#please god i could go on about this for HOURS it's such a brain worm for me!!!!

[billy-royalton]

i can't stop thinking about the costume choices they make for johnny like his wardrobe is so important to me for some reason? because clothes absolutely tell a story and they can be, for some people, such an important way to showcase their personality and i do feel like johnny is that way. like his clothes and his wardrobe is a conscious choice. the band tees and the flannels and the way it all fits him. how he dresses through the seasons or the specific outfits he wears for specific scenes. like the suit choice/dress shirt choice on december 19. the change in his gi from cobra kai to eagle fang (the sleeves vs. sleeveless, the colors). like i really could go on about this forever it's just like such a glimpse into his psyche for me.

like, okay, i do have this headcanon for johnny where he absolutely will treat himself to a high quality piece of clothing as a treat every once in a while. like a holdover from his youth when living with sid meant he had money to burn on a nice sweater or polo. and maybe he sees something nice and he doesn't stop himself from trying it on, looking at himself and liking how he looks in it, and just buying it. because it makes him feel good to wear it. he doesn't do it all the time (literally he can't) but maybe he sees something in a window or gets bored and goes to some shopping plaza (not the mall -- not since the 80s) and checks out a boutique or two and finds a $50 tee that fits his chest just right and shows his arms and he's just like "fuck it $50 is $50 and this makes me feel like $1 million" so he buys it and smiles every time he puts it on.

or something.

[the-californicationist]

Through a Glass, Darkly

A new priest is assigned to your remote abbey, but when you go to him for confession, you realize you are kneeling before the Devil himself.

Anonymous asked: Hiya Cali, crazy thought but happy october 🎃 brain worm, think about mirror sex with vampire!Price / 141 and the absolute flith that would pour from his mouth as he watches you stretch around seemingly nothing…

———

TW: vampirism, blood play, priest abuse of power, heavy religious imagery, fem!reader, rape/noncon, virginity loss, corruption, mind breaking, historical fantasy au, father/my child/sister religious titles, fully adult characters

You’ve been warned, and I don’t wanna hear it. Your click, your fault.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Corinthians 13:12

—x—x—x—

When Mr. Hawthorne arrived that morning with fresh milk, eggs, and a cart full of potatoes and turnips, you thought you would forget yourself and fling your hands around his fat neck. It had been weeks since supplies had been delivered, and although you lived in what was probably the smallest abbey in the world, you were just thankful that you had not been completely forgotten.

“Oh, thank you, Mister Hawthorne! We are so grateful for your service. The Lord rewards the generous,” you praised him.

The plump man’s face flushed red and he took off his sweaty cap, holding it limply in his hands,

“Tha’s alright, Sister. I had a good yield this season. You send a letter over to us if you need anything more. Hopefully that new priest will be arriving soon. Margie said she spotted him at the inn yesterday afternoon.”

“New priest?” You asked, wholly unaware of your abbey receiving an actual man of the cloth.

“Yes, Sister. He looks a little rugged for a holy man, but she said he was wearin’ the collar, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you mused, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll take my leave of you, Sister. Hope he’s a good one. It’ll be nice to have services back in the old church.”

“Yes, it will. Take care, and safe travels, sir. May God bless your next harvest.”

You watched as his rickety cart, pulled by an equally rotund mule, delivered the farmer away from you and your tiny sanctuary. As soon as he was out of sight, you rushed back through the wooden doors of the abbey to find Sister Ruth and Sister Sarah to tell them of the news.

They were both as shocked as you were. You had all three been convinced that the good Pope had completely forgotten about your little sect, and no letters had come for months. But, a new priest in this parish would bring much needed governance to the provincial people of your small village, and you needed to prepare.

You and your fellow nuns cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more. By nightfall, the abbey gleamed anew.

As you were preparing for bed, you heard the whinny of a horse outside of the abbey doors. You looked out into the corridor, and Sister Ruth was peeking out as well. Arming yourselves with long, steel fire pokers, you made your way to the entrance. Ruth nudged you with her elbow, encouraging you to call out. So, you said,

“It is past hours. Please come back tomorrow!”

“I’m Father John Price, and unless I’m mistaken, this is my abbey,” a deep, gravelly voice called out to you, seeming to flow and roll through the door with a convincing ease.

You cracked the wooden portal and looked out.

There, holding onto a frothy, exhausted steed was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He wore an all-black capello romano on his head, towering above you by at least a full cubit. His face was pale, protected from labors under the sun, but his hands looked like they had certainly known the true meaning of work. His body was well-muscled and immense. Even in the midst of his flowing black robes, you could see the bulging form of his shoulders stretching the fine fabric. Around his thick neck, his white clergy collar sat dutifully under a jutting Adam’s apple and a proud chin, shaven although the rest of his beard was trimmed to full length.

But it was his eyes that unnerved you. For all of his brutish form, the look in his gaze made your blood run cold. There was something hypnotizing about the pale blue irises. It made him seem almost inhuman.

That deep, purring voice returned, and he stepped closer to you, threatening your threshold with white, sharp teeth pulled in a tight smile,

“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“Forgive me, Father. Please, come in. Sister Ruth will take your horse to the stables. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your chamber.”

He followed behind you at a close distance, studying the abbey’s courtyard and walls, judging its worthiness. You were proud of the work you had done to keep it in good working order, but you knew it was in desperate need of repairs.

As you walked, you tried to make small talk to ease the tension,

“I have been in prayer thanking God for your arrival, Father. It has been many years since we have been blessed to house a priest within our abbey walls. Our parishioners will be filled with joy to return to their pews.”

“Mm.” His hum was polite but noncommittal, so you gave up on the niceties.

Finally, you reached his cell, you pried open the door and allowed him to enter before you. He studied the spartan room with the expected amount of enthusiasm, and watched you lay his bag down on the small chair at his desk. You straightened out the Bible that lay on the table, making sure the corner matched up with the edge of the table, placing it just so.

“Will you take supper, Father Price?”

“No, I am not hungry. You will find that I eat very little, in fact,” he said, taking off his cloak and laying it on the freshly-made bed. He hung his hat on its hook and tried to straighten his hair.

“Should I have a mirror brought in for your cell?” You asked, thinking that he may need to look presentable. As a nun, you never used a mirror as a rule, but you were willing to accommodate your new steward as best you could.

“Do you use a mirror, my child?” Price’s voice deepened and smoldered like a bundle of kindling, threatening to burn. He stepped toward you, using his size to impose himself upon you in the small space.

“N-n-no,” you stammered, “Of course not, Father. But I am not in a position to be perceived such as yourself.”

“Recite Proverbs 31:30, my child,” he commanded, stepping closer to you, slowly creeping into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the scent of the sun and the grass on his robes, mixing with the sweat of his skin.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, and obeyed,

“Yes, Father. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

“Good,” Price smiled, using his finger to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “We must not succumb to vanity, my child. A dutiful disciple is one who serves others, yes?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, stepping backwards, away from his touch, hanging your head in reverence.

“In fact,” he purred, “It is James 1:23 which reminds us that those who look into the glass will be blinded by their own desires, only seeing themselves, incapable of suffering God’s divinity. It is the good works done that are worthy of praise, my child, although…”

He stepped forward again, grabbing your chin in his huge hand roughly, clutching the very bone of your jaw, making you gasp,

“Our Lord has taken special care to display his almighty talent in your face, has he not? Such delicate features. Like an angel.”

His mouth was so close to yours that you could smell the heady scent of iron and musk on his breath. His piercing eyes never left yours, pinning you in place.

Then, he released you, and you left the room without being dismissed, closing the cell door behind you and rushing back to your own cloister. You rushed into your room, locking the door fast, and knelt at your altar to pray for forgiveness.

Except… you were not asking to be forgiven for suggesting vanity to your new priest. No. You were asking to be forgiven for the warm, wet lust that was smearing across the crease of your thighs. Father Price had awakened strong feelings in you not of enlightenment, but of lurid desire, and you begged to be cleansed.

The next morning, Father Price called the abbey together. Yourself, Sister Ruth, and Sister Sarah reported to the small courtyard, along with two young pilgrims who had lived there since the past summer, Timothy and David. You and the nuns had suspected them as runaways, but they pledged themselves to the cloth and took care of the manual labor around the premises since you lacked any monks to speak of. They were well into their young adulthood now, and they would become apprentices to Father Price, if he saw fit.

You tried to put what had transpired between you and the good Father out of your mind, but seeing him in the cold light of day did nothing to quell the sinful desire you felt towards him. The way he had grabbed you…

“Good morrow, everyone. I ask that you will join me in our Biblical studies every morning. I find that the word of God helps me put the rest of my day right. I want to begin at the beginning, yes?”

He looked around at all of your faces, as if anyone would protest against his power, and then he continued,

“What does Genesis 4:7 tell us, Sister Ruth?”

“Speaking to Cain, the Lord said: If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.”

“Sin lieth at the door,” Father Price mused, then, as if shaking himself from his thought, he said, “Please continue, Sister.”

“And Cain talked with Abel, his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel, his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?”

“You are,” the priest’s voice rose in his chest, startling Sister Ruth and silencing her words. He began to pace back and forth, slowly stalking through your small ranks, “You are your brother’s keeper. You are more than that. You are keepers of this entire parish, are you not?”

“Yes, Father,” you all said in unison.

“There will be a reckoning in this parish,” Price snarled, “I will not lead a flock of demons disguised as sheep. If any of you hear witness or see evidence of sin, deliver it to me at once. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated.

“I will now take your confessions. I understand that it has been a number of years since you were cleansed, so be prepared to repent lest you allow the Devil into your soul.”

“Yes, Father.”

The day dragged on through the gray clouds, and Father Price had taken his time with the confessions of the members of your abbey. Sister Sarah had gone into his cell after the boys, and she had emerged with red eyes full of tears. You had comforted her in hushed whispers in the corner of her cloister, asking her what he had done, thinking it was something even more awful that how he had accosted you last night.

“He…” Sarah sobbed, “He made me kneel on sharp stones while I recited my prayers. It hurts so much, Sister.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Although sharp stones were not a gentle punishment, they were at least devoid of physical contact. He had not taken a hand to her. But, Sister Sarah was young. She had avoided some of the harsher training practices of the more traditional members of the church. You knew that there were a bevvy of punishments that would make kneeling in discomfort feel like a blessing.

Sister Ruth also came out sniffling, reporting that she had fifty lashes across her palms for the sin of plucking figs off of a nearby tree owned by the neighboring farm.

Again, you sighed and thanked God that he had a little mercy within him.

His cell door opened, and Father Price locked eyes with you and demanded,

“Come, my child. It is time for your confession.”

“Yes, Father Price,” you complied, taking your leave of the other nuns and following him into his cell.

Inside of his room, a shaft of sunlight cut across his face, illuminating his eyes and stunning you, keeping you from moving forward.

“Shut the door, my child,” his timbre was ominous, and you tried to hold yourself together.

“So far,” he rose from his seat and walked over to you, “I have cleansed the souls of a nun who is a thief, another who is a sloth, a young man who is a liar, and another who is filled with pride. It seems, Sister, that you have allowed the Devil through the door, indeed.”

“Forgive me, Father. I knew not of their wicked ways, nor have I your wisdom to correct them.” You stared at the stone floor. It was easier than looking at him.

“I do not believe that the wickedness was borne within them,” Father Price mused, tapping his finger on his lips as if deep in thought, “Because I discovered this beneath your mattress, and so I know the evil is inside of you.”

In his hands, Father Price held up a square, familiar, looking glass. You trembled, watching as your own reflection met you back. You could see the fear spread across your face, and you were disgusted by it.

“Tell me, my child. How did you use this mirror?” He asked sweetly, but as he watched you think about how best to answer the question, his voice became hot with fury and he snarled into your ear, “And don’t you dare lie to me. I will know your deceit.”

Your heart was banging in your chest, and so, beyond your better judgment, you told him the truth.

“I used it to… examine myself, Father.”

“Show me,” he commanded.

It was as if his whole cell bent and bowed under the weight of his authority. Your body began to move against your own will, relenting to his instead. Without thinking, you pulled back your habit and let your hair fall down your back. Then, you began to peel away your robes. Underneath, you untied your shift, and you allowed the fabric to pool on the floor at your feet, staring at yourself naked in the glass.

He watched you in silent awe, his pupils darkening, his mouth parted at his full lips, his chest heaving as he watched you make yourself bare before him.

“Go on,” he said, knowing that you were not finished with your demonstration.

You felt yourself obeying him helplessly, and you performed the same inspection that you did in private in front of him.

“I wanted to see how God hath made me, Father. So, I looked.”

“Where did you look, my child?”

“Here,” you raised your hands to squeeze the supple flesh of your breasts, showing him how your nipples were bouncy and puffy until they turned stiff and tight.

“And here,” you allowed your hand to fit itself between your thighs, spreading your labia, covered in dense hair, until your pliant lips revealed a shining, smooth center, wet and ready for pleasure.

“Now that you have examined the Lord’s fine works, what did you do with this knowledge?” Price asked.

“I would touch this part of me, Father, and I would let it bring me to Heaven.”

“I would like to know Heaven, my child. Turn around.”

You tried to stop yourself, but he was using his power to bind you. You were nothing more than a toy, helpless to his every whim. You turned, your back facing him, and he set the mirror on his desk so that you could see yourself within it. Then, he moved in front of you and his body blocked your view, reaching down to grab your chin like he had the first night he arrived, raising your mouth up to his.

You thought he would kiss you. His lips were just within reach, but he commanded you darkly,

“Confess.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you recited dumbly, “It has been three years since my last confession. In that time, I have…”

His mouth covered yours, kissing you deeply, feeding you his long tongue and eating up your words before you could say them. Then, you felt his hands on your breasts, squeezing them cruelly, pinching your nipples to make them ache and sting. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds that escaped your throat, but he didn’t seem to care to stop you. Finally, he pulled away, and when you looked into his eyes again, the bright blue had been replaced with a Hellish red.

You gasped, and he grabbed you tighter, pulling you towards him by the soft meat of your breasts, making you cry out in agony. That noise seemed to please him because he smiled down at you, and you could see that his teeth had grown into long, wolf-like fangs. He chuckled,

“My pretty little sinner.”

“D-d-demon!” You cried breathlessly, shaking from fear as he held you to his body.

Price bared his fangs at your assessment, hissing from the title,

“Yes, and you have invited me in, so eager to be corrupted.”

Releasing you from his grip, he held you around your waist with one arm, and he used his free hand to dip between your legs, discovering your wetness there and sighing from it.

“Mmm… Let me taste your sweet, little Heaven, Sister.”

He knelt on the floor in front of you and held onto your wide ass cheeks in each hand, forcing your hips to tilt toward his face. You looked down and watched as his impossibly long tongue flicked against your swollen bud. His wide tongue parted your lips to drag wetly between them. You tried to hold back your cries, but you’d never known such pleasure, so you could barely keep it in. You prayed for forgiveness as you came apart against this demon’s mouth, succumbing to his vileness.

Then, you glanced into the mirror, and you noticed that you couldn’t see his head. Only the collar and robes were visible in the glass. All you could see is how your lips were being spread apart, seemingly on their own.

He had no reflection.

“You… you’re…” You couldn’t say the words, but Price knew what you meant to call him.

He looked over his shoulder, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide apart, gazing at them in the glass and smiling even though he didn’t have a reflection to smile at. Then, he looked back up at you, a sick grin spread across his lips,

“Cain, yes. The immortal wanderer, cursed from the earth which hath opened her mouth to receive my brother’s blood. And I have not tasted food, for it becomes ash in my mouth, just like He promised. But, blood… I can taste blood just fine.”

He planted the softest kisses between your shivering thighs, sucking on the thin skin, and then, after slaking his thirst with your sticky center once more, he sank his fangs right in the inside of your thigh, making you howl with pain.

His eyes were locked on yours, watching you writhe in agony, your nerves sensing his venom coursing through you as he sucked the life from your veins. You watched yourself in the mirror, seeing the puncture wounds, watching as blood spilled out across your skin, smearing and being licked away by his greedy tongue. Finally, he released you, and the poison of his mouth took effect. You became deeply fatigued, and you could barely stand on your own. He had to hold you in his arms to keep you in position.

He stood, smiling down at you, his mouth caked with your dark blood, his teeth stained red,

“What a blessing you are, my child. Such perfect innocence tastes so fine, so… pure. I almost hate to sour your ripe little fruit, but that will be sweet in its own way, yes?”

You watched as your demonic priest yanked at his collar, popping it from his neck. Then, he pulled off his robes, tearing away at his layers until he was as bare as you, both of you fully naked and pressed together, joined in a crash of skin and heat, his mouth painting your body with your own blood as he kissed and licked your breasts and belly, teasing you with his tongue as he explored you.

Then, he stepped around to your back, and you caught sight of his heavy cock as it swung between his legs like that of a rutting beast. You tried to fight the black spell you were under, but it was no use. You were trapped in his thrall.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, my child,” Father Price commanded you, grinning as you immediately obeyed, “Come and behold the marvelous works of God.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away. You were alone in the mirror, and yet, your breasts were being crushed by invisible fists, your nipples tormented between unseen fingers. Then, you felt Price fit his phallus against the entrance of your sex and press it into you, stretching you wide across his prodding cockhead. You saw how your body was being invaded by him, pulling itself apart to allow him inside. The dark hole of your quim opened like a toothless maw, drooling and starving, hungry to take him deep within you, welcoming him up to your womb.

You sobbed at the strain, and then you felt something give way sharply inside you, and he had a much easier time of filling you with his engorged length. As he fucked himself up into you, he was grunting like an animal, praising you in your ear, telling you his own confession,

“Forgive me, my child, for I am sinning. Right now… I am sinning with you, and it is so sweet. God has made you for me. What a gift you are. See?”

He used his hand to swipe at your gaping hole, bringing his hand in front of your face so you could see the bright blood that coated his fingertips,

“You have broken so easily for me. The Lord knew you needed me to come and serve you. He brought me to you, my child. You welcomed me inside, didn’t you? Spread these lips for me, invited me in… Didn’t you? Say it.”

“Y-y-yes, F-father…” You whimpered, tears dripping down your chin and onto your bare chest.

The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the cell, and you watched as your hole spread wider and wider, taking more of him with each punishing thrust.

“Louder, my child,” he hissed in your ear.

“Yes, Father!”

His hand was playing in your slippery folds, massaging your hidden bud and forcing you to clench hard around him from the pleasure. In the glass, you could see your hole trying in vain to twist itself shut, pumping him in a steady beat.

“Didn’t you pray to God for a prick like mine when you touched your filthy quim in your mirror?”

“Yes, Father!”

It was true. You had touched yourself, hoping that you might one day know the pleasure of being taken by a man. You had watched the mating of cattle in the field next to the abbey many a summer past, hanging clothes and sheets on the line, and yet all the while looking into the grassy glade, staring at the bull who would mount his cow and thrust his turgid rod into her to breed her deeply. And she would croon for him, and when he left her, the spent seed would hang in long, thick strings from the head of his phallus, making him wet and ready to sink his sword through its next sheath.

“And the Lord answered your prayers, did he not? Begging him for someone to breed you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father!”

Price was the bull, and you would be bred by him, and you would be cast out of God’s mercy forever. Ruined. Steeped in sin and tainted by lust.

“You smell like a ripe plum, my sweet child, and you’re just as soft in my mouth,” Price began to lick your neck from your sloping shoulder all the way to your earlobe, over and over, letting his spit cover your flesh. Then, he sank his fangs into your vein and began to drink from you in long, slurping sucks, swallowing your blood into his throat in audible gulps, moaning with each mouthful of your essence.

The venom of his demonic bite made your head cloudy and your will compliant.

“Touch yourself, my child,” he mumbled, quickly returning to his feast on your flesh.

You had no choice but to obey. You felt him increase his pace, his long cock bottoming out inside of you with each thrust, flinging his weight into you like a hammer. You began touching your breasts, pinching yourself gently as you watched your ruination unfold in the looking glass, helpless to stop it.

Then, you began to touch your rigid nub, taking over for him as he continued to drink from you. You made achingly slow circles around your most sensitive spot, and because you were so wet, you were able to go faster without any discomfort. You made yourself come quickly, jerking your hips against him as he fucked you, listening to him groan from the feeling of your tight hole trying to squeeze the come out of his body.

“Beg me for my seed, Sister. Beg me to spill it in you,” Price murmured, licking your neck in the spot where he had bitten to rub the taste of your blood across his tongue.

“Father, please… Please come in me. Spill in me… oh!”

You felt him jerk inside of you, and then you heard his growling orgasm rip through his body, his cock pulsing wildly, shooting ropes of creamy seed all over your walls, bursting through your tight, virginal core.

“So perfect for me, so perfect…”

Price caught his breath while he was still inside of you, panting and smiling against your neck before he pulled out of you, watching his invisible shaft slip through your cunt in the mirror, the gaping hole slowly shrinking before your eyes. As he retreated, you saw large strings of come drip out of you, white and endless, flowing out of you and onto the floor of the cell.

Father Price dressed himself in front of you, leaving you standing where he had last commanded you to be, admiring your ruined body. Once he clipped his collar back under his shirt and cloak, he stepped in front of you to pinch lightly at the tips of your nipples again, making you whimper like a hungry mutt.

“For all your virtues, Sister, you are prone to sin. An innocent such as yourself must be trained to resist the Devil. Come to my cell for confession every morning and every night. I promise,” he stroked your cheek and then your neck, right where he’d bitten you, “I will put my goodness deep inside of you, my child. Right here.”

His other hand came to touch your bare belly, gently caressing the skin and flesh that protected your womb.

“Yes, Father,” you said, trying to avoid his furious gaze, shaking with pure, gut-wrenching terror, understanding that for you, there was no escape. You were under his vampiric command, and if he wanted you, your body was going to obey. You’d taken the Mark of Cain on your neck, and the only hope for you now was to beg for his mercy.

“Take this mirror with you, my child. I want you to kneel in prayer over it, spread those plump legs wide, and I want you to watch my seed drip out of you. With every drop, you will thank God for me and my prick. When the Lord answers our prayers, it is our duty to be grateful.”

“Yes, Father,” you said, pulling your robes back on and adjusting your habit.

He handed you the mirror, and you took it with a crushing amount of shame, feeling his come still seeping in a steady stream out of your well-used hole.

As you left his cell, he smiled down at you, carefully petting your cheek,

“Don’t worry, my child. Your next confession is in only a few hours. You will feel the warmth of the Lord’s forgiveness again very soon.”

—x—x—x—

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

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[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[thetriumphantpanda]

Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter Five)

Series Summary | Javier Peña is back in Laredo, this time for good. He hadn’t banked on you still being there, especially not with a wedding ring on your finger. A complicated shared history and plenty of unresolved feelings between the two of you should make for an interesting summer.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 5.2K (oooops, I got carried away)

Warnings | Descriptions of domestic abuse (not from our boi Javi), talk of injuries, infidelity, cheating, SMUT, oral (f receiving) and unprotected PiV sex (please don't do this, be smart and safe), mentions of alcohol, cigarettes, and pregnancy.

Authors Note | Thank you all for being so patience with me whilst I got my head back into writing this. This took me ages to figure out in my mind but I'm so proud of what I've managed to produce. I really appreciate hearing what y'all think of this series, comments and reblogs really do make my day with this - so if you enjoy it, let me know!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ethan is furious. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so angry before. He’d arrived home late last night from his business trip, falling into bed sometime past midnight. He’d tossed and turned for a while as you pretended to be asleep next to him before he turned over, pulled at your arm to turn you onto your back and then crowded on top of you. You’d let him because it was easier than denying him, but when he pushed himself inside of you all you could think about was Javier. 

What would he do in this situation? You’d like to think he’d at least take some time to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Was he the type of man who would spend hours with his head between your thighs just because he liked the way his name fell from your mouth? You think he would be. Would he whisper sweet nothing’s into your ear in Spanish whilst he was buried deep inside you? God, you hoped so. By the time Ethan was spilling himself inside of you and rolling over, leaving you, as he always did, completely unsatisfied and feeling completely used, all your brain could focus on was the animalistic need to know exactly what Javier would do to you in bed. 

Now, as Ethan stands in the kitchen, fuming after he found the wads of cash from your farmer’s market sale, all you wanted to do was run. Run from this pathetic life and into whatever it was that Javier could give you. 

“I fucking told you I would get around to sorting it out!” He shouts at you, “And you had to go and completely disobey me! How does this make me look?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Ethan, it’s been pushing one hundred degrees the entire time you’ve been away, I need that new AC unit because otherwise I’m going to die in that shop, and I think a little bit of embarrassment is better than admitting to the town that I’m dead because you couldn’t be bothered to fix it.” 

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” He fumes, his skin flushing red, “I bet that asshole Peña had something to do with this.” 

“Because now every time I do something you don’t like it has to involve him?” You raged, “Newsflash Ethan, I’ve been doing things you don’t like since before we got married, and that certainly had nothing to do with Javier and everything to do with the fact you can’t stand me.” 

“Did he have anything to do with it?” 

You don’t know why you don’t lie in this moment. Maybe it would have been easier, less of an argument to deal with, but you can’t help yourself, “Maybe he did.” 

“I fucking knew it!” Ethan slams his fist down on the kitchen counter, “That asshole, trying to worm his way into my family, walking around this fucking town like he’s some sort of king because he took down Escobar,” You can’t help yourself but think that you might actually be able to see steam coming out of his ears soon, “And you!” He’s pointing a finger at you as he rounds the counter, “How many times do I have to tell you to stay the hell away from him, or are you just too fucking stupid to understand me?” 

It all happens at once. You’ve slapped him hard across the face and in this moment, you can’t tell which of you is more surprised. He’s stood inches away from your face with a look in his eyes that has panic settling in your stomach. He could kill you if he wanted to. It’s the first time you’ve thought he might, with his chest heaving and his eyes like daggers. You’re scared. 

“How. Fucking. Dare. You.” He spits out into your face, he’s got wide hands placed around the tops of your arms and before you know it your back is pressed against the wall, he’s squeezing the skin so hard that you’re crying out, “Someone needs to teach you some fucking respect.” 

If you weren’t so frightened, you’d have some stupid retort about the fact that it certainly couldn’t be him, because even with a ring around your finger you could never respect this man in front of you, but you keep your mouth shut. 

“Ethan please,” You whimper, “Please let me go, you’re hurting me.” 

“Oh, I’m hurting you, am I?” He jeers into your face, squeezing his hands around your arms even harder, “You should have thought about that before you fucking slapped me, stupid girl.”  

He pulls you back from the wall slightly before slamming you backwards again, the force of it causing the back of your head to hit the wall behind you, “You better lose the attitude or I will take us so far away from this place you’ll never see your stupid friends or your precious Javier Peña again, do you understand me?” 

You nod, sniveling through your tears, then he finally lets your arms go and steps away from you, “Get out of my fucking sight.” 

You don’t waste any time in doing just that, stopping just long enough to grab a thin cardigan and your car keys before your hurtling to your car with nowhere really to go. Your immediate thought is Javier, but it’s the middle of the day and he’ll be out helping Chucho on the ranch. You don’t think you can bare the heat of the shop, or the fact that you might have to interact with a customer, so that’s out too. There’s only one person left – Gabriela. There’s an internal battle you’re having with yourself, she’s so close to having her baby that you don’t want to intrude on her, but she’s the only person you can think of who will know what to do right now. 

You’re not really sure how you manage to make it to her house unscathed with the amount of tears that are dropping from your eyes and the way your hands are shaking, but you’re pulling up in front of her house in no time. 

“Good God alive, what on earth is the matter?!” She exclaims when she opens the door, pulling you into a hug, protruding belly crushed between you. 

“Oh Gabriela everything’s gone so wrong and I don’t know what to do.” You cry, sniffing into her shoulder, you pull away and briefly apologise for getting her shirt wet, to which she gives you a look that says ‘don’t be so fucking stupid’ before she’s ushering you inside. 

She waddles in front of you, clearly uncomfortable, and sternly tells you to sit at the breakfast bar whilst she boils some water to make tea. In no time at all there’s a steaming mug placed in front of you, and she’s sat herself down on the chair next to you with her own mug. 

“So, where do we start?” She’s coaxing you, hand holding your own. 

“I’m fucking miserable Gabs,” You speak softly, “And I don’t know what to do.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” She scoffs, “What’s he done this time?” 

“He found the money,” You’re looking into the amber liquid of the green tea in front of you, “Lost his mind that I’d done it without him, got cross because it was Javi’s idea and then told me to get out and leave him alone.” 

“Did he hurt you?” She asks, “And I swear if you lie to me once more about this, I’m actually going to lose my mind.” 

You nod, it’s small, but she catches it, and you can hear the inhalation of breath, “But it was my fault, I slapped him first.” 

“Did you slap him first all the other times he’s clearly hurt you?” You shake your head this time, “Show me.” She’s asking. 

You slowly slip the cardigan off your arms. You look down and there are perfect red welts on your skin where Ethan’s fingers had been digging into your arm earlier. No doubt in time they’d bruise, “Jesus fucking Christ.” Is Gabriela’s response. 

“I’m sorry Gabs, I didn’t wanna burden you with this I promise, but I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“You think this is a burden to me?” She’s imploring, catching your eyeline when you try to look away, “Cielito, this is nothing like a burden, it’s a bloody relief, I’ve been wanting you to tell me this for years.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew, dumbass, all those times you cancelled on me last minute and disappeared for days? You had to be hiding something, and the longer you’ve been with him the longer I’ve known he’s a horrible man – doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” 

“What do I do, Gabs?” 

“Only you can answer that question, but that,” She points to your arms, “That’s assault, so you can go to the police, and then there’s always divorce.” 

“I don’t want to be with him anymore, but I can’t do this on my own Gabriela, I’m so fucking scared, he’s got everything, he’s going to take everything, I won’t have my shop anymore, I’ll be homeless, where do I even start?” 

Gabriela bites at her lip whilst she thinks, “You won’t have to do this alone, I promise you,” She’s got your hand clutched in hers again, “Can you give me a few weeks?” She’s asking, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but let me get this gremlin out of me first, and then I promise we’ll get you out, okay?” 

You nod in agreement because it’s more than you thought you’d get. The idea of freedom could surely see you through the next couple of weeks, “If it gets too bad then you let me know and we’ll sort something out, I promise, okay?” 

She’s hugging you then, the kind of bone crushing hug that only she would be capable of, and you can feel yourself crying again. What on earth had you done to deserve her? 

“I’ll get out of your hair soon, but can I borrow your phone really quickly?” You ask. 

“Of course, I need to use the bathroom again anyway, so I’ll give you some space.” 

Once she’s out of earshot, you’re dialing the number that you’d had memorized since high school, even with his years of absence. After a few rings someone picks up on the other end. 

“Hi, Chucho, it’s me.” 

“Ahhh Mija, how are you today?” 

“I’m well thank you, how about you?” 

“Not too bad thank you, just come inside to beat the midday heat for a while.” 

“Ah yes,” You smile, you’ve always loved the sound of Chucho’s voice, calm and stoic, reminding you of your own father, which is probably why you like it so much, “I hope you’ve got plenty of ice-cold lemonade,” You bite at the side of your thumbnail, “Is Javi there?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t sound like you’re trying to get rid of him too soon. 

“He is, let me just pass you over.” 

There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end of the phone and you can hear Chucho telling Javi it’s you on the other end, then there’s silence before he’s speaking. 

“Hola querida,” God his voice is like butter, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” You reply quietly, “I just wanted to hear your voice, I hope you don’t mind me calling in the middle of the day.” 

“I wouldn’t mind you calling in the middle of the night, querida, don’t worry,” You can hear him drinking someone on the other end of the phone, “You sure you’re okay?” He asks again. 

“I was wondering if I could see you tonight?” You ask meekly, not wanting to make yourself a burden to another person today. 

“You can,” He’s replying, “Where?” 

“Can I come to you?” 

You can hear him shuffling a little on the other end of the phone, you can hear the shifting of paper, he must be looking at the calendar that’s hanging near the phone – his mother had insisted on it when she was still alive, and Chucho makes sure there’s a new one there every January 1st. 

“Yes,” He replies softly, “Pops has a poker game in town tonight according to the calendar, he should be gone by seven, is that okay?” 

“Yeah, of course, I’m happy with whatever is best for you, I’ll see you then.” 

“Alright, querida, take care and I’ll see you later.” 

“See you later, Javi.” You whisper softly before you’re hanging up the phone. 

You put the phone back on the receiver and rub your hands over your face, trying to ignore the pooling of nerves in your tummy. If Gabriela could sense all these years that something was off, then there’s no doubt that Javi will know as well. He’s the most perceptive man you’ve ever met. The dull ache of Ethan’s fingerprints on your arms were ever-present now, there was no way you’d be able to hide them from him. 

“You can stay here for a while if you want,” Gabriela’s voice calls from the living room, “I would only be folding baby clothes on my own.” 

You spend the rest of the afternoon helping Gabriela like she suggested, folding baby clothes, setting out diapers and toiletries in the bathroom and eating her famous enchiladas for dinner. Diego comes home sometime after five, giving you a hug, before he’s pulling out two beers which you enjoy with your friends in their back garden. The sun is setting and it’s nearing six in the evening when you bid them both farewell. 

“Please let me know if you need us, okay?” Gabriela whispers into your hair as she hugs you goodbye, “There’s isn’t a thing in this world that would stop us from helping you.” 

You bite back tears before you nod your head, giving Diego a similar hug, before you’re hopping in your car and driving out of town towards the Peña ranch. 

It doesn’t take as long as you’d anticipated but when you drive up you can see there’s only one truck parked outside which means Chucho must have already left for the evening. Javier is stood on the porch before you’ve stepped down from the truck. You make sure the cardigan you’d worn was buttoned up before you head over to him. 

“Evening, querida.” He speaks softly, dipping his head to kiss you on the cheek. 

Before he can fully pull away, you’ve got a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours. His hands weave around your waist and you wrap your other arm around his neck to press your body more firmly to his own before you’re pulling away from him, breathless. 

“Evening to you too.” You smile, and it’s genuine. This man has done nothing but make you happy since he came back. 

“You want a drink?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze, “I bought that wine you used to like drinking, although thinking about it now we were young so your tastebuds have probably matured.” 

You giggle and follow him inside, “They definitely haven’t, is it the white one that we used to drink out of the bottle against the tree?” 

He nods as he leads you to the kitchen, dipping into the fridge to pull it out. It is indeed the exact same brand of wine you’d get drunk on together when he was still around, “You want a glass, or shall we drink it like old times?” 

“Old times,” You reply with a smile as he undoes the screw top, “Can we sit outside?” 

He’s taking the first swig from the wine, pulling the same face he used to all those years ago, as he motions for you to head out to the back porch. You always loved this ranch at dusk. The way the sun set and bathed everything in gentle orange light, the fact there was no noise from the town to distract you, the sound of the crickets chirping. It was peaceful. 

Javi settles onto the bench, and you sit across from him, he leans his arm across the back of the bench and moves his head to tell you he wants you closer, so you shift your body to lean against his chest, head placed on his shoulder. You hope he doesn’t catch the discomfort when you lean too hard onto your arm and shift slightly, but if he does, he’s not mentioned it, instead, he’s passing you the wine which you take a drink from. 

“You sounded upset on the phone, querida, are you sure you’re okay?” 

You take another drink before you pass it back to him, “Ethan came home last night,” You’re speaking as you look into the distance, “Guess I just realized how much I enjoy it when he’s away.” 

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, bringing his hand to your arm to squeeze him into his side, it’s stings as he grips to the sore skin from earlier, but you think you manage to play it off, “What can I do to help?” 

He takes a long drink of the wine and then hands it back to you, watching intently as you do the same before you place the half-empty bottle on the floor, “Just kiss me Javi,” You speak, “Make me forget about it for a while.”  

“You want me to just kiss you, querida?” He asks, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “Or do you want more?” 

You shift to look him in the eye, “I want it all Javi,” You lean up to press a chaste kiss to his lips pulling away before he can take more, “I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” 

He untangles himself from you and stands up before he stretches out his hand for you take, he must see the confusion on your face because he’s talking again, “If you’ve been waiting then I’m not going to fuck you on the porch, querida, come on.” 

You slip your hand into his and then he’s dragging you through the house and up the stairs. He opens the door to his room, which you don’t really take in, he’s motioning his hand for you to sit on the bed, which you do. 

He walks over to you and pushes your chin up with one of his fingers. He’s looming over you and if this was anyone else it would make you feel uncomfortable, but he’s looking at you like you were about to give him the world, before he’s leaning down and pressing his lips softly to your own. In the back of your mind you can feel him unbuttoning the front of your cardigan, it’s a relief because it’s so fucking warm in here, he’s pulling back from your mouth to push it off and then he stops. He’s not pulled it all the way off, the material bunching in the crook of your elbow because he’s seen. He’s seen the marks on your arms. Perfect red indentations of fingertips. 

He's kneeling in front of you now, between your thighs, as he takes one arm in his hand, “Did he do this to you?”  

“Javi please…” You beg him. 

“Did he do this to you?” He asks again, slower and with a register that tells you he isn’t messing around, you nod at him, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

He’s standing like he’s going to get in his car and do it. You grab at his wrist, “Javi please, don’t,” You pull him back to you, “It was my fault.” You say softly, just like you had to Gabriela. 

“This?!” He’s back on his knees again, clutching at your arm, “This is never your fault, do you understand me?” He’s looking into your eyes again, then he softens, “It doesn’t matter what you did, you don’t deserve this.” 

“Please, will you just come back to me,” You plead, taking his face in your hands, “I need to forget him, just for tonight.” 

In the back of his mind he knows it’s not right, it’s just a distraction, and all he really wants is to know what’s going on, but the way your eyes are pleading with him, he can’t say no, “Only if you promise to talk to me after?” 

“I promise.” You reply almost immediately, and then he’s crowding you, he’s settling between your thighs but this time his lips are on yours and it’s overwhelming. 

You widen your legs as your mouth opens to him, tongues mixing together. You can taste the cheap wine and the cigarettes he swears he’s trying to give up on. He can taste a sweetness he’s never felt before when he’s kissed a woman. It fast and it’s messy, and you don’t understand why you’re moaning into his mouth when he’s not really touched you. Without breaking the kiss, he’s moving, you’re pushed back onto the bed and he’s settled between your thighs, and then he’s pulling his mouth from yours to trail hot, wet kisses over your throat. 

God, he wants to sink his teeth into your skin. Wants to mark you so that when you go home, he knows, knows that there’s someone out there who’s going to cherish you until his dying breath, going to protect you from men like him. He knows better, knows that you’ll be going home alone and any mark on your body would mean more marks from him, and Javi doesn’t think he can bare the fact that it’ll be his fault, so he sticks to kisses. He can feel your hands on his shoulders, sinking in through the material of his shirt and he wants more. 

He's pushing himself back from you, taking a moment to take his shirt off before his attention is back at you. You’re spread out on his bed, hair splayed out underneath you and the look in your eyes almost makes him cry. It’s admiration, that he’s sure of, but there’s something else in your eyes too, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s happiness, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t sure a woman has ever looked at him like that. 

“God you’re beautiful, Javi.” You whisper as he leans back down to you. 

The feeling of your cool hands on his hot skin electrifies him, and he can feel his hands working your tank top up to expose the skin of your tummy. You lift yourself up a little so he can take it all the way off before he continues the trail of his lips over your collarbone and down between the dip in your breasts. He’s gently moving the straps of your bra down and takes the opportunity to undo the clasp at the back when you arch up into him. It’s discarded to the floor without a second thought and then his mouth is on you again. 

He uses the flat of his tongue to run hot stripes over your peaked nipple, whilst his fingers take the other peaked bud and starts rolling it between them. A whine drops from your lips, and you can feel him smiling into your skin and you arch up into him. He’s taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking and then using the tip of his tongue to run circle around it and all your head can think is how much you want his mouth doing just this further down your body. 

“You tell me what you like, querida,” He mumbles into your skin, “Wanna make you feel good.” 

“Your mouth,” You breathe out, head thrown back as he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth, “I need… fuck… I need it lower, Javi.” 

He’s lifted his lips from your tits and you’re moving your head to meet his eyes and he genuinely looks hungry. Like a man starved, with a smirk splayed across his lips, “You want me to eat your pussy, hmm?” 

He’s pushed himself back on his knees and for a split second before he’s pulling at your shorts to take them off, you can see he’s half-hard under his own denim. You’ve barely touched him, and this is how he is? It’s got pride swelling in your chest. 

He makes quick work of your shorts, throwing them to the ground along with your underwear. He takes a second to look at you, spread out and bare for him, and he thinks that if he died right now, he would die a happy man having seen you like this. He takes his thumb and runs it gently along the seam of your pussy, watching as your eyes close and you let out a breath. 

Javi stands briefly before he’s dropping to his knees on his floor. His hands are on either side of your hips, dragging you forward. He pulls you with such force that you bump your thigh into his face, but he’s not complaining. You expect him to tease you, but it turns out that he’s been waiting just as long as you have for this. He wastes no time in using the entire flat of his tongue to lick a hot, wet stripe from the bottom of your pussy to the top, which has an obscene moan dropping from your lips. He could listen to you make those noises for him all fucking day. 

One of his hands moves from your hips, he uses it to spread your pussy before he makes the same motion with his tongue as before but focusing its entirety on your clit. You think you might see stars. Once he’d started, he doesn’t stop. Spurred on by the obscenity dropping from your lips like, fuckjavi that’s so fucking good, and please don’t stop, he’s eating your pussy like it’s his death row meal. He’s lapping at the slick that gathers at your entrance, he’s suckling on your clit, or flicking it with the tip of his tongue, but it’s when he pushes two of his thick fingers inside you that you’re truly coming undone. 

You’re bucking your hips up into his mouth, grinding down on his fingers and then it’s all coming undone with that bright burst of pleasure you hadn’t felt in years. You can feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, and you can hear him suckling your clit through the aftershocks as your legs shake around his head. He slips his fingers out of you and finishes with one chaste kiss to your clit before he’s pulling at your arm to sit you up. 

You’re jelly until he kisses you. You can taste yourself on his mouth, sweet and sour with the mix of his cigarettes and it’s intoxicating. You can feel his slick fingers on your thigh as he uses it as a crutch to push himself off the floor. When he stands, his groin is right in your eyeline and now he’s not half-hard. Fuck, he’s bulging. You watch as his hands undo his belt and tear it through the loops of his jeans before he’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans right in front of your face. He steps back a little to let the remainder of his clothes pool on the floor, but then he’s stepping out of them and back towards you and you can’t help but reach out and take his cock in your hand. 

You look up at him, head thrown back with his eyes closed in pleasure. Your name drops from his lips as you continue working him with your hand, you’re just about to take him into your mouth when he speaks, “How do you want me?” 

It’s a crime that he’s making you choose because fuck, you want him in every way. You want him to fold you in half and pound into you, you want him to take you from behind whilst he uses his fingers on your clit, you want him to wake you up in the morning with kisses to your neck whilst he buries himself inside you from the side. 

“Can I ride you?” You ask quietly. 

“Querida, there’s a gun downstairs,” He speaks, settling himself down on his bed on his back, before he’s guiding you to straddle his hips, “If I ever say no to that, I want you to use it on me, okay?” 

You’re laughing, because it’s dramatic, but it cuts the tension with a knife. You’re both still laughing to each other when you’re shifting your hips and using your hand to line him up with your tight heat. He’s big, there’s no beating around the bush here, and as you sink down slowly onto him, his hands on your hips to guide you, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so full. 

You’re throwing your head back and breathing out his name as he bottoms out, hearing a similar moan from him as you start grinding your hips. He’s using his hands on your hips to guide you and the friction inside of you in addictive. You think if you could spend the rest of your days like this then you would give up everything to do so. 

“Fuck, hermosa, you look fucking incredible like this.” Javi purrs from underneath you, it makes your heart swell because no-one ever said things like this to you before. 

You continue to grind against him until he’s holding your hips still and bringing his knees up, settling them against your backside. He lifts you up a little off his cock, with a strength you’d never witnessed before, and then he’s fucking up into you, cock punching as deep into you as you think you can take it, his balls slapping against your ass. 

“Ohmygod, fuck Javi,” You’re squealing, putting your hands on top of his knees to keep you steady, “I think you’re… oh god… I think you’re gonna make me cum again.” 

You look down and he’s looking up at you, grinning like a devil, because he’s got you so close to the edge, cock hitting a spot within you that feels like heaven and hell mixed into one, “Go on, querida, come for me.” 

His husky voice is what does it. You’re clenching down on him as you call out his name. His hands on your hips keeping you upright as dark spots cloud your vision, “God, what I wouldn’t give to hear that every second of the day.” He groans as he flips you onto your back in one smooth move. 

He’s still buried deep inside you, one hand brushing sweat-soaked hair from you face, the other gripping to your ass as he lifts your hips to meet him. He’s slowed but you can tell from the way his hips stutter into your own that he’s close. 

“Where do you want me?” He whispers into your ear. 

Everywhere, is what you want to say. Paint me, cover me, mark me as yours, is all you can think. What you say is, “Wherever you want.” 

You think you see his mouth open to answer you, but it’s too late. He’s pulling out of you, fisting his cock two, three times, and then he’s painting your skin with his spend. Thick ropes of cum cover your tummy as he's growling into your ear, collapsing next to you when he’s given you everything he’s got. 

When you lie there next to him, his cum drying on your abdomen, his mouth still kissing at the skin of your neck, you think you should feel guilty. Guilty that you broke your vows, guilty that you’ve let a man other than your husband touch you. Guilty that you did so without a second thought. Guilty that he didn't once cross your mind. There isn’t an ounce of guilt within you. You lean into his kisses and thank the Lord for bringing him back, for bringing him back to you, because you know this right here? This is happiness. 

PREV | NEXT

[memberment]

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE

So the Trinitarians brain worm is back and Morning Glory is now longer and biting the dust as far as my focus goes.

But like, I genuinely want to talk to anyone who's invested in what's to come as far as part two goes. SO PLEASE. I IMPLORE THE FOUR OF YOU WHO PERPETUALLY TAKE NOTICE OF MY SCREAMS INTO THE VOID.

We're all aware that Trin is a time loop fic. That is confirmed.

BUT THE PROBLEM IS HOW I'M GOING ABOUT DOING THAT. AND I NEED INPUT FROM PEOPLE THAT ARE NOT ME AS FAR AS PLEASES AND SPARKLES GO, YES?

Because like sure I'm writing it and like fuck everything else, let me tell my story. But it's the how of it all like if I'm gonna throw another 200 give or take hours into this I would at least like one person to be having a wonderful time drinking and driving (I have since remembered this is not a common phrase, I do not mean this in a literal sense, it's an expression) with me right?

Part two is going to be 50 chapters, give or take. (Part one is about 37 for reference.)

So the plan for part 2 rn is (ROGUHLY):

(1-10) is the second timeline. There are a lot of importants and I cannot just glaze over it all more than that. But we're also working in a bit of a shorter time period than the original events of the story and introductions do not need to happen again, right?

(11-40)ish would be me running through the next timelines in a set up structure -> what changes -> the results of said changes and then inevitably what sends our looper backwards. It wouldn't be running through all the timelines but the more notable ones in kind of a four chapter structure, I am not fully sold on four, but rough estimate yk.

And then 41-50 would be the finale of part two. It's literally the last timeline in its glory and then the epilogue which kicks off part three.

COULD AT LEAST ONE OF Y'ALL SIT THROUGH THAT OR DO YOU GUYS HAVE ANY NOTES AT ALL BECAUSE LIKE

I personally kinda like it but if not a soul is reading this I am throwing myself on the curb with the rest of the garbage LMFAOOO.

I NEED THOUGHTS. OPINIONS. COMMENTS. CONCERNS. ANYTHING.

Anyways, I'm going to work. I have off tomorrow and I broke the ff investment seal for today so insanity and updates will be here tonight and homework will be tomorrow.

HOPE EVERYONE HAS A GOOD DAY <3

(9:30) I am literally falling asleep as I lazily write this angel based on Danse Macabre. Expect all of maybe one more update tonight if the tacos I am abt to receive don't wake me up LMFAO.

Also, I am almost saddened by not having something to post tm. Anyone want an early chapter of something that isn't Genesis/Desolation bc they're both on Monday?????? (I am feeling like a menace rn)

(10:19) tacos and the absolute yap session I just had did wake me up a bit. MAAAYBE might write some more. Idk I slept like three hours last night and went to work I'm kinda dead. But we're at 98.2k!!!!!!🥳

(11:06) okay we made it to 99.6k everything besides the flashback for 31 is done. I'm about to relax and watch something and figure out mechanics of some of this because god this series is A BEAST. Like, I still have six planned chapters left.

Pure insanity. I love it here. I hate it here.

Holy shit wait I just came to the realization that I started this fic exactly one month ago. I have belted out 99.6k for THIS FIC ALONE. (Moreso if we're including future shit that hasn't happened yet)

IN ONE MONTH.

THAT IS FUCKING CRAZY WHAT HTE FUCK LMFAOOOO

I may or may not be cooking we’ll find out in 6-26 business hours

(5:28) So I just had a very interesting past few business hours. I read a fic I've been waiting ever so patiently to finish. That's cool, right. I go for a walk at 4 in the morning because I'm insane. Fantastic. I get home at five and I'm like ohhhh well what do I do now it's not sleep time yet. Oh write I'm supposed to be drawing.

Nope I reread the epilogue of morning glory and realized Tweek's first address is for my morning glory and Craig's last sign off is your morning glory and now I'm ready to throw myself on the curb with the garbage as I sob. Someone call a trusted adult for me thanks.

[omaano]

hi!!!! this is so entirely random but: i ADORE your hades x star wars au, it gives me so much!!! seeing two of my absolute favourite fandoms combined in your gorgeous art style (and i know you're trying to replicate the hades style but some of your own peeks through and it is WONDERFUL; also i applaud you for taking on that mammoth challenge omg!!) gives me ALL the feels in the best way!!!!

i think i saw you mention somewhere that while you'd love to write more dialogue/story/interactions, it's not really your thing so you don't do it that often? if i'm remembering wrong please feel free to ignore me but: I AM A WRITER. I ADORE HADES AND STAR WARS AND THIS AU SO MUCH. I WOULD LOVE TO OFFER MY SERVICES IF YOU EVER HAVE NEED/WANT OF THEM!! (if not literally No Pressure but i love this au so much and would jump at the chance to help!!!)

ANYWAY sorry for the really long ask, know that i love your art and this au with all of my heart, and i hope you have a wonderful day!! :D

Hello!

Thank you so much!! 💕💕 I’ve re-read this message trying to figure out what and how I want to answer to it so many times in the past couple of hours, but I still don’t know, I’m just so touched! I’m so very happy that you like my Hades AU project! (And yeah, good eye, I have been slacking a bit in the style replicating department ^^; at this point I’m just going by what I’d observed when I started with Boba and Din for drawing the characters, and now I just go with what I could make work with my style… I’m glad you like it either way! 🥰)

You saw that right too, haha, that was in another post from yesterday; I really didn’t go at this project with a coherent story, or writing in mind. I’m just not very good at that kind of thing anymore (if I’ve ever been lol), and I truly admire any writer who gathers up the courage each day to put out their stories and thoughts every day for us! Revealing that shit to the faceless masses is hard omg 😳 So I honestly could use all the help I can get (I’m already thinking and pulling a blank at what I will do with Echo and Fives… and all the Jedi in the god roles OTL they were the latest addition and it kinda shows, I have very little idea what to do with them 😅) thank you very much for the offer in advance! I might take full advantage of it (as long as the offer stands) ❤️

But in the meantime if you ever feel like you’d want to play around with or in the sandbox of this AU please feel free to do so and let me know!! Or just your thoughts, brain worms, anything! I’d be very happy to talk with people about this or what are all of your takes on this silly AU of mine ^^ (no pressure or anything, I’m just excited to possibly talk about something that is very dear to me, the art of which I really love to share. Even if we are slowly reaching the part in my notes that’s mostly made up by question marks and “need to look some stuff up for this” XD. Also I don’t think I’ve ever read a hades fic in my life, so I have no idea how that or the gameplay translates between various mediums XD)

I hope you have a wonderful day as well ❤️

[spiritsong]

20 & 21 for the Durge asks, pretty please?

hello dear spite!!! thank you for the ask 🖤

20. Is your Dark Urge open about their Urge or do they try to hide it? Why?

Aune is not even remotely open about her Urge, but she's not so good at hiding it either. She tries to keep it a secret as she's terrified and deeply ashamed of it. However, in her panicked fear of not understanding her lack of memories or her violent urges, she asks nearly all of her companions about advice on the subject. (Oops.) When confronted, Aune successfully convinces the others that she had nothing do with Alfira's death. (Well, everyone except for Astarion... 😏) When she kicks the squirrel to death just mere HOURS after they discover the bard's body, it becomes a bit more difficult to explain away. It's pretty much common knowledge amongst the group after the Grove massacre, but it is officially confirmed for the companions once they arrive at Moonrise.

21. What are 2-3 songs that your Dark Urge would relate to?

You've unleashed the beast with this question because I love collecting my little songs and making my little playlists

The number one Aune song of all time is Carrion Comfort by aeseaes: wring the world black / springs on my back / teeth tearing at the skin bleeding a blundering mess / beetles and worms in his chest sorry seeder / bottom feeder / nipping at what ankle's left all you wanted was a little taste / won't let a single sinew go to waste you should stop, you know, you know you should / but nothing else could make me feel this good voices howling and it's out of control / until you're nothing but an animal carrion comfort me

The Usher by Subrosa is a good that describes her relationship and perspective on death: all of my life I've been waiting for you with open arms, I'll come running towards you you're supreme, immutable, unchanging you're never failing through the ages you're more constant than the stars / because they change their paths with the seasons you're more constant than the moon / because she hides her face in the shadows you're more constant than the sun / because one day her embrace will melt the earth you're more constant than the gods / because sometimes when we call, they don't answer at all all in all, we end the same

When That Head Splits by Esben and the Witch is a bit of a nebulous choice, as it's a vision into the future for Aune - what things might look like if she succumbs/accepts the Urge alone she sits, a silent voyeur / kneeling naked at the altar while ants clamber over the / petrified hand of her neighbor there is a bulb inside her head / where once there was a brain in place a clod with roots, a ball of string that's full of love and lycorine when she grows numb / set by the sun she will become / part of the kingdom

[spirituallyyellow]

17/5/24

A couple of weeks after the very bad day, N and the kids travelled to the small island where his parents live for a visit over the long weekend. This had been arranged ages previously, and when N asked me if I wanted to book a last minute ticket to join them, I said no. Mainly because I didn't want to deal with his family on top of all the emotions I was dealing with.

I did think, after they left, that I wouldn't have recommended to a client that they spend four days totally alone less than a month after a suicide attempt, or serious suicide consideration, but I didn't say anything.

It's hard to explain the exhaustion I felt after that day. It was like a bone-deep, soul-sucking lethargy. I've heard that in accidents where people nearly die, they'll spend a few days afterwards just sleeping constantly while their body heals. I think I was sleeping constantly while my brain was trying to heal itself.

I would sit upright and it was like my body was trying to melt to the floor. I would open my eyes and feel like I had worked out. I'd try to breathe, and I could feel tears form. So mostly I just turned over in bed, pulled the curtain open as best as I could without getting up, and then lay there and looked out the window. I don't have a particularly nice view, so mostly I just became extremely familiar with the row of rooftops behind our house. Maybe the occasional pigeon.

Friday night I played D&D. Saturday I woke up and I could feel the creeping doom. I sat in silence most of the day, scrolling through Reddit or just looking out the window. Or sleeping - I did that, too. I had a Call of Cthulhu game scheduled that night and I almost bailed on it, but I forced myself to go. I knew I really didn't need to stay home alone.

I went. I had a good time.

I came home, and the alone-ness was overpowering. I put all my stuff down, stood in the middle of the living room, and felt my breathing shift, getting more and more unsteady as my thoughts raced. I don't know what to do, I just want to die, just let me die, please God just let me die, just die justdiejustdiejustdie and then Dandelion, my cat, woke up and yowled at me. I fed him some treats and then sat down. I pulled out my journal and started to write an unsent letter (by which I mean one of those letters that you write to someone just to get all the feelings out, but you never send nor intend to send), but I got one sentence in and said, "This is stupid. I don't want to think about this." It occurred to me that I never had painted the drawings I did in Manchester. I paused for a little bit, unsure if opening that particular can of worms was going to make things worse, but I was feeling reckless enough to just say fuck it, and I got out my watercolours and dug out a paintbrush and opened my notebook.

I felt a little shaky at first, but I put on my Amazing Devil Spotify playlist and I quickly just started seeing the colours and shades I wanted.

I started painting around 10:30 at night, and then suddenly it was 2am and I had finished painting everything and I didn't even notice the time pass. My breathing was steady, I wasn't crying, I was tired but in a more normal way. I was tired because I'd stayed up late making something, instead of being tired because I wasn't sleeping because I was busy feeling terrible. I went to bed and slept.

_

I haven't been sleeping well recently. I woke up at 2:30 in the morning a couple of days ago, my mind racing again. I laid in bed, wrestling with whether or not to let someone else know about all of this for over an hour. I finally sent a message, and then had such terrible pain flood through me that I actually thought I might be dying. I ended up getting up and getting a shower at like 4am just to distract myself.

I got back into bed, put on my Christian meditation app, and fell asleep relatively quickly, but I felt bad all day. Everything hurt, I struggled to concentrate on anything, I just wanted to go home and go back to sleep.

I had a message back and of course it was fine, and of course I'm making up a story in my head that it's actually not really fine and I've murdered a friendship again by not knowing when to shut the fuck up, but I'm trying to let the thoughts pass without comment. I cried really hard for about ten minutes, and then put on music and caught the bus to a village about 45 minutes away and bought some yarn for a project I'm working on. N offered to come pick me up, but I said no, I'd just get the bus back. To be honest, I just wanted to listen to music in peace for a little longer.

[buglyknight]

116) Chopstick Champion

Pretty trans boy

Let me stare at you for hours

Let’s binge all the Saws

And write poetry together

I want to listen to you talk

We can go for walks in the flower gardens

Let’s play Mario together

 And Minecraft isn’t so bad, alright

We can see a good horror movie

I am faulty

Full of worry

And I’m always covered in my uncertainty

But I think I was happy

I didn’t know if I should ask to kiss you

But I guess I can always try later if you want

I walked the short distance to your car

And we talked for a little

I feel like there’s more I could’ve said

But I’ve never been good at talking

And you make it really hard

My brain is jello

My thoughts discard

But I feel like I did alright

And I was asking about you all night

I was saving those questions to help me in person

As opposed to in text

I forgot all about the other people at the table

I could just enjoy time with you

That’s something I almost never do

I was listening to your favorite band

Turns out, I have heard of them

I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore

Please don’t let me hurt you

I’m a coward you see

A no-good dirty rotten writhing worm freak

I don’t want to feel like this

Piece of shit

I’m terrified

If I get close I’ll leech like I do

But I want to know about you

Oh my god you’re so cute

I want to see you play ukulele

Maybe I can play some keyboard in your “band”

I want to be with you,

Chopstick Champion

[smokespriteflx]

2 - tell me more i could die

You couldn't help but blush at the kdrama you were watching. Your mind was going places on its own, yet you thought that as long as you didn't directly acknowledge it, it would be fine.

Another notification startled you. This time your smile dropped. It was a WhatsApp notification, which meant it was from someone back in your country. More specifically, your boyfriend. For now. He was sorry, but he would never say it. He just sent you "Hey" and a cat sticker. The distance was rough between you both. You had been dating each for a couple years, were almost about to move in together when your dream job changed your life completely.

It had begun as a home office job like any other, a company from South Korea hiring lawyers from your contry to work in their legal department, helping them enter the Argentinian market. But soon enough your hard work (and dual nationality) paid off and the more you got promoted, the more vital you became to the company. Two years later you had found yourself boarding a plane straight to your new home across the globe.

Of course this didn't come without its doubts and problems. You had talked with your boyfriend about the possibility of splitting up, but both of you were still not ready to let go, settling for a long distance relationship to see if you could make it work. It wasn't working so far. You were too doubtful and he was too trustful. There were times when you thought he was just taking you for granted, or worse.

With a sigh you opened the app and typed a reply. The conversation kept going for a while without neither of you acknowledging the fight you had a few days ago. Though you preferred it this way, your heart told you it was not okay to store it all up like it was nothing. When it got too late, you excused yourself and went to sleep. That night you greeted your pillow with tears once again.

6 am on a Saturday the phone rang with a loud ringtone. You could swear it rang even higher than normally. Without opening your eyes, you answered the call.

"MARU Oh my god I'm so sorry, I know I woke you up but this is important" You could only sigh at the nickname and the high pitched voice practically drilling your brain through the line. Your sister was right though, she was well aware of the time zone difference and would've never dared to text you, let alone call you, at untimely hours. "You don't need to worry! It's not family related or anything bad" she continued. You nodded out of habit, then made a noise for her to know that you were there listening.

"Guess... who... is going... for a few days... to visit you!!!!" Each word said higher than the last, deep down it made you happy, but it was too early for you to be able to give a proper reaction. "It's okay, I know you're excited, you don't have to answer right now. I just wanted to let you know first and foremost, I'll be there next week for a couple of days!!"

"Great. I'm glad. Let me know the details later" you said. On the other side you heard a long "okaaaay" then the call dropped. You were now fully awake.

Instagram seemed the best choice yet again for a distraction and a way to ease yourself to start your day. You were more than pleased to see that early birds get the worm as kseokjin had just uploaded a new story a few minutes ago. This time it was a picture of a mess on the floor, next to a very guilty looking dog. You felt a rush through your body, and it almost felt that your fingers typed on their own a reply.

You immediately locked the phone, throwing it far away in your bed. A giggle escaped your mouth and you couldn't help but to cover your face with your sheets. Seconds later, you took a deep breath and pretended to no one that that didn't just happen.

It was just a text, just a friendly text. It was okay, you didn't have any friends in Korea, so it was fine for you to talk to people. It was encouraged, even. It didn't have to be something awkward, besides he was probably dating that semi influencer girl who had posted him on her story. It was fine.

*Ding*

Oh shit. Time to face the consequences of your actions. You checked the preview on your notifications tab.

"🤨"

Shit. A long pause. Another ding.

"I'd say this is not..."

The message was cut by the end of your phone. You questioned if you should reply fast. Quickly shaking your head, you repeated what you said earlier: it doesn't have to be awkward, he can be just a friend. You opened up the DM.

This could become a conversation. It was your turn to say something. You decided to try to sound neutral, like a casual conversation with a stranger, which essentially, it was.

"Yeah, kids these days can get away with anything"

"ㅋㅋㅋ tell me about it, I have to clean up this mess now"

"Right. Good luck with that!!"

He liked the reply and that was it. You felt a little dissapointed that he didn't keep it going, but on the third time you read everything again you could tell that you were the one who finished the conversation. It was okay. It should not be that important anyways.

[madds-is-ace-trash]

Ok hear me out!

So um I had a fic idea and the brain worms took over ima be posting it here and if all goes well to ao3 Chapter 1 of the fic is below

Summary: After an accident kills everyone the boy has ever known and injured the god of time, clockwork rushes to the only place he’s knows will take the now boy king. Gotham takes the now 6 year old Danny in to her arms, her child of the stars. And she’s going to ensure he gets the life he always deserved.

Mother of the storm and her star child

Chapter 1: In which a ward is gained

Clockwork clutches his side, the toxic green substance that makes up his being spilling on to his purple robes. As he flies over a city with a sky set dark over the horizon. Despite his very core feeling like it's about to split at the seams, he dare not falter. For in his arms is a bundle of blankets he holds his king. Much smaller than he was just an hour ago as his body rebuilds itself.

All he can do is pray that his old friend cand lend him a hand. That she’ll take in the only thing he has left to live for. The young boy has nowhere else to go and clock work has his own wounds to address. As he lands at last falling to his knees, wincing as his wound lets out another puff of its toxic excision. He sets the boy down in the alley and knows that she'll find him soon.

As thunder roles over the dark city, from the shadows a figure steps out into the dim light. Her skin is a dark purple, her hair seems to be made of the very storm that follows her wherever she gose. Her eyes a yellow like lighting breaking from the dark sky, dressed in black dress with a shawl made of stars. “ Gotham, you look well old friend,” CW manages to spit out threw pain with a weak smile on his face.

——————————————————

“Clockwork?” her voice booms as the thunder rolls, her eyes narrow at the bundle in his arms.

“Let me explain, Pleas old friend I need your help,” he begs weakly, his form shifting yet shaking. He takes his hand off his side to move the blanket, in his arms a child no older than six(6). He's skin and bones, he's so small, smaller than he has any right to be. His raven hair is messy and his clothes 5 sizes too big. “ Please old friend, he has nowhere left to go, no kin to return to,” clock work says as his form shifts to that of an old man sending another green stain against the pavement. “ I am all that remains yet i'm afraid I must lick my own wounds if I wish to live to see him threw”

Gothem eyes her old acquaintance barely holding himself together, then her eyes drift to the small boy that lay in his arms. Her expression softens, she leans down and takes the wad from the ghost. And then like a wave of ice that chills her to the bone she realizes what she is holding. “ The boy king? Who? WHY!” her eyes slit and the thunder grows stronger. The wind begins to wip as she eyes the small bae that lay in her arms.

“His parents they…… they found him,” he snarls, “ They Hurt him….. The lab is no more it…. It took everyone, all I could do was save him but” he takes a heaving breath,” I could only do so much.”

Gotham seemed to understand what he ment, she looked at the boy still asleep with sorrow in her eyes, “ Please dear friend” clockwork begged once more, “ give him the life he always deserved, I cant keep him, not like this.” His throat felt tight as his eye stung, he can't cry not now.

“With everything I am, the boy will be safe,” The thunder low and distant like a spring storm, “ go now heal and so you may return to him once more” She smiles as she sees a peak of the boy's eyes as he dreams, blue, a beautiful vibrant blue. “ I know someone who will love him as his own'' Clock work fades his form relaxing as he disappears into the night.

The sky begins to cry but not in sorrow but joy, the prince has a new home and Gotham will insure he’ll grow, to be the king that the realm deserves. As she turns him to shield him from the rain a ring of light washes over the boy, his hair is white as snow, freckles make the stars, and a crown rest upon his brow. “ Rest now, my child of the stars, here you'll find you belong.” With that they boy renters to his human state. Now she just has to figure out how to induce him to her other children.

If y’all like it I’ll keep going also thinking about sketching what I envision my version of Gotham looks like. I like the idea of her being a storm spirit and that’s why Gotham always rains.

I did it [part 2]

[xocasper]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Six - Praise Kink Warnings: NSFW content Tags: fingering, praise kink, mild angst, riding Word Count: 4716 A/N: shoutout to cocoa dyno-bites and anything i wrote in august. also if you’re a real xocasper fan, you know who stephen is. if you don’t, please send an ask so i can talk about stephen. enjoy xo

Four words. Four fucking words and Frank was already sure he’d screw this up.

See, when your cute coworker knocks on your door at eleven o’clock at night, you have no choice but to throw some pants on and chat for a while. It’s like, the law or something. He figured he could do that, getting as far as the pants part before turning into a total dunce. The blame wasn’t on him though–or at least he’d managed to convince himself that–but instead on your shitty landlord who still hadn’t fixed your heating. He knew it had been out for a while, foolishly offering his place in case yours grew too cold, not expecting you to take him up on the offer. October was similar to Frank, coming far too quick, and before he knew it, the city turned into an icebox. Which, unfortunately for you, meant freezing half to death in your apartment.

At first, he wasn’t sure who would be at his door so late, hauling himself out of bed and having half a mind to throw on some sweatpants before trudging down the hall. You hadn’t exactly woken him; not really anyway, but he still had to rub his eyes for good measure, stretching as he opened the door. The sight of you definitely did the job though, and Frank was suddenly wide awake as you shivered in his doorway.

“Can I come in?”

There it was, his only weakness–his hot coworker in thin pajamas, undoubtedly fresh out of bed, asking to stay the night in his apartment. Except you hadn’t really asked him yet, still working up the courage, as you were already embarrassed for waking him up at this hour.

Giving you a once-over, he nodded, “Stephen still being an asshole?”

You smiled bitterly, following him inside. “I’m tempted to start looking for another place to live, honestly.”

He bit his tongue just in time, preventing an enthusiastic yes. Instead, he laughed quietly, closing the door behind you. “I think the guy downstairs is gonna croak soon,” was all he could think of, cringing at his inability to talk to you. “You could come live here.”

“Mhm, and put up with you outside of work, too?” you joked. “I’m thinking of quitting anyway, so I’ll consider it.”

This time, he had to prevent a loud, reflexive no. He could get a real job anywhere, but he chose to stick around a dingy convenience store for your sake. Some of his fondest memories were spent there, the two of you on night shift, laughing until you were sure you’d split a seam, and Frank’s face turning red for reasons other than asphyxiation.

“We’ll miss you if you go,” he shrugged, laying a stack of blankets on the couch.

You shook your head, “You’ll miss me, Frank. You’re the only person I talk to.”

Did his name sound that nice when other people said it or was it just you? And he was the only one you talked to? It would sound pathetic if he said it, but it felt special coming from you. You were special and–god, he needed to get a grip.

“Oh,” he mumbled, motioning for you to sit on the couch. “Well, they’re missing out.”

And then you smiled at him. This pure, golden fucking smile, and he was sure he’d melt into the floorboards. He had to worm his way out somehow, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Do you want a glass of water or anything?”

“I’ll be alright, thank you,” you assured him, tucking yourself under the generous pile of blankets, Frank unsure of whether to leave or not.

Finally, his brain turned back on, gracious enough to form words. “‘Night then,” he nodded, shooting you a small smile. “Sleep well and… yeah.”

“Goodnight,” you laughed lightly, watching him stumble back to his bedroom.

He was typically cool and collected, but tonight he was off, awkward and clumsy and you knew exactly why. You almost hadn’t come here tonight, and now you were wishing that you had gone with your gut, wanting more than anything to escape the suffocating tension, weighing down the apartment despite closed doors and empty halls. It had started the other day, when you had made arguably the biggest mistake of your life, cringing at the thought of it. You were exhausted, you tried to tell yourself, completely braindead after your shift, giggling at nearly everything Frank was saying. It felt good, totally tripped out on serotonin, and as Frank walked you to your car, you turned around and kissed him.

And he didn’t kiss back.

Across the hall, Frank replayed the same memory in his head, the laughter that filled the air, the way you smiled at him when you turned, and how the whole world seemed to pause as your lips met his. Then came the humiliation that followed, remembering how he had stiffened up, floundering as you pulled away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you. In fact, he couldn’t come up with a good reason why he hadn’t. Nerves, or something, the same thing that had happened when he had his first kiss back in middle school. By the time his brain had caught up though, it was too late, his heart sinking at the despair on your face. Finally, a quiet goodnight and you were gone, fighting tears on the way home, certain that the unrequited kiss would haunt you forever.

The two of you felt ill at the memory, tossing and turning in separate rooms as you tried to ignore the other’s presence. Squeezing your eyes shut and desperately trying to clear your head was no help, only seeing the look of shock on Frank’s face. Bundling up in the blankets made things worse as well, the smell of his cheap cologne sticking to the fleece like an Elvis song. Everything seemed to remind you of that godforsaken kiss, leaving you to beg the universe for a minute of peace.

Eventually, Frank also grew sick of trying to sleep, wandering into the kitchen for something to drink. All the water in the world couldn’t save him, acting as nothing more than a weak disguise to check if you were as restless as him. Sure enough, you perked up as he padded through the hall, a trace of concern in your eyes as you watched him.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked quietly, tracing his figure as he reached for the cabinet.

He shook his head, “You sure you don’t want water or something?”

“I’m alright.”

Frank knew he shouldn’t have been frustrated, that he should’ve drank his nasty tap water and gone off to bed, but he couldn’t help but beat himself up for letting you slip away like that. Besides, you had come to his apartment, so that had to count for something, right?

“Do you wanna…” he started, the words never mind on the tip of his tongue.

You squinted at him, “Do I wanna…”

Gulping, he tried again. “Do you wanna come lie with me for a bit?”

No.

“Sure,” you nodded.

Fuck. You were really good at making mistakes, weren’t you?

This was an awful idea, sirens going off in your head as Frank downed the rest of his glass, watching as you climbed out from your cocoon. You should’ve stayed put, told him you were fine where you were, anything that didn’t result in following him to bed. Sleeping next to him meant one of two things: more awkward tension or confrontation, and you were dreading both of them. A week ago you would’ve been thrilled; you still were to an extent, filled with an inapposite swarm of butterflies, but they were quickly burned to a crisp by regret and shame.

It was difficult to see in the dark, unsure of where you were going and trying your best not to trip, but Frank’s hand slipped into yours as he walked across his bedroom. He couldn’t have been more grateful for the darkness that swallowed the two of you, disguising the blush that coated his cheeks. It was odd to want each other so badly, only to prefer being hit by an eighteen-wheeler than sleeping side-by-side.

Silence settled between the two of you, an invisible barrier as you laid back to back, having even more trouble sleeping than before. There was a constant theme of overanalysis, listening closely to his breathing, short and labored as he tried not to disturb you. Occasionally, he’d shift, not closer, nor farther, simply in place as if readjustment could save him from insomnia’s clutches. At some point, he had turned over completely, now facing you, who remained staring at his bedroom wall.

“I should’ve kissed back.”

It was sudden and sharp, cutting you open once more, and you would’ve rolled over if you had the strength, desperate to see the sincerity in his eyes. The room was pitch black though, and you were weak, so you stayed put.

“And I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you mumbled back, hardly loud enough for him to hear.

That hurt and Frank could only hope it was a lie. He shifted again, closer this time, before speaking.

“That’s not true,” he said, more to convince himself than you.

You knew he was right, but you still shook your head. “No, Frank, I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Are you thinking now?”

There was a pause, earsplitting and ugly.

“Stop doing that,” you told him.

He stilled for a moment, “Stop doing what?”

You sighed, exasperated. “What you’re doing!”

“You know, you really have a way with words.”

God, you wanted to laugh. It was funny, and on any other day you probably would’ve, but it was more than untimely. You should’ve left, grabbed your shoes, and scrambled back to your frigid apartment, safe from… whatever this was.

You swallowed hard, “Stop trying to justify that kiss, and stop making me consider doing it again.”

“Look at me,” he said softly.

“I can’t see in the dark, dumbass.”

He said your name, his voice tied between frustration and amusement, and you finally rolled over. As expected, you couldn’t see a damn thing, stubbornly crossing your arms as you waited for him to speak.

It didn’t occur to him until then that he had no plan, barely able to make out your features from a few inches away. Briefly, he shut his eyes, taking a deep breath before leaning in, and gave you a fleeting kiss.

Frank pulled away just as quickly, and the room fell silent. There was a slight difference between the silence before and after, thousands of words suppressed by nerves, and now all of them had flown away. In a single kiss, he had managed to make your heart stop, both of you stuck in your heads as you dwelled on it. It was contradictory, guilty and pure, feather-light, but crushing you with the weight of insecurity.

Carefully, you reached for him, fingertips grazing his cheek, almost to prove he was real–that this was real. He didn’t speak, frozen in place as your palm met faint stubble, the two of you anxiously waiting for the other to pull away. The ice should’ve broken when he kissed you; you shouldn’t have been nervous, your stomach churning and lungs forgetting how to breathe as you weighed your options.

Ultimately, you leaned in, much slower than he had, as if you were giving him the chance to pull away, kick you out or reprimand you for your insistence. Frank remained still at first, worried that if he moved an inch you would flinch away, deciding that maybe he wasn’t worth your time after all.

This time was different; you were no longer glistening under streetlights, eyes lit with infatuation as Frank told some stupid joke, his hand on your lower back as you tripped towards your car. You hadn’t thrown caution to the wind, shooting him a smile that could melt just about anyone, kissing him with a passion that should’ve made him weak in the knees. Instead, it was cautious, calculated with a hint of sorrow, waiting for bitter rejection that never came.

Because this time, Frank kissed back.

He kissed you until your worry melted away, soft and easy, his hand slipping back to your waist as he pulled you closer. It was real this time, not a trace of pity or regret as he broke away, and radiating nothing but sincerity as he leaned back in. By the second one, you were leaning in too, never having received sweeter kisses than his, the kind that bordered on medicinal, mending a broken heart.

Frank was right there with you, swooning like a schoolgirl as your lips moved against his, plush and pretty, being savored as if it meant something more–more than friends, coworkers, and the awkward stage in between.

Like honey, your tongue slipped past his lips, parting them so naturally, as if you’d done it before. Everything was slow, much slower than it had been the other night, echoing laughter substituted with hitching breath, impulsive kisses replaced by meaningful ones, though the passion remained the same. Frank touched you as if you were made of china, delicately laying his other hand upon your waist, shifting you over until your palms pressed against his chest.

It was almost uncharacteristic, his caution and reserve paling in comparison to his common ardor, yet to draw a line in the sand. Despite the incessant flirting and stolen glances, everything felt fragile once turned into a reality. Frank wanted this, wanted you. It was a tough pill to swallow, no matter how long you had yearned for it, trying to let your guard down once more. Cautiously, his fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, a barely-there action that nearly went unnoticed. You were in your head, too caught up in insecurities and endless possibilities, finally letting them fade as his warm touch slid across your waist.

It was apprehensive but didn’t lack affirmation, bringing you back down to earth as he rubbed slow circles on your skin. His lips were barely ghosting over yours, giving you an occasional kiss. It was intimate, light and dizzying, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes, reveling in a moment of sheer serenity. One of your hands slid up a little further, languidly smoothing over his shoulder until you reached the nape of his neck, shaking up his pattern of light kisses.

This one wasn’t quite like the first and full of energy, nor was it like the second, riddled with trepidation. It was deeper, smooth and sure, your free hand finding its way to his, gradually sliding it up your torso, waiting for a signal to stop. He let you control his hand, taking charge of the kiss instead, hopelessly addicted to you and the mind-numbing taste of satisfaction and greed. To your surprise, he never pulled back, only briefly breaking away to breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he traced over your sternum. Your hand stayed on his, waiting for his worries to fade, but he hardly seemed to move.

“We don’t have to do anything,” you promised, anxious and embarrassed once more. “I’m sorry.”

Frank didn’t speak for a moment, his free hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you with sincerity. He hushed you at first, followed by a soft, “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” you breathed, running your hand through his hair as he nestled his head into your neck.

His kisses weren’t pitiful, and hardly apologetic at that. There was a sense of appreciation, longing and gratitude as his lips graced your neck, peppering it in sweet admiration. He worked diligently, sucking kisses into your skin; it wasn’t enough to leave a mark, but enough for you to remember, certain that a single glance in the mirror could turn you into a puddle. It was intimate and pure, Frank’s breath on your skin making you shiver and shift closer, held in place by his hold on your hips.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear as he nipped below it.

He couldn’t see your eye roll, but he could hear the suspicion in your tone. “You can’t even see me.”

“Don’t need to,” he said, quickly pecking your cheek.

Rebuttals formed on your lips, but they were barely spoken into existence before Frank was kissing them away. You had learned months ago that arguing with him was futile, so you easily gave in to his touch. Proud of his effortless victory, he had to resist the urge to grin, instead humming a satisfied note as your lips parted for him.

He had grown confident and comfortable since you had knocked on his door, regaining his charming disposition. Easily, his tongue slipped against yours, rivaling his kisses from earlier. They were now equipped with a need—one to make you feel loved, to prove that this wasn’t out of sympathy. He glided his tongue in sure strokes, rubbing circles on your hips as he broke away. After one more tender kiss, a smile tugged at his lips.

“See?” he murmured, letting his fingertips dance along the waistband of your pajamas. “My pretty baby.”

Belief didn’t come easy, but you gave in nonetheless, too transfixed by his touch. Many nights, you had started absentmindedly at his hands, tracing his tattoos as an excuse to hold them, lacing your fingers together while he stood oblivious. God, they were so pretty, decorated in colorful ink and so fucking skilled. He’d invited you to a handful of shows, always pulling you to the front and showing off, and you had discovered that he was a wonderful guitarist–and that he had wonderful hands, ones that were finally on you.

“Is this—“ he asked, fingers creeping from your waist to the elastic of your pajamas. “Is that okay?”

You nodded, taking his hand again and sliding it lower, under the fabric, and further still.

He gave a small grin, slotting his lips against yours for a moment. “You’re so needy,” he purred, sucking gently on your jawline. “It’s okay, I’ll make you feel good.”

It was easier to believe him this time, and you whispered a quiet, “Please, Frank.”

He could never deny you, pressing his hand against your thigh. Sitting up for a moment, he caressed you tentatively, another “Can I...?” breaking the brief silence.

You nodded again, lifting your hips as he tugged down your pajama pants, and frowning as he pulled away. It didn’t last long though, Frank only letting you kick off your clothes before settling next to you. Again, he mumbled a request to touch you, and you grew warm as his hands ghosted your waist. Gently, he pulled you closer, settling you between his legs before tilting your chin to face him.

If you could see the way he looked at you, speechless and entranced despite the lack of light, you would’ve melted into the floor. He didn’t need to see you though, not when he knew how he felt, pressing his lips to yours as his free hand trailed up your thigh. A faint longing stirred in your stomach, and you burned up as the pads of his fingers met the hem of your panties.

“I’ve wanted this for a while, you know that?” he said quietly, stroking your clothed slit. “I thought I fucked it up for good.”

You let out a soft breath and shook your head. “You could never fuck up that bad.”

He gave a soft laugh, tracing shapes onto your thighs. “You’d be surprised.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” you smiled, shifting closer to him.

Gradually, his hand slid further up, and he kept his head tucked into the crook of your neck, pressing spontaneous kisses below your ear. He cupped you gently, only seeming to worsen the dull ache, and he grinned as you pressed against his palm.

“Someone’s impatient,” he teased, rubbing slow circles on your clit.

He shushed you lightly as you began to apologize, planting another kiss on your neck. “I’m kidding,” he said, giving another laugh. “You’re always so sweet. I bet you taste sweet too.”

The last bit caught you off guard, drawing a soft moan from your lips. It urged Frank to continue, and he finally tugged off your panties. The sudden chill made you shiver but his hands warmed you up quick, splayed across your thighs as he spread them apart. Regardless, you pressed closer to him, receiving a sweet, “I’ve got you,” in response.

With delicate precision, his fingers swept across your folds, wet and needy as you waited for him to touch you. You were fixated on his every move, tilting your head back against his headboard as he brushed against your clit.

“You’re so wet,” he commented, his voice holding wonder rather than mockery. “So good to me.”

Frank was far more patient, carefully collecting arousal on his fingertips before lifting them to his lips, coating his tongue in bliss. You wished you could see it, watch as his fingers glistened in the moonlight, swiftly sucked clean with an erotic eagerness. Instead, you had to settle for his muffled moan and the praise that came with it.

“Fuck, you taste so pretty,” he breathed, his lips pressed against your ear again. “You want me to eat your pussy, baby?”

As much as you wanted it, you wanted his cock more, compromising more with yourself than Frank. “Tomorrow,” you requested, reaching for his hand and leading it between your legs.

“Yeah? What do you want right now?”

His fingers worked carefully, spreading you open before dipping inside. You had begun to respond, but simple words turned too complex, becoming a swift inhale and a shaky moan instead.

“I want you to fuck me,” you admitted, grinding down against his hand in hopes of finding friction. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he teased, continuing to curl his fingers inside of you. “You can wait a minute, right?”

You bit back a no, making a half-hearted decision that you could be patient for him. “Mhm,” you hummed quietly, shifting against him.

He was hard, pressing against you through his sweatpants, but he was patient just like you. Truthfully, he wanted this to last as long as possible, just in case you walked away tomorrow. You didn’t mind too much, his fingers pulling pretty moans from you while your muscles grew tighter.

“You’re being so good, so patient,” he told you, his thumb ghosting your clit.

You whined softly at the praise, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as he spoke. “You sound so pretty, baby.”

Frank knew the effect he had on you, relishing in every gasp and moan as sweet affirmations rolled off his tongue. Typically, you’d be embarrassed that Frank knew what you were into, but now you were in his bed, and he was urging you to come.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, slowly speeding up as you writhed against him.

Again, you nodded, the hitch in your breath preventing a real answer. Frank didn’t seem to mind, only egging you on more. “You’re doing so well,” he said, toying with your clit as your breathing grew erratic.

“Shit, Frank,” you cursed, suddenly reaching for his hand. “I want to come with you inside me.”

Relief washed over him, and he swallowed the apologies that had already started forming. Instead, he swore against your skin and pulled his hand away, smiling softly at your ironic whine.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, gasping lightly as your lips closed around his fingers, quickly cleaning up the mess.

Pulling his hand away, he held your jaw, turning your head towards him and giving you a slow kiss. It was messy and sensual, and Frank reluctantly broke apart to turn you around. Slipping his hands beneath your shirt, he ran them up your sides, his thumbs caressing your waist while you tugged off his sweatpants.

Frank was sure he’d been hard since you climbed into his bed, and now he was fucking aching to be touched. Thankfully, you didn’t waste as much time as him, hooking your arm around his neck and pressing heated kisses to his lips while you stroked him through his boxers. With as much coordination as he could manage, he reached towards his nightstand, giggling through kisses as he rifled through the drawer.

“Frank, take your pants off,” you grinned, shaking your head in bewilderment as you got off of his lap.

He giggled again, sliding off his boxers and kicking his pants to the floor, laying down anxiously as you grabbed a condom from his nightstand.

“See?” he said, humming softly as you wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping him slowly before rolling the condom on. “You’re so good to me.”

Your stomach fluttered at the praise, and you were impatient once more. After giving you a brief kiss, he lifted your hips, guiding you over his cock. You took him slowly, sinking your teeth into your lip while he eased you down. As much as you wanted to complain about the darkness of his bedroom, the sudden jerk of his hips drew your attention away. He was thick, fitting snug inside of you, and Frank moaned as you settled on his cock.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said, rocking his hips to meet yours as you sunk down on him again. “Squeezing my cock so well.”

He helped you build a steady pace, gripping your hips as they rolled against his. Even if you hadn’t fully adjusted to his size, the pain had faded, climbing towards your thighs instead. They’d inevitably burn from exertion when you were finished, but it didn’t seem like you had long to go, anyway. Not when Frank was moaning like that, hot and breathy, and gradually growing whinier.

“Fuck, just like that,” he said, sliding his hands under your thighs to keep pace.

After getting painfully close to coming earlier, the sensation had already begun building again. The thrust of his hips was no help to your longevity, whiny curses pouring from your lips as he fucked into you. He was a mess beneath you, hair clinging to his forehead and eyes drawn shut, intent on making you finish this time.

“You take me so well,” Frank praised, listening to you fall apart on his cock. “That’s it, baby.”

Satisfaction shot through him, grinning with pride as you came, still bouncing in his lap as you rode it out. Despite his confidence, he was far needier, holding you still as he ground against you. The tables turned for a moment, and you cupped his cheek delicately, gyrating your hips before murmuring a soft, “Good boy.”

There was an obvious shake in your voice, weak from an orgasm, but it made no difference to Frank. He didn’t think twice as he came, moaning brokenly before shooting into the rubber. With the little strength he had left, he helped you off his lap, letting you flop down beside him.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, growing shy as his muscles went lax.

It was your turn to pepper kisses across his skin, catching your breath between sporadic pecks. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, breathing heavily as he pulled you into his chest.

“I’m really sorry for the other day,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I was serious when I said I should’ve kissed you. And if you were serious about not kissing me, then that’s cool too. I mean, it’s a little inconvenient because we just had sex, and now I’m totally on your track record but—“

You wheezed, “Track record? Jesus, Frank, I don’t do this every day.”

“Well you could start,” he said slyly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Unless, you know, you’re not into me like that—“

“Frank.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I am into you like that.”

His eyebrows drew together, confused. “You lied to me? Rough way to start a relationship, babe.”

You swatted him playfully. “Let’s have this conversation after we clean up. Deal?”

Even if you couldn’t see him in the dark, you could tell that he was smiling. “Deal.”

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers  @halloweenbitch2764  @lubbockshusband @cigarettesandalcohol  @couldbegayer1234  @doc-martens-enthusiast @yachiiko @becausethedrugsneverwork @house-of-wh0res @dangerouslittlefairy @chronicallythicc​ @zggystrdst​

[neonlights92]

Night Changes: PART ONE

Jeon Jungkook has spent the last twenty years alone.  Single.  Solo. 

And that’s just the way he likes it.  That is, until he meets the supposed love of his life.  Suddenly he’s falling over himself at the chance of a real relationship with someone.

The only thing getting in his way? You.

genre: fuckboy!jungkookie, college!jungkookie, romcom, e2l (kinda)

A/N: my attempt at a college kookie story? enjooooy

--

Perhaps it is the universe telling him to stop drinking. 

Jeon Jungkook really needs to start listening to the universe, and stop listening to - well to put it bluntly - his penis. 

When he wakes up in another stranger’s bed, with a splitting headache, and lipstick marks scattered across his chest, he reckons he should start making better life choices. 

The young woman sharing his bed - a girl from the party last night, with legs that go on for miles - rolls over and blinks her eyes open sleepily.  She smiles at him.

“Hi Jungkook.” 

He racks his brain for her name.  Jisoo… Jennie… Lisa… Rose? 

He feels bad - he really really does - but what can he do?  He was seven tequilas in, when Taehyung convinced him that taking her home would be a good idea. 

“Hi…. You.”  He finishes lamely, smiling sheepishly. 

She blinks again, this time a little more furious.  Her eyes narrow after a moment. 

“You don’t remember my name, do you?”  She purses her stained lips, and Jungkook really does feel awful.

Or maybe that’s just the hangover. 

“I uh - maybe.  It’s.. Last night’s a little bit grainy for me, to be honest.”

She seems unimpressed, arching a well-groomed brow, “You’re in most of my classes at college, Jeon Jungkook.”

And really that’s when he feels like a complete asshole. 

“Shit.  I’m sorry,” He tries to place her - he tries so fucking hard - but he knows he doesn’t recognise her, and a worm of guilt starts niggling in the pit of his stomach.

She rolls her eyes and sits up, pressing a hand against her forehead and clicking her tongue, “Whatever.  Just get out.  Jerk.” 

Jungkook feels bad.  Seriously, he does. 

But he can’t help but share her sentiment.  

He scrambles out of bed, fishing around her bedroom floor for the jeans he so carelessly threw off, and the white shirt he’s sure is stained with something he’ll never be able to get rid of.  He stumbles into the clothing and turns back towards the nameless woman glaring at him from underneath the covers.

“Do you hate me?”

She rolls her eyes, “Get out of my house, asshole.” He winces.  He knows he deserves that.

“See you soon?” She shakes her head, and tugs a hand through her unruly hair, “Hopefully not.” Jungkook bolts out of there like his life depends on it but just as he pulls the front door open, somebody else blocks his way.  And suddenly everything in the world shifts, and he feels as though his heart has just split open right down the middle. 

Because standing in front of him, holding two bags of groceries, is an absolute angel.  

Jungkook thinks - no he’s certain - she’s the most beautiful woman he’s seen in his entire life, and now he understands the songs, and the sonnets and the plays.  This is what love at first sight is.

It has to be.

“Oh.”  She laughs a little, “Hi.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen, “Hi.”

“You must be Y/N’s guest.” 

Y/N.  So that’s her name.

“Uh… Yeah.”

Her cheeks flush brightly, “I’m Soomi, Y/N’s roommate.” 

“Nice to meet you Y/N’s roommate.  I’m Jungkook.”

When she giggles, Jungkook feels like he’s ascended into another plane of existence.  

“Well it’s nice to meet you too.”  Her eyes lower to his haphazardly buttoned shirt, “Under the circumstances.” Jungkook feels stupid and wonderful all at the same time, and just as he’s about to do something crazy - like ask for her number, or ask her to marry him, even - somebody clears their throat from behind him.

In a moment, Jungkook remembers exactly where he is.  His heart drops.

Shit.

Y/N.

“I see you’ve met the asshole I slept with last night,” Y/N raises a brow and clicks her tongue, “You were just on your way out, Jungkook, weren’t you?”

“I… Uh…  Yeah.  On my way out.” Jungkook knows he has no right to feel dejected - after all he was the one who couldn’t remember Y/N’s name in the first place.  But he’s sure Soomi might very well be the love of his life, and he can’t possibly just walk out like this, can he? But when he turns to face Soomi he notices she’s already stepped out of the way for him… And there’s really nothing more he can do.  

“Well uh… It was nice to meet you Soomi,” He moves into the hallway and turns to give Y/N a half smile, “See you in class.”

“Like I said.”  Y/N pulls a face, “Hopefully not.”

Soomi giggles again and he feels like he’s been shot straight through the heart, “Bye Jungkook!”

The door slams shut in his face, and the moment Jungkook is alone he notices how quickly his heart is racing.  Oh god.

He’s in love. 

He has to be.

//

“Jungkook.  You’re being ridiculous.”  Jungkook’s roommate Namjoon rolls his dark eyes, “She is not the “love of your life.”  Stop being so dramatic, you sound like Jin.” Jungkook feels like his heart is about to burst.  It’s been less than three hours since he met Soomi and all he can think about is the curve of her smile.

“No.  I’m serious, Namjoon.  C’mon, when have you ever known me to feel this way about a girl?”

Namjoon sets his mug of coffee to one side and clicks his tongue, “Never.  I’ve never known you to feel this way about a girl.  Which only further proves my point - you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re just made of ice,” He comments bitterly, “I’m serious Namjoon.  I’m in love.”

“Listen Jungkook you know I usually love to disagree with Namjoon,” This comes from Jungkook’s other roommate Taehyung who is slung across the couch lazily, “But I’ve got to say… This time he’s got a point.  You sound like a crazy person.”

“If you saw her you’d know exactly what I mean.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes so hard Jungkook is surprised he doesn’t lose one to the back of his skull.

“It’s a girl Jungkook.  A girl you met for all of twenty seconds.” “She was an angel.”

Taehyung giggles, “You’ve really got it bad huh?” “My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since I left her.”  Jungkook feels himself deflate slightly, “I need to see her again.” “And how are you going to do that?”  Taehyung raises a dark brow, “Surely you don’t have any classes with her, or you would’ve seen her by now.”

“No but… I have classes with Y/N.”  Jungkook knows it’s a dumb suggestion.  

But he can’t help it.  He needs to see Soomi again. 

“Y/N as in the girl who you slept with and who’s name you couldn’t remember?”  Namjoon scoffs, “Even you can’t be dumb enough to think she’d help you out of the goodness of her heart.”

“No… Maybe not out of the goodness of her heart.”  Jungkook agrees, carding a hand through his cherry red locks, “But I can figure out something she wants.  Y’know… Mutually beneficial.”

“I hope you’re not talking about your penis,” Taehyung pulls a face. 

“Have you not been listening for the past hour Taehyung?  I am in love with Soomi - I’m not about to sleep with her roommate...Again.  I’m a one woman man.”

Namjoon pushes himself to his feet, “Your only hope is that she’s in love with somebody else.  Somebody you could potentially help her seduce.”

Jungkook stands too, “That’s brilliant.” “What about Hoseok?” Taehyung cocks his head to the side, “Everybody’s in love with Hoseok.”

“Do not drag Hoseok into this Jungkook.”  Namjoon gives his friend a pointed look, “I’m serious.  He’s still heartbroken over Alexa.”

“Alexis,” Taehyung corrects, “Why can’t you ever bother to get the names of our girlfriends right?”

As Namjoon and Taehyung argue over Namjoon’s inability to remember names correctly, Jungkook starts thinking of all the ways he can convince Y/N to help him with Soomi.

It’ll be a piece of cake.

Or so he hopes.

//

Monday morning rolls around and Jungkook spends practically every minute from the moment he leaves his dorm scouring the campus for Y/N.  She isn’t in his first class of the day - or even the second.  By his third class of the day he starts to wonder if maybe she’d confused him with someone else.

Maybe there’s another Jeon Jungkook on campus who sleeps with attractive women and forgets their name in the morning.  Somebody else is stealing his game.

But then - like a vision from heaven - she walks into his political science class as if she isn’t the key to all his happiness. Her eyes flit across the lecture room and when they land on Jungkook she glares.  He wants to sink back against himself but he refuses - instead he smiles widely and gestures for her to sit in the empty seat beside him.

She shakes her head as if he’s crazy (and to be honest, he might be) and instead moves towards the very back, sliding into a seat all on her own. 

Jungkook grunts.  He can’t really blame her. 

Still.  Does she really have to make things so difficult?

He grabs his books and shuffles over to where Y/N is sat, engrossed by something on her phone.  When he looks closer he realises it's one of those pimple popping compilations on Youtube.

Gross.

Jungkook clears his throat and when she looks up her expression morphs from surprise into annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting beside my new friend,” He grins wider, “Y/N.”

Her eyes narrow into slits, “What do you want?”

“To make amends,” Jungkook answers immediately, “I kind of feel like an asshole.” “You should.”  She gives him another look of annoyance, “But I’m also not stupid.  You’ve got the hots for Soomi, haven’t you?”

Jungkook feels his stomach drop.  Is he that obvious?

“Everyone has the hots for Soomi,” Y/N waves her hand noncommittally and gives him a once over, “Though not everyone has slept with her roommate.”

Jungkook winces.  It’s clear Y/N despises him.

“Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

“For forgetting my name or for giving me the worst head of my life?” The insult sears him.  Jungkook may be a little bit of a lady’s man but he’s always been determined to please his lovers.  He wishes he could remember any part of their tryst (to prove her wrong, more than anything) but once again he draws a blank.

“I can make it up to you.” She raises a brow, “I highly doubt that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to argue with her - before Y/N’s attention is stolen by the figure that has just walked through the double doors of their lecture room.  Jungkook follows her gaze and smirks when he realises who she’s staring at.

“So you have the hots for Park Jimin then?”

Y/N’s eyes snap up to meet his and she seems flustered, “What?”

“You just looked at him like he rearranged the stars to spell your name,” Jungkook’s smirk widens, “You like him.”

Y/N looks ready to smack him across the face.  

“Shut up.”

“I’m not wrong though, am I?” When her eyebrows dip into a scowl, Jungkook knows he’s won this battle.  He leans towards her, conspiratorially. 

“I know Jimin well.”

That’s kind of a bold statement (and kind of a lie.)  Jungkook knows of Jimin.  He’s on the same dance team as Taehyung and Hoseok - two of Jungkook’s closest friends.  That’s enough of an in, isn’t it?

“No you don’t.”  She mutters with a roll of her eyes, “I can see where you’re going with this.”

“No seriously.  He’s best friends with Kim Taehyung,” Again a slight overstatement, but Jungkook doesn’t correct himself, “And Taehyung is like my brother.  We grew up together.”

“So what?  You help me out with Jimin and I have to do the same for Soomi?”  She scoffs, “Soomi and I are best friends.  I don’t want to lie to her.” “It wouldn’t be lying.”  Jungkook’s voice pinches a little, “It’s just helping fate along.” “Fate?”  Y/N’s expression morphs into one of disbelief, “Oh my god.  You really do have the hots for her.” “If cupid himself descended to earth and shot me in the ass with an arrow, I’d feel exactly the same for her.  Seriously.”

Y/N seems to contemplate the suggestion.  Her eyes move to meet the back of Jimin’s head - where he’s sat in the front row - and she sighs heavily.  Jungkook tries to read her face. 

Is she softening up to the idea?

“Let’s say I agreed to help you.”  Her voice is flat, “How can I be sure Soomi won’t just be another notch on your bedpost?”

Jungkook feels his chest constrict, “I resent that.  Just because I have more experience than others doesn’t mean I’m an asshole.  I don’t pursue women with the intentions of fucking them over.”

He won’t admit it but that assumption kind of pisses him off.  

When Y/N is quiet a moment longer, Jungkook sighs and tugs a hand through his hair. 

“If I do fuck her over…. Which I won’t.  I give you full permission to start a rumour that my penis is the size of a cocktail sausage.  I won’t even deny it.”

Y/N’s eyes widen and Jungkook notices (but doesn’t comment on) a red flush to her neck.

“Alright.  Fine.  I’ll help you out with Soomi, if you help me out with Jimin.”

Jungkook has to force himself not to punch the air in triumph.  Instead he grins - nice and wide - and nudges Y/N playfully, “I think this is the start of a very beautiful friendship.”

She groans.

“I’m already regretting this.”

//

Jungkook sends Y/N a text message the next morning, bright and early.  He doesn’t expect a response from her - he assumes she’s more of a night owl than an early bird - but then his phone pings in response and he has to say he’s a little surprised.

Jungkook: good mornin’ y/n… this is cupid calling 

Y/N: y’know..  I knew giving you my number was a bad idea 

Jungkook: oh c’mon don’t be like that, now that we’re friends you should definitely start warming up to me

Her reply takes a little longer but Jungkook isn’t worried.  Despite what she feels towards him, Y/N thinks her only way to Jimin’s heart is through Jungkook.  So she’ll just have to put up with it.

Y/N: I just puked in my mouth at the thought of warming up anywhere close to you.  Gross

Jungkook smiles at her response.

Jungkook: I think you like me more than you're willing to admit.  Anyway we need to get on with our…. Agreement.  Want to come round this evening to discuss arrangements?  I’ll even throw in some pizza and beer.

Y/N: I only like hawaiian.

Jungkook: Disgusting.  You and Namjoon will get on fantastically then.  Alright hawaiian it is. 

He sends her his address and when she replies with the puking emoji he laughs despite himself.

Maybe she’s not all that bad.

//

“Pineapple on pizza is a cardinal sin.” Y/N glares at Jungkook as she tucks into her third slice, “Why are you hating?”

“I just - I don’t get it.”

Y/N had arrived at his apartment earlier that evening with a six pack of beer in what Jungkook had assumed was a begrudging olive branch.  The two of them had spent the last hour discussing the delicate intricacies of mario kart, and Jungkook had found himself enjoying her company more and more.

He hated to admit it but she was kind of cool.

Only kind of, though.

“You don’t get it because your taste buds are subpar,” She moves her mouth into a small smile and Jungkook almost gasps at the gesture, “Hawaiian is the only acceptable way to eat pizza.  Period.”

“Y’know you look much cuter when you smile,” He quips, watching as she chokes on the last piece of crust, “You should do it more often.” Her eyes narrow into a glare, “I smile at people who bother to remember my name.”

“I thought you’d forgiven me for that.  I’m helping you out with Jimin aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs - and Jungkook is surprised at the warmth in her tone, “At a price.  Or are you forgetting I’m setting you up with Soomi?”

“Which reminds me,” He scoots closer towards her, pushing the pizza box out of the way, “What’s our plan of action?” Y/N seems to pause for a moment, her eyes flicking nervously across his face as she tucks some of her hair behind her ear.  Jungkook doesn’t comment on her sudden shift in behaviour, but he notices it. 

Man.  Girls are weird.

“I thought maybe… You could come over one night, to watch a movie or whatever.  And you could ask Taehyung and Jimin to join, too.”

Jungkook nods emphatically, “That’s a good plan.  Something intimate to really plant those seeds of love.”

Y/N laughs again and he notices the crinkles at the sides of her eyes when she does so.  Weird.  Why hasn’t he seen those before?  Admittedly… It’s kind of adorable.

“Plant those seeds of love,” She pulls a face, “You really are a wordsmith, Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Is it any wonder when my major is English lit?”

“Me too,” She cocks her head to one side, hair falling out from behind her ears, “Makes sense why you’re in most of my classes.”

Jungkook feels kind of (very) guilty as memories of their morning together are brought back.

“I really do feel like shit for not remembering you.”  He rubs the back of his neck in that universal boy sign for awkwardness, and clicks his tongue, “I wish I had.”

She shrugs, her eyes darkening a moment as she looks away, “It’s alright.  I’m kind of used to it to be honest.  Always been more of a... Background kind of person.” 

Jungkook clucks, like a mother hen disappointed at her chicks, “Hey don’t say that about yourself.”

When Y/N moves her eyes to meet with his own again, Jungkook notices she doesn’t seem angry or bitter.   Just resigned.

“But it’s true,” She licks her bottom lip and smiles almost sadly, “Soomi’s always been the centre of attention everywhere we go.  And I’ve known her… Forever, really.  So it makes sense.  Someone always has to take the back seat.  I don’t mind it.  Suits me just fine.”

Now Jungkook really feels like an asshole.  When she was prickly, it was easy to shove everything under the carpet, and pretend that not knowing her name wasn’t sort of horrible.

But now she was being nice, it made everything a hundred times worse.

“I’m sorry Y/N.  Really.”  

She meets his gaze again and smiles - this time a little lighter, “Don’t worry about it.  Now you know who I am… And you’ll never forget it.  Not least because I’m the love of your life’s best friend.”

Jungkook feels kind of awful right now, but he knows that apologising again will probably only annoy her.  He tucks his guilt somewhere into the back of his mind and smiles widely, trying to ease the mood.

“Right.  And I’m the person who is going to help you snag the man of your dreams!” 

She laughs at that, taking a final chug of her beer before setting the empty bottle to one side.

“Park Jimin here I come!”

“You’ve got a one way ticket to Bonetown and Jimin is flying first class!”

She laughs louder, this time snorting, “That makes no sense, but I’ll take it.”

They spend the rest of the evening hanging out in a way that feels strangely familiar, and it’s only when Y/N’s head begins to lull to one side that Jungkook realises it’s past three am.  And as he orders her an uber home, and insists she takes the final slice of pizza for the journey home, Jungkook realises that Y/N is more than just kind of cute.

She’s kind of great.

//

Later on that week, as Jungkook fills Namjoon and Taehyung in on his progress with Y/N, the former seems less than impressed.

“This is only going to end badly.”  Namjoon shakes his head, “Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy?  Shit like this only ends in tears.”

Jungkook takes a swig from his beer and rolls his eyes, “Have you ever tried to be positive a single day in your life Namjoon?  Y/N agreed to help me.  It’s progress.”

“But you dragged me into it,” Taehyung seems unimpressed, “And I told you me and Jimin aren’t even that close.”

“Okay so I might have embellished slightly….”

“Slightly?  You called us the best of friends,” Taehyung groans at his friend’s stupidity, “I’m not sure Jimin even knows what major I’m taking.”

“This is the most Jungkook problem of all time,” Namjoon guffaws at the situation, “How the hell are you going to sort this out.” “Tae - I just need you to convince Jimin to come on one date.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “I don’t know him that well, Kook.  What exactly am I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know but you once convinced your mom those nudes of you that got leaked senior year of high school were actually for an art project,” Jungkook pleads with his friend, “I know  you can do this.” Taehyung laughs at the memory and pulls a face, “If he says no though, there’s not much else I can do.” “Fine.  But at least try.”

Jungkook knows that the universe is working in his favour.  It has to be.  The moment he laid eyes on Soomi he knew he’d never be happy again without her.

“Alright Kook I’ll try.  But I’m not making any promises.” Jungkook grins, “You’re the best.”

“I know I am,” He leans further back into the couch and grabs a slice of the pizza Namjoon ordered, surreptitiously picking off the pineapple, “Now what are you going to do about Y/N?” Jungkook raises a brow, “What do you mean?” “Well you described her as a she-demon,” Namjoon snorts, choking on some of his beer, “How exactly is that going to seduce Jimin?” “Remember everyone loves him,” Taehyung tacks on - less than helpfully - his smirk growing, “She’s going to have to get in line.” “Everyone does not love Jimin.”

Taehyung scoffs, “You’re kidding right?  I once watched him turn down three girls in one night.”

“Yeah.  This girl from my psych class says he’s still heart broken from his ex,” Namjoon seems to be enjoying Jungkook’s predicament a little too much, “Says he won’t even give anyone a chance.”

Jungkook refuses to let his friends’ pessimism get in the way of his elation.  He’s one step closer to Soomi, and if Jimin thinks he can be the one to stand in his way he’s got another thing coming.

“I’ll make it work.”  He answers with more confidence than he necessarily feels, “Besides, Y/N’s not that bad.  In certain lights she might even be considered kind of… Cute.  She’s just a little...brash.”

“Could her brashness towards you be due to the fact you forgot her name after an evening of vigorous love making?”  Taehyung gives his friend a knowing look, “I mean that would probably even hurt you Jungkook.  And you’re the master of not giving a fuck.”

“I apologised.”  He says it like that should fix everything, but in the depths of his heart Jungkook knows forgetting her name was kind of (really) shitty, “Besides.  If I really do set her up with Jimin and this all works out perfectly she’ll have a lot to thank me for.  Might even forgive me.”

Taehyung laughs and Namjoon pulls a face.

“We live in hope.” “That we do Joon.” Jungkook grins, “That we do.”

//

[hornime]

one day... if you ever have the time,,,,,,, pretty pls write about saeko demanding overstimulation 🥴🥵 it’s real horny hours over here LOL

ALL HERS | SAEKO TANAKA X F!READER

holyFUCK okay my brain is kinda,,, brrrrrr with just saeko saeko saeko so here is a little something thank you for the brain worm, anon!111!1!1 also im sorry for answering this like a month late please dont hate me

warnings: 18+, harddom!saeko, f!reader, overstimulation, use of a vibrator, saeko owns you

saeko likes to make you squirm. she likes to see the effect she has on you with the slightest touches and the flirtiest words. so its no surprise that she loves to see you twitching with pleasure and barely able to string together coherent sentences with her chest against your back and your neck lolled onto her shoulder.

“i fucking love playing with this pussy.”

you moaned as saeko circled the vibrator around your clit, helplessly kicking your legs out, which were spread wide by her thighs, her forearms nestled around your torso. the hand that wasn’t occupied with the toy trailed up your stomach to pinch at your nipples, making you shudder, before sneaking back down between your legs to dip into your pussy. “hngh,” you moaned as she teased your hole with a finger. “just put it in.”

“what was that? ‘put it in’? you’re not forgetting who’s in charge here, are you?” fuck, you thought. i’m fucked now.

“no, no, saeko, i just—ah!” your vain apology was cut off as she plunged two fingers into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“you know who this cunt belongs to, right?” you nodded weakly, small whimpers falling from your lips. “that’s right, baby. it belongs to me. this is my cunt, my pretty pussy, and i’m going to do whatever i fucking want to it. got it?”

you let out a moan that sounded like a slurred version of a yes, i’m sorry and she chuckled. pushing a button on the vibrator that turned up the intensity, making your body jolt.

“h-holy fuck, ohmygod.” your nails dug into the flesh of her arms as your muscles tightened erratically. “fuck, saeko, m’gonna cum. m’gonna cum.”

“give it to me, baby. fucking give it to me.” the thrusts of her fingers got harder and faster, and you swore you could see stars as her curled them to prod at a spongy spot. “this is my pussy. give me what’s mine.”

you jerked your head back almost painfully as she angled the tip of the vibrator directly onto your clit, making your vision go blurry. another push of a button had you writhing and sent you headfirst into a blinding orgasm that turned your brain to mush. “fuck! oh my god, oh m’god.”

“that’s right, good girl. cumming all over my fingers—fuck, you look so good like this. all spread out for me to use.” she continued playing with you, her fingers not slowing their movement as your slick made them even more slippery.

“s-saeko, wait, it’s sensitive! i can’t—”

“baby, baby baby baby, don’t tell me you forgot already,” she whispered into your ear. “this pussy’s mine. it’s done cumming when i say it is.”

your body, already on edge from your first orgasm, flailed futilely as saeko manipulated you at will. a cruel flick of her wrist had the vibrator pushing right against your clit, and you gasped, eyes wide as saucers, your fists clenching together at your sides. “wait, fuck, i’m gonna... i can’t...”

“yeah you can,” she muttered between gritted teeth, eyes focused on the shaking of your thighs, soaked with sweat and arousal. “you can and you will. you know why? ‘cus this cunt’s gonna do whatever i want it to. and i want it to cum.”

“i can’t!” you pleaded, chanting it like a mantra that neither of you believed. “i can’t i can’t i can’t ican’ti—ohmygod!” you practically screamed, shaking in her grasp as she pulled yet another orgasm from your trembling body. you could barely breathe as you clenched firmly around saeko’s fingers, tears streaming down the apples of your cheeks. 

your nerves were on fire, and as your consciousness returned to your mind, you practically sobbed at the realization that the sensations of the toy and of her hand were not stopping.

“i knew you could do it, baby.” saeko turned her head towards yours, licking the salty droplets trailing down your face. “how ‘bout one more?” 

you both knew that it wasn’t a question, it was an order.

your watery eyes met her amused ones, and you whined into the side of her neck. “please i can’t do it anymore, s’too much—fuck—s’too fucking much. saeko, please!”

she scoffed, turning the toy up again. your brain barely registered the action before your body did, your abdomen flexing in a pointless attempt to escape the vibrations. “when will you learn,” she purred, “that we’re not done ‘til i say we are?”

languid moans poured out of you as your pleas mixed with your pleasure, juxtaposing your desire for less and your need for more. you vaguely felt a third finger being slipped into your tight hole as saeko giggled at your condition.

“and you know by now, the only time i say we’re done is when you’re fucked so hard you can’t speak. so try to breathe, baby, and let me have some more fun with my pussy.”

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[fruitcoops]

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

Baby Nolan - goldfish

Summary: It's here, nolan arrives!

Genre: fluff

Warnings: child birth but not explicit, crying, Nora meeting her little brother

Word count: 1.6 k

Blog appropriate for all ages

Please don't post any of my content anywhere else without my permission!

--

Chris hands were laced with yours as you both sat in the hospital. You were in labor and have been for about 2 hours. As excited as you were to meet your little boy, you were very nervous. It's been a while since you've had a baby of course, and it terrified you.

But with Chris by your side you were perfect.

He was the best husband ever. Getting you ice chips, getting you cold and hot rags when needed, said the sweetest things to you when you needed it, he was definitely a great help, you definitely wouldn't be able to do this without him.

"do you need some more ice baby?" Chris asked as he ran his thumb over your hand. You shook your head, weakly smiling, "no, I'm okay now."

Chris mumbled out 'ok' before sitting back in his chair. You let a very loud groan fall from your lips as a contraction took over your body. Chris quickly sat up and coached you through it.

Just like you, he was terrified as well. He was ready for his bub to get here but seeing you in pain was very hard for him.

Dispite being scared, he knew he needed to be tough for you. When this was all over he knew he would be a sobbing mess and frankly he was ready for it.

-

"okay, it passed." You said as your chest rose and fell. Chris looked up at you with a smile, "you're doing a great job honey, keep it."

You smiled at him, "thanks."

Right after you said that the doctor Walked in. He checked everything out to see if you were doing okay. When he noticed everything was, he walked out of the room and back on to his business.

"god, I want this to be over." You said feeling yourself ready to cry. Chris quickly got up and calmed you.

"hey, hey it's okay. It'll be over soon, I promise baby."

You sniffed, "can we call Nora and see how she's doing? I miss my crazy monkey."

Chris chuckled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Of course."

Chris dialed his mom's number, watched it ring a couple of times before she picked up. "Hi ma."

Lisa said hi back and asked you how you were doing. "I'm doing okay."

Chris sighed softly, "we just want to check on Nora, how she?"

Lisa brought the camera to Nora who was beside her. She was confused at first but quickly recognize her daddy and mommy.

"daddy, mommy!"

Her little voice made you so happy. "Hi Nora, how are you pumpkin?"

Nora giggle, "I great. Is brother here?"

Chris shook his head, "no, not yet. He'll be here soon though." Nora nodded, "oh okay."

You and Chris smiled At your daughter, "well, we're going to go now. You be good for grandma okay?"

Nora snickered, "yeah, okay." You and Chris said goodbye to Nora and Lisa before hanging up the phone. "Uhh, I miss her already."

Chris smiled, "me too."

--

You and Chris held off for another hour or so before the contractions grew closer to each other. In other words, it was time for Nolan to arrive.

Chris held onto your hand ready for this moment so pass. Your heart was thumping in your chest as you watched the doctor position herself in between your legs.

"okay mama, I'm going to need you to push as hard as you can on 3." You nodded, "alright.

The doctor started the count down as you exhaled. "1,2,3, push."

You pushed with all your might. It was extremely painful and judging by the way Chris whined, you were gripping his hand extremely hard.

After a count to 10 you took a deep breath and wiped away your tears. "You're doing amazing honey." Chris said as he looked down at you. You couldn't respond because your brain wasn't couldn't make words in the moment.

You soon returned back to pushing all. You were sweating, exhaled, and out of breath. You soon released your breath and relaxed a little.

"he's almost out. Just one more big push okay." You nodded, "alright."

She counted to three and you pushed really hard, as hard as you could. You felt a very sharp pain before you heard a lot wail.

You opened your eyes and saw your baby boy. You let out a cry as the nurse brought him to your chest. You let go of chris' hand and placed it on his little back.

"here's here." You said softly. You looked up at at Chris. He had tears in his eyes as he looked at you both. "Our little boy."

You chuckled and placed a kiss on the now calm babies head.

--

After your long labor, Nolan Leo Evans was here. Chris was of course instantly attached to him. He went with him to get a eye sight and hearing check which he passed and he also changed his first diaper.

Now here you three were sitting in the hospital room. While you feed nolan Chris informed the family on nolans arrival.

He had a smile on his face that couldn't disappear. You were sure his cheeks hurt. He told Nora lastly and judging by the babbling And squealing on the other end of the phone, she was ecstatic.

He promised her she'll be able to meet him the next day; that was enough for her to go straight to bed which she never wants to do.

After saying goodbye Chris hung up the phone and walked over to the hospital bed. "Ah gosh, I can't believe he's here."

Chris ran his hands over Nolan small batch of curls, he cooed.

"I can't either. He looks just like Nora." You said with a chuckle looking down at the sleeping baby.

"he does. Nora is very excited to meet him tomorrow. She went straight to bed while we were still on the phone."

"that's a first." Chris nodded, "oh yeah."

You smiled, "we should get some sleep. I can't wait to see my princess tomorrow and for her to meet her baby brother." You placed a gentle kiss on nolans head before Chris took him from your chest and placed him in his bassinet.

You fell asleep to his low voice talking to Nolan, telling him about the full life he has ahead of him.

--

The next day you woke up early and took a shower. You got yourself in some proper clothes and spent some time with nolan.

Chris made a run to go get Nora and some real food for you. The whole ride over Nora was talking like crazy. She kept asking Chris when they would be at the hospital and how excited she was. Chris was smiling like crazy as he listened to her.

After grabbing the food, Chris made his way back to the hospital. He took Nora's hand and guided her to the room where you were staying.

He opened the door quietly letting Nora walk in first. Nora instantly smiled when she saw you. "Mommy."

She walked over to you and climbed onto the bed. You laughed and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She looked down at her brother and smiled. "Brother?"

You nodded, "yeah, it is your brother. His name is Nolan, can you say Nolan."

"nowan." She tried to say. You and Chris Chuckled at her attempt.

"how about we get a picture of you 3 together." Chris said as he took his phone out of his pocket. You and Nora got situated for the picture. Nora of course being the wiggle worm she is couldn't resist giving her little brother a kiss. Chris snapped the picture just as she did that and it came out perfectly.

He slid his phone back into his pocket deciding to share it later. Right now all he wanted was to enjoy time as a family of 4.

Family of 4 had a really nice ring to it, lucky he'll be using that for a while.

--

Ahh okay. I'm so happy with this. Tell me what you think

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