You're acting as if you're any freer than I am!"

He didn’t answer, his silence more damning than any words could have been. He simply stood there, glaring at you as if your very presence was an inconvenience to him, as if you were the one who had ruined everything.

Almost as if he would go back to doing just what he was doing if you chose to turn and walk out.

The girl on the bed finally found her voice, though it was weak and shaky. "I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t-"

"Shut up," you spoke not even bothering to look at her. She wasn’t worth your attention. "Just shut up."

You turned back to your boyfriend, the man you thought you knew, the man who had just turned your life upside down. "Get out," you mumbled, your voice chilled. Hard. Unrecognizable even to yourself.

"Y/N, come on. Don’t be like this-"

"GET OUT!" you sounded like a banshee, your voice echoing through the apartment. You grabbed the nearest object—a pillow from the bed—and flung it at him. "Get your shit and get the hell out of my apartment!" You grabbed all of things in range and threw them at him.

He didn’t move at first, stunned by the sheer force of your anger. You had never been angry at anything he had done. So much so that he was almost assured he could've gotten away with cheating if you hadn't caught him in the act but rather he confessed at a later state.

But as you started grabbing his clothes, throwing them at him with a fury that made your hands shake, he finally began to gather his things, muttering curses under his breath.

The other woman quickly followed suit, dressing as fast as she could, avoiding your gaze. Within minutes, they were both at the door, him clutching his clothes, her still trying to smooth out her disheveled appearance.

Before he left, he turned to you one last time, his face twisted with bitterness. "You know, Y/N, maybe if you weren’t so focused on your own shit all the time, this wouldn’t have happened."

"No. But maybe if I had never agreed to date a narcissistic and twisted bastard than this wouldn't have mattered!"

The door slammed shut behind them, leaving you standing in the middle of your once-happy home, surrounded by the remnants of what used to be your life.

His words echoed in your mind, cruel and cutting, each one driving the knife of betrayal deeper into your heart.

You sank to the floor, the strength finally leaving your body as the sobs overtook you. You screamed. Everything hurt- your chest, your head, your soul. It was like the world had crumbled beneath your feet, leaving you to free-fall into the abyss of your own misery.

You had moved to Korea on a whim, but your boyfriend had made that loneliness much better.

Now he was gone, and that feeling overtook you, drown you in a tidal wave of hurt.

But even as the tears flowed, even as you sat there in the ruins of your life, a new emotion began to simmer beneath the surface: anger. But not a normal anger. A white-hot, searing anger. Not just at him, but at her, at the universe, at yourself for trusting him, for loving him.

As you sat on the floor of your apartment with your heart in pieces, you didn't even realize how much time had passed with your sobs as a background noise until your neighbor unsympathetically banged on your wall, yelling curses at you to shut up.

You didn't care at that point, so you chucked the closest thing to you at the wall, a lamp your boyfriend had gifted you as a housewarming gift.

The teal glass shattered against the wall and with it, the last fragments of your composure.

You couldn’t stay here. The walls seemed to close in on you, suffocating, filled with memories that now felt tainted and wrong. Your legs felt like jelly as you pushed yourself off the floor, your mind reeling, but one thought cut through the chaos like a beacon: Chan.

You barely registered your movements as you grabbed your phone and keys, stuffing them into your bag with shaking hands. The tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get out—away from this place, away. Just away.

The hallway of your building was empty, the quiet eerie compared to the storm raging inside you. You stumbled down the stairs, not trusting yourself to take the elevator, since you were afraid you might break down completely if you had to stand still for even a moment. By the time you reached the street, your breath was coming in shallow gasps, the cold air biting at your skin as if trying to shock you back to reality.

You hadn't even remembered to grab a jacket.

The walk to Chan’s apartment was a blur. You were on autopilot, the familiar route basically muscle memory from countless visits.

Normally, the walk felt short -comforting even -but tonight it felt endless. Every step was heavy, you felt almost drunk, dragging your feet along the pavement.

When you finally reached the apartment complex, you didn’t bother to announce your arrival. You just pounded on the door, hoping-praying - that someone would be there.

Chan. You needed Chan. He was your rock, the one person who always knew how to make things better, who could somehow untangle the mess of your life with a few words and that steady presence of his.

Even if you hadn't known him through a time of distress, you knew you could count on him.

But when the door swung open, it wasn’t Chan’s face you saw.

Rather it was Jeongin’s.

“Y/N?” His voice was filled with surprise, quickly turning to concern as he took in your tear-streaked face and the way you were trembling like a leaf in the wind. “What happened? Are you okay?”

The words were stuck in your throat, tangled with the sobs you were fighting to keep at bay. All you could do was shake your head, the motion making the tears spill over once more. You wanted to speak, to tell him everything, but the words wouldn’t come. They were buried too deep under the weight of your heartbreak.

Without another word, Jeongin stepped aside, holding the door open wider. “Come in,” he said softly, his tone gentle, coaxing you inside like you were a fragile thing that might break at any moment.

Although he felt anxious now, silently wishing Chan was home.

You were his hyung's friend. While you were closer to Jeongin's age, Chris was by far the closest to you.

Jeongin had met you by accident, when you had come to drop something off at the apartment. And Chris had taken that time to introduce you two properly, then eventually the rest of the guys.

And while you weren't besties with Jeongin to the extent you were with Chan or Felix, who you had latched onto rather quickly, you and Jeongin got along well enough. Well enough to hang out outside of group meetings, and well enough to share inside jokes.

And well enough for him to take a romantic liking to you. One that pained him since he held it in.

But he didn't think he knew you well enough for him to help you through whatever crisis you were going through. Just buy the pitiful sight, he knew you needed someone you had history with. Someone who knew you better than he did. At least he thought.

You stepped over the threshold, your legs threatening to give out the moment you were inside the warmth of the apartment. The familiar scent of the place- clean, with a hint of whatever candle Chan had burning - made your chest tighten. This was supposed to be your safe space, where you came to escape the pressures of adulting, to laugh and talk with your friends. But tonight, it was a refuge from the disaster your life had just become.

Jeongin just barely managed to catch you as your toe caught, catapulting yourself into his arms.

He sunk to the ground with you as your desperate cries came out.

"Why me. Why me."

Your tears were dampening his chest, and all he could do was hold you. He didn't know how long he held you before Chan had walked into the dorm, surprised to see your state of distress, and lifting you into his arms.

Jeongin had lost track of time since he had seen his Hyung carry you as you cried into his shoulder, into his room, in hopes of giving you privacy.

He wondered what was wrong.

What had brought those sad cries of anguish.

The younger boy absentmindedly mixed some sugar into a sleeping tea.

You liked sweet things. Maybe you would be able to stomach this and get some rest.

As he went to knock on the door, Chris opened it up, closing it quietly behind him.

"Is Y/N okay?" Jeongin asked quietly clutchin the mug in his hand.

Chris had a subtle anger behind his calm face. Jeongin had only seen his leader get angry a couple of times. And while it was never directed at him, it was still something unsettling to witness.

"I'll ruin that bastard's career." He brought his index finger and thumb to his nose and rubbed it in annoyance. "The girl too. And not even just for revenge. If they're acting like that as trainees who knows what they'll do when they have more fame." He sighed and noticed the steaming mug in his youngest member's hands.

"Cute." He mumbled pinching his cheek.

Jeongin pulled back instinctively. As he always did whenever his Hyung gave him affection. It wasn't that he hated it - while he wasn't the fondest of physical affection, Chan's was always comforting and reassuring, but since he would never admit that he pulled away and usually that would cause Chan to bombard him even more. But this time his elder didn't instead he started to walk to the living room.

"Hyung?"

"Y/N is going to stay with us for a little. Okay?" It was more of a statement rather than question.

Jeongin nodded, and focused on the steam coming up from the cup.

I hope they're okay...

The door creaked open slightly as Jeongin peeked into it slightly.

You were already asleep, tucked into Chan's bed, your soft snores filling up the quiet space.

You looked small, and sad if it was even possible to look sad in your sleep.

Who hurt you like this... Jeongin wondered as he shut the door.

He sighed and went to the kitchen to put the mug away, a small frown as he dumped the contents.

Regardless, I'll be there for them. Chan hyung is there but...but I'll be there for them too. Because then maybe...

Maybe they'll see me the same way.

After drying the mug he walked towards his room, stopping in front of Chris's door one last time.

The image of your eyes was engrained into his mind.

He would never make you sad. Not like that. Never like that.

Rather... I'll treat you right. Make you the happiest person on Earth. Give everything, I have to you. He thought as he crawled into his bed.

I do everything in my power to be there through your highs and lows. Be there when you need me most.

Jeongin vowed.

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial

[yaniluvs]

the way it used to be ⠀日 : surprising your old friend whom you spent your whole childhood with.

𓍯 idol!chan ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）0.8k── ༯ DRABBLE, fluff, childhood bsfs, reminiscing, platonic, short, very demure very cutesy, req. by anon . ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ hihi <3 another request fulfilled! youth mv is coming in a few minutes, railway is 3 days away, christmas eve is tomorrow! everything's going so quick. well, enough of my yap!! thanks to anon for the request, hope you like it! comments, requests, asks, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! happy reading <3

the studio hummed softly with the rhythm of creation. neon lights bathed the room in a faint blue hue, illuminating scattered notepads, empty coffee cups, and tangled wires. chris sat hunched over the mixer, his headphones cocooning him in a world of melody and beats. his fingers danced across the keyboard, and his lips moved silently to lyrics only he could hear.

the door creaked open, but he didn’t notice at first. not until a voice, familiar and warm like a memory, broke through his concentration.

“still drowning in wires and caffeine, i see.”

chris's head snapped up, his eyes widening as they landed on her. she stood there, arms crossed with a smirk playing on her lips, her figure outlined by the hallway light. y/n. his childhood best friend. the one he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“y/n?” he exclaimed, pulling off his headphones and rising to his feet so quickly the chair nearly toppled. “what are you doing here?”

“surprising you, obviously,” she replied, stepping into the room. “thought you might’ve forgotten me with how busy you are, bangchan.”

“forget you?” chris shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “impossible. you just stopped answering my texts!”

“oh, sure, blame me,” she teased, rolling her eyes before pulling him into a quick hug. “you’ve been busy saving the world with your music. i figured you didn’t need little ol’ me bothering you.”

“y/n, you’re ridiculous,” he laughed, though his voice softened with genuine fondness. “i could never be too busy for you. plus how'd you even find me here- and how did they let you in?”

“it took me a few calls with hannah to get to your little lair here, call me a stalker, but here i am. and as far as the security is concerned, felix helped.”

she laughed, glancing around the room. “this place screams ‘chris’ it’s chaotic, intense, and somehow cozy all at once.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “yeah, it’s a mess. you caught me in the middle of a session.”

“am i interrupting genius at work?”

“not genius, just me,” he quipped, leaning against the desk.

“but since you’re here, let’s catch up. it’s been too long.”

“chop chop, i've got coffees and chips, just like before.”

minutes later, they were strolling along the quiet streets. the city lights shimmered like stars brought to earth, casting reflections on the river they walked beside. the chill of the night nipped at their cheeks, but the warmth of shared laughter kept them moving.

“so,” y/n began, nudging him playfully. “remember when we tried to start a band in high school?”

he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “please don’t remind me. we were terrible.”

“terrible?” y/n gasped, dramatically, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “we were iconic. with our small studio at your place, my guitar, your vocals and oh so dear macbook. ”

“if anything, we were trendsetters.” she said dramatically, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

the two dissolved into laughter, the kind that made their sides ache. the city seemed to fade away, leaving only the echo of their voices and the gentle ripple of the river.

they found a spot by the water’s edge, sitting side by side on a bench. the moon hung high above them, casting silver light across their faces.

“it’s crazy, isn’t it?” y/n said softly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “how much has changed.”

“yeah,” he murmured, resting his elbows on his knees. “feels like another lifetime sometimes.”

they fell into a comfortable silence, the kind only lifelong friends could share. the memories of childhood seemed to hover between them—lazy afternoons, endless chatter, and dreams that felt too big for their small hands to hold.

“you’ve done it, though,” y/n said suddenly, turning to him. “you’ve made those dreams come true.”

“i guess,” chris replied, his voice tinged with humility. “but it’s not the same without having people like you around.”

y/n’s smile softened. “you’re still you, though. the same chris who spent hours perfecting a two-minute song. the same chris who stayed up with me when i was scared of the dark.”

“and you’re still the same y/n who annoyed the hell out of me,” chan said, nudging her shoulder. “oh, AND the one who always believed in you, when you were busy being sappy with berry!” she countered.

they looked at each other, and for a moment, the weight of time lifted. they weren’t idol and friend, or two people living vastly different lives. they were just chris and y/n—two kids who had grown up but never apart.

as the night deepened, their laughter and stories carried on, intertwining with the wind. by the time they walked back to the studio, they felt lighter, as if they’d bottled a piece of the past to keep with them always.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily thank you luvie <3

[daisyblog]

You, Me and Baby

Young Love Masterlist Summary: Louis and YN discover they’re going to have a baby, but YN’s parents are far from pleased.

warning: highly sensitive topics, positive pregnancy test, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, emotional abuse, swearing, arguing, shouting

The bright shining sun teased her through the window as she waited patiently for the time to be up. YN’s heart thumped against her chest, as her eyes stared at the plastic stick sat on her bedside table.

Her period was 7 days late, and as much as she blamed hormones, stress and “it’ll come tomorrow”, YN knew she needed to take a pregnancy test just to rule out one of the main reasons her period still hadn’t made an appearance.

YN felt her chest take a deep breath as she prepared herself to turn over the test, the weight felt heavy on her shoulders. She debated if she should have told Louis but after arguing with herself, she decided she to do it by herself.

The shaky fingers reached for the white plastic that determined her future. She closed her eyes as she turned it over. Waiting for her breath to calm, she opened her eyes with force and there sat the answer.

Two pink lines.

YN feels her chest tighten as her heart beats against hit with a thud. Of course she had considered the possibility of her being pregnant but part of her believed her period was just late.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been staring at the two lines, her phone had been pinging next to her. She knew it was Louis and her friends. They had planned to hang out that afternoon. Knowing they were probably waiting for her, she placed the test and box in her bedroom bin and decided she would hide it later on before her parents got home.

---

YN tried to put a smile on her face throughout the afternoon as they all went to grab some lunch, before heading over to Ella’s house. But Louis knew YN better than she realised, he noticed how much quieter she was. He saw when she pushed the food around her plate, hardly eating anything. He knew she was faking her smile as she chatted to Ella and Hannah from across the table. Louis quickly made up an excuse that he needed to go home and help with his sisters, YN giving him a grateful smile knowing it was her way out of the gathering too,

Trying to find a quiet moment to tell Louis, was very hard to come by in the Tomlinson house. YN loved spending time at Louis, the chaos and the love was enough to warm her heart. She loved that although Louis was seventeen, he would still play the childish games with his sisters and watching as he helped Phoebe and Daisy with their building blocks, she couldn’t help but think that the baby she was currently carrying inside her may be luckiest little one to have such a loving father.

YN tried to pluck up the courage, knowing she had to tell Louis soon because she could feel it threaten to spill at any moment. “Lou…can we-“.

“Louis..YN…come and have a look at our dance show!”. Lottie ran into the lounge, interrupting the teenagers. But how could they say no.

Time was nearing where YN had to leave to go back home. She still hadn’t got the chance to tell Louis but the longer it was going on, the harder it was to start the conversation.

The sound of knocking could be heard from the living area but neither thought anything of it as Jay went to answer it.

“Where is he? Did you know about this?”. The sound of her father’s voice bellowing caught YN’s ears.

Without thought Louis and YN went into the hallway to see what the shouting was about. “Carl…if you’ll calm down…whatever is going on we can talk about this”. Jay’s motherly voice was a comfort to YN when she could see the anger covering her father’s face.

“Me calm down? I’m not fucking calming down! Do you know how angry me and Emma are right now? I’ll tell you how angry…fucking furious!”. Carl’s voice and anger continued to escalate.

YN stood slightly behind Louis, embarrassed at the show her father was putting on right now. “Dad! Please!”. She gulped down the nerves, knowing how silly she had been leaving the pregnancy test in clear view.

His angry eyes snapped to see YN and Louis stood there. “You!” He pointed at Louis, trying to take a step forward only for Jay to place her arm to stop him. “You…you’ve ruined our lives! You-”. Louis protectively stood in front of YN, have stood behind him, their hands still secured in each others.

Jay had been calm since the moment Carl had began shouting but when it came to her children, she would not tolerate it. “Excuse me! You don’t talk to anyone like that…especially my son! That’s my son you’re talking to and I will not have it!”.

Carl let out a sarcastic breath with a fake chuckle. “Well I hate to break it to you darling but your precious little son has got my daughter pregnant!”.

YN could feel Louis tense as her father revealed what she had been hiding. She knew this was the moment that she was left just her and the little baby they had created. She could feel the tears burn her eyes, her heart thumped deep in her body.

“I’m sorry”. YN whispered for Louis to hear as she rested her head against his tense back. He remained still in his spot, silent as the words sunk in but his fingers rubbing her hand was the tiny bit of reassurance she needed in that moment.

“You are a vile and disgusting man!”. Jay spoke up, breaking the silence that surrounded the four of them. “You come to my house…shout, swear and scream when I have four young children sleeping upstairs…you threaten my son and humiliate your own daughter…you should be ashamed of yourself!”.

Louis and YN still stood in the exact same spot, watching the scene in front of them unfold. YN had been hurt by her parents for as long as she could remember but the next few words her father spoke stung.

“I’m ashamed that she is my daughter and got knocked up at seventeen…she’s humiliated us!”. His voice was full of hatred and the look of disgust on his face said a million words. “You get rid of that baby or you’re out on the streets!”.

“Get out of my house now before I call the police!”. Jay’s motherly instincts when into overdrive. “You don’t deserve a daughter like YN…and don’t come near my son and YN again!”. Jay slammed the front door shut, before turning to look at Louis and YN. “Cup of tea anyone?”.

---

With cups of tea in each of their hands, the three of them sat in the lounge area. YN couldn’t think properly at the moment. From finding out she was pregnant this morning, to not having a home anymore was a lot to process.

“I’m really sorry you had to find out that way”. YN didn’t look up from her hands that held the beige mug. “I’ve tried to find a way all day to tell you”.

“You don’t have to be sorry babe, I’m just shocked…I wasn’t expecting it”. Louis gently spoke from next to her. Jay listened from her seat, feeling so proud at how mature her son was being and it was in that moment that she knew she had raised him well. “We’re in this together, yeah?”.

YN couldn’t find the words but a small nodded was all she could manage as she looked up at Louis.

“YN?”. Her eyes followed Jay’s voice. “You have a home here and I’m with you both every step of the way…you’re part of this family!”.

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @slaymybreathaway @wh0s-nadii

[notjustjavierpena]

Sucía: Part III - Unrequited

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: So many requests for this one and inspiration finally hit the right spot. This can be read as a standalone piece but I recommend the whole thing.

Summary: Somewhere along the way, you end up in a situationship with Javier Peña. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, unrequited love, situationship, fuckboy!javier, alcohol consumption, various pet names, papi/daddy kink, dirty talk, degradation, praises, so much making out, pussy eating, desperate and rough sex, piv sex, possessive sex, face slapping, fingersucking, creampie

Word count: 4.9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48859147/chapters/123256180

Unrequited

After you spend a whole night and day in Javier's arms, a month passes, but it never repeats itself, never becomes as tender. You start to think that it might have been a way to lure you in, a highly intelligent skill developed in a predator who wants to keep its prey around for as long as possible. Instead of dating the cop, you become entangled in some sort of strange arrangement and everything about Javier Peña tells you to run for the hills; the handsome forever bachelor with an apartment that has never had the touch of a woman, the man who rests a cigarette so effortlessly between his fingers but never wants to hold your hand. This is despite how you think he should be at the age where men start to panic about not having settled down. He seems so desperate to stress that this isn’t love, even when he coos your name so gently when he takes you in his arms after making your whole nervous system go into overdrive. 

Yet, there’s something about him that makes you keep coming back, makes you ignore the insistence of the warning bells in your head because Papí always takes care of you, right, Nena (babygirl)? And perhaps, it’s the way his hands run through your hair while your back arches, the way he touches you as if he is reaching inside your chest and pulling at your heartstrings, or how his dark, intense eyes watch you as you give yourself to him without hesitation, his gaze peeling back every layer of your insecurities about your physique and making them fade away during the nights you spend together. 

Despite his evident desire, his praises of your body, and your eagerness, he never says the things you actually want to hear. There are no declarations of love, no promises of forever in his moonlit bedroom other than the way he tells you that no one fucks him quite like you or the post-orgasmic vulnerability that makes him let you in on what he did before coming back to life in the Lone Star State. It causes you to make excuses for him; he is a man who has been hurt in the past, who’s built walls so high around his heart that not even he knows how to tear them down. Because he has had to. And now, he is a man who is content with the rough edges of life rather than the soft embrace of love. 

Your friend Hannah, your confidant, tells you to end it, that he is a loser. Your mother and father don't know about him, and when you lie about whose sheets you spend the night in, you convince yourself that it’s for the better. No one who cares about you would want you in this situation, so why do you keep doing it? Maybe the danger is covered by the thrill. Maybe there’s something exciting about the idea of holding your relationship out for everyone to stare at, desperately trying to stress that you should have seen him in the beginning when he first had me!

You are at his door again in the late evening, having dropped everything as soon as he called and changed your jeans and t-shirt into a miniskirt and crop top. It is only so he thinks that this is how you normally dress, wanting to keep up the illusion that you are enticing and alluring even when he doesn’t see you, that he needs to hold onto you otherwise you’ll be snatched out of his grip. 

Maybe you’re the loser here.

Javier opens the door and takes you in, looking like someone repressing a question about where you’ve been since you’re dressed up like this. Nothing in him seems to acknowledge the obvious fact that you want to look nice for him, so he doesn’t compliment it and just takes a step back. His eyes, however, do soften as he watches you step into his home. 

“Can I get you something? A beer? Whiskey?” He asks nonchalantly as you enter the living room and then follow him into the kitchen. His shirt is untucked from his jeans, the knot on his tie loosened, and his hair is slightly tousled from his own hand running through it. You notice the kitchen window has been opened and the ashtray on the breakfast table has a half-smoked cigarette in it. 

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” you say, saving the pleasantries; you know why you’re here and so does he. You just need an in, a way of getting things rolling, so you lean back against the kitchen counter while watching him take out a beer for himself. He takes a long swig of the bottle, a single drop threatening to drip from the corner of his mouth and causing your own mouth to run dry. 

“Long day?” You ask as he swallows his drink, the gorgeous column of his neck peeking out from underneath the collar and tie. You’ve kissed him so many times there. You tilt your head, noticing that it’s definitely not his first drink, “Catch any bad guys?”

Javier nods but doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he sets his beer down on the table before walking to stand in front of you. You feel a bit of annoyance at his silence, so you rest a hand on his wrist when he tries to undo the first button of your cropped shirt, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He tenses up at the invasive question even if you meant nothing by it, simply using it to make him word what he wants from you. He furrows his brow, mouth becoming a thin line for just a second. However, when he opens his mouth, and you’re sure he is going to retort, his voice has gotten a rougher edge, “No, I want you, Princesa (Princess).” 

You know what the use of that pet name means and it’s what you want too, what you keep coming back for if it means his eyes roaming over your body like they do right now, hungry and possessive. You’ll gladly play the part to be worshiped for a night at a time. Your hand falls from his wrist to his belt buckle, your other hand joining to undo it until it makes a clinking noise as it opens. You let the belt hang down to the sides, going straight for the button and zipper instead of wasting time with getting him fully undressed. 

Javier, however, stops you and seems determined to get at least your top off first. He continues unbuttoning it until it hangs open, swearing at the sight of your lack of a bra. His palms go underneath the fabric and grope at your sides, sliding upwards until he can cup your breasts. 

“Papí,” you breathe softly when his thumbs skim over your nipples, and the tension in the air from before seems to evaporate completely. He leans in until you are pressed against the edge of the kitchen table and then captures your mouth in a needy kiss. It is fierce and hungry, taking your breath away from you as you give in to him once more. He makes you squeak into his mouth as he pinches both your nipples, tugging slightly until it stings just a little. It’s a punishment, you realize, for trying to crack the surface of him.

“Don’t ask me that sorta question again,” he says when he needs a mouthful of air, his breath hot against your lips. He stares into your eyes, not scared of holding your gaze this up close, and you can feel yourself shaking your head with wide eyes. He swallows and speaks again, “You don’t want me like that.”

“I know,” you reply with a trembling voice that betrays you in your lie. Just a month ago, you were so certain of yourself and confident in what you wanted from him but the yearning for his touch has only made you weaker since he invited you into his bedroom for the first time. Clearly, he feels it too because his hands remove themselves from your body to lay flat on the kitchen table. 

“You know I can’t,” he whispers while his eyes roam over your face, settling on your mouth that has fallen open. You miss his touch but his hands are immovable on the kitchen counter, almost like he needs you to initiate everything again so he doesn’t feel like a prick. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” you promise as you reach up to cup his face, dragging his mouth to your open one to make him kiss you feverishly again. He makes you so wet that it is ridiculous, brushing his tongue against yours in a way that reminds you just how great he fucks you each time. Is that all he thinks he is good for? 

“Tell me to stop,” he continues, his mouth descending on your neck, leaving a trail of spit in its wake while his hands slowly inch closer to your body again. He settles them on your waist, thumbs digging into the soft and exposed skin of your stomach. 

“I can’t, Papí,” you moan with each mark he leaves along the column of your throat and gasp in surprise when he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. He stands in front of you, not fully in your embrace yet, and his breath is hot and heavy against your damp skin.

“And why is that?” He almost seems to be taunting you. He nibbles along the spot where your blood courses through your veins and he can feel your pulse the hardest.

“Because,” you swallow as you realize how hard it is to let him go despite knowing you probably should before you get your heart broken. You’re still here, taking whatever scraps of himself that he’ll offer, “Because I don’t want you to stop.”

“Then tell me you want me like I want you,” he sounds like he is pleading you to slip into the role you usually inhabit. You try not to think about what those words mean to the both of you. His hands lift off your skin. They hover for a moment as if giving you one last out, but when you stay frozen, waiting for more, he places his palms on top of your thighs. He pushes them apart, pulling out the big guns to make your brain stutter in its train of thought. You know what’s coming before he even sinks to his knees. 

You let your head fall back as he disappears underneath your miniskirt with the gaze of a worshipper, one hand having gotten there just moments before to drag your panties to the side. He drags his lazy tongue through your soaked folds, letting it delve into your cunt for a second just for a taste. You are sure you have already made his mustache shiny with your slick, dripping obscenely from merely kissing him because you are so pathetically obsessed with him. You reach to yank your skirt up, needing to see if wetness is smearing his chin too as he moves closer to your clit. 

“Oh fuck,” you thread your fingers through his hair to yank his head up too. He smirks up at you, eyes perfectly dazed with how drunk he is from mixing his liquor with going down on you. The sight of his shiny, satisfied face makes your pussy clench and release on its own, a little moan leaving you even when he isn’t doing anything to you except staring. You know that your meaningless noises are exactly what he wants instead of your attempt at connection. 

You grip the counter with your free hand when he dips his head down again and wraps his lips around your pulsing clit, his cheeks hollowing with how he sucks on the little nub like it is a hard candy. He continues staring up at you through his lashes as he does it, pupils blown wide with desire until the brown in his beautiful eyes is almost completely replaced with black. You watch him eat you out enthusiastically, and you whimper feebly from how each of his licks and sucks is a step further toward your undoing. He loves going down on you but there’s a certain urgency in his work on your clit as if he wants you with scrambled brains so you won’t annoy him again with your feelings, your need of digging deeper. 

You have a suspicion that he only calls you when he is in need of distraction, of replacing the loneliness and frustration he feels in his empty apartment with something that’s bound to end in euphoria. You wonder how his day has actually been. Does it even matter? No one has ever made you feel this way. This wanted. Desired. 

Beneath you, Javier pulls back for just a second and your heart skips a beat, the timing with your racing mind making you fear that he might have read your thoughts. However, he simply heaves for breath. 

“You taste so fucking good, bebita (baby),” he murmurs only to dive back into your cunt with newfound energy. His tongue glides across your clit again, presses harder, and you moan louder, the sound scratching the back of your throat. Your head bumps against the kitchen cabinet behind you, your fingers tightening in his short, dark hair to keep up an illusion of control over his power over you. Yet he just responds with a filthy open-mouthed kiss to your clit as if he wants to remind you who’s really in charge. 

“That feels so fucking good,” you gasp towards the ceiling. However, when you think it can’t get any better, he pauses only briefly to push your miniskirt all the way up to your hips so your thighs can be dragged onto his shoulders. He places a hand on your side, his thumb just below your ribs, and bobs his head slightly while his tongue is tensed up as it flicks expertly against the little nub. You can hear his breathing grow heavy through his nose to keep himself from needing a break and then he works towards making you come. 

When it hits you, it’s almost too much. He latches onto your clit as it happens, coaxing out each little twitch of it while you see stars, body shaking on the counter. You tug on his hair gently, arching into the sensation of him slurping up whatever you give him. and cry out his name in the quiet space. He makes you feel completely overwhelmed and sated at the same time. 

He only pulls back when you start whimpering for him to stop. He sits back a little on his feet, rubbing your thighs soothingly with his face shining in the overhead lights. He doesn’t say anything yet, waits for you to come down to earth with him once more. 

The buzz he has left in your lower body makes you giggle. You cup his face, high on the tingling in your spit-slicked clit, “You eat pussy so fucking well, Papi.”

“And I love eating this pussy out, Princesa (princess),” he replies with no hesitation, seeming ready to spoil you further from hearing that nickname out of your mouth. Gently, he removes your legs from his shoulders so he can rise to his feet again. He leans in, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips until you are breathless all over again. 

You can feel his hands sliding up your sides until they pull your already-open blouse off your shoulders, dropping it onto the kitchen counter as if it belongs in the room. He dips down for another kiss, one that’s just as desperate, just as thorough in wanting you but a realization hits you square in the chest. The intensity between the two of you isn’t just passion; it’s sadness, a mutual understanding that whatever this is, it is all it will ever be. No promises of a future together. 

You moan helplessly when Javier slips his tongue into your mouth, holding your hips tightly while you remove his tie and unbutton his shirt rather hurriedly. You can’t help already aching for more, feeling as if you’ll perish if you don’t consume everything he is willing to give you. He barely gives you time to drop his tie onto the floor, doesn’t give you time either to take a breath before he scoops you up, his broad hands sliding under your thighs to hoist you up. 

Instinctively, you wrap your limbs around him and cling to him. Your fingers thread through his hair like earlier, dragging his mouth over yours again while he takes sure steps toward his bedroom. He is so close like this, the front of his chest rubbing against your bare tits until you whimper from how your nipples harden at the simple touch. He is so hard in his jeans, straining against your barely covered sex. You think he must be aching by now, desperate with his head swimming as much as yours with each step he takes towards the end goal that is his bed. 

You’re right. He doesn’t even reach his bedroom before he has pushed you against a wall, his hips crashing against yours and eliciting a loud groan from his throat. He doesn’t stay on your mouth, moves his lips down the column of your neck until your belly twists with burning desire from each nip of your sensitive skin. 

“Shit, Javi,” you groan as he thrusts his hips into you again, your nails scratching his shoulders until the fabric of his shirt bunches up between your fingers. You yank it down his arms, hoping to have him more undressed soon. 

“Needed you so fucking bad, had to call you,” he murmurs while inhaling the skin of your neck as if he can smell the dopamine on you. He soothes a hickey with his tongue, panting as he repeatedly presses his hard cock into your core. The rough fabric of his jeans against your soaked panties makes you moan, unable to think of anything but him. 

“Take this off,” you push further on his shirt, barely coherent with how your sensitive clit throbs, “Fuck, I want you so much.”

Javier obliges and holds you up by leaning his weight into you. His pulse beats hard in his chest, able to be felt against your own heated skin. He lets the sleeves of his shirt slide off one by one until it finally lies pooling on the floor. It is rare you get undressed with this intensity, almost symbolic of how he is leaving breadcrumbs of you and him in his apartment. 

“I need you to fuck me, Papi,” you beg with a few hungry kisses when it becomes too much to be so continuously empty. His cock is right there and you long for it to stretch you open. He shushes you as you whine and then nods without words.

His grip around your thighs tightens as he hauls you off the wall, using his foot to push the door to his bedroom open. He makes his way for the bed, lowering you carefully onto it when he is right by the edge. 

“Get those clothes off and spread your legs,” he commands while vaguely gesturing for you to hurry up. He stares down at you while you shimmy out of your miniskirt and panties, his eyes heavy-lidded as his hands find the zipper on his jeans in the meantime. He hisses as he drags his pants and underwear down in one go, the graze of his cock looking like it is almost too much with how hard he is. Your head floods with what it will feel like when he finally slips into the heat between your legs. 

“Please,” you let your thighs fall open because you want to see if the delicious images in your head are real, inviting him to join you when the sight of his generous erect cock makes your chest heave. 

“You’ll do anything for it right now, won't you?” His tone drops to something condescending and he climbs onto the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You nod frantically because of how you see him reach down between your bodies to guide himself to where you need him the most. You feel how he doesn’t slide into you yet but instead teases your slick folds until you try pushing yourself down onto his length. He chuckles darkly, satisfied by your eagerness, and dips the head into you with a ragged breath, “Puta (slut).”

You moan and shake your head, “No.”

“Then why did you just squeeze my cock as I said it, bebita (baby)? You dirty girl,” he taunts, finally pressing fully inside of you with a sigh of satisfaction and relief. You groan alongside him when he kisses the very back of your cunt, your slick walls welcoming his girth even if it stings. 

You grab at his shoulders as if clinging onto dear life, your nails creating crescent-shaped marks in his skin, but Javier gathers your wrists in a firm grip to pin them above your head. The loss of control makes you dizzy with lust, a pleading look on your face as he thrusts experimentally. Once again, the two of you groan in unison at the sensation of finally melting together. 

Javier holds himself up on his elbow, free hand cupping your face to stroke his thumb across your cheek. He kisses your lips in sweet contrast to his name-calling as he starts rolling his hips into you, the lewd sounds of sex filling the room. 

“Mine,” he growls under his breath. 

You find yourself reeling from how completely he fills you up, moving inside of you like he is made for it, and continuously slamming into that one spot that has your vision blurring. God, what is the point in wanting more from him? In needing love that might send him running when no one could ever fuck you like this? It’s a dangerous addiction. He is the only one to make your body sing like this so you nod in agreement. You’re his and you let him know with a loud cry. 

“Tell me who owns this whore pussy,” he demands, not satisfied with a simple nod. His maddening thrusts become sharper and punctuate his words while he stares down at you, waiting for your answer with dark eyes.

“You, Papi, it belongs— fuck, it’s yours,” you gasp, your voice trembling with how well his cock works you open. Your back is sweaty from your raging and rapid heartbeat, your body clinging to the sheets as pleasure builds impossibly fast. 

“You fucking bet it’s me. Can’t you feel how I’m beating her up real good? Fuck, she’s weeping for me, pobrecita (poor thing),” his hips snap impossibly harder, his cock sliding in and out of you with obscene sounds that make your toes curl and your back arch. 

“You’re so deep— oh my God, fuck, Papi!” You squeak underneath him, your head thrown back at a particularly hard thrust. He makes a sound of disapproval, even if he can’t stop himself from kissing the exposed, stretched part of your neck.

“Ojos aquí, Princesa (eyes here, princess),” he commands you but when you don’t immediately react in your cockdrunk state, his hand slips down to harshly grab your chin. He yanks your gaze back to him and your breath hitches at the sight of him. His eyes are burning right through you, filled with authority, and sending a ravenous shiver down to your pulsing cunt. He lets out a guttural moan as you choke his length then smirks in triumph, “That’s it, Don’t make me ask again.”

You’re wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights of a car, nodding your head repeatedly while he fucks you open with a tighter grip on your wrists. He tests your obedience, caressing your cheek sweetly with his free hand for a second before letting it come down in a smack. You whimper and moan at the surprise-sting, brain scrambling to process the mix between pleasure and pain but you don’t let your gaze falter. Your instincts keep your eyes on him even if you want to close them. Instead, you furrow your brow but no more than that, chewing on your bottom lip to deal with it all. 

“Fuck, you’re so good for me. Such a good girl,” he praises, soothing your warm cheek with his thumb where he has just struck you, “Look at you taking my dick so well, keeping those pretty eyes on me like a good little slut. You’re perfect, baby.”

Not removing your eyes from his, you turn your head slightly until the tip of his thumb pokes into your bottom lip. You part your lips, swollen from kisses, and suck on the digit like it is his cock. It’s a lewd sight, your cheeks hollowed while he presses slightly down on your soft tongue until you drool. 

He groans low in his throat, his breathing suddenly sounding like he is much closer than before. He loves it when you’re filthy and he rewards you by finally removing his hand from your wrists. His calloused palm trails down your side until he can slip it under your back to rest it right at the bottom of your spine. The way he pushes your pelvis slightly into the air causes your toes to curl, the new angle making him hit even deeper. You thank the finger in your mouth because you start screaming as you come. 

Despite your arms free, you can do little else but helplessly hold onto the headboard of the bed, feeling as if it is the only thing anchoring you to the bed. Your nails claw at the wood, your mouth falling open enough for a gargled version of his name to leave it. 

Javier pants at the way your walls clamp down on him, squeezing his cock rhythmically as you cry feebly through your intense pleasure. He breathes deeply in through his nose, the way he sometimes does when teetering on the edge of his own orgasm, and kisses your open mouth filthily. His thumb slips out as he does it, smearing saliva on your cheek, and his thrusts become relentless. It almost hurts when you’re so sensitive but you take it until he stills his hips.

“Dios mío, así (my God, like that),” he groans into your mouth but then his head drops to your shoulder as he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he pumps you full of come. The warmth of him fills you, and you whine as heat spreads inside of you, your body shaking from overstimulation and aftershocks. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, his weight on top of you so heavenly as you both come down again. 

“You okay?” He murmurs gently, his voice almost sounding concerned due to affection. 

You nod beneath him, swallowing thickly around the lump in your throat. The question twists like a knife in your chest because it isn’t really what he is asking. What he really wants to know is whether you are still playing by his rules, if this is still casual to you. It’s not. It hasn’t been since he dried your post-orgasmic tears away a month ago. 

“Yeah,” you nod, wishing he wouldn’t ask you that while he is still inside of you, “I’m fine.”

He kisses you softly but the softness is fleeting and a few kisses later, he pulls out of you with a slight hiss. He rolls off of you, leaving you bare in his bedroom and causing you to freeze. 

“Good,” he replies monotonously. There’s a pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, and he reaches for one and his lighter. 

You want to say those three little words so badly but the risk is unbearable. Is it better to have this than nothing at all? Sometimes, you wonder if he feels it too, the hollow ache that settles in your chest each time you untangle, or if he’s already moved on. 

“Stay the night,” he states or suggests as he takes a satisfying drag of his smoke. He turns his head and looks at you, stealing the air from your lungs when he looks like he wants to say something more. You prepare yourself but then he slips out of bed with that easy grace, and you’re left with the fading warmth of where his body has been.

“Okay,” you hear yourself say. You know he just doesn’t want to be alone in his apartment.

Still, you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be the one to break through all his barriers, to be the woman of his dreams who could make him stay in every way. You imagine it sometimes during the quiet moments when he’s finally asleep beside you, his face soft as he has his guard down momentarily. You imagine what it would be like if he really let you in but he always checks out before you can even begin to think of demanding more.

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[pyro-les]

One purpose - Rio Vidal X angel of love reader

1.8k words - warnings: none

Based on a request by @baysha1822

Taglist: @thecavalrywife @hannah-0730 @believe-in-magic13 @jenniferjareauwife @wandasreallover @thesharkwhalewhoohooooo @acutenobody

Rio and Y/N had been close friends since childhood, both growing up in the same village. They both had relatively normal childhoods, growing up in a time where few people even knew about magic and those who did weren't exactly offering to teach it to anyone. But Rio had always wanted to learn and so Y/N said she would too, if Rio wnated to learn then she would help her. Rio never told Y/N the real reason she wanted to learn magic,instead padsing it off as a curiosity, just something fun to learn. But in the inside she thought that if she could maybe, just maybe she would be able to protect Y/N if it ever came to it. Rio's family had all died of a viral illness when she was barely into her tween years and she had been the only one not to catch it. Surely it was her fault that they died if she had of caught it instead maybe one of them could live, but they didn't and she vowed she would help the only person she had left.

Y/N had always been against the common rules, the idea that women didn't get a say in who they had to marry, it was much more a business proposition then a vow of love. She had always said how she wouldn't marry whoever her parents told her to, that instead she would marry the person she actually loved. However it wasn't until they were older that Rio had realised who she had been talking about all those years. It wasn't until she had looked her in the eyes and asked Rio to run away with her the day her parents told her she was to marry that Rio knew for sure Y/N felt the same way about her as she did Y/N.

For months they traveled searching for a way to find out more about magic, finding quite little until they discovered some old scrolls, teaching them small spells and the history of magic. It spoke of cosmic beings and how as time went on more and more people were chosen for these divine roles that became more necessary as the population of humans grew and grew. It spoke of people who made great sacrifices and were in reward given an important job and an immortal life. They were both fascinated by these beings, wondering how many there were and what each job entailed.

They continued to learn, their knowledge growing exponentially aswell as their love for each other. As it drew on to be almost a year after they had first escaped and the missing posters of them spread and spread they started to grow more fearful they would be found, that their new life of freedom and love would be over far too soon. What made it all the worse was that they had started seeing wanted posters too, not just asking for them to return home as they missed them but ones that spoke of anger and violence.

Their fears had turned out true as one day they ventured out to a market local to where they had been staying for awhile. They moved around every few months but this town had been safe so far, very few wanted posters and they had been careful to cover their faces as much as possible when in public aswell as removing any posters they spotted. It was unlikely they would be in any danger here, atleast that's what they had thought. But when a man had spotted them and tried to grab Rio they were proved wrong.

Y/N had retaliated by blasting some of her magic towards the man. It had freed Rio but now they had a whole new problem, everyone in town watched as the man stumbled back in pain, yelling witch to everyone in town. Y/N ran to Rio, helping her up as she had been harshly thrust to the ground by the man as he was attacked.

They both looked up to see countless angry faces closing in, people were fast to change their views on people the second they realised they were different from themselves. Rio looked to Y/N, wordlessly making a plan. They quickly grabbed each others hands and started to sprint as Rio sent out a burst of powers towards the angry citizens in an attempt to keep them back.

Y/N cursed the layout of the town, the market being in the centre made it difficult to escape to the forest. If they could make it there they would likely be able to escape the angry mob that was currently chasing them. As they turned another corner hand in hand their eyes simultaneously widened as they saw some gaurds approaching them on the other side of the street. How had they gotten there that fast? It had been only a matter of minutes since the man had recognised them and the small towns garrison had already been summoned. They turned back around but saw the villagers from before catching back up, the blast of powers not being enough to stop them, if anything it only fueled their anger. "What do we do?" Y/N turned to Rio, fear in her eyes.

She looked back at her lover with pity and a look of hopelessness, she didn't know what to do. They couldn't run anymore, she had saved her from her family but she couldn't save her now. "I don't know." Rio spoke defeated. "I don't know hun. I'm so sorry." She said again quieter with tears welling in her eyes.

"It's not your fault." Y/N said quietly, leaning her forehead against hers. The fact that they hadn't been caught already was outstanding, but she could hear the heavy footsteps as the towns small army rushed before them, she had to do something fast. "I love you." She spoke before turning towards the army, putting all of her energy into her powers bursting out all around her. It created a huge blast knocking down everyone who had been chasing them. Rio started to smile seeing that they now had a way to escape, her relief was quick lived though as she saw Y/N fall to her knees only moments later.

"What's wrong? Y/N what happend?" Rio shouted as she dropped to her knees herself to grab Y/N by her shoulders. She didn't understand what happened, she was fine a moment ago and no one had got close enough to hurt her before she struck them down.

When she looked at Y/N's face she saw how pale she had suddenly grown, all of the life and colour practically sucked out of her. Putting a hand to Y/N's chest she felt how subtle her breaths were, she knew she didn't have long left. It was all happening so quickly, only an hour ago they were living their best lives and now Rio didn't know if she could live on. Y/N had always been there for her. When she lost her parents Y/N was there to help her through the pain, when she had told her she wanted to learn magic Y/N was right there with her too, when everyone was against them they always had each other, so how could she manage without her?

She didn't think she could, if Y/N wasn't with her than there was no point in her fighting back, instead she just sat there cradling Y/N's body in her arms as she felt her heart beat slowly die out. The world grew darker around her as Rio still sat there with tears in her eyes clutching Y/N's lifeless body like her life depended on it. It took her awhile to actually notice the slow change of her surroundings, so caught up in her grief she barely looked up but when she finally did her eyes widened in shock. It had barely been midday when they had left and it was now it was almost pitch black, Rio knew this wasn't natural.

"Hello?" She called out unsure, a raspiness evident in her voice from her crying.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, Rio snapped her head back trying to work out who it was, gasping when she saw. There Y/N stood with a soft smile on her face. Her lifeless body still laid limp in Rios arms but here she was standing next to Rio. "How?" She whispered, looking up to her lover.

Before Y/N even had a chance to try answer a voice echoed from all around them. "You've been chosen."

They both had similar looks of confusion on their faces, what was this and what did they mean?

"You have both shown immense acts of self sacrifice and devotion. You're individual journeys will reflect in your new roles. You will be tasked with a job of great importance and in return you will be granted immortal lives and indestructible bodies aswell as cosmic amounts of power, if you accept these roles of course."

They both looked at each other in surprise, they hadn't expected anything like this to come after death. They hadn't known what the afterlife would be like if there even was one but even in all the different believes and expectations they had heard from others there were never any stories of anything like this happening. But now they were faced with an ultimatum, to take on these roles or, well they didn't really know what would happen if they didn't. Head into the unknown and hope for the best, that's all they could guess.

"What are the roles, what would we have to do?" Y/N asked curiously, looking around as she still didn't know exactly where the voice was coming from.

"For you, Y/N you would be the embodiment of love. A guide to all forms of love and passion to mankind, you would inspire all people to fight for you love just as you did. Your whole life you have fought for love with every inch of your being, it being your drive for everything you did and even your reason for sacrifice. And for you Rio, you would guide souls to the next realm. Your resilience in life even when faced with other people's death and your ability to persevere to get what you want Is incomparable. You have shown that you know what it truly means to be alive and by proxy understand death, there is no better person to to help souls cross plains then you."

Rio and Y/N both listened quietly, they had no way to respond to this, they never knew their drives had meant that much,that anything in their life had this much influence in the grand scheme of things. But they would never refuse such an offer, not just to be able to stay together forever but to help people so much. Both witches jobs were incredibly different yet equally as important and interwoven. So with one last glance to each other they nodded and shared a smile, wordlessly agreeing to the terms and with a bright flash of light they felt the change as they stepped into this new era of their lives.

A/N: please let me know if you'd like this to be a mini series. Hope you enjoyed!

[hysteria-things]

PLEASE MAKE A MEET AND GREET PART 2

♛ TWO ° •

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you miss matt like crazy, and can’t help but to send a dirty photo to him…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, suggestive, masturbation (female), there might be more idk

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 751

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i swear ghost and BFB part two will be coming soon🫡

thank you for 2.6K btw i love you all very much :)

texting your celebrity crush is like what happens in movies or wattpad, but the fact that you're doing just that still blows your mind. however, it's not as mindblowing when you had sex with said celebrity crush three days ago.

biting your lip, you giggle and tap on your phone like there's no tomorrow.

“are you even watching the movie? you seem to be more intrigued with your phone instead.” hannah says, leaning to the coffee table to grab the remote and pause the TV. “you’re never so glued to your phone. is it a boy? do i know him? what does— is that a hickey?”

pausing mid-type, you place your phone down and try to cover the healing hickey on your neck with your hair. “…no.”

“oh my god, it so is!” she gasps, smiling wide. “who the hell are you fucking? is it the person you're texting? when did it happen?”

“you ask a lot of questions, you know that?” you joke, trying to maneuver this conversation.

“y/n, come on. i’m your best friend. best friends tell each other everything.”

you sigh. she’s right, you guys do tell each other everything. clearing your throat and fidgeting with your hands, you try to find words to explain the recent events in your life.

“so… remember when i went to the bathroom at the sturniolo’s tour? and left you standing outside for an hour?”

she rolls her eyes. “yeah.”

“what if i told you that i actually didn’t go to the bathroom, and matt snuck me on the tour bus and… bentmeoverthetableandfuckedtheshitoutofme?”

she looks at you with eyebrows furrowed, confused as hell. “what?”

you exhale. “matt bent me over the table and may or may not have fucked the shit out of me?”

her face now morphs to shock, trying to read your body language to see if you’re lying. “what the fuck? is that why you came out limping and looking like you got manhandled?”

“yes.”

she blinks, shaking her head to take in this sudden information. “was the dick at least good?”

biting your lip, you nod. “duh.”

“hello?” you say innocently into the phone, running your hand from your stomach into your underwear.

matt’s leaning against the wall in a hallway that the venue has, far away so nobody can see nor hear him. “hi, y/n.” he chuckles.

you pout, rubbing your clit hard to get some sort of sensation rubbing through your body. “hi, matt.”

he licks his teeth and smiles smugly, knowing exactly why you wanted him to call. “whatcha doing?”

with fluttering eyes, your finger moves to your folds, moving up and down on your slit slowly. your breath hitches. “t-touching myself.” you whine. “thinking about you.”

as much as matt wants to do it himself, he can’t. the ache in his pants will last until after the show, that’s for sure.

“is that so?” he teases. you feel your wetness start to pool. “what’re thinking about, hm?”

“about the other night.” you squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip. after a few long strokes, you’re wet enough to slip a finger inside.

he sighs, adjusting the phone on his ear. “you mean when i bent you over the table and bred you? or when i tongue-fucked you to where you couldn’t stand?”

moaning loudly, you insert a second finger and move them rapidly. “b-both. god, i miss the way you feel.”

“i wish i could fuck you dumb again.” he says lowly, hearing your pants and arousal all in one. “screaming so pathetically beneath me. isn’t that right?”

even though he can’t hear you, you still nod your head, arching your back when that spot gets hit at just the right angle. “yes, matt!” you moan loudly. “i miss you. i miss you so much! fuck, i’m going to cum. please let me cum.”

you ramble on as he stands there quietly to listen. the way your sounds get louder and faster the more your orgasm builds. “go ahead. nobody’s stopping you.”

clawing at the sheets with your eyes rolling back, you rut your hips on your fingers when you feel your release coat them.

“good luck tonight,” you mumble, trying to catch your breath.

he laughs, checking the time with a sigh. “i have to go. i’ll make sure to win for you.”

you hang up the phone, and not even a minute later, a picture comes rolling in. you love that he’s acting like you didn’t just cum to his voice.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

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