#is he prescription that minimal?

[j-emini]

i’m so genuinely curious how charles can see during a race, bc he wears glasses on the regular... does he wear contacts orrrr???

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The true, tactical significance of Project 2025

TODAY (July 14), I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! NEXT SATURDAY (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

Like you, I have heard a lot about Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation's roadmap for the actions that Trump should take if he wins the presidency. Given the Heritage Foundation's centrality to the American authoritarian project, it's about as awful and frightening as you might expect:

https://www.project2025.org/

But (nearly) all the reporting and commentary on Project 2025 badly misses the point. I've only read a single writer who immediately grasped the true significance of Project 2025: The American Prospect's Rick Perlstein, which is unsurprising, given Perlstein's stature as one of the left's most important historians of right wing movements:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-07-10-project-2025-republican-presidencies-tradition/

As Perlstein points out, Project 2025 isn't new. The Heritage Foundation and its allies have prepared documents like this, with many identical policy prescriptions, in the run-up to many presidential elections. Perlstein argues that Warren G Harding's 1921 inaugural address captures much of its spirit, as did the Nixon campaign's 1973 vow to "move the country so far to the right 'you won’t even recognize it.'"

The threats to democracy and its institutions aren't new. The right has been bent on their destruction for more than a century. As Perlstein says, the point of taking note of this isn't to minimize the danger, rather, it's to contextualize it. The American right has, since the founding of the Republic, been bent on creating a system of hereditary aristocrats, who govern without "interference" from democratic institutions, so that their power to extract wealth from First Nations, working people, and the land itself is checked only by rivalries with other aristocrats. The project of the right is grounded in a belief in Providence: that God's favor shines on His best creations and elevates them to wealth and power. Elite status is proof of merit, and merit is "that which leads to elite status."

When a wealthy person founds an intergenerational dynasty of wealth and power, this is merely a hereditary meritocracy: a bloodline infused with God's favor. Sometimes, this belief is dressed up in caliper-wielding pseudoscience, with the "good bloodline" reflecting superior genetics and not the favor of the Almighty. Of course, a true American aristocrat gussies up his "race realism" with mystical nonsense: "God favored me with superior genes." The corollary, of course, is that you are poor because God doesn't favor you, or because your genes are bad, or because God punished you with bad genes.

So we should be alarmed by the right's agenda. We should be alarmed at how much ground it has gained, and how the right has stolen elections and Supreme Court seats to enshrine antimajoritarianism as a seemingly permanent fact of life, giving extremist minorities the power to impose their will on the rest of us, dooming us to a roasting planet, forced births, racist immiseration, and most expensive, worst-performing health industry in the world.

But for all that the right has bombed so many of the roads to a prosperous, humane future, it's a huge mistake to think of the right as a stable, unified force, marching to victory after inevitable victory. The American right is a brittle coalition led by a handful of plutocrats who have convinced a large number of turkeys to vote for Christmas.

The right wing coalition needs to pander to forced-birth extremists, racist extremist, Christian Dominionist extremists (of several types), frothing anti-Communist cranks, vicious homophobes and transphobes, etc, etc. Pandering to all these groups isn't easy: for one thing, they often want opposite things – the post-Roe forced birth policies that followed the Dobbs decision are wildly unpopular among conservatives, with the exception of a clutch of totally unhinged maniacs that the party relies on as part of a much larger coalition. Even more unpopular are policies banning birth control, like the ones laid out in Project 2025. Less popular still: the proposed ban on no-fault divorce. Each of these policies have different constituencies to whom they are very popular, but when you put them together, you get Dan Savage's "Husbands you can't leave, pregnancies you can't prevent or terminate, politicians you can't vote out of office":

https://twitter.com/fakedansavage/status/1805680183065854083

The constituency for "husbands you can't leave, pregnancies you can't prevent or terminate, politicians you can't vote out of office" is very small. Almost no one in the GOP coalition is voting for all of this, they're voting for one or two of these things and holding their noses when it comes to the rest.

Take the "libertarian" wing of the GOP: its members do favor personal liberty…it's just that they favor low taxes for them more than personal liberty for you. The kind of lunatic who'd vote for a dead gopher if it would knock a quarter off his tax bill will happily allow his coalition partners to rape pregnant women with unnecessary transvaginal ultrasounds and force them to carry unwanted fetuses to term if that's the price he has to pay to save a nickel in taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#tolerable-racism

And, of course, the religious maniacs who profess a total commitment to Biblical virtue but worship Trump, Gaetz, Limbaugh, Gingrich, Reagan, and the whole panoply of cheating, lying, kid-fiddling, dope-addled refugees from a Jack Chick tract know that these men never gave a shit about Jesus, the Apostles or the Ten Commandments – but they'll vote for 'em because it will get them school prayer, total abortion bans, and unregulated "home schooling" so they can brainwash a generation of Biblical literalists who think the Earth is 5,000 years old and that Jesus was white and super into rich people.

Time and again, the leaders of the conservative movement prove themselves capable of acts of breathtaking cruelty, and undoubtedly many of them are depraved sadists who genuinely enjoy the suffering of their enemies (think of Trump lickspittle Steven Miller's undisguised glee at the thought of parents who would never be reunited with children after being separated at the border). But it's a mistake to think that "the cruelty is the point." The point of the cruelty is to assemble and maintain the coalition. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the point:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/09/turkeys-voting-for-christmas/#culture-wars

The right has assembled a lot of power. They did so by maintaining unity among people who have irreconcilable ethics and goals. Think of the pro-genocide coalition that includes far-right Jewish ethno-nationalists, antisemitic apocalyptic Christians who believe they are hastening the end-times, and Islamophobes of every description, from War On Terror relics to Hindu nationalists.

This is quite an improbable coalition, and while I deplore its goals, I can't help but be impressed by its cohesion. Can you imagine the kind of behind-the-scenes work it takes to get antisemites who think Jews secretly control the world to lobby with Zionists? Or to get Zionists to work alongside of Holocaust-denying pencilneck Hitler wannabes whose biggest regret is not bringing their armbands to Charlottesville?

Which brings me back to Project 2025 and its true significance. As Perlstein writes, Project 2025 is a mess. Clocking in an 900 pages, large sections of Project 2025 flatly contradict each other, while other sections contain subtle contradictions that you wouldn't notice unless you were schooled in the specialized argot of the far right's jargon and history.

For example, Project 2025 calls for defunding government agencies and repurposing the same agencies to carry out various spectacular atrocities. Both actions are deplorable, but they're also mutually exclusive. Project 2025 demands four different, completely irreconcilable versions of US trade policy. But at least that's better than Project 2025's chapter on monetary policy, which simply lays out every right wing theory of money and then throws up its hands and recommends none of them.

Perlstein says that these conflicts, blank spots and contradictions are the most important parts of Project 2025. They are the fracture lines in the coalition: the conflicting ideas that have enough support that neither side can triumph over the other. These are the conflicts that are so central to the priorities of blocs that are so important to the coalition that they must be included, even though that inclusion constitutes a blinking "LOOK AT ME" sign telling us where the right is ready to split apart.

The right is really good at this. Perlstein points to Nixon's expansion of affirmative action, undertaken to sow division between Black and white workers. We need to get better at it.

So far, we've lavished attention on the clearest and most emphatic proposals in Project 2025 – for understandable reasons. These are the things they say they want to do. It would be reckless to ignore them. But they've been saying things like this for a century. These demands constitute a compelling argument for fighting them as a matter of urgency, with the intention of winning. And to win, we need to split apart their coalition.

Perlstein calls on us to dissect Project 2025, to cleave it at its joints. To do so, he says we need to understand its antecedents, like Nixon's "Malek Manual," a roadmap for destroying the lives of civil servants who failed to show sufficient loyalty to Nixon. For example, the Malek Manual lays out a "Traveling Salesman Technique" whereby a government employee would be given duties "criss-crossing him across the country to towns (hopefully with the worst accommodations possible) of a population of 20,000 or under. Until his wife threatens him with divorce unless he quits, you have him out of town and out of the way":

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Final_Report_on_Violations_and_Abuses_of/0dRLO9vzQF0C?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=%22organization+of+a+political+personnel+office+and+program%22&pg=PA161&printsec=frontcover

It's no coincidence that leftist historians of the right are getting a lot of attention. Trumpism didn't come out of nowhere – Trump is way too stupid and undisciplined to be a cause – he's an effect. In his excellent, bestselling new history of the right in the early 1990s, When the Clock Broke, Josh Ganz shows us the swamp that bred Trump, with such main characters as the fascist eugenicist Sam Francis:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374605445/whentheclockbroke

Ganz joins the likes of the Know Your Enemy podcast, an indispensable history of reactionary movements that does excellent work in tracing the fracture lines in the right coalition:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/when-clock-broke-106803105

Progressives are also an uneasy coalition that is easily splintered. As Naomi Klein argues in her essential Doppelganger, the liberal-left coalition is inherently unstable and contains the seeds of its own destruction:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

Liberals have been the senior partner in that coalition, and their commitment to preserving institutions for their own sake (rather than because of what they can do to advance human thriving) has produced generations of weak and ineffectual responses to the crises of terminal-stage capitalism, like the idea that student-debt cancellation should be means-tested:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/03/utopia-of-rules/#in-triplicate

The last bid for an American aristocracy was repelled by rejecting institutions, not preserving them. When the Supreme Court thwarted the New Deal, FDR announced his intention to pack the court, and then began the process of doing so (which included no-holds-barred attacks on foot-draggers in his own party). Not for nothing, this is more-or-less what Lincoln did when SCOTUS blocked Reconstruction:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/20/judicial-equilibria/#pack-the-court

But the liberals who lead the progressive movement dismiss packing the court as unserious and impractical – notwithstanding the fact that they have no plan for rescuing America from the bribe-taking extremists, the credibly accused rapist, and the three who stole their robes. Ultimately, liberals defend SCOTUS because it is the Supreme Court. I defended SCOTUS, too – while it was still a vestigial organ of the rights revolution, which improved the lives of millions of Americans. Human rights are worth defending, SCOTUS isn't. If SCOTUS gets in the way of human rights, then screw SCOTUS. Sideline it. Pack it. Make it a joke.

Fuck it.

This isn't to argue for left seccession from the progressive coalition. As we just saw in France, splitting at this moment is an invitation to literal fascist takeover:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/melenchon-macron-france-left-winner

But if there's one thing that the rise of Trumpism has proven, it's that parties are not immune to being wrestled away from their establishment leaderships by radical groups:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

What's more, there's a much stronger natural coalition that the left can mobilize: workers. Being a worker – that is, paying your bills from wages, instead of profits – isn't an ideology you can change, it's a fact. A Christian nationalist can change their beliefs and then they will no longer be a Christian nationalist. But no matter what a worker believes, they are still a worker – they still have a irreconcilable conflict with people whose money comes from profits, speculation, or rents. There is no objectively fair way to divide the profits a worker's labor generates – your boss will always pay you as little of that surplus as he can. The more wages you take home, the less profit there is for your boss, the fewer dividends there are for his shareholders, and the less there is to pay to rentiers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

Reviving the role of workers in their unions, and of unions in the Democratic party, is the key to building the in-party power we need to drag the party to real solutions – strong antimonopoly action, urgent climate action, protections for gender, racial and sexual minorities, and decent housing, education and health care.

The alternative to a worker-led Democratic Party is a Democratic Party run by its elites, whose dictates and policies are inescapably illegitimate. As Hamilton Nolan writes, the completely reasonable (and extremely urgent) discussion about Biden's capacity to defeat Trump has been derailed by the Democrats' undemocratic structure. Ultimately, the decision to have an open convention or to double down on a candidate whose campaign has been marred by significant deficits is down to a clutch of party officials who operate without any formal limits or authority:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/the-hole-at-the-heart-of-the-democratic

Jettisoning Biden because George Clooney (or Nancy Pelosi) told us to is never going to feel legitimate to his supporters in the party. But if the movement for an open convention came from grassroots-dominated unions who themselves dominated the party – as was the case, until the Reagan revolution – then there'd be a sense that the party had constituents, and it was acting on its behalf.

Reviving the labor movement after 40 years of Reaganomic war on workers may sound like a tall order, but we are living through a labor renaissance, and the long-banked embers of labor radicalism are reigniting. What's more, repelling fascism is what workers' movements do. The business community will always sell you out to the Nazis in exchange for low taxes, cheap labor and loose regulation.

But workers, organized around their class interests, stand strong. Last week, we lost one of labor's brightest flames. Jane McAlevey, a virtuoso labor organizer and trainer of labor organizers, died of cancer at 57:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/jane-mcalevey-strategy-organizing-obituary

McAlevey fought to win. She was skeptical of platitudes like "speaking truth to power," always demanding an explanation for how the speech would become action. In her classic book A Collective Bargain, she describes how she built worker power:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

McAlevey helped organize a string of successful strikes, including the 2019 LA teachers' strike. Her method was straightforward: all you have to do to win a strike or a union drive is figure out how to convince every single worker in the shop to back the union. That's all.

Of course, it's harder than it sounds. All the problems that plague every coalition – especially the progressive liberal/left coalition – are present on the shop floor. Some workers don't like each other. Some don't see their interests aligned with others. Some are ornery. Some are convinced that victory is impossible.

McAlevey laid out a program for organizing that involved figuring out how to reach every single worker, to converse with them, listen to them, understand them, and win them over. I've never read or heard anyone speak more clearly, practically and inspirationally about coalition building.

Biden was never my candidate. I supported three other candidates ahead of him in 2020. When he got into office and started doing a small number of things I really liked, it didn't make me like him. I knew who he was: the Senator from MBNA, whose long political career was full of bills, votes and speeches that proved that while we might have some common goals, we didn't want the same America or the same world.

My interest in Biden over the past four years has had two areas of focus: how can I get him to do more of the things that will make us all better off, and do less of the things that make the world worse. When I think about the next four years, I'm thinking about the same things. A Trump presidency will contain far more bad things and far fewer good ones.

Many people I like and trust have pointed out that they don't like Biden and think he will be a bad president, but they think Trump will be much worse. To limit Biden's harms, leftists have to take over the Democratic Party and the progressive movement, so that he's hemmed in by his power base. To limit Trump's harms, leftists have to identify the fracture lines in the right coalition and drive deep wedges into them, shattering his power base.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/14/fracture-lines/#disassembly-manual

[nientedal]

What progress at home has biden enacted? What policies of his show that he is making progress that prove he is actually different than trump?

I like to pretend I have faith in humanity, so I'll answer as if you're asking this in good faith.

Biden's DEA has lifted restrictions on telehealth prescriptions to make appointments and assistance more accessible.

He put a funding package into place to help unhoused people get access to mental and physical healthcare, as well as short-term and long-term housing.

He has attempted and is still attempting to get student debt relief through - this was blocked by Republican judges appointed by Trump, but he's still working on it.

Infrastructure repair - his administration has budgeted funds to actually fix some severely-damaged and frequently-traveled bridges.

Trying to expand access to healthcare to include undocumented immigrants who came to the USA as children (Dreamers) under the Affordable Care Act. Support for Navigator programs and outreach has also been increased.

He has vetoed Republican-led bills that were attempting to overturn environmental protections - one that would have forbidden investment fund managers to consider climate change in their portfolios (I have two degrees in accounting and this is actually huge), and another that would have overturned restrictions on agricultural runoff into our waterways.

He and his administration worked for ages to get rail workers paid sick days.

This is just some of what he's been doing. Meanwhile, Trump and other Republicans want to criminalize the lives of LGBT people like you and me. They want to eliminate no-fault divorce and force births that will kill parents or devastate them financially. They have stated flat out that they want to install a military dictatorship in the USA. They attempted to put that in motion on January 6th, 2021. They failed once. They will do better next time.

One party wants to house the homeless and expand social safety nets, while the other one wants to criminalize homelessness. One of them wants a future in which I might be able to vote to change how much of a war machine my country is, while the other one wants to eliminate my ability to vote entirely. Those are not the same. Those literally are opposites.

At the end of the day, all you and I can do is choose to do the least amount of harm possible. You and I cannot choose to do no harm. This is the USA, we sell war, you and I cannot choose to do no harm. I wish we could, my god do I wish we could, but that is not an option. So we grieve for the harm we couldn't eliminate and work to minimize the harm that is done. Despite all the crap they support, Democrats are the minimum amount of harm right now. Acting like they aren't is exactly what brought us to an election where our options are a future where we are either wading in blood or drowning in it.

Not voting for Biden will not help Palestine. Not voting for Biden will guarantee a Republican president who will make the situation in Palestine WORSE. AND it'll hurt a lot of other places as well, both at home and abroad, because Republicans are about business and the USA is in the business of war! And I would very much like that to change someday! I would very much like to someday be able to choose to do no harm! And I know what I have to do to try for that future, so what are YOU going to do? There is no standing off to the side in this. If you aren't helping pull, you're the dead weight we're pulling. Are you going to dig your feet into the mud and blood and drown us there? Or are you going to get the fuck off your ass, grit your teeth, and help us pull free?

[koqabear]

「 Camera Shy 」

♫: Automatic, Red Velvet // Movie Star, CIX // Color Me, JUNNY // Kitty Cat, KISS OF LIFE

“You’ve always tried to live an honest and responsible life; never spending money on anything ridiculous, scoffing at the things other people would be so willing to drop their paycheck on. But when life gets hard, you’re bound to give into your guilty pleasures, right?”

camboy!Beomgyu x fem!reader

Genre: f2l, smut, pw/minimal plot 

Word count: 14.4K (there’s like three different smut scenes here)

Warnings: gyu has a thing for glasses idk don’t question me, (mc wears glasses, not necessarily prescription), gyu is lowkey manipulative if u squint, slight possessiveness on his part? nothing toxic (i think), alcohol consumption, gyu has a tattoo.. 

smut warnings: gyu is a bit of a perv! mean dom!Beomgyu, sub!mc, masturbation (f&m), filmed sex, (consensual), dirty talk, degrading, use of toys (f&m rec.), exhibitionism, voyeurism technically, bit of a voice/hand kink? slight humiliation kink, mentions of safe words & subspace, mentions of squirting lmao, manhandling, spanking, pet names (princess, baby, etc.), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking, dry humping, handcuffing, biting, unprotected sex, dumbification, dacryphilia, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: lemme tell you. i wrote abt the tattoo before i stumbled upon that pic, when i tell you i was just ??? barely proof-read heehee. the thought of this au hit me like a that-so-raven vision, and I literally spent the whole day making sure I could finish this. enjoy bc i love camboy aus sm. (oh and pls, do me a favor and reblog— i have an ominous feeling about what’ll happen to this fic once i post it.)

Beomgyu has always found the idea of his work a bit ridiculous. 

Day by day, he’s a normal college student— he spends his early mornings in classes, taking all the morning slots everyone was always reluctant to enroll in before he went off to work; he was known as that cute server amongst the women that visited the restaurant he worked at, able to upsell and gain tips with ease as he quickly became a favorite amongst his coworkers.

He liked the attention— of course he did, he needed to in order to thrive in the field of his actual job, his hours at the restaurant nothing but a side hustle compared to the hundreds he could make of a single stream.

Those hundreds could always breach into the thousands— but those were on especially good days, like his annual Valentine’s Day stream he always held for his lonely, single viewers. 

Beomgyu was quite the sweet talker— he got the practice from his day-to-day shifts, watching girls his age and older fawn at his words and flutter their eyes playfully. It was clear they enjoyed the attention just as much as he did, a cute smile on his face as he faked a shy laugh whenever they would compliment him.

Your hair looks really nice today. You smell amazing. Do you work out? You have a really nice voice. 

He got that last compliment a lot.

“Do I?” he would purr, a sultry smile crawling on his face each time, like a practiced action as he would tilt his head teasingly— the reaction would be positive each time, without fail, and he would always end up with a collection of napkins with scrawled phone numbers every time he would clock out— his coworkers would poke fun at him every time they watched him dump them all out apathetically. 

You weren’t into that one person? Dude, the lady at table seven was so fucking hot.

Beomgyu never really paid mind to their teasing— he could care less for the men and women that tried to butter him up during his shifts, forced to act as though their shameless flirting didn’t make his stomach twist unpleasantly— instead, he would be forced to smile, laughing sheepishly before he would slip away with one last comment. 

“I’m flattered, really— but, I have someone I’m interested in.” 

That someone was you— the pretty girl that sat across from him during his ten am lecture, finding himself spacing out every time and staring off into your direction; though you never seemed to notice, much too caught up in taking notes as he watched the way your brows would furrow, biting at your lip and adjusting your glasses as you remained focused— whether those glasses were for reading, blue light, prescription, or even decoration, he didn’t care— all he cared about was how unnecessarily attractive you looked in them. 

He thought about you more than he liked to admit— it was frustrating at first, his thoughts starting as nothing more than puppy love to something worse— it was only after you piqued his interest that he began streaming more. 

This was both a good and bad thing; good because, well, he began to climb the ranks of popularity and earn more, but bad because he would find himself thinking of you. Each. And every. Time. 

“Wish I could fuck you,” he would sigh out, his comments going too fast for him to keep up with as his eyes fluttered shut; leaning back against his headboard, he shifts, making sure everything but his lips remain out of frame before he’s back to closing his eyes, “would you let me make you feel good? God, I’d do anything just to feel you, taste you…”

As far as his audience knows, he’s speaking to them— the comments grow wild and tips flood in, all asking him to stop being a tease as they watch the way he palms himself through his sweatpants; grabbing at his length, stroking it slowly as he lets his imagination run wild. 

He’s not wearing boxers; Beomgyu knows it drives his viewers mad, able to see as a wet spot begins to form on the light material, his tip leaking furiously as his other hand tugs the hem of his sweater over his chest— his vision is hazy as he reads the requests, laughing softly as he allows his fingers to trace along his chest absentmindedly— tracing over the muscle of his abdomen, circling his nipples slowly as he reads a comment under his breath.

Stop teasing and hurry up already !! >///<

The comment has him rolling his eyes— yet his usual tippers begin to request the same thing, and his hand is slowly tugging at the tied strings of his pants as he smiles, mocking and mean as he bites his lip. 

“Hurry up? You want to command me while you’re over here throwing money at me like a whore? All just to watch me fuck myself, dreaming that it could be you?”

The comments start speeding up; it’s all a blur to him, but the sound of money coming in is enough to tell him that his usual audience is active again.

“Pathetic,” he sighs, his voice deep and grumbly as he reads over the requests that come in with the money: yes, i wish it were me there… please, can we see your cock?

“Desperate little sluts,” Beomgyu hums, tugging his waistband down and allowing his cock to spring up; it smacks against his stomach, and though the people in his comments attempt to regain his attention with dirty words and useless requests, he knows it’s all because of you— guiltily, he finds his thoughts straying the moment his hand wraps around his cock. 

His streams have a certain formula to them; the more money, the better the show. Which is exactly why he ends up kneeling in front of the camera, fucking his cock into a clear flashlight as he listens to the sounds of tips coming in left and right— but his eyes remained shut, spilling enough filth to have his audience satisfied as he allows to let his imagination run wild. 

In every stream, he cums to the thought of you; he has to bite his lip to not moan out your name like a pathetic bitch in heat, flooding his fleshlight with cum and continuing to fuck into it until his next orgasm.

In every stream, he finds himself thinking the same thought at least once— do you watch his streams?

»»»

The concept of camboys is ridiculous to you.

Why in the world would you spend all your money and emotions on a single person, when you can just go on Twitter and find the next best account that has yet to be suspended? Well, it’s not as though you find the idea of sex work appalling, but you don’t think you’d ever feel good about yourself spending a hard-earned paycheck because you were horny. 

You’re not stupid; you know sex workers make bank, and you know that there are people in the world that love emptying out their bank accounts to such workers; whether it’s due to a kink or to feed into their parasocial relationship, you’re not sure. 

You find that a good session on Twitter and your fingers usually does the trick— maybe a toy or two, if you find yourself feeling that needy. 

Today’s session quickly becomes both disappointing and humbling; every account you try to look for has either been suspended or deleted, and every video you come across is something that’s not to your taste or something you’ve seen many, many times. 

You feel weak as you come across the same account again; guiltypleasures— and he’s damn right, because you’re unable to resist the urge to click on his icon, feeling your thighs rub together with impatience as you sit back in bed— scrolling through, you’re surprised to see that he’s posted another video— without a second thought, you’re watching it. 

“Fucking pathetic,” he sighs out, the familiar growled phrase making you gulp; you never found yourself to be too attracted to men who are extremely dominating and mean, but the man on your screen is somehow able to make it work as you find yourself getting wetter, “are you touching yourself right now? Don’t you wish I was there with you?”

And shit, you think you know why he’s able to make you come back to him every time, even if he’s posted nothing new and you’re forced to rewatch old videos most of the time; maybe it’s because of his hands, delicate and thin as they wrap around his favorite pocket pussy, or maybe it’s the way he slowly fucks into the said toy; stretching it out, his tip poking out and oozing enough cum that you can hear the wet squelching sounds that come from every thrust.

Or maybe, it’s his voice, deep and breathy and addicting as he mumbles out filthy things like it’s the only thing he knew how to do; his lips are red and swollen as he groans, hissing through his teeth as you watch the way his hands tighten around his toy. 

“Shit, I’d fuck you so good,” he sighs out, hips rutting into the toy in his hands as he laughs; his head tilts, and though you’re only able to see his lips, you know his eyes are teasing as he looks into the camera, “fuck you so that you’d never want anyone else but me.”

His thrusts are picking up— you didn’t even realize the moment you began touching yourself, embarrassing whimpers and breaths falling from your lips as you keep your eyes honed in on his motions; you’re close, so close, your ministration speeding up as you fight to keep your eyes open. 

“You’d be my good little cumdump, just for me to use— right?”

The video ends shortly after.

God damn it! your mind screams, the sudden cut-off catching you so off guard that you completely ruined your orgasm; you feel insanely embarrassed by how frustrated you feel, not realizing how short the clip he posted was until now. Clicking away, you feel as though your mood is ruined as you read the contents of his tweet. 

A small clip from the stream. Watch the rest here: https://…..

Shit. Of course he would be a camboy. How did you not realize this sooner?

Honestly, if you sounded like that, you would be one too— and frustratingly enough, the brief cutoff is a damn good marketing strategy, because after a moment of thought, you’re clicking on the link.

You could just rewatch the video— you could also just go rewatch his previous videos, or even use your imagination to help you finish— but the idea of doing so is much more unpleasant than usual. (And humiliating, because you’ve found with horror that you’ve begun to memorize how his previous, equally as short, clips go.)

Your resolve begins to weaken the moment you click on his page— because of course, everything costs money— It costs to see his previous streams, costs to message him, and costs to get a fucking membership. 

Who is paying for all this?!

You, apparently— because after some serious, slightly horny-impaired thought, you decide that getting a low-tier membership wouldn’t be too bad, right?

The cost is monthly (because of course it is, this website seems to want to charge you for just looking at his page) and you wince slightly as you watch your transaction go through. 

Once you see the notification of your purchase pop up on your phone, you feel dreadfully sobered. 

Because shit, being a low-tier subscriber only gets you a part of his most recent streams— about less than half of it, you notice— only able to get full access to streams prior to this month. It’s enough for now, but you can’t help but feel as though you’ve become the very thing you’ve despised as you lay back in your bed, staring at your ceiling for a moment before you’re sighing.

You’re still horny. 

»»»

You think you can get behind the whole camboy thing. One may say you’ve been swayed, and quite honestly, you don’t think you could dispel such claims at this point.

Because it’s been a few months, and you’ve managed to stay through the whole thing. You’re surprised that you’ve begun to keep his streaming times in mind as you go about your day, ending your study sessions early or wondering if you’ll get home from work in time to watch his streams. 

You always do. Maybe it’s a deity above making sure you get your money’s worth, or maybe it’s the fact that guiltypleasures is a human too, with a normal life and better shit to do than sit in front of a camera and jerk off all day. 

The idea of following in his footsteps has crossed your mind more often than you expected; anything would be better than being a hostess at this god-awful job you have, forced to sit through the way people take out their anger on you and proceed to flirt with the servers— one of those servers being Beomgyu.

You were able to realize how popular Beomgyu was after your second shift— it didn’t take a genius to figure out why as you were left to deal with the way women of your age and older (mostly older. So many older women.) would creep up to you shyly, putting up a front of innocence as they asked you is Beomgyu here today? Could we sit in his area, please?

Seeing him rack up tips after a busy shift is always enough to have you wondering if you should switch to being a server— but then you see the way the women are treated, your stomach flipping in disgust at the way men leer and comment at them— you’ve even seen Beomgyu get cursed at plenty of times as well, shivering at the jealous partners and the way they’ve been blacklisted for threatening him. 

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve clocked out, shrugging on your jacket and gathering your belongings when you see Beomgyu storm in through the employee entrance; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him angry, but the sight has your eyes widening as you watch the way he frowns at his uniform, cursing angrily under his breath as he approaches the break table you stand by. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, low and breathy and mean as he continues complaining, berating the customer that had the audacity to throw their drink at him— but you, in your very depraved state, remain stuck on the way he sounds, his voice far too attractive for a person who is spouting out filth.

This feels familiar. 

“Hey, you okay?” you ask softly, feeling awkward as you mentally slap yourself for your train of thought; it seems as though Beomgyu hadn’t even realized you were there, his head snapping up as he stares at you like a deer caught in headlights— his mood is immediately shifting as he sends you a sweet smile, acting as though his clothes aren’t soaked as he waves you off causally. 

“Yeah. Just some ridiculous customers,” he says, laughing softly as he grabs at a pile of napkins on the table; you wince as you watch him scrub roughly at the stains, unable to stop yourself as you jump to his aide. 

“Here, you’ll only get the stains in deeper if you do that,” you say, taking the napkin from his hands as you begin to dab at his uniform without much thought; you’re much closer than you should be to someone you’ve never really talked to, but you don’t seem to realize it as Beomgyu practically forgets to breathe from your proximity. 

Shit, how did he find himself in this situation? He might as well go back out and thank the jealous, “tough guy” boyfriend that threw his drink at Beomgyu, because he feels as though every guilty fantasy is coming back to mind as he takes in your concentrated expression, your hand placed firmly on his chest for support as the other dabs at the stains in his uniform. 

You smell so good. Even though you’ve been in the restaurant just as long as him and have been around food this whole time, he’s still able to pick up on your scent with every shaky breath he takes. 

You’re wearing your glasses, too.

Beomgyu’s mind is wandering off to dangerous places; he knows he needs to get himself under control, because the danger of him popping a boner just from how close you are is a higher probability than he’d like to admit. It seems as though you’re snapping out of your trance the moment he clears his throat, your face growing hot and slightly horrified as you jump back; Beomgyu can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at the sight, finding your embarrassment oddly endearing. 

“Sorry, got carried away,” you say, smiling shakily as you take in the way Beomgyu practically beams at you— always a sweet, nice guy, waving you off without a problem as he laughs softly.

“No, it seems to have helped,” he says, and you can’t help but notice how oddly charismatic he is even now, during this mundane interaction that has you stuttering over your words stupidly— but to be fair, how are you supposed to give him advice on how to get the stains out when he’s looking at you with the cutest god damn puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, his brown eyes round and sparkly as he listens intently to every word you say? 

“I wouldn’t have thought to do that,” he smiles, his cheeks puffing up cutely and oh, is it weird that you want to coo at how cute he is and pinch his cheeks…? 

Definitely weird, you decide, letting out a soft laugh as he tells you that he’ll try it as soon as he gets home. 

“Speaking of which, I’ll let you go; you probably don’t want to be here longer than necessary,” Beomgyu is so kind and considerate even as you tell him it’s fine and that you didn’t have any plans after work anyway. 

“I’ll let you get back to work,” you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as Beomgyu asks you to wish him luck, the smile he sports coy as you follow his command without any hesitation— you take this as your chance to leave before things get awkward, but a part of you itches to go back and talk to him more. 

Beomgyu’s good, you realize as you’re exiting the building, a bewildered laugh escaping you as you realize that he managed to charm you just from that short interaction. 

You get why he’s so popular. 

»»»

Any plans to go to bed early and rest are immediately thrown out the minute your phone buzzes beside you. 

You were just about to put your laptop away— just on the verge of falling asleep, until your eyes reluctantly drifted to read the words that take over your screen— it’s a Twitter notification, the username making your eyes widen as you’re scrambling to unlock your phone and read the rest. 

guiltypleasures

had a shitty shift today, let me take it out on you? https://…….

Oh. oh, oh lord… you can feel the exhaustion lifted off in an instant; suddenly, you’re wide awake, eyes widening as you quickly copy the link of his tweet into your browser— while your mind scolds you for trying to stay up and possibly ruining your sleep schedule, the other, much more sinister part of it tells you that you’re paying for a reason. 

The stream starts in five minutes. 

While you wait anxiously in your room, your hands swiftly going to your nightstand to take out some toys— your trusty vibrator and a dildo you recently bought, all because of him— Beomgyu paces around his setup, gathering his own toys and changing into something that the viewers might like; today's ensemble is a bit more bothersome than usual, but he knows how much his viewers like when he dresses up and role plays a bit with them. 

He was tired; today's shift took a toll on him, and he’d rather be fast asleep than putting on a stream— but after looking at today's earnings, he couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied with it all, deciding on impulse that he would put on a stream to make up for his lack of tips— instead, he’ll earn tips in another way. 

“Hey,” he starts quietly, sitting back in his seat as he takes a glance at his monitor, making sure his face is out of frame. The viewer count rises and comments flood in no time, all of them freaking out about how good he looks in the suit he wears; the all-black ensemble feels stifling to him, but he knows taking it off will be worth it in the end. 

Bad day today? Let us make you feel better :( 

His top tippers are all begging for his attention, desperate and needy as always as they beg for him to get started— but he feels a lot more sluggish than usual, his gloved hands caressing his thighs slowly as he reads the comments out loud. 

“Yeah, today’s shift wasn’t that great,” he speaks, his voice deep and sultry as he allows a moment to pass, reading all the comments that beg for him to use them, “I only thought about you though. Just wanted to see you.”

There he goes again— he’s no longer talking to his audience, but to you instead, closing his eyes and imagining a world where you’re in front of him, or even on the other side of this screen, one of the many faces that lusts over the way his cock begins to harden, the bulge becoming much more apparent as he lets his mind wander.

Unbeknownst to him, you are on the other side of your screen; a shy and flustered mess as you shift in your bed, watching the comments fly by as you wonder if you should join in— not that you could, anyway, your low-tier subscription excluding you from doing such things, as ridiculous as it is. 

You’re practically devouring the man on your screen with your eyes; taking in the way he’s dressed, his pretty hands covered with leather gloves as he runs them slowly over his black trousers; stopping as they run back to his hips, a hand beginning to palm at his bulge as he spreads his legs a little wider in his chair— today's setup is a bit different, along with his attitude as he seems to sweet talk the audience more than usual. 

“Seeing you is the only good part of my day,” he sighed, his free hand trailing up his chest before it stops at his tie— he’s tugging at it, loosening it and allowing it to hang around his neck as he continues, “Can’t stop thinking about how much I want you, how I’d fuck you until all you can remember is my name.”

The offer is tempting; you groan a little as you watch him begin to slide off his blazer, throwing it to the side before he’s unbuttoning his white shirt— he’s making quick work to become undressed, you notice, untucking the material and undoing his belt as the sounds of it jingling ring out in the room. 

Yet, no one knows his name— no one knows anything about him, except the tattoo that runs across his side as he slides off his shirt, the sharp, elegant lines running all along his ribs, trailing down to his hip bones and disappearing under his pants— the rest of him remaining a mystery as you’re left to lust over a nameless, faceless stranger. 

That’s probably where the appeal comes from; you’re able to imagine anything about him, from what his face looks like to what he may do when the cameras are off; you’re free to mold him into the perfect fantasy, using him and projecting onto him as you watch him slowly unzip his pants, a hand slipping under as he begins to jerk himself off teasingly, slow as always as he waits for the requests to come in— like clockwork, your eyes fall to the end of his tattoo, taking in the cute heart that rests by his hip bone, the ending of the elaborate piece that always has you wondering what it’d be like to see in person. 

“Hmm? You want more?” he says, tilting his head slightly as he smiles; it’s mocking as always, biting into his lip as he begins to roll his hips into his hand— making a show out of it, throwing his head back and letting out a breathy moan that has you shivering.

“How about you show me just how much you want it,” he sighs out, smiling evilly as tips begin to come in left and right as a response; you find the way he’s able to manipulate the audience impressive, always able to get them to blow their money on him without hesitation. 

He leans forward, towards the screen, and you’re able to admire his lips as he reads the comments, mouthing them as the lights cast a glow on his pretty, pouty mouth, his neck tempting and begging to be marked as you watch the way he displays it so teasingly. 

“Good girl,” he laughs softly, your eyes flickering to the comment section for a moment; his top tipper has spent an egregious amount on him yet again, and you listen to the way he softly begins to fulfill her request, the rest of the audience momentarily disappearing as he begins to speak to her. 

“Always such an obedient thing for me, hmm? Tell me, what do you want to see?” 

His manipulation is seamless as he watches another tip flood in; all from the same person, the amount doubled in order to get his attention past all the others that blow a measly twenty on him, nothing compared to the three hundred that is highlighted in gold, the comment momentarily pinned for the man to read it.

I want you to fuck your favorite fleshlight and use a vibrator while you think of me. Can you moan my name please? It’s—

Her comment has your eyes widening for a second; it’s bold and demanding, and the idea of requesting such a thing from the camboy in front of you is daunting as you read her request over and over— your face feels hot and you’re already taking off your sweatpants from how needy you are, wondering if the man on your screen will accept such a request.

The first two are nothing to him— in fact, it’s more on the tamer side as he already finds himself reaching for the aforementioned toys. 

The problem lies in the last request. 

He’s not one to moan names on a live stream; he usually saves it for personal requests he gets, the videos much more personal and calculated as he gets to take his time with them— so for his top tipper to request such a thing on his livestream is a bit more difficult; especially when he spends this time thinking of you. 

But then again, it’s three hundred dollars. 

“Okay then, is that what you want? Hmm?” he teases softly, purring out her name at the end as he watches the way she tips him again; it has him laughing in amusement, sitting back in his chair before he’s crossing his arms over his chest, singing out her name with a soft lilt as he watches the way she continues to pour money at him like it’s nothing. 

Soon enough, more requests come in; all with the same amount and request, hoping that they’ll be able to hear their names fall from his lips as he slowly begins to tug down his pants, raising his hips as he’s left in nothing but his underwear, the briefs straining painfully as his cock twitches, begging to be free. 

“One at a time,” he murmurs sweetly, patronizing as he mumbles that it’s her turn now, watching the way she seems to react with every purr of her name. 

The sudden trend of requests makes his stream slightly difficult; he’s always found himself to be a lot more into them when he’s mentally moaning out your name, lips ghosting over the syllables every time he’s coming undone. Instead, he’s forced to moan out the name of a stranger as he begins to palm himself slowly, even though his mind thinks back to you and the small interaction you had today. 

He feels his cock twitch at the mere thought. It’s painfully hard and won’t stop leaking as he takes it out, not needing to use any lubricant as he begins stroking it slowly, hips jumping at the feeling of the leather against his skin— and though his lips moan another’s name, his eyes remain closed, thinking about you. 

You and your meek personality, always letting guests take out their anger on you before they’re turning around and sucking up to Beomgyu— he’s always had to resist the urge to fuck them up as a response, knowing that you think no one else notices your sullied mood and your crestfallen gaze every time they seem to get away with it. 

He’s never free to comfort you. You’re both far too busy to be around each other for longer than a few minutes, and today was like a blessing as he caught you at just the right time— he would have stayed the rest of his shift back there talking to you, if only he hadn’t been playing the part of a sweet, considerate guy. 

He thinks back to how you felt against him. How, even though your actions were innocent and you were much more focused on taking out the stain of his uniform, he still felt the warmth of your hand against his chest, delicate and smaller than his as you leaned in close enough to allow himself to get a whiff of your sweet scent.

And those glasses. 

He never thought he would find himself hung up on such an item, but the way they make your eyes look big and sparkly is practically enough to make him cum on the spot. Instead, he grabs a hold of his newest fleshlight, soft and tight, just how he imagines you would be. 

It’s perverted, but as he slides his cock into the tight sleeve, groaning slightly at how he’s barely able to push through, he imagines that it’s you. His mind begins to wonder what it would be like if you were above him right now, your thighs encasing his and your pussy leaking onto his cock as he fucked into you without abandon. 

As he turns on his vibrator, running it along his balls and letting out pathetic moans, he imagines what it would be like to use it on you while he fucked you, imagining the way your tits would bounce and your eyes would squeeze shut as he made you cum until you were unable to hold yourself up. 

On the other side of the screen, you imagine the same thing. Your legs are shaking and you’re fighting to keep your eyes open as you follow the pace he’s set, pressing your vibrator firmly against your clit and letting out weak whimpers at the sensation. You try to ignore the way he calls out the same name over and over, wondering instead what it would be like to hear your name from his lips— the sound is ringing throughout your mind the moment you imagine it, burying your face into your pillow as you increase the intensity of your toy. 

“Let me fill you up, want you dripping with my cum,” he growls out, the sloppy sounds of his thrusts only spurring you on as your thighs close around your hand, hips grinding into your dildo as you sink your teeth into your lip ruthlessly— it’s almost enough to draw blood as you watch the way he cums into his toy, hips continuing to rut into the it even long after he’s come, a white ring forming at the base as he turns the vibrator off from the overstimulation. 

“_— Shit,” Beomgyu almost slipped up for a second, proceeding to moan out his requested name repeatedly as a distraction. 

And you know you’re imagining it, but you’re briefly coming undone after that, your pussy tightening against your dildo and your legs shaking as you run your vibrator along your clit, imagining that it’s him inside you, that he’s currently spilling his load in your cunt— your mind swearing that you almost heard your name slip from his lips for a second— and it isn’t until you recover from your orgasm, the sound of another name leaving his lips repeatedly making you come to, that you realize it was your brain playing trick on you to help you get off. 

But you weren’t imagining things. 

Beomgyu hopes his audience didn’t pick up on his small mistake, but he’s relieved to see that they’re none the wiser as they continue to request to hear their name next.

“Let’s see…” he says, and you’re barely able to keep your eyes open as you watch the way he leans towards the camera again, reading requests off the monitor as he grinds his hips into his toy absentmindedly throughout it.

He’s barely getting started.

In turn, so are you. 

»»»

Beomgyu is the sweetest guy you’ve ever met. 

After your brief conversation at the restaurant, you quickly found yourself talking to him more often. 

It turned into him sitting next to you during the one class you shared, your friendship growing stronger day by day as you got to know him better. 

He acts like a puppy; he’s so sweet and kind, his voice soft and endearing every time he spoke to you— and, like a stark contrast to the flirty and outgoing guy you saw during your shifts at the restaurant, he was very shy, ever the gentleman as he always treated you with nothing but kindness. 

“Good morning,” Beomgyu hums, sitting in the seat next to yours before he’s placing down a cup of coffee, “I got this for you. I already finished mine, but I thought you might like some too.”

Sweet gestures like these were common with him; despite your insistence that he really didn’t need to, he always did it anyway, ever the charming man as he sent you a cute smile that would have you unable to say no. 

“Hey, I heard you’re friends with Yeonjun?” you ask, reluctantly accepting the drink after he insisted that you didn’t need to feel bad; your lips are curving into a small smile as you take a drink, stomach flipping at the realization that it was your usual order— you’re surprised he was able to remember it after the first time you got coffee together. 

Beomgyu nods in confirmation. You’re a bit surprised by his answer, unable to see the two be friends due to their contrasting personalities. You can tell that he’s curious as to why you’re asking as he pouts slightly— a habit he always does when he’s confused— and you’re quick to swallow down your drink and give him context.

“He’s having a party this weekend. I was wondering if you’re going?” you say, and Beomgyu feels his stomach drop slightly; not because you were going— well, not entirely, at least— but because if you were going, you’d definitely end up seeing a different side of him. And after seeing how fond you are of his puppy-like behavior, he dreads seeing your reaction to a much more reckless side of him.

“I… think so,” he says sheepishly, wondering what kind of excuse he should make to not go— but he pauses, seeing the way you pout at him, grabbing his arm desperately as you lean into him as you plead.

“You should go— pleeeasee? Yeonjun’s parties are super over the top and he always invites hella people, I don’t wanna be there alone.” 

You have this man wrapped around your finger; with one look at your face, your gaze sweet and pleading as you cutely pout at him expectantly, he finds himself agreeing, unable to fight back a smile as he watches the way you cheer triumphantly, quieting down the moment the lecture starts. 

Beomgyu will definitely have to be careful this weekend— but seeing you will be worth it, even if he’s risking the chance of potentially changing the way you’ll view him forever. 

»»»

You have yet to see Beomgyu. 

The party started hours ago, yet you’ve only been present for a few as you’ve already both greeted and lost Yeonjun, forced to mingle with people you barely know as you all hang out in his backyard— because lord knows how packed and stuffy the place would’ve been if he held it inside. 

You currently find yourself playing cup pong, teaming with the girl in your communications class as you go against two strangers— Yunjin is much friendlier and outgoing when she’s drunk, cheering you on and yelling triumphantly with every ball you get in— you’ve barely had anything to drink as a result, and Yunjin is eager to fix that as she hands you a small shot cup; you’re hesitant at first, only accepting it after she explains that it isn’t strong at all, the soju mixed in with other things as she tells you you’ll barely feel it. 

It’s not that you’re a lightweight that would get drunk off one shot, but you’d rather not get shit-faced when you have yet to find Beomgyu; your eyes scan over the place once more after you take the shot, Yunjin’s cheers falling deaf onto your ears as you allow the team in front of you have their turn. 

“Drinking already?”

Beomgyu has snuck up on you successfully— you’re flinching in surprise as you feel his hand fall gently on the small of your back, leaning in close so he’s properly able to speak to you over the music. 

Beomgyu feels as though looking at you is a sin; he’s forcing himself to keep his eyes off you, listening to the way you ramble into his ear about how happy you are to see him, your head tilting back and exposing the column of your neck to him to get him to hear you. 

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he comments, oddly hung up on it as he watches the way your smile only widens.

“Yeah, didn’t feel like it,” you say lightheartedly, leaning back against Beomgyu and finding comfort in the position that allows the two of you to speak over the booming music.

Unbeknownst to you, he takes this moment to drink in your appearance. The white, oversized button-up you wear is left completely open as it drapes over your figure, the light blue denim shorts entirely too tempting as they ride up your thighs, much too short to even cover you properly— but of course, that’s the look you were going for, leaving your bottoms unbuttoned and folded down as you allow your bikini to peek through— the color is flattering on your skin, and Beomgyu wonders if he’ll be strong enough to resist you, eyes flickering over to the pool that’s filled with plenty of people as a distraction. 

“You wanna go in?” you ask, and Beomgyu realizes you’ve followed his line of sight, shaking his head quickly in response. You laugh, turning around briefly as you listen to the sounds of Yunjin telling you that you have to drink— you freely down the shot in the plastic cup this time, much more at ease now that Beomgyu is around— and turn back to him, pulling at his shirt slightly as you take in his attire.

“Come on, you’re definitely dressed for the part!” 

And that much was true— though he realized halfway through his drive here that doing so would not be a good idea, especially if he wanted to keep up this cute, innocent act of his.

“It’s too full right now,” he says, his excuse valid as you study the pool for a moment— only to agree, turning back to the game as you tell Beomgyu to cheer for you with a cheeky smile. 

It doesn’t take much longer for you to get tipsy— all because you made the mistake of trusting Yunjin to play properly during her turn, missing entirely and proceeding to get the two of you obliterated after she went against one of the guys on the opposite team (Jake, he later told you.)— but you’re quick to make sure to bring Beomgyu down with you, handing him every other shot you get as you tell him he’s now on your team.

What you don’t seem to realize is that Beomgyu is not a lightweight— far from it, watching with amusement as you slowly begin to get tipsy, your mouth loosening and your personality becoming much more outgoing after losing the game to Jake and his friend— three times in a row. 

“Again?” you ask, laughing at the way Yunjin yells in agreement— Beomgyu has to tug on your shirt to get you away, telling you that it’s definitely not a good idea to go again, especially with someone as uncoordinated as Yunjin. 

“Why didn’t you play with me then?” you say, leaning against him as you smile up at him prettily; he’s leading you away from the table and towards the grass, over to where a small campfire is lit, plenty of chairs scattered about as the music becomes louder in this area. 

“You don’t like games?” you ask him, stumbling to a stop and tugging at his shirt to stop with you, just so he’s able to hear you better. Coyly, you smile, your eyes twinkling mischievously as you lean in to speak to him quietly, “Don’t you wanna play with me?” 

Your words are fairly innocent— but your delivery is not, and it has Beomgyu sputtering in surprise as he wonders how he should respond to such a random advance— though he doesn’t need to in the end, watching as you break character and laugh at your own antics, perking up immediately as you listen to the song that’s playing. 

“Oh, I love this song!” 

You’re dancing carelessly to the song without a second thought, pulling Beomgyu in and laughing at the way he seems reluctant to let loose; it’s probably the alcohol in your system that’s making you act like such an idiot, leaning against him and smiling at the way he seems adamant to avoid your gaze. 

“You know, I just realized that we’re matching!” you laugh, tugging at the collar of his white button-up before you’re glancing down; it’s tucked neatly into his denim shorts, and your smile is only growing wider as you look back up at him, “we look like a couple or something.”

Your words affect him much more than he’d like to admit— but he has no time to dwell on it, eyes looking past you and at Yeonjun, who walks straight toward the two of you with a grin stuck on his face. 

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Yeonjun yells, grabbing your attention as you’re turning to greet Yeonjun; you’re bubbly and seem to find everything funny as you giggle slightly, waving at him happily before you’re stepping away from Beomgyu. 

“I couldn’t find you,” Beomgyu mumbles, watching the way Yeonjun slings an arm around your shoulders casually— he feels oddly angered at the sight, unsure why it irritates him so much to see the two of you act so close. 

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Yeonjun says, and he watches as you begin to ramble about your history with Beomgyu with a small smile— scanning your outfit, he frowns. 

“You haven’t gotten in the pool yet?” Yeonjun asks, raising a brow at your entirely dry figure; you shake your head, which only makes him tilt his head in confusion, “I thought you said that’s the only reason you were coming?”

“Well, I just haven’t gotten the chance to,” you say sheepishly, the shy smile on your face quickly turning to one of confusion the moment Yeonjun hugs you; he’s got you tight, and you’re stumbling along with him as you begin questioning what he’s doing, your eyes widening the moment you peek over his shoulder— you’re heading straight to the pool, the volume of your yells rising significantly as you begin to struggle against your friend, yelling at Beomgyu to come to your rescue. 

(It’s all for dramatic effect. Yeonjun laughs at the way you pretend to struggle against him, and he pretends he doesn’t hear your laugh of joy the moment he falls over the edge, letting go of you in time and forcing the two of you into the water.)

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that the water isn’t freezing; you personally thank Yeonjun’s heating system as you come up for air, wiping at your face and adjusting your hair as you begin to splash Yeonjun, insulting him for being such a bully. 

Your movements are immediately stopping the moment you spot Beomgyu at the edge— Yeonjun is quick to leave, sending you a small wink (the term “wink” used loosely) before he’s off to find his next target—he’s taken his shoes off and he looks more than ready to jump in, and you can’t help but laugh sweetly at his concern before you realize that you should probably take off your shoes as well.

“You okay?” He asks you, watching the way you cringe as you take off your shoes, tossing them over the edge and leaving them to dry as you swim to where he stands. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you smile, watching the way he seems hesitant to do anything— to get in or leave, you’re unsure. A second passes before an evil thought pops into your head, taking notice of your equally soaked clothes that remain stuck on your body.

“Oh. Hey, could you hold this?” you begin, shedding off your shirt before you’re bundling it into a ball, holding out the fabric for him— he crouches down, arm reaching out for your shirt— and you seize your moment, both hands grabbing onto him and tugging as hard as you can. 

And Beomgyu, in his unguarded state, falls in immediately. 

The laugh you let out is pure evil as you watch him fall in, flailing for a second before he’s coming up for air— and honestly, Beomgyu can’t even be mad, at least not when you’re laughing so hard, your face lit up as you take in the way his hair is completely flat on his head. 

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it,” you say, but you don’t look sorry at all as you swim over to your shirt that’s now sunk into the bottom of the pool. You’re diving down to get it, quick to throw it over the edge and by your shoes before you’re tugging off your shorts. You’re glancing back at Beomgyu, relieved to see he doesn’t look angry at all, when you spot something peculiar. 

“Woah, what’s that?” you ask, approaching Beomgyu eagerly as he’s quick to follow your gaze. His cheeks are on fire and his hands are quick to fly onto his ribs, turning away from your curious hands and even more curious gaze as he stutters out an excuse. 

“It’s nothing.” That’s probably one of the lamest things Beomgyu has ever said, and you’re not believing him for a second as your eyes widen at his sudden change in behavior. 

“Is it a tattoo?” you ask, trying to get a peek through the cracks of his fingers; but the water makes everything blurry, unable to get the details of it before you’re humming appreciatively. “Hmm. That’s cool— I didn’t know that was such a common spot to get tattooed.”

“Is it?” he asks, and suddenly, he doesn’t seem to want to hide it anymore. Your curious gaze and awed compliments have him smiling, raising a brow as he feels himself become more confident— the idea that you of all people would judge him seems ridiculous now.

“Who else do you know that has a tattoo here?” you’re late to process the question— only because your eyes are widening as he admits that it is a tattoo, the words flying out of your mouth before you can truly process if it’s a good idea. 

“I don’t know. I’ve just seen it online, I guess.” Of course, this could mean many things— but it means one thing to you, and you’re practically biting your tongue from the sheer terror that you inadvertently admitted to a guilty, secret pleasure of yours.

“Online?” he asks, and you try to not look suspicious as you choose to simply remain quiet and nod. 

“Yeah, like on Pinterest and stuff,” you add, hoping that it’s enough to prove your innocence (to yourself) as you watch Beomgyu nod along to your words. 

“Aren’t your clothes weighing you down?” you ask, eyeing the way he’s barely moved with a small smile, “or like, are you not wearing anything underneath?”

Most of the people here came with their swimsuits underneath— some just opted to strip to their underwear, which is why you didn’t feel alarmed to find people stripping their layers in order to jump into the pool. 

Though, now that you think about it, you feel a bit bad for forcing Beomgyu to get in without much of a warning. Your concerns are quickly soothed, however, when Beomgyu shakes his head, hands coming up to unbutton his shirt before he’s laughing softly at your words. 

“I was wearing my shorts underneath these,” he confesses, your eyes widening as you find yourself going silent— because wow, was Beomgyu always this ripped?

You feel odd as you watch him strip, sliding off his shirt as most of his torso remains underwater; he’s slowly making his way to where you stand by the edge, and you can feel your heart stopping as you take in the look in his eyes. 

Dark. Dangerous. Tempting. You think you’re imagining things as you look away, gulping heavily as you feel yourself sobering suddenly. He’s throwing his shirt in the direction that your pile of clothes lie, and you feel oddly embarrassed by the way you have to look away as he strips his bottoms off as well. 

You’re only glancing back in time to see him hover out of the pool for a second, his upper body coming out of the water as he takes a moment to lay out both your clothing properly. 

Holy shit. 

Was it common for people to have the same tattoo? It surely was, right? Those are the only things that are going through your mind as you observe Beomgyu’s tattoo, taking in the familiarity of each line as your eyes drift down to his v-line— your eyes spot the small, perfect heart that rests right at his pubic bone.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god oh god, you think, trying your best to not lose your shit and melt in a puddle of horror and embarrassment as you realize that Beomgyu has the exact tattoo as guiltypleasures.

It had to be a popular tattoo. Or maybe it was a reference to something, or a drawing a tattoo artist put out to let other people use— anything, it had to be anything else than the conclusion your mind was terrified of making, meeting Beomgyu’s gaze shyly as you realize that he’s caught you staring, hard.

“It’s pretty,” you breathe out, unsure you can trust your voice as you watch Beomgyu sink back into the pool, “Is it… a reference to something?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Thanks,” he starts, leaving you on edge as he takes a moment to inspect his tattoo— running his fingertips over it, tracing over the delicate lines in a way that has you gripping onto the edge of the pool, “and no, it’s not. I designed it myself.”

You’re gonna pass out.

“Really?” you grit out, hoping he can’t pick up on the tension of your voice as you smile, albeit forced, “Like, it’s one of a kind?”

“Yup,” he grins, staring down at his tattoo with a proud look on his face, “One of a kind. My tattoo artist didn’t even post it, upon my request.”

You’re gonna cry. Maybe you’ll scream, or even sink into the pool and try to drown yourself. 

Because Choi Beomgyu, your closest friend for the past few months and the man you may or may have not been beginning to crush on, is guiltypleasures, the man you lust after every night and fucking pay to watch. 

You know they say that quiet guys are the freakiest, but this is too fucking much. 

“That’s so cool,” you say, sinking into the pool so the water is up to your mouth, hoping that you won’t blurt out any more stupidities as you stare off into the distance, attempting to let this new information settle in. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, and you hate how attentive Beomgyu has become— even more because everything is starting to click, his husky and deep voice a replica of your stupid camboy’s, your body reacting involuntarily to the sound of it as you simply nod softly. 

“Mhmm,” you hum out, coming out of the water a bit so you can speak, “I think those drinks from earlier fucked up my stomach— I should go home.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu says, and you feel awful for the way he’s become confused at your sudden shift in mood, “Are you sure you’ll be okay driving—?”

“I Ubered here,” you mumble, oddly embarrassed at your words, “cause I knew I’d probably drink a lot.” 

“Well then let me take you home,” he insists, ever the gentleman as you try to say that he shouldn’t, that he should just stay and enjoy the party. 

“It’s dangerous to call an Uber at this hour though,” he continues, his stupid fucking puppy eyes taking a toll on your resolve as you bite your lip, “Plus, I only really came to this party because of you.”

God, what the hell was this behavior?! This innocent, shy, and sweet Beomgyu was a complete one-eighty— scratch that— was an entirely different fucking person than the one that always talked down at you at night, spilling filth like it was in his nature and treating you like you were worthless.

It was a bit terrifying as you watched the way he remained entirely oblivious to the Earth-shattering realization, getting out of the pool and reaching out to help you out with a sweet smile. 

After a second, you take it. 

You feel so awkward as you gather your clothes; you’re jumpy and you’re sure Beomgyu has picked up on it as he eyes you from time to time, watching as you wring out your clothes as much as you can before you’re slipping on your shirt, your shorts left in your hand as you avoid Beomgyu’s eyes entirely. 

“I have a few blankets in my car— you should use those to keep yourself warm,” he says softly, looking back at you and frowning at the way you only nod with a tense smile. 

Was he wrong about you? Were you lying when you reacted positively to his tattoo? Beomgyu has no idea why something as simple as a tattoo would change the way you treat him entirely, but he’s determined to get to the bottom of this as you enter his car, entirely stiff as you wrap one of his aforementioned blankets around yourself. 

“Hey, did something happen tonight?” He asks you halfway through his drive, licking his lips nervously as he watches the way you jump in your seat, not expecting his question at all as you remain silent for a second.

“Uhm, no?” you say, though you seem unsure of your own answer as you wrap the blankets a little tighter around yourself, “I’m telling you, it was probably the drinks— I didn’t think my stomach would be so sensitive tonight.”

Your explanation is entirely plausible, but Beomgyu doesn’t believe it as he watches the way you remain tense, his car slowing to a stop as the two of you wait at the stoplight in an awkward silence. 

“You’re lying,” Beomgyu says, deciding that it’s better to just be bold instead of tiptoeing around the subject, “Is it because of my tattoo?”

Your lips press together. 

“It is,” he says, and he feels an unexpected wave of disappointment and anger wash over him, “did something that small put you off that much?”

“That’s not it,” you say, your heart pounding against your chest and your body heating up as you realize that you’ve upset him— and greatly, because you’re able to see the way his brows knit together and his hand tightens on the steering wheel as he begins to drive again. 

Did he think you were judging him? That you thought less of him because of such a small thing? 

“Then what is it?” he insists, and you’re mortified to see that you’re stuck in traffic, victim to Beomgyu’s sharp gaze that demands answers, “Cause you’ve been acting weird since I showed it to you.”

“I’ve seen it before,” you mutter quietly, sinking into your seat from the humiliation, “I recognized it. Your tattoo.”

Beomgyu pauses. Then he thinks of the many times he’s had his shirt ride up when he’s around you, from stretching to taking off his hoodie and having his undershirt get pulled up along with it.

“Okay?”

“Like. Online.”

That’s enough to leave him silent. Stupefied, even. One glance at you and your body language is enough to confirm that it’s exactly what he’s thinking, your posture so small that you look like you wish you could disappear. 

“You’ve—“ he swallows, wondering what else to say as traffic begins moving again, “like… Twitter—?”

“Your streams.” 

Fuck. Fuck, oh fuck, Beomgyu needs to get the fuck out of the car this instant, because his dick is already hardening and he can feel his brain short-circuiting at your words— you watch his streams. 

In your mind, you feel as though you’ve completely dug a hole for yourself— Beomgyu is probably horrified at your confession, but it’s not as though you knew it was him, or that you had any malicious intent, or that—!

All Beomgyu can think of is how he shouldn’t park the car in the middle of the road and fuck you stupid. 

“Did you watch them a lot?” he asks you, his voice eerily quiet and stable, and oh no he’s interrogating you right now, this is the end for you.

“Yeah,” you say, deciding to be completely transparent now that you’ve decided to tell the truth, “I’m sorry.” 

Is it possible to come untouched like this? Beomgyu might just find out, because the way your voice is so meek and shy and guilty has him biting down on his lip, his mind growing foggier and his foot pressing down on the gas pedal a little harder as he begins to weave through lanes. 

“You were a subscriber then,” he says calmly, and you feel as though he’s trying to humiliate you on purpose as you nod your head in admittance— unbeknownst to you, that’s exactly what he’s doing, enjoying the way he’s breaking you down from just a few questions with sick pleasure. 

“How much money did you spend on me then?” You’re finding his line of questioning a bit odd at this point, but you refuse to look up from your lap as you find yourself answering anyways. 

“I was just a low-tier subscriber…” you say, and it feels even more humiliating to admit that you cheaped out on him— what the hell was wrong with you?

“Low-tier? Not even a single tip?” he repeats, and you don’t seem to register the way he pouts at you until it’s far too late.

Stopping at a red light, he grabs your chin, turning your face roughly so you’re looking at him— and he’s back, the man behind the screen, except this time you can see the sheer pity that fills his gaze as he speaks to you as though you’re lower than him.

“How are you gonna make it up to me now?”

»»»

God. Fuck. Are you dreaming? You think you might pass out.

“I know, I know I said I wouldn’t stream tonight— shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here?”

Your stomach is twisted in knots and you feel small as you attempt to take in everything properly— Beomgyu’s setup, the same room you’ve seen countless times before— you’re able to see it all, from his large computer monitors, his filming camera, to his grandiose bed and the insane amount of toys he keeps on standby. 

You shift restlessly on your feet, entirely bare save for a shirt that Beomgyu let you borrow— another white button-up, the very same one that he loved to wear when he dressed up, now hanging from your figure as he allowed the two of you to freshen up the moment you got to his home. 

Nervously, you had left the shirt completely buttoned up; you watched from behind his camera as he continued to sweet talk his viewers, dressed comfortably in a sweater and sweats, his attire a complete contrast to your own. 

“You’re happy to see me? I don’t believe you,” he smiles, and you feel as though you’re back to being a faceless member of his stream as you press your thighs together, able to hear the way notifications pop up on his computer, all of them signifying a new tip. 

“You know, today’s a pretty special occasion actually,” he begins, pausing to see his comments and the reactions within them, “you’re curious? Do you wanna try something new with me?”

Yes. It’s the only thing he sees in his comments, and he lets out a soft laugh before he’s turning back to his camera.

Then, he’s looking past it.

“Come here, baby.”

You knew this was coming— you agreed to this, for crying out loud, but you still feel as though your legs are made of jello as you hesitate, biting your lip before your eyes are widening nervously, the safe word the two of you established beforehand running through your mind like a mantra you mustn’t forget. 

“Come on, you don’t want to keep them waiting, do you?” he asks, eyes flickering over to his screen, watching the way everyone seems to go haywire from his words, “See? They’re curious, they want to see you.”

You’re taking your first step towards the camera— then another, and another, until you’re walking past the setup, your back facing the camera as you make your way to where he sits at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do as you remain frozen in front of him.

“What, are you nervous?” he asks, and he’s only able to let out a mean laugh the moment you’re nodding in response, unable to use your voice properly— that’ll change soon, he thinks, reaching for your hands and guiding them to his shoulders. 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, aiming for your thighs next as he’s tugging at them, pleased with the way you let him mold you to his desired position, your thighs on either side of his as you hover over him pathetically, “I know they’ll love you.”

Neither of your full faces can be seen— but the audience can definitely see the way he captures your lips in a harsh kiss, filled with nothing but pure need as he finally gets to feel you properly— you feel as though you’re about to run out air when he finally pulls away, laughing as he feels the way you buttoned every single button of the shirt he gave you. 

“Now why would you do that?” he whispers against your lips, and your fingers dig into his shoulders pathetically as you watch him rip it open— the viewers are going wild at the sight, tipping ridiculous amounts of money just so they can get Beomgyu to see their requests; curiously your eyes drift to his monitor.

You practically collapse at the things you read on the screen.

Finger her. Eat her out. Use a vibrator on her, tie her up, breed her until she can’t walk straight, use a dildo on her— 

The horror comes from the fact that Beomgyu is clearly considering doing all of it.

“What do you think baby?” he asks you, pressing his hand on the small of your back and forcing you to arch into him, your ass perking out and your cunt left to be entirely displayed as he trails his hand up your back, lifting your shirt along with it as he allows the viewers to get a good look at you.

“Anything that piques your interest?” he whispers, your head buried in his shoulder as you shake from the embarrassment of it all, “or…”

You jolt at the way his hand lands a sharp smack on your ass. He’s quick to soothe the area, smiling at the way he takes in the small whimper you let out, burying your face deeper into his shoulder and arching more in response. He lands another one, much more harsher than the last as his hand immediately drifts to your pussy, spreading you for the camera and watching the way you practically glisten under the light. 

“Should I decide how I get to use you for myself?”

He’s a bit surprised to find that you’re quick to nod at his second request, much too shy to even lift your head from where it rests as your fingers dig into his skin. 

He smiles, his eyes drifting back to the monitor as he begins reading over their requests. 

“Hmm, are you shy, princess?” he asks, fingers trailing along your slit, feeling the way your hole flutters at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside as you whine quietly, nodding at his words.

“But you’re so fucking wet, and we haven’t even done anything,” slowly, his fingers slip inside— you’re both moaning at the feeling, and Beomgyu thinks that he might just be the one to cum as he feels the way you stretch around his fingers. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, beginning to test out the waters by scissoring you— spreading you out for the camera, watching over your shoulder as your arousal practically leaks out; he gulps, unable to keep his eyes away from the sight as he sighs.

“Feels so soft and warm,” he mutters, placing a kiss on your temple before he’s reaching for something off-screen— the box of toys, you realize, forced to keep your face buried in his shoulder in an attempt to not show your face to his audience. 

“Just like I thought you would be,” he says, smiling against your skin as he murmurs the words into your ear— just for you to hear, not for the thousands of people who are currently watching the stream.

“Do you know what I thought about every time I went live?” he asks, sitting up and shifting so that you’re back in position, shaking your head softly as you feel his fingers begin to circle your entrance. 

“You.” the stretch you suddenly feel has you moaning pathetically, the first sound the viewers are able to hear as the comments begin to fly past— your legs are shaking at the feeling of him slowly pushing the silicone dildo into your pussy, thick and long as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling tears prick at your eyes from how full you feel.

“I thought of you. Every time.” 

Beomgyu’s eyes are dark as his hand grabs at your ass, spreading your cheeks and showing off the way the dildo begins disappearing into your tight cunt, your arousal already beginning to drip down the toy with every slow thrust of his. 

“Wished you were there every time I would stream. I thought about fucking you the way I would fuck my toys,” his thrusts begin speeding up; you’re a moaning mess against him as you push your ass back, showcasing yourself perfectly and pushing up against the toy that he continues to ram into you— you’re jolting back into him with every thrust, your hands beginning to cramp with how hard you’re holding on to him.

“I would always moan your name too, did you ever notice?”

Your mind goes back to the time you thought you heard it— and, unexpectedly, you’re coming undone, reaching your peak as you respond with a pathetic yes…! The realization that it had all been real much more overwhelming than you thought. 

Beomgyu continues to fuck the toy into you even long after you’re done coming; you’re a whimpering, crying mess against him, the stimulation making your mind muddled as you quietly attempt to get him to stop. 

“Hmm? What do you want baby?” he asks, lips trailing down your neck and to your shoulders, where he begins to slip off your shirt so that you’re more exposed. He remains fully clothed as he begins sucking bruises into your skin, following one of his requests to mark up your pretty skin— his hair falls over his face, covering him momentarily as he begins drifting along your body carelessly.

It’s too much— yet, it’s not enough to have you using your safe word, and the fact makes Beomgyu smile as he bottoms out the toy inside you, grinding it into your pathetic pussy as he watches the way a ring of your cum begins to form around the base. 

“Come on, talk to me. We’re waiting,” you’re hesitant to speak— that much is clear, especially when you know how much traction this stream is currently getting, the sound of tips constant as you shake your head in defeat. 

“No? Okay then,” your shirt is being slipped off, leaving you naked as you wince slightly at the feeling of your garment being removed. Once again, Beomgyu is moving you around, and you’re facing the camera now as your legs are pried open by his own, the toy still stuffed inside you as you sit on Beomgyu’s lap— right on his hard cock, whining softly as you feel him begin to hold your hips down, grinding into you for some release. 

“Don’t wanna use your words? Don’t wanna say anything to me or the viewers?” he tries again, eyes narrowing at the way you remain disobedient and shake your head, laying back against him as you pant softly.

“You’re not gonna thank our viewers for wanting me to please you, you fucking whore?” his hands are swift, and before you realize what he’s doing, your hands are cuffed behind your back, the fuzzy feeling reminding you of the cuffs he uses on himself sometimes. 

“Fine. You wanna be ungrateful, stay quiet?” every sound that leaves your lips is unsure and soft, barely able to reach the microphone of the camera as Beomgyu scoffs at you. “Then stay fucking quiet. I don’t wanna hear a single word from you, understand?”

He doesn’t let you respond— of course he wouldn’t let you— but the way your mouth falls open suggests that you almost went against his command, the vibrator that he now pressed onto your clit making your legs shake with the sudden stimulation, threatening to close before Beomgyu’s own pried you back open swiftly. 

“Look at you. Like a bitch in heat, only thinking about yourself,” he growls, his other hand beginning to thrust the toy back into you at a harsh pace, listening to the sounds of your arousal and the toy smacking against your skin with a satisfied groan, “Do you have any idea how many people wish they were in your place, wish they could be getting fucked stupid instead of having to sit and watch as I do it to you?”

He pauses. Then, he turns up the intensity of the vibrator with a cruel laugh. 

“You would fucking know,” he seethes, taking in the way you writhe against him pathetically, biting at your lip to keep quiet as your hands struggle behind your back, “shit, can’t you hear how pathetic you sound? I bet you were a lot louder when you watched me, just another of my useless viewers that wish that I would fuck you— that I would even fucking acknowledge you.”

Everything that happens next is all a blur— your mind is foggy and you’re coming undone as you feel Beomgyu bite down on your neck, unable to hold back the pure keen of pleasure that rips through you, a string of unintelligible sounds flowing out of you desperately as you cream around the toy, feeling tears sting your eyes the moment Beomgyu decides to turn the intensity up again.

“Take it. I know you can,” he laughs purely because he knows that you have yet to use your safe word. It’s even worse because he’s right, the overstimulation fogging your mind and making you melt in his arms, still able to trust him even if your mind isn’t entirely there.

After a moment, the vibrator is turned off— you can hear him toss it to the side before he’s pulling the dildo out of your aching cunt, your body twitching at the sudden feeling before your cum is oozing out, dripping all over Beomgyu’s sweats and onto his sheets as he merely laughs at you. 

You’re being turned around again— you feel woozy as you cling to Beomgyu, barely capable of hovering over him as he simply looks up at you, his eyes holding that same, innocent puppy-like look that got you trapped in his clutches in the first place.

“I feel so stuffy,” he pouts, tilting his head up at you as you simply whine incoherently in response, “I know baby. Won’t you help me out?” 

It takes you a second to even register his request, your hands suddenly freed by him before you finally realize what he asked; your hands are slow and clumsy as you reach for the hem of his sweater, barely able to tug it up before he’s helping you out— your hands land on his shoulders once more for stability, your gaze falling on his chest and trailing down curiously. 

And there it is. The very tattoo that got you into this mess, though this time you’re free to gawk at it, not paying attention to the way Beomgyu realized he caught you staring until he’s grabbing your hand, placing it on his chest and trailing it down, allowing you to feel him up as he shudders slightly at the feeling.

Your fingers trace over the tattoo. All the way down, following every elaborate line until you’re stopped by the hem of his pants, hands immediately slipping under before you’re tugging them off, pulling off his boxers too as you feel him lift his hips, left just as bare as you before he smiles. 

You feel his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he begins to rub it against your slit; teasing you with the tip, looking over your shoulder to see what his viewers may be saying. 

“What do you think?” He asks, pushing his tip into your cunt before he’s pulling back out. The action has you whining hopelessly, and Beomgyu has to take a second to recollect his resolve, pausing all movements in order to not come then and there.

“Should I fuck her? Does she deserve it?” He asks, looking over at you, cooing softly at the way your eyes remain glassy and fucked out, “Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to cry, not when you’ve been so ungrateful to our viewers.”

A tip catches his attention, and he’s briefly scanning over the amount and request before he’s biting back a smile.

“See? Even though you haven’t said a word to them, they still want to see me fuck you,” he says, taking your hands off his shoulders and leaving you to wobble momentarily as he places your cuffs back on. 

“Aren’t they the sweetest?”

You’re barely able to process what’s going on— all you know is that your position changes within seconds, and your face is buried into the mattress while your ass is up in the air, your legs shaky as you’re barely able to hold yourself up; luckily for you, Beomgyu is there to help, hands grabbing onto your hips before he’s making you lean back. 

His cock is poking at your entrance, and he’s already able to feel the way your cunt tries to suck him in as he passes his tip along your entrance, left entranced with the way you look under him, a complete, ruined mess as you quietly whine out to him, your voice muffled from where your face remained in his sheets.

It’s cute, really, the way you’re able to focus so hard on keeping your face hidden— if you lifted your head now, every single viewer on his screen would be able to drink up your expression as he fucked you— the thought irritates Beomgyu.

He’ll just have to make sure to fuck you until you’re too weak to move. 

“God, you’re such a brat,” he groans out, entering you slowly and feeling the way you clamp onto him dangerously; even with how wet you are, he finds it difficult to fuck you, gritting his teeth and taking a moment where he merely concentrates on not coming inside you then and there. 

“Stop fucking squeezing like that— ah— shit—,” it seems as though your pussy has him going stupid, unable to form a coherent sentence as he slowly pulls out— the whine you let out is long and lethal, so desperate and carnal that Beomgyu finds himself losing control; tightening his hold on your hips, he begins to fuck into you without a care.

“Such a good little pussy,” he grits out, watching the way your ass bounces against him with every thrust, “fuck, wish you’d let me fuck you sooner— would’ve made you mine, wouldn’t be able to get enough of you— god, fuck—!” 

The way you tighten at his words is dangerous. He’s cursing and talking down like he always does, but this time, it’s just for you. The very thought is enough to have you clenching around him again, mouth agape and drooling against his sheets as your sounds get louder. 

Another tip rings through— the same person from before, repeating the only part of their previous request that Beomgyu has yet to fulfill. 

Won’t she say thank you?

The words have him stuttering out a laugh, unable to help the way he moans in between. His thrusts slow, and he’s bottoming out inside you before his motions are nothing but a slow grind, rutting his hips into your aching pussy while he reaches for something off-screen. 

Your whines and soft complaints at the sudden change of pace are brief— because soon after a familiar buzzing sound is filling your ears, and before you can react, the same vibrator form before is pressed against your clit on the highest setting. 

“Gyuuuuu…!” you whine out, long and desperate and incoherent as Beomgyu grabs at your cuffs, using them as leverage to make you slam back into him. His thrusts are brutal and the sound of skin against skin is enough rivalry to the buzzing of the toy as he begins to use the last of his energy to fuck you to your orgasm, watching as the chat buzzes with excitement from your sudden word.

What? What’d she say?? Was that his name? omg?!

“Do you think you deserve to come?” he sneers, his voice gruff as you shake your head, knowing damn well that you haven’t been perfectly compliant to him like he wanted you to be, especially now that you may have just slipped up and let out a personal fact about him.

“Exactly,” he continues, his thrusts toning down in speed, but not intensity— he pulls out to the tip with every thrust, only to slam back into you and have you jolt forward from the harshness of his pace; the vibrator that was once relentless on your clit is now hovering mere centimeters from you, taunting you as all stimulation becomes insignificant to what it was before.

“Maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll let you come,” he begins, watching the way you can only nod eagerly against the sheets, your hands struggling against your cuffs— he’s holding your hand at the sight, fingers interlocking as he watches you grip onto his hand with both of yours tightly.

“Will you be good for me? Are you gonna listen to whatever the fuck I ask you to do?” he says, his voice hardening at the end as he looks at you expectantly— a second passes before you’re nodding again. 

“My viewers have been so patient with you. The only reason you got all this was because they wanted it— if it were up to me, I would’ve dumped my load in you already and left.” 

That’s a lie— the biggest fucking lie Beomgyu has ever told, knowing damn well that he would’ve done all this and more to you any day, entirely unprovoked. But he knows his viewers love it, and so do you, because your cunt squeezes him so tightly he’s afraid he might just come early. 

“Aren’t you grateful they loved you so much? Hmm?” you’re barely registering his words anymore. But you’re nodding nonetheless, your thighs beginning to shake from the sheer pleasure of feeling Beomgyu rut into your cunt throughout all this. 

“Tell them thank you,” he says sweetly, not giving you enough time to speak before he’s back to fucking you wildly; his pace picking up, aiming for that specific spot that leaves you dumb and drooly as he places the vibrator back on your clit— any chances of sounding sane are thrown out the window as he begins tugging on your cuffs, bouncing you back against him as the wet sounds of his thrusts ring out through the room. 

“Did you hear me—?” he asks, landing a smack to your ass before he’s soothing the area, slowing down so he can smack you again, “I said say thank you. Do you think you’re above us, pretty?”

Your first attempt to speak is a garbled mess.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that. Or— do you just wanna be a cute little cumdump for me—? Ah, let me use you every time I stream… don’t need any fucking toys when I have my pretty doll for me— right—?” His own sentences are becoming more incoherent the longer he fucks you, addicted to the way your pussy practically sucks him in deeper in response. 

“Try again,” he growls, feeling his own orgasm approaching slowly, “show me you’re not a— shit, a fucking brat, and maybe I’ll let you… ugh, let you come.”

Beomgyu swore he got rid of his habit of rambling like this long ago. But, you seem to be able to bring it out of him, his calm and collected speeches crumbling like paper in his mind as he takes in the way both your arousals are smeared over skin and dripping down your thighs, forming a ring around Beomgyu’s cock as he feels his resolve beginning to crumble— he begins to fuck you carelessly, not able to think about anything else but reaching his high as he waits for your response.

“Mmh—! ugh… fuck…” your voice is increasing in volume, the shy person from before long gone as you begin to chase your orgasm, much too afraid to lose it as you try to form a single, coherent thought.

“Thank…. thank you…” you whine out, but it’s all too slurred and quiet and pathetic to Beomgyu as he growls out a sharp what? His hand pressing down on the small of your back as he glues your hands to your skin, forced to take the way he fucks you as you moan out uncontrollably.

“Thank you..! Thank you thank you, oh, fuck—!” holy shit, you’re full on crying right now, reduced to nothing but a mess of moans and tears as you ramble on repeatedly, only able to remember those limited words as you feel Beomgyu come inside you— warm and deep, stilling for just a moment before he’s back to fucking you, his own moans becoming much more needy at the feeling of overstimulation. 

“Thank you thank you thank youuuu, fuck, fuck fuck mmh—!”  you feel stupid. You’ve definitely been fucked stupid, moaning out those stupid thank you’s like a prayer as you feel yourself slumping completely, a boneless, gooey mess as you rely on Beomgyu to hold you up.

He continues to fuck into you slowly, even after you’ve gone entirely still; he thinks you might’ve passed out, but it’s only for a minute before he sees you shifting again, burying your head into the mattress as he hears the distant sound of you sniffling. 

Beomgyu feels concerned for a second, ready to check up on you and end the stream before you’re grabbing his hand again; then you’re clenching around him, mumbling his name so sweetly while you try to press yourself against him.

You’re straight up gone, he realizes, stilling for a moment and waiting for you to use your safe word— but you don’t, and he sees you peeking subtly at his monitor before you’re burying your face back into his sheets.

“You got a new tip.”

The words are barely audible to him, but he’s quick to glance at it upon your request; he almost chokes as he sees the five-hundred dollars that have been sent to him, his eyes reading over the request a few times before he’s looking back at you.

Could you try to make her squirt ?

“It’s five hundred dollars,” you mutter, and all Beomgyu can do is let out a bewildered laugh, leaning down to place a kiss on your shoulder before he’s whispering in your ear if you’re okay to continue— the small nod you give him is enough to have his cock hardening inside you. 

Fuck, he’s gonna give you the aftercare of the century after this. 

[gremlingottoosilly]

First of all, I love your fics so much that I keep re-reading them! Second of all, I'm sorry for bad English, third of all! What about kidnapper!König and sick reader, like reader has a chronic illness that requires taking medication everyday ? Like would he just let reader die orrrr???! (Ignore if you want, I know this is dumb)

Hey, don't apologize!! English isn't my first or even second language too. Honestly, being chronically ill and relying on meds might just be the only thing that would save you from total isolation initially. When Konig just kidnapped you, he was vigilant enough to scoop all medication you had in your room - he would find your prescription and read it carefully, knowing how lack of meds can mess a person up. He is taking his anxiety meds - something he often forgets but swears it's not really important to him, as he is a strong, cool man without any problems. He had a few comrades taking prescription drugs from PTSD, and he is dealing with chronic pains from his many injuries - sometimes, when it becomes too bad, he is taking quite strong pain killers...so he won't really make you beg for your meds if you're good. If you're a nice, polite girl for him, you're having your pills in restricted time and he will be very observant to feed you and give you water - he doesn't want you sick, making you fall ill would require him finding a doctor who won't ask questions and, well, he is a mercenary, not a mafia member. In this AU, at least. (Mafia!Konig? Anyone???) If you're bad, however...if you can survive missing a day in taking your meds - you'll have to experience all the pain and withdrawals that come with it. Konig won't hesitate to cut your food privileges, and pills are being taken as well - he would wait to make sure you're not dying, of course, but you won't feel fine even after he allows you to take the minimal dosage. When you're crawling to him, all teary and ready to apologize, he would gladly accept it, and everything would return to normal. If you need to refill your prescription, however...well, Konig never planned on keeping you in the basement for forever - he wants you to be his pretty cute housewife, so he knows he had to let you go out eventually. He will watch over very carefully as you slowly run out of pills - and right before it would be over, he will suddenly make you get dressed and...let you out?? Really?? Well, don't be too happy - he is only doing a drive for a city hall because he wanted to make sure you're married first. Without a flashing wedding, unfortunately, but he'd then be able to get you under his insurance and his family doctor. Doctor visits in Austria(and Central Europe) are abysmal even if you are covered by a very good insurance, and you'd have to cling to Konig for translations - doctors are smiling and nice, but they won't acknowledge you beside the prescription you had, even if you had it in Austria too. Konig is handling all the communication and you know you're trapped - with a psycho holding your hand, holding your meds and literally taking away your last name to replace with his. But, well, at least you got your insurance, right?

[solarisfortuneia]

— grace and coordination? who?

them with a clumsy reader. (ft. kaeya, thoma, tighnari, diluc, alhaitham, ayato, zhongli, childe.)

notes: pinkie swear this'll be the last repost for a while, bc i'm working on some new stuff mwah <3

kaeya's reaction to your mishaps depends on the situation. sometimes he's literal prince charming, the very picture of concern and worry. and other times, when you're not in a lot of danger— like when you've tripped down a set of four stairs, for example— he'll try really really hard to keep a straight face to protect your feelings.

over time, he'll develop a sense of when and where accidents are most likely to happen and take measures to either remove the obstruction, or guide you away from it entirely. however, if the situation is inevitable, he'll try his best to catch you. one downside though— or upside, depending how you see it— is that he'll always hit you with an overused, cliché line.

"looks like you're falling for me all over again, sweetheart."

this sweet, sweet boy is the most worried of all. initially, thoma thinks every scratch and every bruise is a consequence of something serious, but soon learns that they're most probably a result of your klutziness. even if you stumble lightly and regain your balance, he's instantly at your side, asking you if you're alright. he won't just take you at your word though, he'll check you himself from head to toe, and only then will he be satisfied.

he'll also carry bandages, antiseptic liquid, lotion, anything he thinks you might need. his pockets are endless. he'll even have small treats to console you after a bad fall.

"oh, dear! here, let me help you up. no injuries? good. here's a candy to cheer you up."

frankly, he's exasperated. and also very concerned. whenever you bump your head on a branch or fall backwards on your butt, he just sighs and shakes his head before helping you. he knows you're no careless fool, just very prone to unlucky incidents, so he'll spare you the lecture.

tighnari is a firm believer in the fact that prevention is better than cure. so, he'll make sure your footwear is comfortable and supportive and make you change if any parts of your outfit have the potential to be a tripping hazard. if you wear glasses, he'll remind you to keep your prescription up to date. all in all, he'll minimize the possibility of you tripping due to things in your control.

"you'll trip on that robe of yours if you walk outside wearing it. go put on something else, i'd rather not see you fall into a hole in the ground again."

diluc never expresses anything because he'd rather not come off as overbearing, but he's very careful with you. you can see it in the way he brings a hand to the edge of the table to stop you from hitting your head when you bend to pick up a spoon you knocked off the table, the way he keeps any sharp objects out of your reach, the way he's always scanning his surroundings.

he'll find himself doing all that even when you're not with him, and he'll be glad you weren't there to witness that. he'll baby proof his entire house just for you, and if he can, he'll baby proof yours too. he's the type to use the high quality silk handkerchief he carries around to bandage a scuffed knee.

"don't worry about it, cloth can be washed. the injury should be our first priority."

there is no question alhaitham can't answer and no puzzle he can't solve, except, of course, the conundrum of how you manage to stumble over air, or slip on a completely dry surface. he'll observe you carefully, try his best to figure it out but eventually he'll chalk it up to circumstances being arranged against you.

he takes matters into his own hands and just fixes said circumstances for you. beyond that, he knows he cannot do much. he has the uncanny ability to know exactly when you're about to do something where you'll end up with a bump on your head, even if you're miles apart. he's also not too worried, he knows that a tumble isn't the end of the world. the problem only arises when you don't get back up again.

he'll firmly refuse to go dancing with you though, both for his sake and yours. he'll turn you down gently and suggest alternatives.

"dance with you? i'm not sure that's such a great idea. how about we spend the evening at the café?"

kamisato ayato is grace, elegance and perfection. so it comes as a surprise to most of inazuma when they see that his partner is a walking disaster. he's fond of this trait of yours though; he thinks it's endearing. he's also very forgiving if you happen to step on his toes or bump into him. he has no issues replacing anything you break on accident too.

he knows he cannot personally keep an eye on you, so he'll have someone watch over you from afar to make sure nothing serious happens.  that's not to say he won't tease you, no. even though he knows the answer, he'll always ask playfully about any recent 'misfortune' you've been a part of every time he sees you.

"ah, there you are. have you fulfilled your daily quota of disaster for the day? now now, don't give me that look, you know i'm just teasing~"

he's unfazed, really. he's seen many types of people and creatures over the years, from the most poised rulers to the most unsteady fawns. one thing he does do for you is carefully consider any gifts he's thinking of giving to you, and dismisses the item if it has pointy corners or is fragile.

zhongli's the type to fall with you so you're not alone. he was once a powerful archon, a little accident in a busy hall is nothing for him. and seeing him mimic you with a stoic face to help you feel better is always a treat to witness. then, he'll dust himself off as if nothing happened, and offer you a hand.

"think nothing of it, dearest. i simply wish to accompany you on any journey i can, even if it is a short one to the floor."

childe's first and foremost reaction is to laugh when you hit your head on a pillar right in front of you, then he'll chuckle at the face you make at him when you're offended. he can't help it! it reminds him way too much of his siblings.

he sincerely promises, with a hand over his heart, to kiss any boo-boos better. and he'll insist on lifting you in his arms, and won't take no for an answer.

"no buts! i'm carrying you home like this. after all, the best way to stop you from tripping is to make sure your feet don't touch the ground, wouldn't you agree?"

[trickphotography2]

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 20

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 6.6k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 19 | Series Master List | Ao3

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

Chapter 20

After the excitement of seeing Jake, the holidays could never stack up.

It took a little while to get back onto the time zone, and you dragged yourself through work. The post-babymoon blues hit hard, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed, wearing Jake’s sweatshirt that you’d stolen and stretched too much to give back and wallow for the last few months of the deployment. But being alone at home gave you too much time to think. It was easier to try and focus on wrapping things up for the year instead of staring at your phone and wishing it would chime.

The war games had officially started, and Jake was on telecom blackout for three weeks.

Office holiday parties and the Daggers dropping by weren’t enough to keep your mind off what was happening in the Pacific. The adage of no news is good news kept being tossed around, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming about finding out that your husband died through an email about the Vigilantes requiring a new F-18 after theirs crashed into the ocean. Your recurring nightmare of Javy showing up with the Chaplin decided to play on repeat whenever you tried to sleep.

Irrationally, you started to hate it when your computer chimed to notify you of a new email. 

At your first appointment with Dr. Shearer after Japan, you cried when she asked how the trip was. Guilt ate at you, knowing that your breakdown was making the appointment run long and putting her off schedule, but she didn’t seem to care as she hugged you and held your hand. Under her gentle questioning, you told her about the nightmares and pacing the house at night. About turning down offers to go out with friends and the baby shower your coworkers offered to throw you. How your parents were checking in on you more. And how you were so afraid that your husband would die before he got a chance to meet your daughter. When she asked you how long it had been going on, you just shrugged and said for a few months. 

“Oh, honey,” Dr. Shearer sighed. “I know we discussed this before your trip - that doesn’t sound like baby blues. You’ve got a lot going on, and I think it’s time we discussed how you’re doing with all of it. Especially with your history of depression.”

“I thought it’d get better after I saw Jake,” you said softly.  

By the time you left her office, you had a new prescription for an anti-depressant and a list of therapists who specialized in prenatal depression. When you tried to decline the medication, not wanting it to impact Sloane, Dr. Shearer assured you that they would have minimal impact on her, if any. “Sometimes you need to put your oxygen mask on before helping others, Mama. You’re just as important as your little girl, okay? And I’m sure your husband would tell you the same thing.” 

That didn’t stop you from crying in your car before calling out of work for the rest of the day. After stopping at the pharmacy, you went home and put on Jake’s sweatshirt before spritzing his cologne on your pregnancy pillow and crawling into bed. A headache throbbed dully as you closed your eyes, dreading talking to your husband for the first time and telling him that you couldn’t even get through your first major deployment together without slipping into a depressive episode. 

Jake had been upfront about his intention to stay in the Navy for as long as possible since you started dating. Which meant that you had many, many deployments ahead of you. Months at a time of being separated. And, irrational as it was, you worried what he would think of you stumbling like this on the first one. You never wanted to be a reason for Jake to worry. His job was too dangerous for his attention to be split, so you’d striven to keep how much of a toll his being gone was taking on you quiet. Put on a brave face in front of your friends, knowing they would report their concerns to him. They might have commented on you looking tired, but you didn’t tell them about your nightmares. And it was a convenient excuse for getting out of plans. 

He’d put up with a lot with his ex, between her infidelity and worrying about seizures, and you didn’t want to force him back into that mindset. You’d reassured him time and time again that you were okay and that growing up with your dad on temporary duty for a year had prepared you for this. But being a kid, missing your parent, and being a wife missing her husband was different. 

Things would be so much more complicated in the future when you had to take care of not only yourself but also Sloane, you thought as your daughter moved. Mom had made it look easy, juggling her job and raising you. But the last seven months had made you worry about what it would be like trying to do the same. A tear pooled in the corner of your eye and slipped over the bridge of your nose when you imagined going through labor without Jake there. You’d been purposely not thinking about it, hoping that some miracle would happen and he would come home in time. But the only reason you could think of him being sent home early involved him getting hurt, and you couldn’t selfishly wish for that. 

A sob burst from your lips, and you buried your face into your pillow, hating the thought of letting down your husband and daughter. 

The weekend before Christmas, your parents flew in. Their visit had always been the plan, but you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief when you spotted them at the airport arrivals as you pulled into a vacant spot. After popping the trunk, you were out of the car and in Mom’s as Dad loaded the suitcases before taking his turn hugging you. Tears pricked your eyes, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you were forcing a smile. 

That lasted until you got home, and your parents realized you hadn’t done anything to decorate for Christmas. “I just haven’t had the energy,” you shrugged. Their exchanged look told you they knew it wasn’t just that, and their silent conversation made you miss Jake - knowing what your husband was thinking with just a glance. 

It wasn’t surprising when Mom encouraged you to stop by the home decor store after going out for lunch. Neither you nor Jake had a tree - he’d bought a small real one for their visit the previous year, decorated with cheap plastic ornaments shoved in the attic somewhere, while you’d gotten rid of yours before the move. Mom was a Christmas fan and quickly took charge, leading you up and down the rows of trees until you picked out a pre-lit seven-and-a-half-foot tall one with artificial snow and pinecones. Dad loaded it into the cart while Mom led you to the ornaments, where you spotted a jet ornament and quickly grabbed it.

“Looks like an F-16,” Dad said, holding it up to examine it closely. A sly smile crossed his lips as he slipped it into his palm. “An Air Force jet - I approve.” That made you laugh, and you made a mental note to dig out the Air Force shirt your dad had gifted Jake last Christmas from the depths of his drawer - contrary to what he’d threatened, it hadn’t ended up as a tire rag. 

They wasted no time getting the tree set up, and Dad went into the attic to get the decorations you’d purchased last year. And you managed to hold the tears in until you were hanging up the stockings, and Mom disappeared into the guest bedroom for a minute, only to return with one she’d made for Sloane. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to make you and Jake ones that say ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’” she smiled, “but let me know, and I can make new ones for you next year.” 

Mom took a picture of you holding the stocking next to your bump before putting it next to the other ones hung on the wall. You snapped a photo of them all in a row and texted both to Jake. It went unread like the other messages and pictures you’d sent to his phone and email. 

Javy came over for dinner the night before he flew to Louisiana to spend the holiday with his family. Without saying a word, you could tell he was relieved by the sight of the tree and decorations - he’d offered to get you a tree and put up lights, but you’d turned him down every time. You knew he felt guilty about spending Christmas with his parents and had pushed back his leave until your family arrived, which made you feel guilty. So you put on a happy smile and teased him all evening, especially when he opened the gift you’d labeled as from Sloane. Cackling, he held up the Funko Pop of The Godfather. Since your husband had officially asked his best friend to be Sloane’s godfather, he’d been quoting the movie nonstop. When you slipped and told him you’d never seen it, he forced a Dagger movie night. 

No one had paid too much attention to the movie, more interested in swapping holiday plans and eating the snacks Javy had set out. Bob and Nat were traveling to see their families, and Ruben was going to spend it with his girlfriend’s family. When he found out that your parents were coming, he promised to swing by and say hello. Everyone planned to be back for New Year, and Bob offered to host everyone at his place. No one faulted you when you dozed off during the film, comforted by your friends' voices. 

You had to double-check the next morning that you hadn’t dreamed of Bob saying he was happy to do so, especially since he’d gotten orders back to North Island with a report date in June. 

So it was going to be a quiet Christmas with your parents. The only downside of their presence was that you felt trapped in your room when insomnia hit. On the first night they were there, you’d tried to sneak into the nursery only to have your dad come in and check on you. While you sat in the rocker, he lay on the ground and talked to you, catching you up on the mundane things in his life. Your eyes slowly closed as he spoke about advising the young airmen about their relationships but jerked awake when he snored. Chuckling to yourself, you shook him awake and sent him to bed before retreating to your room and dozed off. 

Shit shit shit

Jake pulled up on his stick, climbing to evade the Korean pilot attempting to get tone on him. His jet felt sluggish, loaded to the max capability to safely land back on the carrier, allowing the pursuing jet a slight tactical advantage. He was nearing the decommissioned ship that they were attempting to sink with a prototype bomb, with the other countries playing defense to test their dog-fighting skills against the American pilots. 

The first two weeks of the exercise focused on naval defense and surveillance, with the fleet practicing their maneuvers against allies. The pilots had been tightening their game plan for the mock attack and providing aerial coverage. The helo pilots had taken off with rescue swimmers to practice retrieving downed pilots. 

As much as he would have enjoyed a dip in the Pacific, Jake didn’t volunteer for those roles. Even with the shark boats providing additional support, he didn’t want to do anything that would stress you out more. 

The first few days of the fixed-wing planes being in the air focused on targeting and shooting down dud missiles and drones. It had been fun target practice, but Jake couldn’t help but note the younger pilots who needed more time in the simulators and didn’t hesitate to include them in his debrief with Mav at the end of the day. While the exercise served as practice for actual warfare, many young pilots hadn’t served in an active warzone before - they didn’t know what it was like to take fire or watch your wingman take a hit. 

There weren’t many times that Jake felt his age in the cockpit, but at 36, he had over a decade on the new kids. He had two campaign medals and another for the Global War on Terrorism. He had two air-to-air kills. And he paid attention. 

Word had come down that the Eisenhower had been extended for a second time due to conflict in the Middle East. If tensions continued, it wouldn’t be long until more carriers were sent to the region.

For the first time, Jake questioned how much longer he could do this. As much as he loved being an aviator, he loved being your husband more. Missing everything about your pregnancy was killing him. The exercise had distracted him over the last two weeks, but not being able to turn on his phone and text or call you was killing him.

To put it simply - Jake was homesick.

With Sloane on the way, he could only see his job getting further in the way of how he wanted to be as a husband and a father. He remembered being a kid before he knew what an asshole his father was and hated going to the dock to say goodbye. Walking away from you on the tarmac and getting in that taxi in Yokosuka had been torture - Jake couldn’t imagine having to do the same with his little girl.

“Nearing the target.” Rooster’s voice came over the comms, and Jake glanced down to see his wingman closing in on the abandoned ship towed to the middle of the ocean. Word trickled through the pilots, and the defense planes backed off, returning to their ships. While the exercise was meant to test the military capabilities, there was no way the government would have anything interfere with the testing of an advanced weapon. A helo hovered with a camera pointed at the ship, and a third jet with a WSO flew nearby to follow them as they dropped the bombs to get a closer look.

Jake quickly maneuvered into position. Rooster would make the first pass and strike to the ship's bow, with him hitting the stern seconds later. Mav was ready to launch in case they needed a third strike. After confirming he was ready and getting clearance from the boat that they were clear to proceed, Rooster called, “Sights on target. Locked…”

“Locked,” Jake echoed, the laser to paint the stern. 

“Bombs away.”

“Bombs away.” Hitting the release, Jake forced the jet to scream past the ship, wanting to make sure he was out of the way in case of a malfunction. Gaining altitude, he followed Rooster as the other pilot circled back to the carrier, tipping his wing to watch the chain explosions on the ship. Fire shot from the sides before bursting onto the deck. 

Grinning behind his mask, Jake radioed the tower and said he was ready to land.

They were one step closer to heading home, finally finishing the exercise.

“Ughhhh!” you huffed, throwing your tablet aside and running a hand down your face. It was almost 2:00AM on Christmas Eve, and your book annoyed you. For some reason, you’d decided to try out a holiday military romance. It wasn’t the best choice, considering the plot centered around a couple facing a deployment over Christmas, but the ending had you simultaneously jealous and frustrated.

The idea of the husband showing up on Christmas morning to surprise his family? Not likely. A deployment wouldn’t be wrapped up early just to get a servicemember home for the holidays. And if Jake ever lied about how long a deployment would be to surprise you… well, let’s just say that the guest bedroom would be his home for the time that he was supposed to be gone. Maybe other spouses enjoyed it, but you didn’t like the thought of being lied to and mentally preparing for a longer separation just for a surprise at the end. 

After shifting the pregnancy pillow, you leaned against the headboard. There were few times you regretted not having a TV in the bedroom - when you’d moved in, Jake had put it in the guest bedroom at your request - but this was one of them. Sighing, you lifted your shirt and cradled your stomach, tracing the stretchmarks marring your skin. “It’s almost Christmas, baby girl,” you sighed. “And even though you can’t open your presents, you’re already spoiled. Grammy and Grandpa sent me to bed early to wrap presents. Even your daddy’s family sent you gifts.” You felt - and watched - your stomach twitch as Sloane moved. No matter how many times you saw it happen, the sight still shocked you. Her movements had been yours alone to experience for so long; now, others could easily see them, too. 

“I know; I was surprised, too,” you sighed. The box was delivered to your doorstep late last night and addressed to Jake and Sloane. That had stung, especially seeing that it was from your sister-in-law, but you knew your husband would tell you that the estrangement with his family wasn’t your fault. “Your Aunt Lina sent you some stuff, and so did your Grammy and Grandpa Seresin.” 

Seeing the wrapped presents from Jake’s parents had frozen you. While you tried not to think about the day that your father-in-law threatened you, it was hard to see reminders of it. You had kept what happened secret from your parents, not wanting to cause any stress, and had listened to your mom say how nice it was that the Seresins had sent presents while putting them under the tree. 

Sloane rolled under your palm, and you sighed. That turned into a choked gasp when you felt your calf tightening into a painful knot. Grimacing, you pulled your leg up and tried to knead the muscle, but it didn’t improve. The tightening verged on the edge of painful, and you rolled onto your side, muffling your groan in the bedding.  

A chime sounded, and you blindly groped for your phone. Another chime. And then a third. 

Opening one eye, you stopped breathing when you saw that Jake was replying to the texts you’d sent during the exercise. 

I’m okay with you painting the nursery as long as you’re not the one doing it. Ask one of the guys to do it after the holidays. 

The truck isn’t that lifted. You’re just short. Can’t wait to drive my girls around in it again. 

Mrs. Seresin, teasing me with a picture from our second date spot? Playing dirty, darling. I’ll get a list of things together for the box, but I’m almost out of aftershave and keep losing socks in the laundry here. Would you mind hitting the uniform store for me? My ribbon bar got bent, and I need a new one. 

Glad the doc said Sloane’s doing great. What about you? How are you???

Damn, that’s a big tree. Making the house look like a home, darling. Wish I was there with you. 

I love the stocking. Your mom did a great job.

Opening up your texts, you started to type and immediately saw a new message. 

Are you awake? Why are you awake?

Couldn’t sleep, you replied. Clutching the phone tightly, you bit your lip and tapped your fist against the muscle cramp. 

You should try

Tapping the voice note, you held the phone up to your mouth. “I’m dealing with a bitch of a Charlie horse right now.” Rolling off the bed, you gingerly put weight on your leg and moaned. “Fucking Jesus Christ, this hurts.” Tapping send, you waited a moment before hearing your phone chime.

Jake had sent you a voice note back. Tears welled in your eyes when you hit play and heard your husband’s voice for the first time in weeks. “Wanna call you so bad right now, but they’re making us all sign up for times to not overload the system. I’m gonna video call you tomorrow at eight in the morning your time. Wish I was there to help you with the cramp, darlin.”

A second voice note showed up as soon as you finished the first. “If we have bananas, go get one. And then I want you to get a heating pad or your ice pack and put it wherever you’ve got the Charlie horse, alright? Are you drinking enough water?”

A third. “Wait, can you get your parents to get you the stuff? I don’t want you movin’ around and fallin’. Shit, darlin’, I’m sorry I’m not there.” 

After quickly saving the messages before they disappeared, you held up the phone and recorded your message. “It’s good to hear your voice, Tex. I miss you so damn much. I’m not gonna wake my parents up in the middle of the night to get me something from the kitchen when I can hobble over to get it. I think we do have bananas. But are you done with the exercise?”

“I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind,” Jake sent back. “Just wish I was there to get it for you. And yeah, the exercise is done. We’re getting today off, and then we’ll debrief before starting the trip home.”

Carefully, you limped out of the bedroom, holding onto the walls and furniture as you moved and cursing under your breath. Gripping the couch arm, you debated lying down and waiting for the pain to pass, but the phone lit up with another message. As tempted as you were to play it, you promised yourself that you could only listen to it back in bed. Your parents were such light sleepers that they would probably overhear the message, and as much as they loved Jake, you selfishly wanted to have some time alone with him. 

Slipping the phone into your sweatpants pocket, you refilled your water glass and snagged a banana off the counter before retrieving an icepack from the freezer. The trip back to the room was even slower, the light from your phone wavering slightly. After depositing the items on the nightstand, you collapsed back into the bed and gripped your calf, whimpering as you dug your fingers into the knot and tried to massage it away. When the phone continued to vibrate with incoming messages, you flipped it over and saw that Jake had sent you five texts and voice notes.

“Are you getting the stuff, honey? Tell me you’re being careful. The last thing we need is for you to end up in the hospital because you tripped over something.” The humor was evident in his voice, but then he cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t joke about that. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

Then there were back-to-back texts asking if you were alright and another if you’d fallen asleep.

“Alright, now I’m worried, which is stupid because you’re probably fine. It’s, what, after two there? Hopefully, you just fell asleep and will make fun of me for this in the morning. Love you, darlin’.” 

The next was a picture of him scowling at his phone as he lay in his bunk with headphones in, one hand behind his head. You felt your stomach swoop at seeing him, his face slightly darker with a tan and his hair falling across his forehead. His arm seemed bigger, and you wished that it was wrapped around you. The accompanying message read Frustrated that I’m not there to take care of you right now. Could use my magic hands on you to get rid of that Charlie horse.

That made you snort, and you sent your message, unable to keep the whine from your voice, “I’d kill for your magic hands right now. Didn’t mean to worry you, but I didn’t want to wake my parents up. Feel like I’m a kid again, sneaking around the house.” 

Good, I’m glad you’re ok. And you love my magic hands. They’re really good at making you feel good in so many ways. 

Still chuckling, you sent, “Yes, I do miss your hands. And your arms. And your lips and dick and legs and laugh and smile and all of you.”

You’re making me blush, darling. Good thing I’ve got my headphones in so Rooster and Fritz can’t hear you.

A voice message came in before you could respond. “Just realized I haven’t said Happy Christmas Eve to my girls. I’m heading to the mess for dinner in a minute, so I’ll sign off for now. I’ll keep checking my phone now that we’re not on blackout. I hope your Charlie horse is gone, and promise me you’re taking care of yourself. I love you and Sloane so much, darlin’. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Love you.” 

After making sure to save the message, you sent him one back. “I love you, Jake. Can’t wait to see you, too. Merry Christmas, babe.” 

It took a long time to fall asleep once the muscle spasm ended. True to your word, you ate the banana and sipped your water while listening to Jake’s messages again, eventually falling asleep to him saying he loved you.

Christmas Eve was spent preparing dinner the following night, and Mom borrowed the car for some last-minute shopping. When she got back and asked for you to distract Dad, you decided to go to the hardware store and pick out paint swatches.

The store was a madhouse, but even that couldn’t take the smile off your face as Jake sent you texts throughout the day. For him, it was already Christmas, and he had the day off. Sprinkled through the messages about how much he missed you were snippets of what the crew was doing to celebrate the holiday, including pictures of trees in the mess and hangers. The highlight, however, was a video of Santa launching a jet that Mav piloted, wearing his own Santa hat stretched over his helmet. You showed your dad that one, and he begrudgingly agreed it was a cool tradition. 

You saved a picture of Jake wearing a headband with elf ears, a broad grin on his mouth, as your new lock screen. 

You felt like a kid that night, dozing off as your parents watched It’s A Wonderful Life and A Christmas Story, a bowl of homemade popcorn on your lap. Eventually, you were sent to bed, where it was hard to fall asleep with the anticipation of speaking to your husband the following morning. It didn’t help that, to center yourself, you played Jake’s voice notes with the phone resting on your stomach. Hearing her father’s voice, Sloane became more active and calmed down when you moved the phone to your pillow. You slept fitfully, waking with a jolt from dreams of missing the call. 

The anticipation reached a height on Christmas morning. Your eyes strayed to the phone every few seconds, even though you knew there were hours before Jake would call. You kept glancing at the time while eating breakfast and drinking your only cup of coffee for the day. Knowing you were distracted, your parents didn’t push opening stockings or presents. 

So, as the clock ticked closer to eight, your parents encouraged you to find a private place to talk with your husband first. Retreating to the bedroom, you settled against the headboard, squirming to get comfortable. Setting the laptop on your legs, you lifted your stretched-out sweatshirt and lightly stroked your belly, feeling Sloane’s head pressed against your side. “Daddy’s gonna call us soon, baby girl,” you said softly. “Are you gonna wake up so he can see you?” 

Your alarm went off at 7:59AM, and you quickly silenced it before tapping the laptop to wake it. And, at precisely 8:00, it started to ring.

Jake’s broad grin filled the screen when you answered the call. Unlike the previous times he’d called you, you could see that he was in a room with other people, each with headphones on. He looked so happy, and, mortifyingly, you burst into tears at the sight of him. “Merry Christ…  hey, darlin’ - what’re those tears for?” 

“Sorry,” you gasped, wiping at your face. “Sorry, I just - ”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. Through bleary eyes, you saw his brow furrowed. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just miss you so much. How was the exercise?”

“Great, it’s done,” Jake smirked. “Now tell me what’s making you cry on Christmas.” 

“Jake.” He huffed your name, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I want this to be a good call, and we can discuss it later.”

“So there is something to discuss.” Your lower lip wobbled, and you pressed them into a thin line. 

“Please?” you said softly. Jake’s playful expression disappeared. 

“Darlin’, talk to me.” Though you’d promised yourself that this call would only be about Christmas, you told him everything. How Dr. Shearer had put you back onto an anti-depressant, and you had an appointment to start therapy in January. The nightmares you’d had about him dying before getting to meet Sloane. You felt like you were letting everyone down by struggling to get through the deployment, and you worried it would be more complicated once your daughter arrived. 

“A-and I n-never want you to f-feel like you have to choose b-between us and your car-career,” you hiccupped. 

“It’s never a choice, darlin’,” Jake sighed, fists clenching in his sweatpants. He wanted so badly to be home right then. “You and Sloane are my priority.” 

“Nooo,” you groaned, pressing the sleeves of your shirt to your eyes. “T-that’s not the p-point. You shouldn’t have to c-choose just ‘c-cause I can’t handle my s-shit.” 

Jake sighed your name, then repeated it in a firmer tone when you didn’t look at him. Lowering one hand, you peeked at him through your fingers. “Better, but lemme see your pretty face, honey,” he said. Groaning, you dropped your hands. “There’s my girl. I need you to listen when I say this again - you and Sloane are my priority. You two are always gonna be my top priority. So if you need to be on medication right now, and it's safe for both of you, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Jake - ” you sniffled, and he shook his head, cutting you off.

“You’re being fuckin’ hard on yourself right now, and you need to give yourself a break, darlin’. This isn’t a normal deployment, honey. You’re not gonna be pregnant every time we do this.”

“I-I think…” Hiccupping, you shook your head. “I…” You clapped a hand to your mouth to keep the words going through your head for the last few weeks from slipping out. 

“Talk to me,” Jake pleaded. You felt so guilty, seeing his heartbroken expression as you cried over what was supposed to be a fun call. 

“I don’t wanna ruin your Christmas.” Groaning, he glanced at his watch and shook his head.

“Christmas is officially over for me. Tell me what’s bothering you, sweetheart.” 

“I think it’s finally hitting that I’m gonna have to do this alone.” Even as you watched Jake’s face fall, you couldn’t stop. “I’m so happy I came out to see you, but it felt like such a tease, and it was easier to get through this before I got to kiss you and have you be a part of the pregnancy.” 

“Darlin’…” he sighed. You could see the hurt on his face, and it broke your heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, babe - I’m not… I’m not saying it right.” At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in your husband’s neck and hide, to feel his strong arms around you. “I-I…it’s been a fucking rollercoaster,” you choked out. “I’m so, so happy I came out there - please don’t think I’m not,” you pleaded, resting a hand on your belly where Sloane was still. “B-but seeing you and then not being able to t-talk to you was really, really hard.” 

“I know, darlin’. It’s been hard for me, too, so I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you.” And your husband, who always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better, was at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he repeated. 

“At least it’s only for another month and a half, right?” you said, pasting on that fake smile he hadn’t seen in so long. Seeing what you were doing - trying to put him at ease - Jake only shook his head.

“At least there’s that.”  

“Did you have a good Christmas?” His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, his green eyes piercing you through the screen.

“Darlin’, I’ll drop it for now, but we’re gonna have a serious conversation about this later, alright?” 

“D-do we have to?” you asked in a quiet voice. 

“Yes. Absolutely.” His firm tone disappeared at the sight of you wiping your face, lip wobbling again. “I love you, darlin’. I had a good Christmas. What about you? Have you opened presents yet?” 

“Not yet.” Grasping the out like a lifeline, you forced your voice to be bright. “Wanted to talk to you first. But Mom and Dad went overboard, and there’s a ton of presents under the tree for Sloane. Wanna see?” 

For the next twenty minutes, you spoke with Jake and took the laptop to the living room. You knew your parents clocked your reddened eyes but didn’t say anything as they caught up with their son-in-law. Jake watched you open a few presents for your daughter - mostly clothes - before saying his time was almost up and that he was heading to bed. Your parents had you sit on the couch and open one of the presents to both of you - a glass ornament that read ‘Our First Christmas’ and your wedding date on it. You put it front and center on the tree.

You stepped into the bedroom to say goodbye and tried to reassure him that you were okay. “I love you,” you sighed. 

“I love you too, darlin’. So damn much.” 

“I’m sorry if I upset you - ”

“I’m not upset. Not with you,” he cut you off. “We’re gonna talk about it later, but for now, I want you to enjoy your Christmas and send me pictures, alright?” 

“Alright.” Your response was quiet, and he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I just need you to be honest when something bothers you. I can’t fix it if I don’t know about it.”

“You can’t fix this, babe. You can’t come home early, and I can’t be there with you.” 

“I know that,” he huffed before shaking his head again. “Later. I want you to enjoy today with your parents.” 

“Okay. Merry Christmas, Jake. Sweet dreams.” 

“Merry Christmas, darlin’. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” The smile he gave you was strained as he lifted his hand, and then the call disconnected.

Tears gathered in your eyes again, but you took a deep breath and forced them away. You’d already ruined Jake’s Christmas call, and the last thing you wanted to do was make it awkward for your parents. So, pasting on that fake smile again, you tucked the laptop under your arm and went back to the living room. 

Javy lifted a hand and flagged you down at the arrivals. You’d offered to pick him up, as his flight landed shortly after your parents left to head back to Florida. 

After tossing his bag into the trunk, he climbed into the car and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I hate traveling during the holidays,” he grumbled as you twisted to look over your shoulder to see if you could merge. 

“It’s pretty horrible,” you agreed, easing into the flow of traffic. Once you were on the road, he filled you in on his trip, chuckling over stories about his nieces and nephews. 

“Oh,” he said, voice suddenly serious. “You and I gotta have a conversation, too.”

“About what?” you asked, eyes flitting over to him. Did Jake say something to him about your meltdown? After getting a flower delivery the day after Christmas, a beautiful bouquet of white and lavender flowers, you’d had a heart-to-heart with your husband about how anxious you were about going into the final few weeks of your pregnancy. 

You’d officially hit 33 weeks pregnant. And, while you were happy that Sloane had officially shifted into the head-down position, her frequent kicks to your rib weren’t welcomed - especially when you were dealing with shortness of breath. Not to mention that sticky notes ran your life because you’d started forgetting things. Dr. Shearer had promised you that pregnancy brain was common and talked you through tips for dealing with it, but as someone who prided themselves on attention to detail, it was a tough pill to swallow. 

It didn’t help that the website you read for advice suggested leaning on your partner to help manage the mental load.

The only benefit of the visit had been listening to Sloane’s heartbeat, which you had recorded and sent to Jake. He’d been doing his best to check in more often, texting and calling whenever possible. And the idea of him looping Javy into that was mortifying.

“You and I gotta make a plan for what happens when this one comes,” he said, motioning to your stomach. 

“What?” 

“Yeah. I told Mama that I was gonna be a godfather, and she knows Hangman’s deployed. So she was asking me who was gonna get you to the hospital. I told her it’d probably be me,” he shrugged, a self-conscious expression on his face, “and she and my sisters got on me about making sure I knew the fastest route and timing contractions. So yeah, we gotta make a plan so I can get them off my back.” 

“Oh,” you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. You hadn’t thought too much about your plan to get to the hospital. Your parents had assured you that they would be on the first plane out as soon as you said you were in labor. “I…w-we can do that. My doctor suggested some classes to get ready for the birth, so I figured I would just go to those.”

“Great. Lemme know when they are, and I’ll see if I can get the time off.” Thankfully, you were at a red light and didn’t slam on the breaks.

“What?” 

“What?”

“You want to go to birthing classes?” 

“I mean,” he shrugged, an awkward smile crossing his mouth. “I figured I’d stay with you until your parents got there. Unless you want someone else. Maybe Phoenix?” 

“Javy,” you croaked, tears gathering in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Don’t worry about it - it was a stupid thought. I’ll get you to the hospital and sit in the waiting room. You can just text if you - ”

“Send me a text, and I’ll send you the class schedule. I’ll forget otherwise.” A second later, your phone chimed with an alert, and you saw that he’d sent you the reminder. “You and Jake are gonna have to compare notes. He’s taking a first-time fatherhood class online.”

“Good. Now that the exercise is done, he’ll have more free time and can do that instead of harassing the other pilots about their shitty flying during the sorties.”

“That sounds like my husband,” you sighed.

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

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in getting this out - writer's block hit hard. This wasn't originally supposed to be so angsty, but Darlin's been holding back a lot to make sure that Jake can focus on work, and it kind of spilled out. But how freaking awesome is Godfather Coyote? Oh, and I based the exercise off this one.

Thank you to @dizzybee03 for the nudge I needed to finish this chapter today!

(If you missed it, I also posted a slightly spoiler-y blurb about D-Day earlier today. All head canons/blurbs are posted on the Masterlist.)

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[foxgirlmoth]

Okay, lets go through this apparent list of positives that Biden is in favor of.

Trans Rights: There have been multiple laws within states to fully close off especially trans kids rights to medical treatments and more. This is extremely current. Biden puts in minimal effort to look like he's doing anything at all for trans and queer rights, and there haven't really been any efforts aside from doing one or two proposals that immediately get shot down, and he's more than okay with that, hence why there's no longer really any push for this shit still. If you're trans, you can't piss in Utah without the risk of getting a fine right now. Even though these are state laws, the fact that there's been nearly zero effort federally to address this besides the title IX rule, speaks a lot about priorities in this area.

Abortion Access: Are we just forgetting the whole Roe V Wade getting overturned thing that happened in 2022? Are you really trying to say that this is good for abortion access? Abortion access has gotten actively worse.

Environmental Reform: Biden has endorsed extreme oil drilling projects and in general oil companies still love him! Not to mention the train crashes which we'll get to later.

Healthcare Reform: Covid-19 is still around and is sadly predicted to stay around for a long while. Healthcare is still private and a competitive field in the US and that causes major issues as well. If you look this up, you see articles titled along the lines of "Biden has lowered the cost of insurance" and meanwhile it just dropped in 2020 once during the pandemic but has been growing in cost.

Prescription Reform: Reading into this, not much has changed, which isn't surprising under genocide Joe. Drugs in the US are still higher than anywhere else in the world, and with healthcare issues still abundant, this is still a big issue.

Student Loan Forgiveness: Student debt is still extremely high in the US, and while Biden has rolled out some plans for forgiveness, it's a fraction of the debt, and he primarily uses the whole thing to win over swing states. This is a dangling carrot that provides very little overall.

Infrastructure Funding: Train crashes from 2020-present, worldwide, but notice the amount of US crashes! Neat! Quite literally just look up train crashes in the US during his presidency, there's too many to link here. It is also important to remember that Biden signed a bill to prevent rail strikes, preventing a lot of pressure to the government and the economy, which would have been a GOOD THING. Seriously, this guy has fucked up our environment and our rights in multiple ways.

Advocating Racial Equity: Structural racism within the US is still a huge problem, Biden hasn't addressed much. Also people are still in cages on the Mexico/US border (Which has been maintained by every president in office since it was established), with a very recent crackdown on the border.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion: Just. Look at the racial equity and trans rights sections above. Biden does the bare minimum, loves focusing on swing states, and all around uses the ol' carrot on a stick.

Vaccines and Public Health: Once again look above at sections on healthcare, abortion access, and prescription reform. Its bad. Remember how Covid-19 vaccines aren't being continued for free?

Criminal Justice Reform: This is just structural slavery still. Disproportionate amounts of black people are incarcerated, police are still heavily funded under Biden. He does not care about reforming the justice system, he even supports cops breaking up campus protests! Cool!

Military Support for Israel: Yup! Both sides suck! Biden has a very long history of sure hating Arabic countries though! He's done nothing but ship weapons and participate in the genocide of Palestinian people. Would Trump also do this? Yes. Does this mean this is an issue you should just drop and call a non-issue? No, what the hell are you talking about.

Israel/Hamas Ceasefire: Netanyahu has no plans to accept any actual ceasefire, yet Biden still provides weapons and support. Wow! That sure is weird? I wonder if Biden really cares about a ceasefire or how he just looks publicly.

Biden is not a good president, much less a good human being. You provided such a flimsy chart with zero resources or support behind you, and it just feels like people are just making shit up at this point. Get your heads out of the liberal cesspool you grew up in.

[thatstonedwriter]

˚₊‧🍄[ Pain in the Ass ]🍃˚₊‧

◉ Synopsis; Billy Butcher comforts(?) you as you deal with chronic pain

◉ CW; swearing, chronic pain, mentions of self-medication, references to ableism, Butcher might be a bit OOC (sorry), implied romantic attraction

◉ A/n- I’m still nervous about writing scenarios/short fics but i wanted to try it out since I really like this prompt. Hopefully it turned out alright- enjoy!

You’d done your best- really you had. All morning, quotes from people who thought they knew better, your parents, your own fucking doctors- everybody saying it’s just “mind over matter”- echoing in your head. Classic platitudes you’ve heard since you were younger; people trying to relate, but instead, minimizing your pain.

“Oh yeah I get it- sometimes my stomach hurts, too.”

“Headaches suck but it could always be worse right?”

“You can’t let pain control you.”

“Fuck those stupid God damn- agh!”

Annoyed grumbles turn into a sharp gasp as another wave of pain shoots through your joints. This paired with the stomach/headache combo from this morning was really wearing you down.

And now you were reaching a point of desperation. The medicine you’d been prescribed proved itself useless against the pain today- and sure you could ask for some meds from Frenchie’s stash but… that option should be saved as a last resort. You could ask for help from Hughie, Kimiko or M.M. Surely one of them would be kind enough to pick up more of your prescription or grab you some heating pads- but then again, going out in public could put them at risk. You couldn’t ask them to put their lives in danger for something so trivial.

Never had it crossed your mind to ask Butcher for help. Worst case scenario, he kicks you out of the group for being weak- best case scenario? He says something ableist and leaves you to fend for yourself. No. You’re not dealing with that shit, especially not now.

A knock on the door to your little “bedroom” signaled that a higher power had other plans for you.

“Ya’alright in there, love?” Butcher’s voice, in any other scenario would have been a pleasant surprise- but in this moment of vulnerability? It was like hearing death bells toll.

“Yeah- yep- yep I’m good, thanks.” Your curt reply was not unusual to Butcher, but certainly not preferred. Slightly worrisome, even. You hadn’t come out all morning, and now you’re miffed with him? He hadn’t even done anything to piss you off! Today, at least.

He tries the doorknob, letting out a frustrated huff when it turns out to be locked.

"Trying to let yourself in? See, you're why God made locks."

"Come now, no need for the 'ostility-"

You rolled your eyes as Butcher began his usual spew of excuses, but one in particular caught your attention. It was near the end of his little monologue- softer, quieter, and spoken with a hint of uncertainty.

"and besides… can't have ya crappin' out on us, yeah?"

Even from in your room, you could hear the uncomfortable shuffling of a man unacquainted with emotional vulnerability.

"I'm not 'crapping out' on anyone," you scoff, wincing as more pain sears through your body. "But.. I could use some hel- hey!"

Before you could even finish your sentence, the door "magically" opened- and there Butcher stood, sly smirk on his face, lockpick in hand. He catches your gaze and shoves the pick back in his pocket.

"So then, what seems to be the problem, eh?"

God, it's going to sound so ridiculous when you say it out loud. Compared to what everyone's been through, saying "my tummy hurts" isn't really a matter of urgency.

But it's more than a stomach or headache on it's own. It's more than your joints occasionally aching and popping. It's been every goddamn day for as long as you could remember. Would it really be so wrong to ask for help?

“It’s just been.. pain. All day.”

“Is that all? A’right, where does it ‘urt?”

“…Everywhere. All the time.”

Your response caught Butcher off-guard. He’d been expecting some minor complaints, or even a sarcastic retort about what an ass he was being. The cocky, confident expression was replaced with one of concern as he caught a glimpse of the medications littering the nightstand. Surprisingly enough, they were all your own prescriptions. Probably not strong enough for whatever you were dealing with, Butcher reckons.

“You tried Frenchie’s stash?” he sighs, playful demeanor gone as he goes fishing in his pocket for cigarettes and a light.

“I’m.. saving that as a last resort.”

Butcher lets out a ‘hmph’ as he lights a cigarette, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out the door.

“What d’ya need?”

“Sorry?”

He takes another drag, this time blowing the smoke out his nose. “Make me a list, I can grab what’cha need.”

It was hard to tell whether or not Butcher was annoyed with you. On one hand, you could appreciate the concern. On the other, it was almost certain Butcher was frustrated with this show of “weakness.” It took you a moment to find the right words- not necessarily wanting to decline the offer, but hesitant to voice your needs.

“You don’t need to grab anything. Meds aren’t helping today, and I can’t ask you to put yourself at risk. But if you’re offering… I wouldn’t mind some company…”

Uneasy silence smothered the room until Butcher finally sighed, dropping his cig on the floor and putting it out before walking into the room, taking long, slow steps. He grabs a nearby chair, loud scraping assaulting your ears as Butcher drags it to the side of your bed, plopping himself down and crossing his arms. More uncomfortable silence envelops the two of you until you decide to speak up.

"You don't have to be here if you don't want to, y'know."

"I know," Butcher mumbles. He glances at you out of the side of his eye, gaze softening as he watches you wince as yet another wave of pain rolls through your body.

Black spots invade your vision as the aching in your body worsens. You let out a low groan, hands gripping the sheets tightly as you wait for this wave to pass.

A larger, calloused hand covers one of yours, startling you enough to open your eyes. Through the black spots, you swore you could see Butcher's hand on yours, thumb rubbing your knuckles softly.

"You'll uh.. You'll be a'right."

You let out a weak laugh at the awkward, but sweet attempt at comfort.

With how little you'd expected from him, this gentle, caring side to Butcher was a welcome surprise. As the pain dissipates, your eyes begin to flutter closed.

"How about ya take it easy today. I'll tell the others not to bother ya, and I'll come back 'n keep ya company." Butcher's voice is soft- unexpectedly considerate.

Nodding weakly, you lean your head back, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable once again.

Butcher squeezes your hand, keeping a firm hold on you as you drift back to sleep.

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 35

Eminem x Female Reader Fanfiction

Synopsis : Reader is mad at Em after their heated argument and he does everything he can not to lose her.

Y/N’s POV 

You had decided to sleep in one of the guest rooms after your argument with Marshall. He had tried to reason with you, apologize for the millionth time and tell you he loved you but you just needed to be in a different room and not see or hear him. With him begging and pleading, it was impossible to process your feelings. After you locked yourself in the guest room, you heard him knock and apologize for a while but he eventually went away when he understood that you would not open the door, let alone talk to him. To say you were hurt would be the understatement of the year. How did he dare accuse you of lying ? How did he dare imply that you would not deserve to raise children when he knew full well that it was all that you wanted for yourself ? You understood that he might have said that out of anger, fear or whatever extreme emotion he might have felt in the moment but that was no excuse. And it did prove one thing : after knowing you for nearly two years, having witnessed you work towards recovery, he still saw you as an addict. This made you feel worthless, like everything you had done, all the meetings, the therapy sessions had done no good and that you would always be seen as the stupid girl who made a couple of bad decisions because she had a hard time handling trauma. Before messing with your anxiety prescription and eventually overdosing, you had never done a lot of drugs. You had never been the party type, drinking too much and experimenting with substances. The heaviest thing you had ever tried was smoking weed during trips to Amsterdam with your friends from college. You were not a crackhead, for crying out loud ! Looking at the bigger picture, your experience with drugs was limited and represented a few months. It could have been worse. You did not want to minimize your mistakes, but you also did not want them to be held against you for the rest of your life. You were twenty-eight, you still had a lifetime ahead of you. Three months messing with Xanax should not earn you a life sentence. And if Marshall thought different, to hell with him. 

Having him throw all these things in your face hurt on so many different levels and you cried yourself to sleep. Out of anger, sadness and frustration. And on top of that, you had to deal with the guilt of feeling unable to truly rejoice for Talia. You were feeling more lonely than ever. The last time you had felt this lonely was after you lost your baby. Simon was there physically but nowhere to be found on an emotional level and your friends, despite trying their best, did not really understand what you were going through. Now, things were different but also similar in a way : you couldn’t really talk to your friends and it was painfully obvious that your partner would not be of any support. All you had wanted for the night was to have some peace, some alone time and, eventually, Marshall’s arms to fall asleep in. Instead, you had an argument that led you to sleep in a guest room and a possible breakup on your mind. 

You didn’t want to break up with Marshall. Even after the awful things he threw in your face, you were still in love with him. It didn’t make sense. If anything, you should hate him. And in a way, you did. But you still loved him. The perspective of breaking up was making you sick to your stomach but what choice did you have, when the person you loved the most, the one who was supposed to protect you, be there for you and have your back did not respect you and thought of you as a failure ? Yes, he had apologized countless times and professed his love for you, but what good did it do if he saw you as an addict and a charity case ? 

The only reason you managed to sleep at all was from the exhaustion from crying. You had sobbed so much that your head was hurting when you woke up, your vision still blurry. That’s when you felt a presence in bed, next to you. You rubbed your eyes and saw Marshall laying there, staring at you intently with bloodshot eyes. You had locked the door behind you. What the hell was he doing here ? How long had he been staring at you for ? 

What are you doing here ? You asked in a raspy voice. How did you even get here ? 

Masterkey. Baby… I can’t sleep without you, he said. I don’t want to sleep without you. Not tonight. Not ever. 

So you thought you’d stare at me in my sleep like some sicko ? 

Y/N, I… Please don’t do this, he sighed. Don’t leave me. 

He was staring into your eyes, as if he were trying to read into your soul. He was wearing a white tank top and gray sweatpants. He knew full well that was the clothes you liked the most on him. You had told him countless times how sexy he was in them. And you had to admit that, laying on top of the covers, icy blue eyes and muscles on full display, he was a vision. Even when you were mad at him, he had you drooling and it was painfully unfair. 

Marshall…, you began. 

I can’t lose you, he pleaded. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t live without you. 

You hurt me, you said as you swallowed dryly. You really hurt me. 

I know, baby, I-

No you don’t ! You interjected. You have absolutely no idea how bad it hurts. This is worse than the time you told me I should have overdosed before we met. Losing this baby, it’s the worse thing that ever happened to me. How dare you tell me I shouldn’t get to be a mother ?! How dare you tell me that when it was my biggest dream and the reason for our breakup ? How dare the man I told everything about my miscarriage to, the one who consoled me when I was hurting, say something so mean when I gave up on this dream in order to be with him ?! 

I’m so sorry, he sobbed. I don’t deserve you. I know it. I fucked up. 

And I don’t deserve you either ! You spat.  I deserve better. You said you had my back. You said you were here for me. You were supposed to be my best friend in the world. You were supposed to protect me. You had me believing that I could recover. The man who gave me this fucking sobriety pendant and told me I wasn’t alone doesn’t believe in me and thinks I’m basically a crackhead ! 

No, Y/N, it’s not true, he said. I don’t think that at all. You’re so strong. I know it. I see it. 

Then why would you say what you said ? You cried. What good reason can you possibly have for hurting me this bad ? 

I… It’s hard to explain. 

The both of you were crying, laying in bed, staring at each other. Seeing Marshall in tears broke your heart but, hell, he had broken yours. You were mad at yourself for having so much empathy for him. He reached for your hand and, with the other, wiped his tears. 

Look, I know it’s no excuse, but… When I saw the tests, I freaked out, he said. Because it’s not even that I don’t want kids. I mean, I don’t, because I’ve had three beautiful daughters, I feel like my family is complete and, who wants to change diapers in their fifties anyway ? Or be mistaken for their child’s grandpa ? But really… When I thought you were pregnant, I was terrified. Because there is no fucking way I can be chill with the idea of having another baby when I put mine through so much. I traumatized my daughters. Their mom traumatized them too. Their parents were fucking zombies. They saw us struggle. No child should ever, ever see that. No kid should have to call 911 because their dad is dying on the bathroom floor, or have to wait for their mom to call them from jail. They should not have to say “Mom is in rehab. Again. She was sober for years but she relapsed and now she’s a mess”. I can’t even begin to tell you all about the times my kids didn’t have their parents with them for important events. Or the times when we were there but not mentally present. 

You stared at him in silence as he spoke. He had already told you about his addiction, how he had struggled, but he had never really spoken about the impact it had on his daughters, on his family. Tears were falling down his cheeks as he spoke and you could tell the memories were still vivid. 

And when I say that addicts are shitty parents, I’m just talking from my experience, he continued. No matter how much I’m trying now, no matter how long I’ve been sober, it doesn’t erase everything the girls have been through. And I can’t, in good conscience, have another child. Being an addict doesn’t mean you don’t love your kids to death. But it means that they have to put up with a lot and might end up having to care for you when, really, you’re the one who should take care of them. And I won’t even get into the bad genetics they might inherit. When I got back from the hospital, the girls had to take care of me. And throughout the years, they’ve had to take care of Kim, too. 

I know, you said. And I’m so sorry you had to go through this but… You were mean to me. You were cruel. 

I never meant to say you wouldn’t be a loving mother, he explained. Because there is absolutely no doubt in my mind about this. And I know it’s a sensitive subject for you. What I really meant to say is that, even though you’ve worked so hard, even though you’re doing so good, there is no certainty you won’t relapse at one point or another. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be there for you if something happened. It means that it’s scaring the living shit out of me. I wouldn’t be able to handle having a kid with anyone, but if I’m being honest, I couldn’t handle the pressure of having one with you especially, because I’d be even more scared. 

You nodded sheepishly. When he put it in these words, it made more sense. You were still hurt but, in a way, you would see where he was coming from. 

But I realize that… It’s a me issue, for the most part, you know ? He finally said. And I guess that, just because it’s the way I see things doesn’t mean it has to be true for you. I know we’re in different situations. 

Yes, you said with tears in your eyes. Because for me… It was three months, Marshall. I only used for three months. And it doesn’t change the fact that I made mistakes. But I don’t want to be thought of as an addict for the rest of my life. Because that’s not who I am. It shouldn’t have to define who I am. And I will not have you think of me as a charity case.

I know, he agreed. I fucked up. I’m sorry. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. For the record, I don’t think of you as an addict. And you are not a charity case. You have never been. Even at the beginning, we bonded over the topic of addiction and I wanted to be there for you, but it was never about charity or whatever. Or maybe it was, but with me being the damn charity case. 

I never saw you like that, you said. 

Before I met you, I was a fucking mess, you know ? He said. I was sober for fifteen years, I was doing good on paper, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t happy. I never really thought I could be. Content, maybe. But happy ? No. You’re the one who showed me what true happiness looks like. You were never a fucking charity case, Y/N. You’re the air I breathe. 

You could see the sincerity in his eyes. He was holding your hand in his and staring at you. Things seemed a bit clearer now but you weren’t ok. Maybe he didn’t actually mean all the things he’d said, but you still took them to heart. You stared back at him, not saying much. And if you weren’t pushing him away, you weren’t exactly making a move in his direction either. You were just sitting in bed, feeling emotionally drained. 

I’m really sorry, you know, he reiterated. I know I’ve said that a hundred million times tonight, but I mean it. Can you forgive me ? 

I… I don’t know, you said blandly. 

I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N, he said. I swear to God, all you have to do is tell me what to do and I’ll fucking do it. I’ll jump in front of a train, I’ll sell a kidney, I’ll take my heart out of my chest and offer it to you. Anything. 

Can you… Leave me alone ? You asked. 

He looked absolutely heartbroken and you didn’t want to hurt him but, at the same time, you didn’t want a sacrifice. What you wanted, what you really needed was time and space. You looked at him as he swallowed dryly. There was a hint of panic in his eyes. 

Please don’t leave, he pleaded. 

I need time, Marshall, you explained. I need space. 

Please, he begged. 

He cupped your face and whispered to you how much he loved you, how much he needed you. “I can’t lose you”, he kept on saying. He then proceeded to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips… He seemed virtually unable to let go of you. You burst into tears as soon as his lips touched yours and he held you as you sobbed in his arms, repeating how sorry he was. Your tears were getting his tank top wet but he didn’t seem to care. He kept on spilling soft kisses on your face, holding you close. You let him kiss you as you clutched his top. His hands slowly started to wander, gently stroking your thighs. “Let me show you how much I love you”, he whispered before kissing you. You enjoyed his touch, the warmth of his embrace… But something was still off. You didn’t feel in the right headspace. You knew he loved you, but you didn’t feel safe on an emotional level. 

Marshall… No, you simply whispered. 

Are you alright ? He asked. What can I do ? 

Please, just leave, you asked with tears in your eyes. 

He bit his lower lip but eventually nodded. He stroked your cheek with a worried look before getting up and walking towards the door. He took one last look at you as you muttered an apology. After he closed the door, you let your head fall onto the pillow. 

MARSHALL’S POV 

After leaving Y/N alone in the guest bedroom, Marshall was unable to sleep. He had fucked up big time, he knew it. And now, she might leave his sorry ass. For good, this time. The perspective of her walking away from him again was making him sick to his stomach. He kept on thinking he’d done everything wrong in their relationship, perhaps from the start. All he wanted was to give her the very best in life but he kept on fucking up, on saying the wrong things, on letting his anger and past trauma take over. Perhaps he was right when he said he’d end up alone. He was consumed by self-loathing and self-hatred, with absolutely no clue as to how he could possibly make things right (assuming it was even possible). His mind kept on going to the darkest places. He’d always been prone to weird, dark and intrusive thoughts but it’d been a long time since he had felt this way. Ever since they had gotten back together, life had been sunshine and candy. Now, it was the contrary. He kept on filling pages upon pages in his notebook with words, rhymes, schemes, phrases… If anyone ever found this, they would probably call a psych ward to have him committed. His lyric sheets had always resembled the scribblings of a mad man - something a lot of people made fun of him for - but these pages were something else. They were deeply disturbing. Probably because that’s exactly what his thoughts were. Disturbing. After a night alone in the living room, staring at the ceiling and writing, he decided not to go to the studio. Whenever he was having a bad day, going to work and keeping up with his rigorous 9 to 5 schedule usually helped but, this time, he didn’t have it in him to get ready, get in his car and go to work like nothing happened. Not when Y/N might be gone by the time he would come back. So much for their first holiday as a family. For the perfect future he had planned for them. For all the places he wanted to take her. All the plans he wanted to make. He couldn’t imagine facing his family and telling them that he had fucked up. He could already see the look of disappointment on his daughters’ faces. They had managed for Y/N to get back to him only for him to ruin everything. 

He was laying on the couch when he heard her come down. He immediately went to see her. 

Hey, he said. 

Good morning, she replied. 

Did you sleep well ? He asked in a sad attempt to make small talk and connect with her. 

Not really, she admitted. Aren’t you late for work ? 

I’m not going, he said. Not today. Look… Can we talk ? 

I came to talk to you, actually, she said. I have made up my mind. About leaving. 

For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything and time seemed frozen. He found himself unable to breathe as he stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate and put him out of his misery. He needed to know. These few seconds were absolute torture. The nine circles of hell. 

So ? He asked nervously. 

I don’t want to leave, Marshall, she said. I want to give us a chance. 

Thank God, he sighed as he went for an embrace. 

But, she said intently as she put distance between the two of them, I need time. 

O-ok, he said. Sure. Whatever you need, baby. Whatever you want. I told you, I’ll do anything, I’ll give you whatever you ask for. 

Would you consider therapy ? She asked carefully. 

I already do therapy, he replied with a puzzled look on his face.

You haven’t been to therapy since we came back from Europe, she pointed out. And I know that it’s mostly addiction counseling. With everything you told me yesterday, it’s clear that you have unresolved trauma that you should work on. So that you don’t take it out on me. And so that you can move on. 

I-I don’t think it’s something you can move from, he said honestly. But yeah, sure. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it. 

Ok, she said. Thank you. 

Is that all ? He asked nervously. 

And I’m taking over the guest bedroom, she added. 

You want to sleep apart ?! He blurted out. 

I told you I need time, she said. Marsh, I… I love you. With all my heart. And I know you’re sorry. But I’m still hurt. And I have a lot to process. I’ll still be in the house, I’m not moving out. 

Ok, he sighed. 

He wasn’t happy about the prospect of spending more nights away from her, but at least she wasn’t moving out and that was enough for him to be able to breathe properly again. He would just have to suffer through it and do his best not to fuck things up. Y/N went to her appointment and he waited patiently, not too sure what to do. When she came back, she informed him that Talia would be coming over. No offense to Y/N’s best friend, but he had absolutely no wish to see anyone, so he simply decided to retreat in his home studio, trying to at least do something with all the lyrics he had written. Putting together tracks and getting the words out of his head was therapeutic, more so than any amount of time he would spend in a shrink’s office. He’d seen therapists before. When he started addiction counseling, he’d been advised to seek help regarding his childhood trauma, but he wasn’t too keen. So therapy had mainly been focused on his anger issues, his anxiety regarding work and addiction. He wasn’t a big fan of therapy, but if that’s what it took for Y/N to forgive him, he would bite the bullet. When he went back to the living room, at the end of the day, he was spent and his voice was raspy. He had been yelling in the mic a bit more than he usually did but, at least, his mind was a bit clearer. He found Y/N and Talia on the couch, drinking tea and looking at bridal magazines. 

Hi Em, Talia said with a huge smile before hugging him. 

Hey, he said. How’s wedding planning going ? 

Lots to do, she said as she gestured to the pile of notebooks and magazines on their coffee table. By the way… Are you free two months from today ? 

I’d have to check with Tracy about my schedule, he shrugged. Why ? 

Because I’m getting married, she shrieked ! We have a date ! 

That’s… soon, he pointed out. 

Well, I told Y/N not to tell you, and we’re not telling people yet, but you’re Jamal’s best man so you might as well know… We’re having a baby ! 

He looked at Y/N who was standing behind Talia, gesturing to him not to say anything. Obviously he wasn’t supposed to know. He smiled and congratulated her. He could see a sullen expression on his girlfriend’s face while Talia was talking about how Jamal took the news. Apparently, he was surprised but overjoyed and they decided to get married before she started showing. Y/N was smiling but he could see that she was not doing too well. Given everything he knew about how hard losing her own baby had been for her, it wasn’t too surprising. 

So, anyway, we’re going to need all the help we can get, Talia said. Can we count on you, Em ? 

Sure, he sighed. But don’t count on me to help pick flowers or stuff like that… 

Can you at least hook Jamal with one of your stylists so that he has a decent tux ? Oh, and if you know a venue we can use, too… I mean, I bet you’ve visited a few between Hailie’s engagement and Alaina’s wedding. 

None that can fit your guest list, he chuckled. Jamal has told me about it. Nothing that’s available two months from now can accommodate 350 guests ! 

Believe it or not, they have actually agreed to shrink it down, Y/N said with a slight grin. We’re down to 50 guests. 

Only because we’re having a second wedding after the baby is born, Talia warned. This is basically eloping. With a few guests, a party and an actual ceremony. 

So it’s an actual wedding, he said. 

Y/N and Talia went back to their wedding planning. From what he gathered, his girlfriend would have her hands full for the next two months. He went to chill in his office for a bit, listening to some music. When it was dinner time, he went to see Y/N and ask if she wanted to have dinner but found her on the couch, curled into a ball. She was crying and seemed in pain. Talia was gone. 

Baby, what’s wrong ?! He asked as he checked on her. 

Nothing, she mumbled. I got an IUD inserted this morning and I’m having contractions and cramps. They said it’s normal, though. 

I’m sorry, he said. Is there anything I can do ? 

Don’t worry about it, she said. 

She tried to move and pick her phone from the table but even that seemed too hard to do for her. 

You seemed fine, earlier, he commented. 

They gave me pain medication immediately after but it’s starting to wear off, she explained. Plus, I didn’t want to worry Talia, you know ? 

Right, he said. Don’t you have any pain meds you can take ? 

They prescribed some for me but they warned me it was pretty strong so I didn’t pick up the prescription. 

Oh, he said. Do you want me to take you to the doctor ? ER ? 

It’s fine, she said. Don’t worry about it. 

Maybe you should have taken the prescription, he commented. I don’t like seeing you in pain. 

I still don’t fully trust myself, you know ? She said as she nervously played with her sobriety pendant.

You’re stronger than you think, Y/N, he replied. I mean it. 

No you don’t, she huffed. 

Yeah I do, he insisted. Remember, when we started hanging out, when I told you nothing would happen between us ? I thought your sobriety was too new and I was scared But you proved me wrong. You’re doing so good. It’s impressive. 

Thanks, she said sheepishly. 

You never cease to amaze me, you know ? 

She blushed and smiled a little. Watching her act so shy made him realize what an asshole he’d been for failing to protect that smile. She was too precious and she had absolutely no idea about it. All he wanted to do was to take care of her. And that was exactly his plan. 

I wanted to know if you were hungry. Do you want to eat dinner ? He asked. 

Sure, why not, she said as she started to get up. 

Stay here, he said. I’ll cook. 

I can do it, she assured him. 

You’re not in the state to cook, he pointed out. Let me take care of you, ok ? 

Before she got a chance to protest, he went to get her hot water bottle, her favorite blanket, a hoodie and the book on her bedside table and brought them to her before heading to the kitchen and preparing something to eat. They ate in relative silence. He couldn’t speak for her but he wasn’t too sure what to say. At that point, he’d apologized enough times that she knew for a fact how sorry he was. She was a bit distant but, at this point, she didn’t seem too mad either. Ever since they started dating, it was the first time they had an argument that wasn’t solved in the next hour. With anyone else, he wouldn’t have cared too much but with Y/N, he hated it, probably because he realized it was his first serious, loving relationship with someone who had a rather healthy outlook on relationships. No shade to Kim, he had truly loved her but, looking back, he knew they’d been doomed from the beginning, always scheming and playing games. Y/N, on the other hand, had always been brutally honest, when she made it clear that she was attracted to him, or when she broke up with him to stay true to her dreams. He’d always been used to his partners bending their own rules in order to be with him, wanting to be with him at all costs even if it meant that the whole thing would be unhealthy and disingenuous, but Y/N was not like that. She was honest and true. She would rather leave than take bullshit and, even for his fifty-two year-old self, it was intimidating. 

Thank you for taking care of me, she said softly. 

I take my job seriously, he said with a slight smile. I promised to care for you and I fully intend to stick to the plan. 

You don’t have to, you know ? 

I want to, he replied. How’s the pain ? 

The water bottle helps, she shrugged. I think I’ll go to bed, though. I’m tired. 

Before she could get up, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up before carrying her up the stairs. She gasped in surprise but let him. She was securing herself with her arms around his neck. 

You know… I could have walked, she pointed out. 

Oh. Too late, he said innocently - enjoying the contact with her far too much. 

He let her down on the bed in the guest bedroom. For a split second, he considered bringing her to their bedroom but he wanted her to see he respected her decision, however strongly he might disagree with it. He wasn’t sure how he could be expected to sleep well without her. Last night had been a nightmare, just like any night without her. In retrospect, it was a miracle he hadn’t ended up in the hospital in the six months they’d been apart. He had gotten so little rest. To be fair, he had Talia and Jamal to thank for keeping him somewhat sane and healthy. He wouldn’t have been able to release the album and tour otherwise. Hopefully, this time, he wouldn’t have to sleep without her for the next six months. 

So, do you need anything ? He asked as he tried to hide his nervosity. 

I think I’ll be fine, she replied with a soft smile. 

Look, I saw the look on your face, earlier, when Talia was here, he said. Are you sure you’re alright ? 

I’m triggered, that’s all, she said as she looked down. These contractions are bringing memories. So does Talia’s pregnancy. If I’m being honest, I’m having a bit of a… hard time rejoicing for her. 

Tears were welling in her eyes and he could not resist the urge to hold her. He sat on the bed and pulled her in his arms. She looked at him with a sad look on her face. 

I’m a terrible person, she muttered under her breath. My best friends are having a baby and I’m thinking about myself. 

You’re not, he assured her. Considering what you’ve been through, it’s absolutely understandable. And I guess I didn’t really help last night, with my shitty remarks…

Not really, she admitted.

You’re a great friend, Y/N, he said reassuringly. You just need a little time. 

I guess, she shrugged. Plus, they deserve to have a happy family life, you know ? That’s everything Talia’s ever wanted. They’re going to be amazing parents. 

They are, he nodded. And they’re pretty lucky to have you, too. 

You think ? She sighed. 

Of course, he said. You’re always there for people. Look, you’re even putting together their wedding at the last minute. 

That’s the least I can do, you know ? They’ve always been so good to me. I just want to make them happy. 

He pressed a kiss to her temple and she gave him a weak smile. 

I think I should sleep, she said softly. 

Ok, he replied. Call me if you need anything ? 

Sure. Thanks, Marshall. 

They stared at each other in silence. Sleeping in separate rooms felt unnatural and he could tell she felt it too. He reluctantly left her and went to their room, though he knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

In the following days, things seemed to ease up a little. Y/N was still a little distant and keeping to herself but, from the looks of it, she could see he was making efforts. He tried not being too obvious and not sucking up to her too much but he also wanted her to see that he was serious when he said he would do whatever it takes. They managed to have small talks and ate dinner together in front of the TV before going to sleep - still in separate rooms. As for physical intimacy, it was sparse. The only thing he got away with was holding her hand. It was incredibly frustrating - having her so close but so far away at the same time while trying his best to get her to forgive him. He was nervously beating around the bush, avoiding the topic but it was driving him crazy. In all of his previous relationships, it would have led to angry sex and the matter would have been settled and buried only to be dug up for the next argument. Not very healthy but, at least, he wouldn’t have to sleep alone. Thankfully, the evening before Thanksgiving, the universe seemed to be on his side. When he got back from the studio, he found Y/N in the home theater, preparing to watch a movie. 

Hey, he said. Mind if I join you ? 

Sure, she replied with a smile. How was your day ? 

It was alright, he said. What are we watching ? 

You can choose, she offered. I just wanted to get my mind off flower arrangements for a minute. 

Horror movie ? He suggested. I bet we can find one where a bridezilla gets killed, that might comfort you. 

Hey, Talia’s not that bad, she giggled. But yeah, let’s go for horror ! 

She seemed in a good mood, which was a good sign. They settled on a movie and he joined her on the couch. In all honesty, he couldn’t care less about the movie - all he wanted was to be with her. And the only reason he had suggested watching a horror movie was because he knew she was chicken-hearted and, at that point, he would take any excuse and opportunity to hold her. If that implied relying on a jumpscare scene, so be it. He usually had better moves than that with the ladies, but this felt like a last resort. Sure enough, a scary scene came up and he saw her jump up a bit. He tried to hide a smile and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She muttered a “thank you” and focused on the movie. Every time the atmosphere got tense in the movie, he could feel her squirming and nervously bite her lip. And every single time, he pulled her a bit closer to him, until her legs were practically over his. He was almost brought back to the times when they were just friends and every brush against her took his breath away. Being with her, he had gotten used to the proximity, but now that she had deprived him of her touch, it felt the same as before. She took him by surprise by reaching for his hand and interlocking their fingers. He was feeling like a teenager on his first date at the movies. Should he try and kiss her ? Or would it ruin the moment ? It was stupid how much power she had over him. How nervous she could make him, and her ability to make him fall for her all over again just by holding hands. Another jumpscare scene occurred and she let out a small scream before hiding her face in his neck. God bless horror movies. He couldn’t contain a small laugh. 

You’re enjoying this, aren’t you ? She whispered accusingly. 

I missed this, he admitted. I missed you. 

I missed you too, you know ? 

She looked at him and he could not resist the temptation to capture her lips with his own. She immediately kissed him back, her lips feeling softer than ever. Four days without her touch was way too long. He could feel his heart rate increasing as her lips parted and their tongues found each other. He ran his fingers through her hair while she traced his shoulders with her fingers. Her touch was electrifying and he simply couldn’t get enough. He kissed her over and over again. 

I love you, he whispered. I love you so much. 

I love you too, she said emotionally. 

I need you, he pleaded. Let me make love to you. 

Ok, she whispered, her breath accelerating. 

As soon as she spoke, he did not waste time and got up before taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. Their bedroom. He closed and locked the door behind them, making it clear that she was not going anywhere. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to want to. She was looking at him in anticipation. He went back to her and kissed her passionately before pushing her on the bed. He took his time making love to her, enjoying her soft moans and the sensation of her legs around his waist. Her nails scratched his back as she cried his name when they both reached their apex. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck as they caught their breath. 

You’re incredible, he said lovingly. And I’m never letting you out of this room ever again. 

Really ? She giggled. 

Try me, he said with a grin. 

She gave him a playful look and tried to get out of bed but he held her even closer, causing her to struggle a little. She tried wrestling him, but to no avail. Eventually, she gave in to his warm embrace and let her head roll onto his chest. 

So… I guess I have no choice but to sleep here tonight ? 

Don’t tell me you were seriously thinking about sleeping in the other room ? He groaned. 

Not really, she confessed with a small smile. I don’t like sleeping apart. I hate being mad at you, you know ? 

And I hate it when you’re mad at me, he replied. I’ll do better. I promise. 

I know, she shrugged. Sorry it took me a while to cool off. 

I really hurt you, he said. I understand. But just so you know, I want to do everything I can to deserve you. 

In all fairness, it wasn’t just you, you know ? She explained. It was a lot to process in very little time. I was triggered and brought back to some tough memories. I needed a little time on my own… 

I get it, he said. I missed you, though. 

I missed you too, she said. 

I don’t want to lose you, Y/N, he said in all seriousness. 

I know, she said. I’m still here. 

He nodded and closed his eyes, relaxing a bit as she traced the outline of his tattoos with her index. She let out a small giggle as she looked at his stomach tattoo. 

What ? He asked as he opened an eye. 

I just remembered I’m meeting the woman whose name I see every time I go down on you, she said with a smirk. 

He was a bit taken aback by the comment. She was smiling but it was the first time she commented on Kim’s name being tattooed on him. He’d had these for so long that he tended to forget about them anyway. Now that she mentioned seeing the tattoo every time she went down on him, though, he was feeling a bit self-conscious about it.

Is that a problem ? He asked with a raised eyebrow. The tattoo ? 

Not really, she shrugged. I don’t really see it, most of the time, you know. It’s just kind of funny, when you think about it. 

Right, he hummed. So… You’re not too stressed out about tomorrow ? 

I don’t know, she said. It’s still weird but, realistically speaking, I don’t have anything to worry about, right ? 

Of course not, he said. 

I’ll be fine, then, she replied. I guess I’m curious, though. 

About what ? He asked with his eyebrows furrowed. 

About her, she said. You had a complicated relationship with her. 

That’s one way to put it, he said. But, you know, as far as I’m concerned, she’s more like an old friend, and I know it’s the same for her. I’m just good old annoying Marshall. So, really, you have nothing to worry about. 

I know, she said with a smile. And when I start freaking out about it, I remember that you’re not married to her anymore. 

She was smiling softly, visibly at peace with the situation. That was encouraging and a good sign for the next day’s celebrations. However, he was starting to feel his anxiety rise once again. Right when he thought everything was getting back to normal and that he could enjoy Thanksgiving in peace, his past had to come and bite him in the ass. Y/N was looking at him lovingly and he could not find it in himself to contradict her. The only problem was, by saying nothing, he was lying to her face. He was still very much married to Kim.

[wondersinwaynemanor]

either Dick's siblings are merely teasing him, or they are telling the truth. and that destroys Dick Grayson. or wherein the rest of the batkids call out Dick's features and behavior that indicate he's aging.

Dick tiptoes, while slowly getting the mug from the cupboard.

Jason: You're getting slow, Dickiebird. Should I call your speedster boyfriend to help you in getting that?

Dick, huffs: What are you talking about, Little Wing???? I'm just not tall enough to get it. Not everyone has your growth spurt.

Jason, grabs the mug with ease and hands it to his older brother: Nah, you're just slow now.

Dick tries to recall the case he and Tim were working on last month as they sit in front of the batcomputer.

Tim: You okay, Dick?

Dick, massaging his temples: I'm trying, Timmy. I really cannot remember the coordinates. I'll let Babs help me with that.

Tim: Maybe you should go lay down, Dick. You're getting memory loss.

Dick: I - What is that supposed to mean? I'm just out of my game tonight, okay????

Tim, snorts: Not the first time this is happening though.

Dick, leans down to read the contents of the cereal box: Hmmm.. Are the words too small, Dami, or it's just me?

Damian, gets the box from his older brother and reads for him: Only minimal sugar, Richard, you're good. But it seems as if you need prescription glasses.

Dick: My vision is perfectly fine, okay??? It's just Mirror Master's mirror reflected right to my eyes. Helped Wally last night.

Damian: I really hope that's the case, Richard.

Dick is sitting with Cass and Steph on the floor in Cass' room at the Manor.

Cass, stops braiding Dick's hair: Big Brother has gray hairs.

Dick, shocked like a deer in headlights as he touches his hair: What???? Are you serious, Cass?? Where??

Steph: Hey, you're gonna ruin your nails, Dick! They're still wet - Oh, no. Is that a fine line on your forehead?

Dick, turns red at this point: FINE LINE??? That's not possible!! I'm using the face mask you recommended to me last week - You're telling me it's not working- I can't have a fine line!!!

Cass and Steph giggle as they watch Dick pace around and leave to go to the bathroom.

Dick closes his eyes and breathes.

Duke: Are you okay, Dick? Want to take a few-

Dick, opens his eyes and smiles at his younger brother : No, no I'm okay. Let's go again-

Duke: No, you can teach me the move tomorrow, or when you feel better. You've been really tired lately.

Dick: It's just a headache, nothing too serious.

Duke: Yes, but it's different when it's fatigue. And it's one of the symptoms of-

Dick: Uh, uh. Don't say it, don't say it- I'm not getting old, okay??? Why are you guys saying that lately???

Duke, squeezes his older brother's arm: Aging is a natural thing, Dick.

One night-

Dick, enters Bruce's study: B, I need to go with you to that spa in Greece. I need a break. I'm getting old!!!

Bruce, nods his head slowly: Sure, Chum.

Bruce, eyes his eldest: Oh.

Dick: What?

Bruce: Is that a wrinkle-

Dick: Coming from you, old man!!

Bruce chuckles as Dick leaves the study, talking to himself.

Dick cries dramatically to Wally that night.

[eoieopda]

I am here to request some silly, sweet Channie fluff 🥺🥺 as mild or spicy as you want, idm, just want some deep comfort feat. my favourite fun-sized snack 🥰🥰

the one with chan and the promotion (i)

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader type: drabble (fluff, hurt/comfort) au: fuck buddies to ?, pining rating: 18+ wc: 2.2k (don’t look at me) summary: you need a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happens to be free. | part two (4/20/24) cw: chan’s pov, minimal pronoun use (they), no smut but it’s referenced, reader has outpatient dental surgery (not depicted), reference to blood/swelling, reader is doped the hell up. 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

You’re drifting off in some twilight on the other side of a closed door, but Chan’s the one that’s stupefied.

Mechanically speaking, he knows how he got himself into this position: drove here in his car, parked in the lot outside, walked into the front door. His ass is in this very seat because he dropped himself there, and he hasn’t moved in the two hours that have passed since.

None of that explains why he’s in his current position, though — why you reached out to him, of all people, to come with you to something like this.

Why he’s more giddy over that choice than confused by it, even if it turns out that he was your last resort.

He’s lost in thought when your oral surgeon’s head peeks out through the doorway to the recovery room. She asks if he’s “the boyfriend”, and he has no idea how to explain that he’s more of a “semi-consistent fuck buddy”, so he simply says “yes” before allowing her to usher him into the room.

You’re slumped in a reclining chair when Chan walks in, heavy eyelids fluttering as you try hard to fight off sleep. Better still, the gauze in your mouth makes your chipmunk cheeks stick out while your still-numb lips fumble with words. The urge to reach for his phone and snap a picture makes his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t; you’d absolutely murder him if he tried.

“Mmfph?” You grunt when your narrowed eyes manage to clock him standing there.

He grins automatically, fingers reaching up to tip a hat he isn’t wearing. “Mmfph to you, too.”

Whatever drugs they gave you to knock you on your ass aren’t strong enough to overcome your personality; you roll your eyes much more easily than you keep them fully open. That trademark sass must’ve taken a lot out of you, though. You doze off again before he can blink, slumping further in your chair with your head lolled uncomfortably to the side.

Your neck is going to hurt later, he thinks with a frown. 

“Once they get their sea legs back, you should be okay to go.”

Chan jumps when the surgeon pipes up, having completely forgotten anyone else was in the room.

She clears her throat sheepishly, clearly aware that she’s interrupting something. Breezing right past that awkwardness, she pulls a prescription pad from her coat pocket. The top page is promptly ripped off and passed to him with a stern look. 

She warns, “Make sure they don’t take this medication on an empty stomach.”

Damn — only two hours in, and he’s already being promoted from chauffeur to caretaker? It should embarrass him that this fact tickles him thoroughly pink, but it doesn’t. Inwardly, he high-fives himself.

Nice one, Chan!

“Soup is best,” the surgeon continues, once again pulling him out of his own head. There’s a pause before she remembers the kicker; she waves her hand urgently when she finally does. “Nothing spicy, though.”

He nods in understanding, and just like that, she pats his shoulder and disappears out the door. Unsure what else to do, Chan takes a seat on the small stool next to your chair and waits.

And wait, and waits, and waits.

Jesus. What did they give you — a horse tranquilizer?

When your eyes open the second time, they find him immediately. They’re still a bit glassy, but they’re much more alert. Bright, even, which is a bit of a wonder, given the circumstances. Right away, he can tell that the space cadet has — sort of — returned to Earth.

“Can —?” You gesture to your mouth, which struggles to frown around the gauze. 

Uselessly, you flick out your tongue in an attempt to wet your lips. They're dry from all the time you must’ve spent with your mouth open, and his fingers twitch again when he pictures the chapstick in his pocket.

You distract him with what he assumes are words, prompting him to shift his gaze from your mouth to your eyes.

Everything that comes next is garbled, totally incoherent, but he gets the gist. With a quick glance at his watch, he confirms that it’s been thirty minutes since he started watching you sleep, and that feels like enough time. 

Right?

So, he shrugs permissively; you perk up the second you’re given the green light. Bravely, you only whine a little bit when you lay eyes on the slightly bloody, thoroughly spit-soaked material as you pull it away from your gums. 

Chan can’t tell if you’re trying to pout when you hold that mess out to him and stare expectantly, but the intent doesn’t matter much in the long run; the effect is the same. He takes your drooled-on trash without a second thought.

Squinting as he concentrates, he fires it off towards the bin in the corner like he’s trying to beat a buzzer. The pair of you watch as it ricochets off the wall, then drops perfectly in the basket below.

Immediately, he turns back to you with wiggling eyebrows and a smirk. “Bank shot,” he brags.

You ignore the true purpose of his raised hand — a well-deserved high-five — and instead latch onto it.  Gripping tightly as if your life depends on it, you drag yourself up and out of your chair. 

Before you can throw yourself entirely off balance, Chan swoops in to tuck you under his arm. You’re independent to a fault, however; and you glare up at him exactly like he guessed you would. Apologetic, he keeps his distance with his hands raised.

Go for it, then.

All it takes for you to accept defeat is a few wobbly steps toward the door and some curse words muttered under your breath, for zest. You give in faster than you want to and dive into his side with a long-suffering groan. You’re not looking, so he doesn't bother to hide the triumphant smirk that spreads when your arms wrap around his waist.

The walk back to his car takes a lot more effort than he initially expected. Though you cling to him like you’ll float off without him, you insist on attempting to wander in every direction except the one you need to head in. To the best of his ability, Chan steers you across the pavement; you babble through every stumbled step.

“I’m going to open your door now, okay?” He coos once you finally reach his car.

It surprises him slightly — the softness he’s exuding, and how much like a reflex it feels — but he doesn’t dwell on it. He’s got a far more difficult puzzle to solve: getting your wriggling body into his car.

After a few unsuccessful tries, you finally let him usher you out of the way of the door. You spill into his passenger seat like you’re more jelly than bones, knocking your skull against the doorframe as you go.

Jesus Christ.

Eyes wide, Chan ducks down to run his fingers gingerly over what will likely be a goose egg tomorrow. Nervously, he chuckles, “That — uhh — that was quite the entrance. You okay?”

Tilting your chin just so, you push your cheek into his palm and blink up at him slowly like you’ve already forgotten the question. Suddenly, so has he. Several moments whizz by just like that — with his arm raised uncomfortably and your heavy head resting against his hand.

Never in his life has he wanted to kiss a forehead as badly as he does yours. It’s like you’ve got a magnet where your orbital bone should be, and it’s a bit shocking. Whatever magic you’ve got — some sort of tractor beam in your eyes, perhaps — pulls, pulls, pulls, but he stops himself.

That’s not what this is, he reminds himself as he backs away and shuts your door carefully in his place. That’s not who I am to you.

In this moment, Chan is your taxi driver, carting you off to the apartment he’s been in a hundred times — but never once in the daytime.

As he goes, it becomes a little clearer with every kilometer: the sun can’t be beating down overhead because he feels it next to him, warming his arm through his jacket; blinding him whenever his gaze drifts over to the passenger side.

“Chan,” you pout out of nowhere.

Again, your head droops fast and bumps his shoulder. You don’t react to this second knock, but he does, sucking air in through his teeth.

“Need to get you a helmet,” he mutters with a sheepish laugh. “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion at this rate.”

“Don’t need a helmet,” you argue. “I need pork belly, bad. Stop, please?”

Glancing quickly down at you, Chan bites back a smile. You look so adorably pitiful with your hazy eyes blinking one at a time, lips all puffy to match your cheeks. It takes all he’s got to tear his eyes off you and put them back on the road ahead.

He sighs, genuinely sorry. “No can do, champ.”

You repeat the nickname, pop the last letter, and make yourself laugh so hard that you hiccup.

“Your options currently are soup or… well, soup.” He tries to sound firm, but if you pout at him a second time, Chan might throw your dentist’s warning right out the window. “Think it over while I stop at the pharmacy, yeah?”

In the quiet that follows, he swears he can hear the gears turning in your head. He doubts it has anything to do with what he just told you, but he doesn’t mind. Come to think of it, he doesn’t mind any of what this day has turned out to be so far. That doesn’t necessarily surprise him, either.

With the way things currently are between you, you don’t feature much in his everyday life; only weekends and the occasional weeknight. It works well, this thing you’ve got going. He enjoys what you do — that head game of yours is otherworldly — but judging by the glimpses he’s seen so far, he likes who you are, too.

Despite not knowing you on some deeper level, shit like this — being around you for some profoundly asexual purpose — feels natural. Like he could do it more often; be a little more than just a recurring character. If you let him, that is.

Would you let him?

That question rattles around his brain when he pulls up to the pharmacy and dashes inside, too wary to leave you alone for long but wholly unprepared to guide you through a shop in your current state. He’s still thinking about it when he jogs back to his car with your prescription in hand.

That bag is nearly dropped to the pavement below when he sees you, however; and he can’t remember what he was thinking about before because you’re weeping now. In a flash, Chan throws himself into his seat and jerks the door shut behind him, metal groaning in the process. 

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t mean to sound so forceful, but he can feel his pulse in his ears. On instinct, he reaches out and places gentle hands on your temples. Eyes scanning for any sign of injury, he tries to bury his urgency in a soothing voice. “Hey — talk to me. Are you okay?”

You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. Oh, fuck, you’re breaking my heart. His stomach drops at the sight of your lower lip trembling, but then you whimper:

“What if worms don’t have best friends?”

And Chan needs a minute because he can’t believe you’re real, that you’re borderline bereft over worms, or that he’s this fucking enamored.

Before he knows it, he starts giggling so hard that his eyes start to swim. Thankfully, it’s with mirth and not utter devastation like yours. Pinching his bottom lip between his teeth, he wipes a tear off your cheek with the side of his thumb. Just as gently, he tries his best to reassure you, “I’m sure they do.”

“You’re sure?” You repeat with a sniffle. Chan nods; he’s never been more so.

Successfully placated, you fall into thoughtful silence next to him. It doesn’t last long, though. Abruptly, you and your goldfish memory change course: “Can we get pork belly?”

Something in him wants to give you the world in this moment — the moon on a string, or whatever — but he shakes his head, unwilling to budge. But then your face falls, and he blurts out, “When you’re better, I’ll take you out for some.”

And he means it.

You peep, “Maybe next week.”

Chan laughs while he puts the key in the ignition and turns it. Maybe, he thinks, if you remember having this conversation. As the engine roars back to life, a new thought bubbles to the surface in his mind:

Maybe you will remember.

If you do — and if he’s brave enough then — maybe he’ll confess that he’s a liar. He might own up to the fact that, when you called to ask for his help, he didn’t already have the day off like he claimed to; or that the sick time he rushed to claim in the aftermath wasn’t attributable to his health at all. 

Maybe he’ll admit that he doesn’t care how many people you asked before you turned to him because you ultimately did.

Just maybe.

As he backs out of his parking space, Chan casts another glance your way. It takes all the effort in the world for you to do it, but you smile at him with your whole damn face. 

That settles it, then.

He nods once — firmly — and corrects you, “Definitely next week.”

Part two.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Under the Stars || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Anon request from my old blog: "can i ask a tinnyyy request like you know s7 e8 daryl runs off from negans with jesus to hilltop later ricks group comes. How about reader and daryl reuniting after them not seeing eachother since negan takes him hostage and like all the time they spent away from each other in pain they try to make up for it"

Summary: Your mental health severely declined when Daryl was taken, but now he's back, and it's time to begin to heal together.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: depression, prescription medication, general unhappiness, but a happy ending (oh, and profanity, duh)

        You had barely taken care of yourself over these last weeks. Minimal food intake, drinking water only when your body painfully begged for hydration, unable to get out of bed to even bathe on most days as the painful sinking in your gut was just too much. You felt dizzy sometimes, either from malnourishment or grief. Two of your friends were murdered in cold blood, horrifically. You still remembered how it felt when Abraham's blood splattered over your face, warm in contrast to the chill of the air around you. You could remember the way your breath made foggy little clouds in the�� bright lights, how you felt every ounce of air leave your lungs when Glenn was taken out next. 

        That man -- that monster -- he took more than just your friends. He took your sanity. You didn't sleep because when you closed your eyes it was all you could see. You hummed to yourself for hours because in the silence, you could still hear the whistle of the bat as it was brought down on your family members and the squelching of mangled skulls as he turned them into mere pulp. 

        With all that, the thing that stung even more was the memory of him being dragged away, your best friend, your love. The toughest and strongest man you knew, the one with a dirty abrasive exterior and a sparkling core of gold. They took him away, just like that. You knew he was alive. They brought him once, just to flaunt him in your face and remind you of what they had taken from you. To show you just how miserable they were making him.

        On this day, though, Rick and the others had dragged you out of bed. Michonne sat with you while you showered, and washed your hair for you while you sat curled up under the steamy stream of water. She helped you get dressed, and told you they were taking you with them to Hilltop to see Harlan, their doctor. He would be able to give you a mild antidepressant, and something to help you sleep again. They had other business at the colony, but they decided you'd benefit from tagging along.

        You were reluctant, of course. Why did you deserve peace and rest if nobody you loved could attain the same? But, they insisted, and who were you to  argue when they already had more pressing matters at hand. You all did. 

        "This is setraline, or more commonly known as Zoloft. It can be used for anxiety and depression, and it isn't known to have many side effects. I'm going to give you a 30 day supply. Just take one every morning with breakfast, and it should help you break out of this funk." Harlan explained, handing you a pill bottle. "It wont take away the grief, but it will help balance some of the symptoms of it until you can cope on your own."

        "This one," he continued, handing you a little baggie with ten pills. "Is a basic valium. Take it every night with a snack, you'll get your sleep schedule back on track by the time you run out of them."

        He offered you a thin lipped smile as you stuffed the medications in your bag.

        "Thanks, Doc." You sighed as you stood up. He held the door open and allowed you to exit the medical trailer before himself, shutting the door behind him.

        "Don't thank me just  yet. I want to see you again in 30 days. We can assess how it worked for you and then maybe you can thank me."

        The others were all gathered nearby the gates, talking with Maggie and some others. You made your way over. Michonne smiled kindly as she placed an arm over your shoulders.

        "Was he able to help?" Rick asked. You nodded.

        "We'll see in 30 days." You told them. The conversation resumed where it left off, and you kind of just absentmindedly stood by, allowing little bits of information to register here and there but not enough to follow.

        That was when the gates opened and Jesus walked in, followed by someone you didn't expect in the slightest. Your eyes were dry and wide, throat tight, heart racing out of your chest. Rick was the first to hug him, then Michonne, then Maggie, who he seemed  shocked to see. 

        His eyes landed on you and time stopped. The world simply stopped spinning. He stepped toward you slowly, each crash of his boot into the dirt sounding off like bombs. Tears pooled in your eyes when you could finally reach him hear him, smell him.

        "Daryl." You choked.

        He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. The way he embraced you and lifted your feet from the ground, squeezing the air out of you was enough. When he set you back down he planted a kiss on your forehead, lingering there as he breathed you in.

----

        The stars had never looked so bright than they did when you were underneath them with Daryl that night. You stayed at Hilltop with him, and instead of enjoying a bed and warm sheets, you both laid on the ground outside Barrington House, breathing easily for the first time since he had been taken.

        "How'd you get out?" You wondered.

        "Nah. Don't gotta talk 'bout that right now." He said softly, sneaking an arm under you to pull you into him. You rested your head on his chest and he ran his fingers though your hair. 

        "Okay." You whispered. "I missed you."

        "Yeah." He agreed. "Me too. I missed ya."

        "I haven't been able to sleep without you."

        "Mm." He nodded, fingers still twirling in your strands.

        "Can you talk? About anything? I missed your voice."

        "Well," he sucked in a breath, searching for something worth telling you. "Every minute I spent away from you just felt longer and longer, ya know? 'N' now that I got ya back I don't wanna think about none of it. Don't wanna think 'bout the fightin' that's comin'.. Just wanna be here. With you."

        You sniffled and blinked back tears as you nuzzled closer to him, wishing he could just absorb you into his very being so that you'd never be apart.

        You peeked up at him through your eyelashes and he looked down at you, pressing a scratchy kiss on the top of your head.

        "I thought about you every minute of every day." You admitted.

        "I know." He said softly.

        "I just.." You sighed. "I'm just so happy to be here with you. It feels like a dream."

        "It ain't."

        "But it feels like one." You countered. "Just so unreal."

        "It's real." He affirmed.

        "I know." 

        "Good."

        "Do you wanna sleep inside tonight?" You asked.

        "Nah. Too closed up."

        "Okay." You smiled. You snaked an arm over his torso, holding him tightly. He returned the gesture, using dropping his hand from your hair down to your back and pushing you against him. You laid a leg over his.

        "Ya been eatin'?" He asked suddenly, running his fingers over your ribcage.

        "No." You admitted quietly.

        "Gon' eat breakfast tomorrow." He instructed.

        "I have to anyways. Harlan said I have to take my meds with food."

        "Meds? For what?"

        "Depression." You huffed, sitting up and reaching into your bag to show him the pills. "Zoloft and some kind of valium."

        "Pfft." He scoffed, taking the pills from you and setting them on top of his own bag as he pulled you back down. You settled back into your previous position. "Don't need no damn drugs. I'm gon' give these back to him tomorrow."

        "I guess they were just worried about me. I wasn't really that great, you know, with everything..." You trailed off.

        "Okay." He nodded. "I'm here now. Ya don't need 'em."

        "Okay." You said sleepily, eyes feeling heavy in the comfort of his embrace. You really didn't need valium, you just needed him to lay with you. He glanced down at you, feeling a bit of warmth in his chest as your eyes began to flutter.

        "Get some sleep, now." He whispered.

[theriddlettesblog]

Home Runner, a Team Fortress 2 fanfiction

Chapter 1

Scout sits in the Teufort base’s resupply room, on one of the benches, thinking to himself about the choices he’s made that led up to where he is now.

“Hey, Scout,” Engie begins, walking up to the resting Jeremy who is now looking up at the genius and no longer at his shoes. “Yer soda’s in the fridge if ya need any.” He says gesturing over to the minifridge.

A week prior, Dell had noticed that Scout was out of Bonk again and added it to the shopping list. Demo picked up a case of the carbonated punch, albeit small, when he went to the store. The Scottsman only bought six cans of the soft drink because he wanted to use the majority of his strength and paycheck to bring back the most alcohol he could. The rest of his purchase consisted of three crates of beer for him and Dell to share, three bottles of whiskey for himself, and one bottle of vodka for Heavy which the Russian man drinks much to Medic’s protest with the giant’s health in mind. If Tavish had more arms, he would have gotten more booze, not pop.

“Thanks, Engie.” Scout replies to the builder.

“No problem. Round’s ‘bout to start, so git caffeinated and ready to cap the intel.” The mechanist tells Jeremy, grabbing his wrench and shotgun then leaving the safety of the base.

Jeremy breathes a big sigh then proceeds to gear up, grabbing his favorite hat-headphones combo, scattergun, and swiftly downs one of the half-a-dozen cans of Bonk in the fridge before walking out of the room. Stepping out of the resupply, he straightens the collar of his polo and adjusts his untinted Value of Teamwork prescription Graybanns. The man goes on to cock his scattergun, ejecting an empty shell out of the chamber all while closely observing its descent to the floor. Through his specs, Scout’s gaze is locked on the shell resting on the ground.

“Empty.” The young man says to himself, still staring. A loud gunshot followed by an explosion breaks him out of his trance and he walks onto the ledge Mick often uses as a sniper’s nest. As one would guess, the New Zealand native is indeed there, scoped in and carefully searching for a head to liquidate.

“Joinin’ the fight now, Scout? ‘Bout time, we need a fast recovery, heh heh.” Sniper says, taking a moment to unscope to ask and chuckle at his own jab.

“You got it, Mick.” Scout responds, unenthusiastically and without looking at the other assassin. The runner jumps down off the ledge, trying his best to keep his balance after landing. Before he gets a chance to look up at the other side of Teufort, his Bottle Cap’s headset starts buzzing.

“Scout?” Pauling asks, gaining the speedster’s attention, “Before you say anything, or if you are saying anything, stop, I’ve got a contract for you.”

“Sure.” Jeremy answers, without any shock from the fact that this is the first time Miss Pauling has said anything to him in months.

A moment of silence goes by before Pauling breaks it. “Are you not going to say anything else?” the woman asks, confused that Scout is not shamelessly embarrassing himself nor reciting a used pick up line that won’t work on her, or anyone, for that matter.

“No?” Jeremy asks back, not understanding her confusion with his lack of idiocy.

“Oh, okay, uh, I just need you to kill a few Pyros and you’ll get a new weapon skin, well, new to you, not actually new, Minimal Wear at best.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Scout quickly replies before hanging up without another word between them. He sighs again and jumps into the water between the two bases, heading into the BLU team’s sewers.

As he makes his way through the water, he begins thinking to himself again, about something that’s been tugging at the back of his mind for the past few weeks. For those past few weeks, Scout hasn’t been able to shake an odd feeling, a feeling that was unusual and unfamiliar to him. It was a feeling that bogged down his cockiness and made him more tame as well as fade into the background. It prevented him from being the loud showy kid from Boston, but rather, made him quiet which everyone on his team noticed, but no one batted any eyes toward. Not even Jeremy himself noticed he was acting a little out of the ordinary, he just went about flanking every Soldier and Heavy that was unfortunate enough to not notice the skinny guy with the shotgun coming up behind them.

Why he’s been feeling this way for this long was unknown to him, usually, it takes three cans of the atomic punch to lift his spirits and he’s right back to being the most annoying shotgunner on the field. But for some reason, no matter how much pop he chugs, he can’t get out of this fog. Jeremy almost has half a mind to ask Medic about his atypical string of emotions, but he rationalizes the thought by realizing that the mad Doktor will either write it off as nothing or perform some kind of procedure that wouldn’t change anything except his number of exotic hamster kidneys. Scout is brought back to reality when he hears the Administrator exclaim that his team’s intelligence has been taken.

“Scout!” Engie calls out to Jeremy on his headset. “A Spy’s taken the intel! He’s goin’ through the sewers! Meet ‘im halfway and blast ‘im to hell!”

“On it.” Scout replies, once again, unenthused while rolling his eyes. He heads out the few feet he made it into the BLU base and swims across to the sewers of his own. He stands guard at the entrance out of the sewer system, waiting for someone, RED or BLU to enter his sight. Several moments pass by with absolutely nothing coming into his view.

“Crap, he’s probably invisible.” Scout says to himself, trying to listen for sloshes in the water. Several more moments pass by without a single break in the silence.

Scout gets tired of waiting so he presses the button on his headset, “Engie? Did that Spy leave the base?”

“Not with the intel, he dropped it and vanished. But we got theirs.” As soon as the Texan finishes that proud statement, The Administrator’s voice comes over the intercom and congratulates the REDs for capturing BLU’s intel.

“Come on back,” Dell begins again, “we got three cases ‘a beer so one fer everyone who’s not an alcoholic bomb maker.”

“Sweet.” Scout breathes out without cracking a smile, keeping the same face as when he first called. Before moving his feet, Jeremy lets his arms fall to his sides and then slowly makes his way into the main part of his team’s base.

When Scout re-enters the resupply room, he sees all of his teammates celebrating with beers in hand, save for Tavish, he has three in each. Before anyone could realize Jeremy was there, he grabs the tiny case of soda out of the fridge and heads home for the night.

Home, for Scout, is a small rundown apartment complex just outside of downtown Teufort which he would be more than overjoyed to move out of and find a nicer place, but seeing how the Administrator docs and suspends his pay for mouthing off to her, what he does make barely covers the costs of his ammunition. The building is curated by an elderly blind man named Talor who rocks a tricked out wheelchair, is shockingly modest, but most importantly, is kind to Scout. Jeremy is Talor’s only tenant but he keeps the power and water running for him as the speedster has nowhere else to go. Scout makes a silent entrance into his room, trying his best to not let anyone know he returned home; though Talor is very warmhearted, Scout doesn’t need anything to further complicate his day.

The light-footed sprinter tosses his cap and glasses onto his dinner (coffee) table before finishing off the last five cans of Bonk he took from work. He throws off his shoes, pants, and shirt and nearly collapses into the pullout couch he uses as a bed. After three hours of dreamless sleep, buzzing comes from his resting headset. This awakens Scout and in a half-asleep daze, gets up and brings the single headphone to his ear after laying back down on the throw pillow he uses as a regular one.

“Yeah?” Scout asks, mildly annoyed, but too tired to care, that someone is calling him in the dead of night.

“Scout? It’s Pauling.” the purple-shirted secretary answers the speedster.

“Miss Pauling? Look, it’s late, I gotta be up at six tomorrow, I don’t got time for another contract.” Scout tells her with only one eye open, locked on one of his many mold-ridden walls.

“No. Scout, this isn’t about a contract, though, you didn’t complete my last one so either way it wouldn’t be. Uh, anyway, I was just calling to ask why you left work early. You usually never pass up an opportunity to show off your weird dance moves.” Pauling inquires, trying to piece together the answer to this mystery.

“I just wasn’t feelin’ it today.” Scout answers, scratching his head which is still laying on his pillow.

“Engie says you haven’t been feeling it at all.” Jeremy’s half-shut gaze squints even further. The young woman continues, “I’m just a little concerned is all. I know we haven’t been talking a lot lately, and people’s lives tend to move on whether or not they keep in touch.” Pauling says, trying not to let her voice crack under the weight of her words. Jeremy sits up in his cot, looking down at his half-blanketed body.

Without anything else to say, he simply replies, “I’m still doin’ okay. Thanks for the call, Miss Pauling, goodnight.” and with that, Jeremy hangs up, allowing the mountain of guilt resting on his back to force a breath out of his lungs. He then slips back into sleep.

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Next

Masterlist

[aphfroghat]

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑫𝒖𝒎𝒑 - 𝑵𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒚

Physical features

Norway is somewhat chubby, the kind you'd have to see him naked or squeeze him to notice. He's 179 cm tall and his complexion is pale. He has dimples only a few people know about and his hair is very fluffy, wavy and well kept. His curl, beyond its purpose of representing his fjords, also reflects his feelings; it takes different shapes as he feels different things:

He's touch-avoidant most of the time, but he doesn't mind being cuddly with Iceland.

Health & Psyche

Norway is generally healthy, he barely ever gets sick, and when he does it's never too bad. When sick, he becomes much quieter than usual (so he's pretty much silent) and he begs specifically Iceland to cuddle with him. This is a bit of a strategy to make Ice sick and have a good excuse to baby him and take care of him. It doesn't work much. He's myopic and uses strong prescription contact lenses.

He used to smoke, but he quit recently.

He fears speaking in public, thunderstorms and being forgotten. He sleeptalks and occasionally sleepwalks too (he has baked cakes in his sleep a bunch of times). His dreams are either unsettling or weird, and he frequently has nightmares about poverty and losing his loved ones. He's autistic and he particularly despises loud noises and some textures. His coping mechanism of choice is zoning out.

Personality

Despite being naturally aloof and reserved, Norway tries his best to be a tiny bit more open to his close friends and family, failing miserably. It takes him years to open up to someone and become comfortable with touch. He's very good at self-control and hates losing it. He's mostly calm so he has a hard time staying angry at someone, annoyed at max. He can be very blunt but he doesn't intend to offend most of the time. He dislikes crowds, parties and world meetings.

Hobbies and interests

Norway is an active person: he practises figure skating and skiing, and he likes hiking and fishing. He's very good at chess. He tried to teach Iceland too, but the latter is hopeless. He plays the violin well and he does duets with Iceland (pianist) often. His singing voice is also good. He stares at snow or rain as a hobby, sometimes he accidentally stares at people while spacing out. He's skilled at Just Dance but he will never be as good as Sweden. Norway is particularly into black metal and he's a hardcore Vundabar fan.

Social

Norway isn't much of a social kind of person, in fact he mantains a minimal presence on the few social media accounts he has: Facebook, a rarely used Instagram, and a forgotten Tumblr he used one time in 2014. He also downloaded TikTok to try it out with Iceland's suggestion but he deleted it in less than 10 minutes. He matches profile pictures with Denmark on every social media he has.

He barely ever uses his phone anyway, in fact it's better to call him than text him as he forgets to check his messages a lot.

He's in a fake polycule with England and Romania. He spoils Ladonia and Sealand with sweets and gifts, though sometimes his gifts aren't very appreciated because he's stingy. He got Ladonia coloured pencils for five birthdays straight once. He somewhat enjoyed the pandemic for the enforced isolation, a good excuse to avoid physical contact and world meetings.

Magic

Norway is a half fae. This gives him an average fae's features (pointy ears, shrinking in size, wings, a glow in their eyes when exposed to darkness, purring), with a milder shrinking and a better control over them. As a child, his control on those features– and on magic at all –wasn't very good, in fact he seemed to purr for no reason and to sneeze and emanate sparkles as an early display of magic.

Miscellaneous

- He's never sure about his gender and uses any pronoun.

- During an emo phase in his Viking years, he dyed his hair with blood.

- He has a very calming aura.

- He has a massive sweeth tooth.

- Cuddles make him sleepy.

- He always arrives to places 10 minutes early.

- He's not a morning person.

- His blood type is A.

- Despite being photogenic, he's insecure about having his picture taken.

[mahiiimahiiii]

its here!!!

An:/ will I ever finish a fic that I start? We will never know. Trying to keep this short and saucy. Maybe it will become a series…? Modern au Baldur’s gate, this is bisexual cat dad gale I mentioned earlier this week, feedback would be appreciated. (first time writing gale woohooo!!)

Tdlr: you thought that I was feelin’ you? Nah that rizzard’s a munch.

word count: around 4k

(this will have a named durge :9, her name is wynne and I post her often, but shes a brown drow with shoulder length curly hair and heterochromia due to her glass eye.)

Cw: cunnilingus, light consciousness, sleepy sex, breakfast in bed? More like breakfast and headdd. Possessiveness, previous substance usage, previously established relationship, durge is mentally illest, slight cervix brusing, hurt and comfort, biting/claiming, we must take it easy so gale doesn’t blow up.

Smothered in a deck of pillows you laid at the prodigal wizard’s bedside, a career you thought merely extinct in the modern era. A purveyor and ever the pioneer he was- integrating his magic into online technology, now consulting other businesses on its integration; Gale Dekarios was always ahead of the curve.

You didn’t think of him a fan of minimalism, his rooms each eggshell white with delicate paintings in dark oak frames. The only things maximalist was his collection of ancient tomes lining the walls of his cozy apartment, a certain fire hazard for one too prone to burning things.

He had worried, inviting you into his home. At one point you had invited him to stay at your home, a shabby apartment in disarray nestled in the lower city of Baldur’s gate- the political district. You hadn’t taken your meds in months, too busy to fill out a prescription- you snapped. It was terrifying and beautiful all together.

He called the pharmacy after that, setting alarms and reminders in your phone to take them. You had slept soundly with a little coaxing, your face softened into peaceful smile, surrounded by sensory items galore. He kissed you when you woke up and cried and apologized for your behavior. Your lips were salty from tears, but that made them sweeter.

He told you not to apologize, he promised he would take care of you.

“It’s rotten work” you had cried, and he laughed.

Not to me. Not if it’s you.

That was the first time your lips uttered an “I love you.” His heart sang- he gushed to tara when he got home afterwards, plucking out stacks of classical romance.

He had much he wanted to share with you.  How he admired you.

He had told you as much.

His bedroom now, had touches of your presence. A couple of sweaters hung in his closet, perfume and soaps on his counter, meds, cup of water, and eyedrops on his bedside table. The door creaked open revealing the multi-colored tressym, the lady of the house, Tara. She chirped in acknowledgement before hopping onto the bed, noises from outside the door got a bit louder. The smell of coffee wafted in, notes of vanilla and cinnamon hit the air.

Tara began to purr loudly, nestled in the cleave of your thighs; she nipped at the hand closest to her. “Have you taken your meds yet?” she inquired, her voice was stern and motherly.

“jus’ gonna’ now.” Your voice slurred, the sleep obvious from your voice. You groped for the pill bottle, holding the tab down and twisting off the lid. You pulled out one and a half tabs, washing them down with water. you grabbed the eyedrop bottle, filled with a tonic gale made for you, compatible for a magic eye. You laid back, dropping the liquid into your eyes and rolling it around in the socket.

Your vision opens as you rub at your eyes, adjusting to sit up in bed. You combed a hand through your hair, knots popping through your anxiety ridden strokes.

“Was your sleep alright dear? You look rather vexed.” Tara was busy grooming, but kind enough to check in with you.

You laughed softly “vexation is a constant state of my life, but I appreciate the thought. Yes, it was fine, thank you. Just distant thoughts about previous me’s.” you rubbed your eyes again, “have you seen our wonderful gale?”

She tutted, stretching out over your legs and flopping to the side “he has requested you stay in bed. But- he is busy as a bee, as always. She began to purr again, rubbing her nose against the sheets. “Consider me your roadblock from getting up.”

You sank back into the pillows staring at the swirling texture of the ceiling. It was stuck with small glow stars that never got charged. Near the head of the bed was a small planetary mobile, little bells sang out from the room’s small fan. Gale likes his white noise.

A rap at the door broke you from your thoughts. Gale’s curious eyes peered over the door, crinkling as he broke into a smile. “Good morning my star, I hadn’t realize you had woken up already.” He wore a loose crew neck shirt, embroidered with flowers at the hems, his pants a taught cotton blend- ones he would call cozy dress pants, and ones you’ve seen him fallen asleep in. his hair was tied half up half down in a spikey bun, strands of steel grey hair glowed with he light of the sun. He held a mug in his hand, one of his kitsch collections. “I got a dig bick” it read.

He set it on the nightstand, caging you in for a sweet kiss. His thumb stroked the outline of your chin mindlessly, savoring the warm way his chest tightened at your tired and happy eyes. He tasted of caramel coffee and apple slices. He pulled away from your grasp, slightly breathless.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have come checked in on you sooner. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. You could compete for the most beautiful creature in the heavens.”

“Certainly not compete- I am the most beautiful creature.”

He chortled heartily, kissing your lips gently once more. “You don’t know how right you are, my love.”  Gale absentmindedly drew patterns onto your skin, his gaze gentle, yet longing. “Rest a bit more- I have some surprises planned.” With a kiss to your brow he pulled away, your skin felt flush with warmth.

You settled into your pillows, cupping the mug gingerly. You took a few sips. Brown sugar, ¼ milk and ¾ coffee. He always noticed the small details; it was comforting on your tongue. A small sigh of delight escaped your lips. For what good you did to deserve this- you don’t exactly know. Perhaps the gods favored you somewhat to be blessed with such a partner like gale. 

The humming resumed from the kitchen, a hiss and a gentle swear as you heard the oven door click shut. Then the tap ran as he sighed out. He snacked on something as he gathered dishes, a bowl set to the floor, Taras’s breakfast. She stretched against your leg’s wings flapping out, and tail flicking idly. She chirps a couple of times before hopping off the bed.

The gentle music of plates approached your door, along with your beloved wizard, tray in hand.

“ta daaah!!” he lifted the tray in a slight ‘come see’ gesture. You took another deep sip of coffee before setting the mug down.

“Gale- you really didn’t have too.” A slight pout formed on your lips, setting the mug aside you placed your hands in your lap.

“Nonsense. It gives me great joy to make your life easier.” He paused, setting the tray down on the small desk in the corner. “It frustrates me, occasionally- that you wouldn’t deem yourself worthy of that sort of love, that sort of worship.” He crawls towards you on the bed, his tossed hair and neat beard framing his chin and cheeks. “I adore you.” He gently cupped your cheek, straddling your settled legs. “Let me worship you in the way I was made too”

Selune take the wheel, how your heart fluttered at his honeyed words! You tilted your head squinting slightly, processing in a way you only knew how to. “This may seem impulsive, or the urges doing the talking but forgive me. Worship me with sinew, carrion, and pools of warm blood…?”

He chucked gently, tilting your head up slightly. “Less bloody, though it can be dependent on your moon sickness.” He was gentle and patient, only activating at your confirmation. His gaze soft on yours, deep and inviting. “Let me know, I will only do so at your words.”

His breath smelled like cinnamon and caramel, skin scented like warm patchouli and rose. He kissed the insides of your wrists, your knuckles, and tips of your fingers.

“Yes, id like that.” The words were out of your mouth before you’d known it. Warm lips met your skin, kissing his way down your arm, his lashes brushed against you with every kiss. Warm pride surged through your belly, you were his, and he was yours.

You grasped at the back of his head, pulling him into your embrace. Gales legs shifted under yours, bending at the knee to allow you to rest your legs around his waist. He braced a hand behind your head, careful about dropping his head on yours. Your lips moved sloppily, he still kissed like an awkward teen- which ultimately you found endearing. His stubble brushed against your skin. one of hands cupping your jaw, he separated slightly breathless. “Sorry, orb. It’s getting a little tight in my chest. Mind if I…take it a bit slower?”

“You needn’t apologize my love.” You ran a finger against his bottom lip, “I’m always willing to go slow. Your company is something to be savored.”

“I was hoping id be more sweet.” He giggles at his own bad joke, lips returning to yours. He hummed into the kiss, the wizard’s tongue ran over your teeth gingerly, asking for entrance. You obliged parting your mouth slightly, he tilted his face his nose brushing against yours. You ran your tongue against the ridges in his mouth, he let out a low groan his tongue retreating into his. Gale’s breath was wonderfully heated.

“You are quite delicious my dear.”  He grinned shifting his weight to move about. “I would like to- taste you a bit more if that’s alright.”

“oho!” you grin twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. “Shall I be finding out about your most practiced tongue this morning?”

“The very same” he beamed, crinkles forming around his eyes, he bends down kissing the column of your neck, his teeth gently grazing and nipping at the skin. “That is- if you’d like.”

You gave him a quiet nod, a little nervous to fully admit what you’d like. His lips trailed further down over your night shirt, his hands found the edge of the hem, gingerly pulling up his eyes flickered back to you again to check in.

you nodded once more.

The blissful sting of his teeth at your sides, he favored biting you around your hips and waist, a gentlemanly move and to lay proof of claim. Bites upon the neck were simply too gouache for him. You could feel the squeeze of your walls as he kissed his way back down your sternum, lips soft as ever he was a tease. You sighed when he made his way back to your thighs planting a kiss on each of them. He adjusted so he was under the covers, the top of his head tenting the blanket. His eyes claimed yours again, a swirling of questions in his deep brown eyes. You smiled, his gaze then relaxed and lowered.

He ran his tongue on the outline of slick in your underwear, electing a low whine from you. He smiled, hooking his fingers into your rubber band and kissing your skin as it was revealed. His glasses slid down his nose, the lenses fogging up from his breath. He pulled off the garment, a groan rumbling through his chest.

“By the weave… you are absolutely stunning.” His padded fingers grazed against your cunt, sweeping the juices onto his digits. He sucked at his fingers; eyes clamped shut to savor your taste. He exhaled, lips forming a delicious pout.

“You taste of the finest ambrosia…” his voice was soft, almost bashful. “I am blessed to be continuously surprised by the joys of the mortal realm.” His hands found the side of your thighs, hair fanning in front of his face. You reached out brushing it behind his ear, carefully running a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his head. The tip of his tongue traced shallow outlines around your clit, hot velvety breath layered against your thighs. He began to kitten lick up your sex, soft sighs of delight as he tasted you. He hovered over your clit, mouth latching onto the sensitive bud, his eyes caught yours again, the corners crinkling in delight at your slightly disheveled state. Breath catching in your throat, hand on his head, and heel of your foot braced against his back. The sunlight made your skin glow, eyes dark and pupils blown. Silver hair danced along your cheeks, perhaps this is what the visage of an angel looked like.

He swirled his tongue around you, mindful of suction and teeth. Using a hand to push up his glasses, glancing up occasionally. He let go of your clit, listening to the rush of air from your lungs. He muttered an incantation under his breath.

You watched as he worked, his strong nose pushed against your clit, his thick tongue dipping into your core. His hands cupped your hips and ass like he hasn’t eaten in a week, letting out a soft groan as he rutted against the mattress. Then you felt it, a cool touch on your inner thigh as he came up to breathe. His beard was stained with you, a signal to your arousal. You shivered under his gaze; the cool grasp felt wonderful against your puffy clit. It trailed down to your folds, gently prodding at your entrance. You groaned at the intrusion, cool invisible digits spearing your insides.

“Mage hand” the prodigy hummed, kissing the sides of your chin, fingers idly rubbing shapes into your clit. You groaned into his mouth as he peppered kisses onto your lips, his hands left your clit to pull off his shirt and pants, an obvious tent present in his boxers. He took off his glasses and untied his bun, his hair falling against his shoulders. It had gotten a bit longer, just dusting over his shoulders. Your lashes fluttered as the digits curled inside of you, stretching you gently.

“You are a work of art, my love.” He palmed his crotch, fingertips tracing against the swell of your breast. The hand works in tandem with his; slow tantalizing pumps against your inner walls. You squeezed down against the phantom feeling, the wizard sighing with delight. He kissed down your skin again, mouth back against your clit working to free you of the taught knot in the base of your stomach. One hand balanced on your hip the other under his waistband tugging at his shaft. Gasps escaped your lips, as you melted into his hands. He seemed smug and utterly pleased when his eyes met yours again.

The stimulation against your walls faded, a whine ripping though your lips. He gently shushed you, crawling back up your body, kissing every freckle or mole he came across.

“Now, my love, are you ready for me?” his words ached in the right places, dripping with arousal and tinged with need. He clumsily slid out of his boxers, tossing them somewhere in the room. His body has softened from time sat still, less definition from his college days and a soft slope of a belly coated in a fuzzy happy trail. He was slim- certainly, but he wasn’t fit either- Being cared for has that effect on people.  You slid a hand down his hip, squeezing his muscular thigh on its way down back to your side. His hips canted slightly under your light touch, biting his inner cheek. “Oh, the things you do to me, my star, my precious little love.” His words flushed as pink as his cheeks.

“I’m so glad only I get to view you like this, your beauty- in the most natural state- forgive me a moment- I must- “he let out a shuddering exhale, catching his breath. “Ah. Can’t speak much when focus goes somewhere else” his eyes were apologetic.

“Would you prefer…being on bottom?” your concern evident from your voice.

“That would be wise.” He shifted to the center of the bed amongst the clouds of pillows, his hair settling haphazardly as its own halo.

You ran a hand down his chest, admiring your lovers’ body. Your hand cupped his hip as you clambered over him. His knees knocking together as you used them as leverage onto him. Gently you tested him against your entrance, beads of pre-cum welling from his slit. Every muscle of the man beneath you tensed in anticipation. Your hips shook slightly at the awkwardness of the position, head of his member broaching your folds. The insides of you felt plush and velveteen, as you took him inside of you, the most pathetic sound ripped its way from your throat, hanging in the air. Your toes twitched, a sigh shared in tandem at the hilt, one hand over his quick heart.

The outlines of the dark round tattoo glowed faintly, he spasmed underneath you, thighs tensing and untensing. This felt sweeter than any sex before it, each time you burned anew for him. Each ridge upon him your body memorized, cream and pink his skin ran. You kissed his adams apple as it bobbed, his breath ragged from adjusting.  He screwed his eyes shut; face crinkled like crepe paper. You cupped his chest, testing a roll. It stung beautifully against your walls; warmth flooded your sides as you clenched down on him. His hands found your sides, pinching and cupping your ass, gentle to assist your bounces. He exhaled again muttering several incantations, cool slow buzzing ran over your clit.

“Oh, my love- how immaculate you look- “he sighed pushing up onto his toes, cementing you further onto him. His thighs wobbled as he speared you, aching to get every inch of himself into you. The head of his cock pulsed against your cervix, finding spongy spots within you. Your brain bubbled, cheeks flushed and radiating heat, a slight ring to your ears.

He stared at you with eyes you could never get tired of, pools of honey browns devouring your figure. Every flash of your image- ingrained into his memory.

He pulled you onto him, lips too quick to clamp down on yours. Your breath vanished between his teeth, nipping at your lower lips. His thrusts were desperate, earning a few moans from your lips. He captured them in return, his lips greedy for your sound. Your legs wormed around his, toe to toe. He set a bruising pace; his tip gently nestled against your cervix. You clamped and fluttered around him, cupping his chin and hand clamped in his hair.

He gasped for air, lips bruised “bhaal below- I can feel you- “he bit his lip, “gods your so close- so close and so good to me.”  His hips pulsed erratically, tips of his toes sliding against the mussed sheets. “Beautiful- my star you are excellent-!”

No words fell from your mouth, just a coagulation of sighs running from your throat. Your core felt ironclad and taught, your cup overflowed with him around.  The base of your hips ached from the muscle usage. His warm hand settled on your hips, his dulled nails digging into your plush flesh.

“Your so close- my darling, my love- “his words slurred, head tilted back to gulp back air. “Gods- come for me my star- I need you so bad-!” his voice slightly broke. Your mouth found the base of his throat clamping and sucking at his favorite spot. Quickly, he shoved you down as you crumbled into him, noses pressed together. Waves of heat pulsed through your core, sending his spent seed into you. He twitched and pulsed as he pulled you close, his chest gently glowing purple.

And then there was silence, blessed waves of relief as the shocks ran through your body. He deflated, sweat sticking to his forehead, curling the baby hairs around his scalp. You ached. Again, he was the first to stir a hand gently combing through your scalp. A gentle laugh erupting from his chest.

“Well, my dear- you are a gift that keeps on giving.” He hummed, closing his eyes. “I am spent- I don’t think id like to move for the rest of the day- I mean, if you’d like to, that would be our plan for today.”

You hummed in response, shifting your hips. “We forgot a towel.”

“No need to fret my dear…” he reached towards a drawer in his nightstand, pulling out a rag. “Always prepared.”

He helped you up, a whine ripping through your chest at the removal. Settling you back onto his chest, the rag settled comfortably between your thighs. He ran his hands up and down your back, tracing the dimples of your thighs, each ridge of bone and settled muscle. He stretched, reaching for his kindle on the bedside. Bracing an arm on your back. His skin smelt like lilies, soft and smooth under you. You listened to his dull heartbeat, peacefully drifting off in his arms.