#the bottom line is i can do whatever i want forever

[nullbutler]

dadbastian stans have some fascinating ability of lacking reading comprehension

I know!!! its so annoying that people have the audacity to make AUs where a DEMON could feel PLATONIC PROTECTIVE FAMILIAL LOVE. thats such a canon breaking AU, a demon has NEVER done that ever not once in the lore of black butler-

OH WAIT

[polarfarina]

I guess I'm just confused that fans of watcher are willing to pay sometimes $100 or more in ticket prices to see the live shows with Shane and Ryan but then $6 is really offensive and a betrayal of an ask... like one mystery files hoodie costs more than a year of their (currently announced price of the) site subscription. Don't get me wrong because I do NOT think the paywall was the right decision or announced the right way, I don't think it's going to work. But. I have seen and heard several people say they buy tickets and merch, why can't that be enough? $6 is too expensive! But I'm sitting here confused because. The tickets and merch are way more than six dollars..???? I'm really really confused about that point. It's not that I don't understand that $6 can be unaffordable, it's just... so many people say they can't spend $6 while in the same breath have been boasting about how so far they've been able to spend money on concerts and patreon and buying shirts and blind boxes and the premium YouTube subscription because creators get a bigger chunk of the money that way (watcher should be GLAD they supported them btw!); but SIX DOLLARS? They can't pay that! It's odd. Is all I'm saying.

On the flip side, I saw people saying that because they live outside of the us they would get charged a double tax that they couldn't afford due to having to transfer money overseas; I feel like that's a really good point. Once this goes behind a paywall, international audiences will have a much harder time accessing content moving forward, if they can at all (not every country plays nice with PayPal). Even if they can afford the $6, there will be a heap of fees on top of it - or there won't even be a way to get the money to the service in the first place.

Absolutely the fact that Watchers' content is suddenly becoming paywalled seemingly immediately moving forward with little warning is a big shock and at first when watching the video, I didn't think they were serious. Having witnessed a successful launch of a YouTube channel into a paid subscription site with the exact price that watcher is asking for... they are not doing it right. Not for their audience. But people are so so focused on how expensive six dollars is and not on the other implications of this decision, which just... am I in the wrong here?? There's a bigger conversation i feel could be had but everyone is really really focusing on the BETRAYAL of six dollars... and I feel like I'm going crazy because that wasn't even in my first handful of thoughts about why this was a bad idea

[stevieschrodinger]

Eddie notices things.

He might be loud and brash, might be over the top and his mouth might run away before his brain can kick in, but he still notices things.

He likes the details. Loves a fantasy world that’s so detailed it’s believable. Loves a tiny detail in a story that becomes relevant two hundred pages later. Loves a detail in a puzzle in a DnD game. He loves the minutia of everything.

So he notices these details about people. Mostly because Eddie likes to create people. He likes to write his own stories, likes to make his DnD characters real...foibles and all. Any time Eddie is alone, or bored, or waiting, sometimes he looks around and thinks, ‘if I were writing this, how would I describe it?’ And then he does...he writes in his head about the tree he can see, what the weather is doing right now, how he would describe the quality of the sunlight or the way the rain rattles against the window. He watches complete strangers and writes out their whole life in his head. Eddie likes the details, and he likes to create characters, and he also thinks, a lot of the time, you write what you know.

So yeah, Eddie pays attention to the people around him. How they dress, how they behave, if they bite their nails or chew pen lids. If they stand straight or lounge against the nearest wall or counter. How they cradle their smoke in their hand when it’s breezy out.

All the little details he can build into characters he makes in his mind.

Steve’s calendar interests him. It probably shouldn’t, that stuff would be private if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s hanging in Steve’s kitchen where anyone can see it. Plus the fact that it is just a calendar and there for by it’s nature isn’t very interesting. Eddie thinks he finds it interesting just by the virtue that it’s to do with Steve Harrington, and therefore it immediately becomes very interesting to Eddie.

It’s got big pages, a decent amount of space to write in every day. And Steve has. Every single day.

There’s a pattern to it that Eddie deciphers pretty fast; his shift at work is on the top line; it’s in red. Next is anything to do with the kids, and it’s in green; picking the kids up or meeting them or going to a game for Lucas or basically anything like that. Then blue, and that seems to be stuff to do with Eddie himself, Robin, Nancy, if he needs to meet them, give them a ride somewhere, or just times to hang out.

The bottom line is in black, and it’s stuff like, ‘hoover’, ‘do laundry’, ‘bathroom,’ ‘kitchen’, ‘groceries,’ followed by a little note that seems to be about whatever Steve plans to have for dinner that night.

Below it is a note pad, also hanging up, with an in process grocery list on it. Eddie knows why all this is here; Steve’s forgetful.

If Steve makes plans, he immediately writes it down; Eddie’s seen it for himself.

Eddie sees it too, when Steve’s struggling to hear. If too many people speak at once, or if there’s too much background noise, Steve doesn’t stand a chance.

If he’s not looking at you when you’re speaking to him, chances are, he might not be hearing you. Which, okay, Eddie’s just kind of rolling with it.

Until they get together. No one was more surprised by this turn of events than Eddie, who was convinced that he was just going to pine after Steve forever and that would just be how things were for the rest of his life. That was right up until Steve Harrington held his hand and just sort of...seemed to forget to let go.

Eddie hasn’t pointed it out to him yet, he’s still kind of worried that if he points out the fact that they’re kind of, sort of, dating, Steve might realize and stop again. So yeah, Eddie rides the wave, not at all freaking out when Steve invites him over for dinner and a movie like that’s just a normal thing they do now. Because it is. Because they’re kind of dating.

There’s no answer, but that’s pretty normal, the front door is unlocked a lot of the time, Steve doesn’t want to hinder anyone's entry if there’s any kind of emergency going on, and it’s totally normal now for any of them to just wander into Steve’s house.

Steve is cooking; Eddie can smell it. He stands in the kitchen doorway and says Steve’s name. And predictably, Steve doesn’t react.

Eddie takes this as an opportunity to gauge this. He says Steve’s name a little louder; still nothing.

Eddie tries four times, a step closer and a little louder each time, until the last time, when Steve spins around so fast the spoon he’s holding splatters sauce on the counter top and his other hand flies to his chest, “holy shit.”

“Sorry,” Eddie rubs at Steve’s arm and shoulder as he gets his breathing under control, “you couldn’t hear me.”

Steve shrugs, “it’s fine.”

“Stevie…you could at least, you know, go get them checked, or whatever.”

Steve hums, "maybe, if you go with me," and Eddie's quick to agree, because he gets a kiss out of it.

[g0dlyunsub]

prove it.

you confront spencer about a broken promise on his day off from work, and he’s determined to make it up to you.

pairing :: spencer x gn!reader 

warnings :: established relationship, some intimacy (a shower scene), use of pet names (once), fluff and some angst

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: originally an anonymous request, it took me forever to write the ending but it’s finished!! anyways, soft spencer >>>

accompanying song ::  i don't want to talk by wallows

“sorry baby, give me five minutes to look at this. they just found another cipher.”

“any chance you could force the gears in your head to move faster?”

you clap your hand over your mouth right after you say those words, but you’ve already set the wheels in motion.

spencer chuckles as if amused by your comment, still not looking up from the printed sheet, and begins to twirl the pen around his fingers. he looks so attractive whenever he performs the maneuver, you unconsciously bite down on your bottom lip.

“mm… combined cipher with the first being a simple vigenere…” he trails off, scratching the paper with multiple pen strokes.

you pout and make your way over to his desk. your boyfriend had told you that today was going to be your day, that he’d be ready to do whatever you wanted. anything, he said. 

but if there’s anything you should conclude, it’s that the man will never fail to occupy his brain with something to solve, like it’s a necessity for survival. despite his team insisting that he take the day off, you know that even they won’t interfere when it comes to the laborious task of decrypting ciphers. 

still, you think it won’t hurt to try.

you lift his left arm over your head so you can move in and slowly slide onto his lap. as you settle down, you wrap your arms around his neck and lower your head on his shoulder. you feel spencer lean into the back of his chair ever so slightly, but he doesn’t return the embrace. instead, he continues to write on his paper wordlessly.

not even a minute passes when a vibration spreads across spencer’s lap. with a light grunt, his hand grips the flesh of your thigh and moves it lower on his lap, and he reaches into his pocket. you let out a disgruntled sigh as he accepts the phone call.

“hey garcia, what is it?”

as spencer listens to the tech analyst on the other side of the line, you start to run your hands along the fabric of his cardigan. he told you that he was keeping the professional attire on “just in case they wanted to video call”, but everything you wanted to do with him was anything but professional. 

you move your hands to his hair that’s been recently trimmed, following the trail until it thins out at the nape of his neck. 

“that’s fine, i’ll check it when you send it over. i think i solved the cipher by the way, it’s a combined-“ 

his breath hitches when you start to kiss the side of his neck that’s angled perfectly for your lips, and he taps at your thigh warningly. 

“-cipher that uses a vigenere for the first part and a phillips system for the second. using a hill climbing search for the rest of the ciphers might help,” he tries again, releasing a shaky exhale.

you ignore his signal and continue to explore lower, littering kisses all over his collarbone.

“i uh, i gotta go. let me know if you find anything else.”

you smile as spencer hastily cuts the call and returns the phone into his pocket. 

“now’s not a good time.”

you pull away from his skin at the sudden comment, raising your brows in surprise. “but you said five minutes-”

“i can’t focus when you’re here,” he interrupts, gaze lingering on your smooth lips.

“i’m just too distracting?”

“yeah, no- yes. at least when i’m at work i’m not in the same room as you, but at home, when you’re doing this, it’s just… i can’t think about anything else.”

“you should do something about it then.”

spencer narrows his eyes, looking at you questioningly. it’s at this moment when all signs of your boldness dissipate into the air, and you swallow hard.

“maybe… maybe it isn’t necessarily a bad thing to be distracted. i mean what if it’s just mentally torturing you because you’re not doing anything about it?” 

for a moment, spencer seems deep in thought, like he’s contemplating every implication, every untold possibility embedded in your proposal. but he doesn’t deliberate for long, because he lifts you by the back of your knees and sets you on your feet again, further away from his desk. he then gestures at the door.

you stand crestfallen, like you’ve just been deeply humbled, unable to move or react. but when he simply reverts his attention back to his sheet of code, you know that he’s making it clear he doesn’t want to entertain your thoughts any longer.

“fine,” you mutter at last, angrily walking out the door without exchanging another look.

you’re lying in spencer’s bed when you hear the knock at the bedroom door, and before you can say anything, your boyfriend walks in.

“i just finished. are you-”

you lie still, tears welling in your eyes as you refuse to acknowledge his presence. 

maybe if you play pretend and make him think you’re asleep, he’ll leave you alone. you suppose then he’ll occupy himself with even more work.

you hear his footsteps thud louder as he approaches you. when he stops, you can practically feel him, standing just a few inches from your face. 

you then feel him stoop slightly and lower his fingers to comb through your hair. he sweeps your strands slowly, like applying any more force would harm you.

“i know you’re awake.” 

you don’t respond.

“hm. maybe not.”

you hear the sound of receding footsteps and when you think you’re safe, you open your eyes.

only to lock eyes with spencer. his mouth widens into a cheeky grin, and his soft hair falls over his eyes as he takes in your flushed expression.

“got you.”

“that is so unfair!” you pout, pushing your palms against the bed to sit up. you hug your knees to your chest and look down, trying to save yourself the embarrassment of showing him your reddening cheeks.

his chuckles fill the silence for a second before he clears his throat, and he slowly sinks into the bed beside you. the air suddenly feels ten times heavier, weighed down with the unresolved incident from earlier.

“i owe you an apology,” spencer starts as he inhales, “i couldn’t keep a simple promise and i just… i told you to leave.”

“you can save it, it doesn’t matter anymore,” you return, tears muddling your voice.

“yes, yes it does. i know that saying sorry doesn’t change what i did, and you have every right to be mad at me. i deserve it.”

you look up at him, and his broken expression immediately shatters your heart into fragments. you can’t really stay mad at him, at the man who saves lives without asking for anything in return. he’s never held a single malicious thought towards anyone; he’s pure kindness personified.

you just wish he could feel at peace with you and not constantly worry about work.

you lower your head against his chest and listen to the soft palpitations of his heart, while he wraps an arm around you. 

“you can choose not to accept my apology,” spencer utters with a plaintive voice, “but i’ll do everything to prove how sorry i am.”

“everything?” you ask, lifting your head and slowly standing back on your feet. you wrap your hand around his tie, looping one finger at a time, and he watches you with curious eyes.

you lightly tug at the fabric, urging him to stand, and walk backwards until your feet knock into the bathroom door. you fiddle with the wooden frame and when you find the knob, you step inside without breaking eye contact.

spencer raises his brows, a soft chuckle exiting his upturned lips as he closes the door behind him without looking back. “if you’ll let me, i can try.”

you clench your jaw, taking great interest in the way he eyes your lips. “show me,” you utter, your voice an alluring mix of sweet and spicy.

with one hand, he removes his tie, while with the other, he traces your lips and slides his thumb down to your chin.

“mm,” you hum and pull away from him teasingly. “you need to work harder than that.”

just then, his phone rings again, high-pitched beeps sounding from his pants pocket.

your expression falls when he holds the phone against his ear. but this time, he looks at you with a straight face when he speaks into the mic: “sorry jj, now’s not a good time.” 

your eyes immediately widen at his response, the same words that made you upset just a few hours earlier now filling you with irrepressible desire. 

spencer seems to reciprocate the urge, because he ends the call, tosses his phone to the side, and wraps his hands around your waist. without another moment of hesitation, your lips ram onto his with such force that everything meshes into a blur. his face, his hair, his clothes — his everything intertwines with yours. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers as his palms slide under your shirt and massage your sides in circles.

it doesn’t take long for your back to bump against the slippery walls of the shower, for the water to tangle your hair around spencer’s fingers as he grips the back of your head. 

if you thought he was just going to plant a few kisses here and there, you were deeply mistaken. he works his tongue like a starved man, hungrily pushing past your teeth to leave his taste inside.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs as you gasp for air and claw at his back from the heavenly sensation.

“i’m sorry,” he pants as his tongue falls onto the expanse of your neck, popping the soapy bubbles lathering your skin one by one. he peppers you with kisses wetter than the drops of water spraying you from the showerhead.

there’s nothing but the sounds of gushing water to drown out his whispers and your soft whimpers of his name.

[edible-emerald]

Ok so PVP civilization??? I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS???

Spoilers for episode 5 btw

So first off the REVEALS THIS EPISODE??? And the fact that most of them were to the viewer and not to Evbo???

The first reveal I want to talk about is PRINCEZAM REVIVING. HE CAN REVIVE TOO. This means WAY MORE THAN YOU MIGHT INITIALLY THINK.

Princezam's character, in nature, is selfish. He talks highly about how Evbo repeatedly dying is heroic, and while he may be subjecting himself to endless torture, he's saving so many lives, he's a hero, he's a good person. It's implied that Zam believes, if he were in Evbo's position, he would do the same; that he would let himself die to save others. But it's a lie. Because he IS in Evbo's position. HE CAN REVIVE TOO. But he kept it a better secret than Evbo, which is the only reason why he hasn't been endlessly farmed yet.

The second reveal Princezam gives that also shows more about his character and motives is that Evbo has a limited number of revives. He isn't immortal. He's on his last life. If he dies again, he'd be gone forever. And Zam knew this.

And I think something is really, really interesting about this. Because in episode 4, Zam's motive is to make Evbo die over and over indefinitely so he can keep increasing durability of the iron swords and increasing life span. Still an interesting character, but him KNOWING that this solution is temporary, and him KNOWING that Evbo will die permanently soon, changes everything. His motive wasn't to save the iron swords, I actually think he couldn't care less about them. His motive was to kill Evbo.

What else would it be? Why else would Zam KNOWINGLY make Evbo die over and over with every death coming closer to permanent death? Because for whatever reason, Zam wanted to get rid of Evbo. But why? Yes, it's true he was the chosen one. But that leads me into my next point:

Is he?

The only real thing that made Evbo special enough to be the chosen one is that he could revive himself after dying. But he isn't the only one who can. Zam can too; and I believe Tabi and a few other people can as well. So IS he the chosen one? Personally, I don't think he is. I think that someone else is the chosen one, but I'll get to who eventually. What possible motive could Zam have for wanting Evbo dead, if he isn't the chosen one?

Evbo was a diamond sword.

OKOKOK HEAR ME OUT

Evbo was a diamond sword who's memories were erased. He was threatening to like do something (maybe become a netherite sword?) that Zam and others didn't approve of and maybe he was working with Tabi, so both of them were killed and revived in the wooden sword level. But Evbo's memories were erased in the process so Tabi decided to manipulate him and get to the top without him this time. That brings me to the next point.

Tabi has history with some of the diamond swords. Specifically, Ferre. We don't know what yet, but I believe like I said above that she and Evbo were previously diamond swords, and were trying to do something and ended up being killed. Evbo's memories were erased but Tabi's weren't.

I think the reason the diamond swords were willing to let Evbo back in and not Tabi is because he lost all his memories. Maybe, he'll get some back and realize that the diamond layer is corrupt or evil in some way, and team up with Tabi to defeat them. But I don't think so. I think Tabi is evil and had either roped in Evbo, or worked with Evbo but losing his memories made him change.

Anyways, on the topic of reviving, I think it's also safe to say Zam was a diamond sword. First off, he seemed to know the diamond swords personally and disliked them, calling them 'bottom feeders' (which by the way is so fucking funny I giggled so much at that line) also we know he can revive as well so safe to say he was killed and revived there. Maybe he was in the plan (that may or may not exist idfk) with Tabi and Evbo and was killed as well. But I doubt it, considering how he treats Evbo, but then again, his character is very selfish and antagonistic. I think his ultimate motive is to rank up to a netherite sword (which may be godhood like in parkciv?? but we don't know) and he's trying to kill Evbo to take out the competition.

Also this is a minor thing but now we finally know why Zam kept his door closed in episode two, because he had an armor stand too and didn't want the secret to come out.

Now for the final reveal: Parrot has a backstory. And I think I know what it is.

Parrot is the real chosen one.

Ok my evidence for this is mostly speculation but also if Evbo isn't the chosen one than who?? Parrot is a really odd character, like every time he talks it just feels like there's something off about him. He talks a lot about the chosen one, but he acts. Weird. Around Evbo when he finds out that he's the chosen one. Also, for someone so devoted to the chosen one, he's still very much alive; and I point this out because he has a mansion AND a video journaling machine. That costs a lot of swings and I have a feeling he hasn't really ever paid respects to it. Even though he says he has. And why would he? BECAUSE HE'S THE CHOSEN ONE.

If Parrot isn't the chosen one, either one of two things are probably true:

he was a diamond sword

he was a/the netherite sword

I don't really know how these would work in the story the same way the chosen one theory would, but yeah

Thank you for reading my ramblings :33 hopefully I didn't miss anything lmao

ALSO??? WEMMBU AND MINUTE IN A EVBO VIDEO???? HELLO???? IS THIS REAL LIFE????????

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (7.5)

chapter 7.5: limbo

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; minho's pov; non-explicit smut, kissing, grinding, implied unprotected sex; alcohol consumption, non-linear storytelling (jumps around a few random scenes before we get back to the present that picks up from the end of chapter 7), cursing, the final line :-?; not that unedited i am so so sorry lol word count: 5.6k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Wishing fountains, we pray for change in the dark Moving mountains, we end up right where we start The world’s not falling apart But you and I, baby we are

Wishing Fountains - Bad Suns

“What does it say?” Minho asks.

You sigh, your eyes trailing the words on the small piece of paper in your hands before you shove one half of the fortune cookie in your mouth. It seems dry; you look like you can barely swallow it.

“Bullshit,” you say simply, a little bitter before you hide behind a mask of indifference, turning to him as you ask, “Yours?” 

He breaks his own fortune cookie in half, pulling out a similar piece of paper that reads, “‘Jeg elsker deg’ means ‘I love you’ in Norwegian.”

You're both lying on a fluffy rug on the floor of your bedroom, with an empty bottle of rosé sitting somewhere near your head. “That’s... random,” you say, casting your eyes to the ceiling. “But I mean, at least it’s kind of educational. Now you know a phrase in Norwegian.”

“Sure,” Minho laughs, testing out the syllables in his mouth and butchering them in the process. “Who would I even say it to?”

“Impress your future girlfriend with your worldly knowledge. Or say it to Hyunjin, I’m sure he’ll swoon and blush like a schoolgirl.”

“That’s the last thing I want. He’s already clingy enough as it is.”

“Alright. Well, your loss then.”

He only hums in response. “You’re really not gonna tell me what yours is?”

“I told you. It’s bullshit.”

“Wanna tell me why the fortune cookie is evil at least? I’ll fight it for you.”

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder with a playful scoff. “It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

It takes a minute for you to gather your thoughts into one semi-cohesive pile. 

“Just… reminds me how I don’t really fit into anyone’s life,” you start, your voice coming out a little small and timid before you seem to let the alcohol give you enough confidence to say what you want. “I don’t feel like I’m worth anyone’s time. Everyone’s going to outgrow me eventually, if they haven’t already. Their lives will only get bigger and bigger, and they’ll have to leave me behind at some point. All that space but none for me.

“I think I’ll be stuck like this forever, in this fucking… limbo. And I know it’s dramatic because we’re still young and we’ve got our whole lives in front of us and whatever else that people say. But it feels like wherever I go and whatever I do, my life will always be this small while you all move on. Chan and Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, Felix, even Hyunjin and Jisung when they’re not too busy being idiots. Everyone’s got everything all planned out, and they have other things to fall back on if those plans don’t work out. If I fall, I think I’ll just keep falling until I hit rock bottom.

“And you… you’re gonna do great things too. You’re gonna live your life and it’s going to be a good one, and you’ll forget about me too. A few years from now, when everyone’s already moved on, I’ll just be a girl that you used to know. I’m just a stop along the way.”

Then you pause, and the laugh you let out afterward is choked up and not at all sincere. You rub your hands down your face, groaning a little when you say, “Ugh, that was depressing. Sorry, it’s the wine. Forget I said anything.”

You have beautiful eyes, that’s what Minho has always thought, the kind that holds all the universe’s sparkles and all its sadness too, a bittersweet balance. The kind that makes one want to stop and admire for a while. He loves when they light up before the joy gradually spreads across your face, like watching the sun peak over the horizon before it colors the sky with ethereal pinks and purples and blues. You’re a wonderful sunrise, his favorite part of every day.

He even loves your faraway gaze when you’re here but you’re elsewhere simultaneously, hiding in your eyes musings that are privy to nobody else. You’d stare into the distance and he’d watch you the whole time, wondering if any of the thoughts that occupy your mind are about him.

Minho has an urge to take you into his arms and hold you tight and tell you that everything’s going to be okay. That no one’s going to forget about you because you’re not someone who can be forgotten so easily, let alone be forgotten by him. That he isn’t going anywhere if it’s not by your side, that he wants to be in your life until you decide you’re sick of him, not the other way around.

He wants to tell you he loves you because that’s the truth. He was gone the minute he saw you at that stupid party years ago when you had walked in shyly with Chan and Jess. You had tried to make yourself smaller in a roomful of strangers, but you’ve always been the only one Minho could find in a crowd.

Years and years from now, when he thinks back to his youth, the highlight reel that will pop up in his mind will be of his idiot friends and the good memories they’ve shared with one another. How they laughed and cried, how they fell and got back up together time and time again.

And at the center of it all will be you. Green grass, blue skies, his golden days and you, the focal point of his youth.

He loves you. Would it help, or would it scare you?

He doesn’t let himself debate that question for long. Regardless of what the answer is, now isn’t the right time. So instead, he says, “For what it’s worth, everyone’s just taking it one day at a time, even if they seem like they have it all planned out. You’re not falling behind. You’re going at your own pace, who cares about other people?”

You turn your head to stare at him, your cheeks flushed with a rosy tint from the wine you had shared and a pensive look on your face. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but he holds your gaze anyway.

“And I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’ll always have me. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

A quiet moment passes. If Minho focuses hard enough, he thinks he might be able to hear the faint beats of your heart.

His gaze flickers to your lips for barely a second before it returns to your eyes, quick enough for it to escape your notice.

Then, you’re holding yourself up on one elbow and shuffling into his orbit until you’re right by his side. He doesn’t move a single inch; he only watches as you get closer, and closer, and closer until there’s no more space between the two of you. He blinks, and in that split second he misses the way you let your eyes shut as you lean down to press your lips to his.

He’s surprised, but pleasantly so.

You taste like rosé, like something he’s always known that he wants to chase.

It stuns him enough that he forgets to respond, his mind focused solely on the feeling of your soft lips on him, the scent of your jasmine perfume and how you’re so warm pressed against him like this.

Maybe it’s the stillness of his body that shocks you out of it, because you pull away after a few seconds with an instant look of mortification in your eyes, trying to scramble back to your original spot on the rug like you’ve just committed an unspeakable sin. Running away, he thinks, is your first instinct.

But Minho is just a tad quicker than you are. He doesn’t let you stray very far when he props himself up to cup your face with one hand and bring you back to him.

He’s kissing you again and for a brief moment, he feels like he could die.

You don’t break from him this time. Instead, you’re kissing him back just as deeply. You let him lower you back to the floor as he holds himself up above you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips while his thumb strokes your cheek softly, keeping you there in his loose hold so you could still run if that’s what you want to do.

But you stay with him, your hands trailing up the expanse of his chest to find purchase on his shoulders, your legs parting so he could perfectly slot himself into the space that you’ve allowed him.

When he rocks his hips into you experimentally, you bite on his bottom lip, a whining sound from your throat comes out muffled against his mouth.

He strays just long enough and far enough so he could look into your eyes, with your pupils blown much darker than they had been at the start of the evening.

He says your name, the gentlest sound in the world, then a question. “What do you want?”

Minho half expects you to overthink your answer and come back to your senses, to choose flight because it would be the easier option.

But you don’t. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you lock onto him, and there’s something underneath the pool of lust in your gaze that leaves him breathless and wondering.

“You,” you say quietly, “I want you.”

And it’s with this simple answer that you pull him back to you again, not the other way around. You kiss him more fervently than before if that’s even possible. When he slides his arm around your waist, you let him pick you up to cross the few steps it takes to get to your bed, his lips never leaving you even after he has laid you onto the mattress. They follow the path where your jawline leads down to your neck, then where your neck meets your collarbone, and he savors every little whimper that you make for him even though he’s barely touched you yet. There’s hardly any patch of skin that he leaves unkissed, and when he reaches where your shirt begins to hide the rest of you from him, he only looks up at you, quietly asking for more permission.

You don’t give him a verbal answer. You take matters into your own hands, lifting your top over your head and flinging it somewhere on the floor.

Then your bra follows to join your shirt, wherever it may be. Minho assumes they’ve landed on the bottle of rosé, only guessing by the sound of the glass being knocked over and rolling around. He’s not sure but he doesn’t care about it enough to look, not when he’s got you right here under him, so beautiful and so willing that it makes his head spin.

He’s imagined this before, just a few times whenever he's drunk enough to let his mind wander without the guilt that comes with it when he’s sober. He has wondered before what it would feel like to kiss you breathless and have you kiss him back, to touch you in ways that no one else ever has, to taste how sweet you are and feel your warmth. None of it is appropriate, not at all platonic. He’s well aware of it.

It's been years, ever since Minho met you at that party when he was 19 and you had been too awkward to start a conversation. Years of walking with you in the rain after class, sharing umbrellas that are too small to shield the both of you but it’s okay, because he doesn’t mind leaving half of his body exposed to the harsh weather as long as the rain doesn’t get on you. Years of making sure you get home safely after nights out with your friends, years of insisting that he sees you walk inside your building and up to your floor whether it's 11PM or 4:30AM. Years of lingering glances, of pretending he isn’t bothered whenever Felix offers to introduce you to someone, of smiles sent your way that are far too endeared to mean nothing at all.

Years of loving you in silence because he’s your friend first and foremost, and his friendship with you means more to him than the feelings he has for you.

And yet...

He’s here in your bed, watching you with mesmerized eyes as you take off the rest of your clothes before helping him discard his, as you kiss him just as deeply as he’s wanted to kiss you for the longest time, as you keep pulling him into you even when he’s already as close to you as humanly possible. His lips on yours, his heart pressed against the other side of yours. His fingers intertwined with yours when he slips inside of you, and how your hands stay interlocked the entire time you’re wrapped together. You cling to him so tightly, as though it would hurt you if he were to ever let go.

It’s the way you look at him, like he’s the only person that exists in your universe. It’s the broken moans that you give him, the nonsense babbles that make his chest swell with pride at the knowledge that he’s making you feel so good that the only thing you know how to say coherently is his name. It’s the heaven between your thighs, absolutely divine and infinitely better than any fantasy that he could ever let himself indulge in.

Just for tonight, Minho can pretend that you're his, even though he knows that he’s already been yours since the first time you met. He’s been yours for as long as he can remember, even if you don’t know it yet.

Later on, when he’s collapsed next to you on the bed, there’s a safe distance between your tired bodies and a certain tension in the air that’s heavy with the consequences of your actions. When he takes your hand, the one that’s shaking as you grip the sheets between your fingers, it alleviates some of that anxiety.

“The fortune cookie, what did it say?” he asks, like you’re simply continuing the conversation from before.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Seriously?”

He gives you a lopsided smile, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Seriously.”

You purse your lips as you look at him for another second before you cast your eyes to the ceiling again, like you’d done just an hour ago. “It said ‘You’ll be loved.’”

You are, he thinks to himself. You’re loved.

“Open wide.”

You give him a look, to which he only responds with a shrug and a sly grin. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you say, but you take the spoonful of chicken soup that he offers you anyway. You can’t focus on the taste but it’s warm and the relief you feel is instant when it soothes your throat.

You’ve practically been on bedrest for the past three days, slowly rotting away in your apartment with a bad strain of the seasonal flu until Minho came over and unleashed his inner mama bear on you. Now here you are, wrapped up like a burrito on the couch (Minho insisted; he wouldn’t have it any other way) while he spoon feeds you homemade chicken soup.

You were stubborn about it at first, as one could probably imagine. When you told the group chat that you wouldn’t make it to movie night at Chan’s place last weekend, you were adamant that you would be able to sleep it off and bounce back in no time, despite Minho offering to make you some food and bring over some meds and cough drops.

The symptoms worsened overnight though, and you developed a fever along with a cough that’s worse than any you’ve ever experienced. When Minho called you to make sure you were still alive, you could barely even speak.

He hates your cavalier attitude when it comes to taking care of yourself. He hates himself even more for believing in your nonchalance and not bulldozing his way over sooner.

“I’m enjoying this because I was right,” he says, feeding you more of the soup. “I told you instant ramyeon wouldn’t cure you.”

He lets his I told you so triumph go easily, even though he suspects that you have much more to bite back at him if you could get through half a sentence without wanting to hack your lungs out. You make a noise, and he isn’t really sure if it’s one of agreement or protest but it’s most likely the latter. He thinks it’s cute that you close your eyes after every spoonful, lazily eating like one of his cats back home whenever they’ve run out of energy. You’re probably tired and can’t wait to get into bed.

When the soup is finished, Minho fetches you your meds and a glass of warm water. He doesn’t know if the scrunched up face you make after every pill is because you hate the bitter taste or if the tablets keep dragging against your already sensitive throat on their way down, but he strokes your hair all the while you wash it down with water, a gentle hand on your head as if to say You’re doing well.

He tucks you in bed not long after, despite your weak protests as he carries you to your bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you had managed to croak out. “I’m not that helpless.”

“I know,” came his response and a teasing smile. “Just let me take care of you for once.”

You’re pliant once you’re laid gently on the mattress though, idly watching Minho as he wraps the duvet around your shoulders and fluffs your pillows just the way you like. This is awfully domestic, he notes, and he can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to your forehead, not when he’s absolutely endeared by the way your tired eyes try to keep themselves open just so you could look at him.

When his lips leave your warm skin, he thinks he might’ve imagined the blush that colors your cheeks.

But he blinks, and you’re still flushed, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him, mild surprise evident in your drowsy gaze.

Something passes over the two of you, a kind of silence that he isn’t accustomed to when he’s with you. It isn’t bad, it’s just… strange.

One beat, then another. “Want me to stay with you?” he asks.

He knows you’d say no, and yet he can’t help the disappointment when you tell him, “You don’t have to. Go home, Min. Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“You sure? I can take the couch. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure. Chan and Jess said they’re coming to check on me in the morning.”

Minho lets out a hum, and purses his lips.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you look like you want to.”

“Just… y’know,” he starts, gauging your reaction all the while, for any signs of physical discomfort or otherwise, “I like you like this. You’re not hiding when you’re like this.”

“You like me frail and on the verge of death?”

He rolls his eyes, pretends to flick at your forehead. “You know what I mean.”

When you giggle, it’s immediately followed by a wince, like the movement is hurting your sensitive throat. “Do I hide when I’m with you?”

“Sometimes.” He moves his hand to caress your face, gentle fingertips tracing the apple of your cheek. Surprisingly, you let him, if only for a little while. “It feels like you’re always ready to leave.”

“Are you worried I’m gonna run away?” you ask, covering your hand over his to move it away, but you still let his touch linger when you only lower his hand to your neck, where he starts twiddling your hair between his fingers. It feels like you want him close, close enough that it matters, close in a way that still lets you have control over how it matters. “I physically can’t. I’m sick.”

“Does that mean you’ll run away when you get better?”

You seem to ponder the question for a moment. You’re holding onto his wrist and Minho is almost certain that you can feel his pulse. He would do so many things for you if only you’d let him.

When you answer him, you keep things light but your tone is soft, gentle in a way that tells him your sentiment means more than the words you cherry pick on the surface.

 “No, I have finals in two weeks.”

The first time that Minho gets to wake up next to you, nothing feels real. Not the pleasant scent of your shampoo greeting him the minute he opens his eyes, not your soft breath fanning his bare collarbone where you lay with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, not even the feeling of you in his arms, safe and warm, as though this is where you’re meant to be. None of it seems like anything other than a dream.

When memories of the previous night come rushing to the surface, it also brings back the annoyance he felt watching Yeonjun openly flirt with you at the party, and the bitter feeling that accompanied the reminder that Minho couldn’t even really do anything about it but stand idly by. 

But you stir in his arms, and all of the annoyance and bitterness goes away. Because you’re here with him and not anybody else. There’s a certain ego boost knowing that he’s the one you kiss, the only one you allow in your most personal space. To know you is a privilege, and it’s one that you grant no one else but him.

Last night, something happened. Something changed, he felt it when you were the one who asked him to stay. You let him put his shirt on you, let him hold you as you slept, even welcomed his embrace and snuggled further into his body in a way that you’ve never done before.

How you kissed him just hours prior, how you looked at him… God, he thinks he could just spill all of his secrets if you did it again.

But when you open your eyes, Minho is already pretending to be asleep again. How would you react? He’s curious to know. Would you scramble away the second the realization kicks in that you let him break your rule? Would you leave his side and act all nonchalant about it when you inevitably have to face each other later? He’s willing to bet that you would.

But you surprise him again. He feels you watching him for a moment, then your touch ghosts upon his features. It almost makes him falter in his act, your gentle fingers tracing his temple, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose down to his lips. There’s a sigh that you exhale, and he misses your touch the very second it leaves his skin. He itches to bring you closer to him again.

So that’s what he does. Minho keeps the facade going, pretending like he’s now just waking up with his limbs stretching out. You stiffen when he hugs you tighter, but you soon relax after he starts stroking your hair. 

Nothing has changed for him, but can you say the same?

“Dude!”

Minho flinches into action when a voice calls his name right by the car window, loud enough to startle him even through the thick layer of glass. When he turns his head, he finds Changbin’s face all pressed up against the window, struggling to hold three bags full of supplies that are threatening to spill out. “Help me with these!” his friend says.

It’s the week of Jisung, Felix and Seungmin’s birthdays; you lot tends to go all out for the quadruple birthday bash every year (Chan’s birthday is only 11 days later after all). Seungmin’s family has a lakeside cabin a couple hours from the city, that’s where everyone goes to unwind for a long weekend with plenty of food and even more drinks. This year, it’s no different.

Minho and Changbin are on drinks duty, tasked with picking up all of the alcohol and refreshments for the weekend ahead. He doesn’t really know what the rest are doing, just that you and Jeongin are babysitting Hyunjin to make sure the latter doesn’t deviate from the proposed budget and go way overboard when getting snacks and decorations. You sent Minho a text a while ago, a video of you facepalming and rolling your eyes before you flip the camera over to show Hyunjin and Jeongin bickering like children over a mega pack of chips.

Once everything is in the car – cases of beer safely loaded into the trunk, bottles of water and soft drinks set in their designated plastic bags in the backseat, Changbin comments from the driver’s seat, “You looked weird. You were smiling.”

Minho only stares at him for a moment, a neutral expression on his face as he blinks those typical Minho blinks, before he turns his head to the other side to lean against the window.

He was thinking about the first time your tradition started, the first year Jess had to drag you on the trip. She used to do it often; you were shy in the beginning.

He’s got a favorite memory of you, and it wasn’t you and him sitting together on the bank of the river during the sunset, while the others were in the water, splashing around and having the time of your lives (you two were the only ones who couldn’t swim, but it was okay, you didn’t feel like you missed out on anything because at least you had each other).

His favorite memory of you wasn’t running into you in the middle of the night when he went into the kitchen for some water and you were out by yourself on the adjacent balcony, sitting with your chin resting on your folded knees and the crescent moon for company. He stayed there for a moment, dazed, wondering if he was still dreaming or if it was just you. When Minho finally made his presence known, you told him you couldn’t sleep and he suggested that you break into Hyunjin’s secret ramyeon stash, because going to bed with a full stomach always made him feel better whenever he was restless. 1:58AM, you ended up almost burning your hand on the stove, too busy trying to keep your giggles down when he made a stupid joke.

Minho’s favorite memory wasn’t of you falling asleep on his shoulder on the drive back either, with you squished in the backseat between him and Felix, and your light snores reminded him of Soonie whenever the cat would doze off on his chest. It wasn’t any of these moments, even though he thinks he might’ve loved you in every instance.

His favorite memory of you was the evening before that trip had to come to an end, the last night you all spent together before you had to leave your safe little bubble. It was after dinner and some drinks, everyone was buzzed and the air was crisp, chilly every now and then. When you were gathered on the dock overlooking the lake, each holding a sparkler that Jisung had prepared, you were laughing. Everyone else was laughing too, but yours was the only sound Minho could focus on.

“Be quiet. I’m gonna take a nap,” he tells Changbin, ignoring the comment entirely as he closes his eyes. “Wake me when we get to Chan’s.”

The lights, and your friends, and the moon hanging high up in the sky like a guardian angel back then.

You were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. He was watching you.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

His question hangs in the awful silence as you stare at him. Minho can see your nails digging into your palms where your fists are clenched, your glassy eyes and the frown between your brows, like you’re trying your hardest to hold back tears. Why else would you be so upset?

He’s known about it for a while, or at the very least, he’s had an inkling of how you feel about him. He knows he isn’t in over his head when he says there’s a certain glow that radiates from within you when you’re together, a side of you that’s tender and at peace, one that he’s never seen you show anyone else. The way you look at him, it’s the same way that he looks at you even if you don’t realize it yet, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it out loud.

It hasn’t been one sided for at least some time now, he knows it.

But it’s frustrating to watch you try so hard to fight it. He’s the only one holding on, and you’ve been willing to let go at every turn.

“See what?” you challenge.

This isn’t how he planned to ever say these words, but the moment is here whether he likes it or not. It’s staring at you both in the face even if you are doing your best to hide from it.

Minho holds your gaze for a few seconds before he steps toward you again. This time, you stand your ground.

“You asked me if things changed for me and I said no. That was the truth, I never lied to you. We’re friends but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you as something more from the beginning.”

He pauses there, watches your eyes and how you take it in. They soften a little, filling up some more as you process his words. There’s surprise in the look that you wear, sure. A little confusion, yes. But most of all, you just look sad. When you call out his name, he can tell by your tone that it’s a warning, that you’re about to run away for real this time if he presses on, and yet he can’t stop until he says his piece.

“If you want me to spell it out for you, I’ve had feelings for you since we first met. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you, and it drives me crazy that you don’t see any of it. The thing that makes me even crazier, do you know what it is? I think you feel something for me too, but you won’t admit it to yourself and you always resort to shutting down instead of facing your feelings. How much longer are you going to run away from me?”

When the first tear unintentionally spills over from the corner of your eye, Minho knows he’s struck a nerve. He wants to reach out and wipe away the tiny stream that rolls down your face but you beat him to it, wiping at your cheek in angry motions.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice is tight when you tell him, “I don’t have feelings for you.” It’s the only thing that you address.

Sometimes, he searches for your answer at the bottom of a glass, or on the other end of looks that seem to linger just a beat too long. But as he’s standing here, right now, he finds it in your hesitation to speak, in the lie you give him when you finally do.

It’s the answer he’s always wanted and yet, the knowledge brings him no satisfaction at all. It only lodges a lump in his throat, an overwhelming sense of dejection when he sees how hard you’re trying to fight this.

“I know you,” he sighs after a moment, a little defeated. “I know when you’re lying.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well after all.”

You’re stubborn. You’ve always been stubborn.

Minho takes another step forward. It feels like it’s a step closer to the end as you both know it, because how else is your relationship going to come back from this? He sees the slight shake in your shoulders that you try to suppress, but he’ll always be the one to notice. 

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he says quietly, his final resort. A challenge but it sounds an awful lot like a plea. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that things can take a turn for the worse in just two weeks’ time. The last time you both were here, you’d kissed his endeared smile and held him so impossibly close to you. Now, everything is falling apart, the seams coming undone one by one. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Minho meant what he said, about how loving you drives him crazy sometimes. Even when you’re breaking his heart, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. A noticeable sting settles in between the cracks of his ribcage at the sight of your quivering bottom lip, your balled up fists and his own reflection in your glassy eyes.

“Do you want me to say it so badly?” you ask, and he can only stare at you when your voice comes out harsher than it was before, though it cracks toward the end as you try to keep up with the facade. “Fine, I’ll say it.”

It’s not what he asked, but it’s confirmation nonetheless. It’s acceptance but not how he wants it to be. Acceptance that you do love him, and yet, you say it in a way that he’s never expected to hear from you.

“I don’t want to love you.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 28.08.2024]

[tsunamis-for-uzumaki]

Tips for making actually cheap punk clothes from someone that has spent a maximum of $11 on any specific project over 3 years:

Bottle caps make AMAZING pins. There's countless ways to make bottlecap pins, but I mainly do it by 1) filling the cap with hot glue and 2) gluing a safety pin to the back. It's up to the individual. But the point is: Save bottlecaps.

DRINK CANS ARE AMAZING FOR MAKING SPIKES! Any aluminum can works - Monster cans, beer cans, etc. - all you have to do is cut off the tops and bottoms; make it a flat sheet; cut the metal into small semicircles; and roll it into cones. They stay in place easily with hot glue, and when you put them onto anything, they look just as good as store-bought.

Save Can Tabs. They can be put onto jackets, made into chains, earrings, necklaces, or anything else you want.

Literally anything can be made punk. Jeans, cargo pants, denim jackets, t-shirts, shoes, hoodies - the sky's the limit. Don't let these tiktok punks tell you that only their $80 Social Distortion pants and $120 denim jackets can be punk. Any clothes you pull out of a dumpster can be punkified.

Old T-shirts that no longer fit and have a design on them can be cut out and made into backpieces. Band shirts are particularly great for this, so if you thrift a Motorhead shirt that's too small, you can cut out the design and sew it onto a jacket and bam - you've got an exclusive piece of merch.

This one's more of an opinion, but: If you're patching up a jacket, sew the patches onto the outside of the jacket. If you're patching up pants, create holes where you want the design, and sew the patches from the inside of the pants.

Do research. If a "thrift store" calls itself a cheap alternative store, but has $50 jeans, it's not a thrift store. It's a vintage reseller, and the clothes are almost always WAY overpriced.

Shoplift carefully. Go somewhere you don't usually go - a large chain like Walmart or Target or Staples, not a local business - and take small things. Don't go somewhere that you're a regular at, or shoplift multiple times in a short period of times, or do too much at once. You will develop a track record and have more of a chance of being caught. However, the workers don't get paid less for you stealing, and the big suits in corporate won't notice or care about a missing pack of dental floss.

Experiment! Have fun with it! I've been Frankenstein-ing my jacket for years and counting - I've taken off the sleeves, added new sleeves, painted on it, put patches on it, added pins, anything you can think of. Be loud, be ugly, be weird, be happy.

If you have a painted patch or spot on pants/a jacket/whatever and it's old, but you want to take it off now, or if you just made a mistake, acetone can get pretty much any amount and age of paint out of any fabric. By acetone, I mean most nail polish removers or rubbing alcohols.

Now, I hate buying things for making punk clothes, but there are a few things that, in my opinion, are investments that last FOREVER. This includes: Hot glue guns; nail polish remover (for the last tip, mainly); paint pens and containers of paint (fabric or not); sharpies; dental floss or just normal thread; fabric scissors; and SAFETY PINS. None of them are very expensive, but they'll come in handy for years.

ESPECIALLY SHARPIES. That's the one thing I won't debate is a perfect investment. You can get a set of 12 colors or 12 black ones for like $9, and you can use them for EVERYTHING. The color also won't bleed when washed, as opposed to most pens and markers.

SAFETY PINS ARE A FASHION STATEMENT IN AND OF ITSELF. They're super useful in making clothes and jewelry, they're cheap and easy to find, and just nice to line the hems of your pants with.

When you make a square patch, fold in the edges slightly so that the edges don't fray. This makes it slightly harder to sew on, but it keeps the patch in good condition for longer - unless the idea is to look tattered. Then don't.

Don't be afraid to add something random and weird to your clothing because "oh people are gonna see it and know I like this weird niche thing" - that's the whole point! It's an expression of who YOU are, not what people want you to be. If people - especially other punks - judge you for it, fuck them. Unless...

No swastikas, no iron crosses, no symbols of oppression, no TERF shit. I'd say that's the only rule of punk - to say "oppression is punk" is going against everything punk stands for. Of course, if you do it anyways, you should at least know you deserve the beating you get at a basement show attended by underpaid and rage-filled faggots.

Of course, these are just mine, and there's plenty more that I do not know. If you've got your own way of doing things that goes against mine, that's awesome. But if you need to start somewhere as a kid punk, I hope this helped.

[strawhbrrries]

Cowgirl

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: a trip to the store with your dad’s best friend ends in a lack of a swimsuit and the feeling of his beard scratching you forever engraved in your mind.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!, mention of a divorced dad?, fingering, no real sex, bearded frank <3, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 2711 words

author’s note: the line “ride cowgirl” in pyramid by frank ocean inspired this whole fic, which i kinda wanna make into multiple fics?? a story if you will?? anyway, i think this is a huge step up from my last writing piece so please enjoy :)

read the sequel ride, cowgirl !

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe.” You sang along to the song blaring from your dad’s speaker, you hijacked it when he went inside to get more beer for him and his friends, swinging your hips and slowly spinning in a circle. Your music was way better than his divorced dad rock music, which you secretly enjoyed, and if you were going to enjoy the get together he was throwing you were absolutely going to play your own music. 

“But you keep fronting.” Tiffany, your long time best friend, sang back into the imaginary microphone in her hand as she pranced around you in a circle. The two of you putting on a performance to the imaginary crowd in your backyard, or so you thought. Twenty feet away, sitting in perfect position across the fire to watch you swing your hips around, was your dad’s best friend Frank.

Frank was only half listening to the conversation between the men around him, he was more focused on the way you danced and how it was making him rethink every decision he ever made and was about to make, his knuckles going white from the grip he had on the bottle in his hand. Sure, he’d always known you were a gorgeous girl but something about tonight was different. The fire barely illuminating your skin softly had him wanting to slide behind you as your hips moved in time with the song, his lips dragging across the skin of your neck before moving to your ear where he whispered promises of what he’d do to you later. He took a sip of the lukewarm beer, watching you for a second more before turning back to whatever bullshit conversation that was going on. It paled in comparison to you. Currently, everything did. 

The summers in Texas were your favorite, the air was never too humid and warmed you up when the wind came through at night, the lightning bugs never failed to show up every night and lit up the trees if you paid enough attention. Truthfully you were biased, but the thing that made them truly the best was having no true responsibilities again and you would always enjoy that, especially when your beloved dad bought your alcohol for three months. One of your favorite perks was the swimming pool, you were either swimming with a few of your friends or tanning on the side but you were almost always found by it. The swimsuits you typically donned weren’t the slightest bit modest, and now wasn’t any different. You were barely covered in a green bikini, the top consisting of two triangles and a string, and the bottoms high cut and covered with a mesh skirt. 

“Castle, how’s work been man? Ain’t heard much bout it ‘n normally ya don’t shut up bout it.” Goddamnit is all Frank thought as your dad dragged him back into the conversation, ruining the imagery in his head. If looks could kill, the one he shot your dad would’ve murdered him beyond recognition. “‘s alright, busy. Always picks up in the summertime. Ready to have some more downtime, spend it with family.” More like with your daughter. 

“I hear ya. Promise ol’ girl over there we’d do some family shit this summer, if business keeps the way it is I ain’t too sure how well I can keep that promise.” Your dad responded, pointing you out to the guys as if Frank hadn’t been oogling you all night. You and Tiff had stopped dancing to the music and instead opted to sitting with your legs in the pool, gossiping about town drama and Tiff’s newest boy of the week. 

“Understandable, if ya’ll need anything just holler at me.” Frank responded, ready for the conversation to be done, ready to continue watching you like a creep from afar. He’d be a creep if it meant staring at you all night, he’d be a creep if it meant a chance to feel your hair wrapped around his hand while he-

“Dad, Tiff and I are going to get snacks from the gas station!” You called out happily, ripping Frank out of his delusion with the angelic smile of yours, walking over to the group of men surrounding the fire. 

“C’mere, I’ll give you my card so you can get some more drinks.” You happily grabbed the card from your dad, bending over to give him a small hug. Frank was no better than the next man, he scratched at his scruff as he admired the way the green of your bikini complimented the tan skin threatening to spill from the lack of support. 

“Frank, can you drive us? It’s dark and neither of us wanna drive.” It was like the perfect opportunity fell right into his lap and he’d be damned if he wasn’t taking it. The smile you were flashing him made him want to get down on his knees and beg, a god he wasn’t sure existed for, forgiveness for what he was about to do. 

“Course darlin’, let me get my wallet.” He looked at your dad who seemed to have no qualms about the situation before getting out of the chair, placing his mostly empty bottle of now warm beer on the ground and following you into the house. 

“I’m gonna go put a shirt on, give me a second.” Up until tonight, much like Frank with you, you hadn’t noticed how attractive he was. Older men had always excited you but this was different. Frank was big, strong, rough around the edges but had that southern hospitality you loved. You couldn’t help but think about how his scruff would feel rubbing against your skin, would it leave redness in its wake? would it help spur your orgasm as he fucked you with his fingers? 

You picked up some oversized t shirt that probably once belonged to your dad and put it on, shaking your head as if it would get rid of the thoughts. 

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Horrible timing I know! But y’know, boy of the week is calling.” Tiff spoke, her expression clearly apologetic, giving you a hug and promising to make plans for later this week before grabbing her things and leaving.

“So for taking so long, got caught up in my thoughts.” Of you. You smiled softly, suddenly aware of how the sun had brought out freckles you didn’t know he had and how muscular he truly was.

“‘S alright, lets get goin’ ‘for your dad starts wonderin’.” He matched your smile, placing his hand on the small of your back as the two of you walked out of the house and to his truck. You were painfully aware of how big his hands felt, triggering your mind to think about his fingers. You rubbed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension aching at your core, it felt so taboo to lust after a man your dad’s age. Not just his age! His own best friend! 

The trip to the gas station was uneventful, unfortunately, the two of you exchanged conversation like the tension wasn’t thick enough to cut. Like Frank’s jeans were getting uncomfortably tight and your bikini bottoms uncomfortably wet. Like neither of you wanted to jump the bones of the other person.

“Hey, Frank?” You asked softly, trying to gain the courage to ask the question you wanted the answer to.

“Darlin’?” He put the car in park, looking over at you expecting you to call him every disgusting name under the sun for his thoughts about you tonight.

“Do you, uhm…”

“I’m not a mind reader, baby.” At first you thought you imagined the word, that he didn’t actually say it but it was your imagination fueling the growing fire you had for Frank Castle. But he did say it, and he did it on purpose. Testing the waters, seeing how far he could go without making you uncomfortable. 

“Have you ever been with someone younger?” Not the fucking question, idiot. You scolded yourself, you didn’t want to know the answer to this. What if his answer was yes and you were imagining his interest in you, that you weren’t special. 

“No, I uh haven’t. Not yet, anyway.” There he went again, saying things that made you think you were imagining it. Maybe you’d wake up any minute and none of it was real. He could see the wheels turning in your head, you were a smart girl and he knew that. 

You, timidly, leaned over the console of his truck and experimentally ran your fingers through his scruff. You’d never been with a man, much less a man with a beard, you’d only been with what your father classified as boys. Frank leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours and dragging it to his lips. Placing kisses on your palm, keeping eye contact with you. You were having trouble breathing, he was going to kill you. The beautiful hunk of a man was going to be the cause of your death, you’d make sure Tiff had it written on your tombstone. “Death by Frank Castle.”

Frank let your hand drop into your lap, threading his own hand through your hair to grab the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He leaned forward to meet you halfway, eyes scanning your face just taking in your beauty. His lips were made to fit yours, you were convinced, moving in motion with yours. His beard scratching your skin deliciously, his fingers wrapping themselves in your hair, his scent. He was everywhere, he consumed you. 

“Need you, Frank please.” You breathed, pleading with him. “Need you so bad, need to feel you, your fingers.” You carried on, your voice sounding like you were on the verge of tears. 

“Baby, not here.” He spoke softly, committing the way you sounded to memory for him to reference later when he was alone, “I’ll get you off though. Make you cum, all over my seat.” 

His words eliciting a whimper, you’d take anything he was willing to give you. It didn’t matter that anyone could see into his truck at any moment, made the situation so much more intense. He tapped your thigh, signaling he wanted you to open your legs. 

Frank let his fingers dance over the exposed skin your lack of pants left, dragging them up your thighs slowly. Painfully slow. He left open mouth kisses down your neck, occasionally biting and soothing the bite with his tongue. What felt like a decade later his middle finger traced your clothed folds, chuckling into your neck at how wet you were. You bucked your hips at the stimulation, earning another chuckle from the man in the driver’s seat, you were dying to receive some more stimulation from him. At this point, you’d sell a kidney and probably your soul to just have a singular finger inside you. You’d probably sell his soul too.

He dipped a finger underneath your swimsuit, groaning at how wet you truly were and that he was the cause of it all. His dreams were, partially, coming true and he needed to thank the heavens and the stars. Your moans and whimpers were music to Frank’s ears and he’d do anything and everything to keep them coming, to keep those angelic noises from leaving your pretty mouth. The truck was silent except for your noises and the squelch of Frank playing with your pussy.

“‘S wet, pretty girl. All for me? Did I do this to you, baby?” He taunted you, sliding his finger through your folds and swirling your clit as he waited for an answer.

“All for you, promise.” You whined, leaning your head against him, sweat beading on your skin as the car started to heat up from the summer air and the actions being performed. 

Your pleas were answered when he finally plunged a finger inside of you, pulling it all the way out and admiring how it glistened in the light provided by the street light in the corner of a parking lot. He did this a few times, thrusting his finger in and pulling it all the way back out before plunging it back inside of you. His lips found your neck again, moving your head back to the original position it was in, kissing every spot of open skin he could reach. As if he read your mind, he inserted another finger alongside the one already inside. The stretch burned in a way that made you feel alive, made you feel on top of the world. All because Frank’s fingers were inside you. God, his fingers were big. So big it made you think about how right your dad had been to call everyone else a boy and not a man. So big all you could do was think about how big his cock must be, if his jeans were any indication you were in for a real treat. Not here though, stupid stupid gas station stupid truck. Your thoughts soon turned to mush.

His fingers curled right against the spongy spot inside of you, hitting it over and over again, he readjusted his hand to put his thumb on your clit.

“C’mon pretty girl, let go for me.” He spoke low, trailing kisses back up your neck and nipping at your earlobe. 

You could feel the warmth growing in your stomach, the knots forming into bigger knots and then even bigger knots. Could feel the heat spreading throughout your body, your orgasm so close you could taste it. It was right there, his fingers hitting all the right spots and his thumb working wonders on your clit, his scruff scratching your skin and his mouth kissing everywhere. He was suffocating you in all the best ways possible. All you could see, hear, smell and taste was Frank fucking Castle.

Stars. Your vision turned to stars as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking in the passenger seat as he fucked you with his fingers. Those damn fingers. You couldn’t see anything but stars, for all you knew you had gone to heaven and it was thanks to the magical orgasm given to you at the hands of your new god. 

When you came down from your high, Frank was whispering how well you had done and how pretty you were. He was caressing your thigh and placing kisses to your head. 

“Did so good, gonna get me addicted.” He reached behind your seat and handed you a water bottle, opening it and holding the lid so you could drink it.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him, that killer smile that got him here in the first place. He truly was going to get addicted to you and he had no complaints about it, could die a happy man tonight if fingering you in his passenger seat is all he gets to do to you. His phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the situation at hand.

Shit. Both of you thought, remembering what you were supposed to be doing and how it was now an entire forty-five minutes later.

“Hey, ah yeah we’re good. Small fender bender, yeah….to make it all worse the gas station was closed when we got here.” Frank spoke to your dad on the phone, coming up with a lie like his life depended on it and he hadn’t just fingered you to the edge of your life. “Should be back soon, don’t worry man. I’m keepin’ her safe, precious cargo.”

You chuckled softly at his sentence, relaxing completely in the seat and taking a few sips of water, thinking about the future of your relationship with him. Or whatever it was, you made out and he had his fingers inside you but that didn’t mean shit. What if he regretted it and now didn’t want anything to do with you, what if he was too worried about his friendship with your dad?

“Quit thinkin’ too much. We’ll figure out whatever this is, all I know for sure is I need to see you again. And you to ride me, like a fuckin’ cowgirl. Ya hear?”

[leighsartworks216]

The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

[k0yaz]

engraving.

Pairings: ei x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, goddess au, devoted reader, blood, wlw, uh idk ei being angy, reader fucking dies, because she’s a simp, READER IS FUCKING WEIRD LOWKEY, can be angst??mild horror, weird power dynamic / difference idk, wrote this at 12 I have school in the morning god pls help, ei lowkey insane ngl maybe even ooc a bit but it’s ok her character is…something! (Fuck you for that hoyo) greasy places ew, obsessive reader, not proofread.

A/N: part of @edgeray ‘s Halloween event! 🕯️

Chilling shivers vibrate along your spine in a surge of pure fear embedded within you, complimenting the cool shocks of steel sparking against the bottom of your chin, flat against the sharpened blade. You meekly looked down at your knees folded back and knelt onto the hard wooden floor, hunching your shoulders to avoid eye contact with a goddess present before you while you groveled like a dog at her ankles.

Ei clicked her tongue in disapproval at your lowered face of shame, making the rush of trepidation racking you far more mortifying as your subtle shivers brushed along her blade’s sharp edge ever so slowly, along a sudden push of pain teasing your throat. You swallowed back the burning sensation of electric volts gliding along your exposed throat while her blade traced along your accommodative skin, dangerously lining the sharp edge to a point in which blood would be drawn.

“Speak, human.” She snapped, eyes fixated on your every move as she maintained her position above you, blade pointed directly at you to monitor your actions. Slowly, your chin carefully tilted upward to lock eyes with the goddess currently on the verge of slashing you open, deep purple gaze boring into yours as your thighs pressed inward to maintain your balance before the shogun. Yet, you were quickly spun out of your trance as Ei pushed the blade rougher against the prominent nerves of your throat, her patience wearing thin as your breath caught in your throat, an involuntary gasp barely escaping your lips.

The gentle trickle of blood seeping down the crimson wound oddly soothed you in this moment, even in witness of the goddess’s fury burned your devotion to her further, stomach churning with satisfaction—perhaps something more as you had the privilege of even standing before Ei herself. The minuscule slash engraved onto your throat like a tattoo was something you would proudly wear after you departed from the divine being, planning to always expose your throat whenever you went out, modifying clothing that covered your neck as a symbol of your fateful encounter with her.

Day and night. Day and night you would pray to her before the carved stone statue situated in your home dedicated to Ei. Eyes closed and hands clasped together, you would kneel down before her stone form, presenting her with her wings outstretched from her back and hands extended in a cusp as she carried whatever offerings you had placed into the statue. Burning smells of incense circled the room intensely, stinging your nostrils as well as the molten end of the sticks neatly poked out of a small bowl rested by the table at the edge of the statue. “I pray that I can give you my all, Lady Ei. If I ever stumble upon you, I don’t want you to show me mercy. If you do, I will be forever in your debt.”

Clearly, summoning deities had merely been an ongoing rumor, perhaps even a silly tale meant to frighten others around you. There was no way you had throught such a prayer could descend a celestial being from the heavens, right?

The cool winds had fluttered along your cheek upon trudging through the trudging hill grounded before you, hands occasionally dragging along the road for support. Flaps of paper resounded in your ears as the howling wind whistled across the clearing, a large wooden pole with a tattered paper plastered onto it coming into view. Squinting your eyes, you shifted closer, catching sight of the paper stuck to the post. A single red character was embedded onto it, likely written in dried blood. You exhaled deeply, recognizing the symbol to pertain to Ei herself, and that the shrine you sought should be up ahead.

As you quietly made your way forward, a small yet intricate wooden gate structure greeted you. The shrines and temples constructed before you clearly displayed signs of decay and buildup, thickets of moss bundling up along every crevice of the stone and wood erected buildings. Upon venturing into the worn down and chipped area, you couldn’t help but sense the ominous atmosphere emitting from your surroundings closing in around you, heart beating in your chest as caution began to scream at you internally. Rationally, your self within you urged you to go back. It was obvious that this abandoned temple wasn’t set to be a lively and peaceful—yet that strong urge of pure devotion to atleast try, to atleast prove your worth to the almighty goddess has sharpened further than your rational self, urging you to push forward.

A bitter stench plagued your nostrils as you ventured further into the ruins of the shrine, likely from the accumulation of grime over the years it was left to rot. The winds now blew tenfold in swift gusts, nearly knocking the air out of your own lungs as it slammed against your chest like a hurricane rather than a simple strong wind; as if a warning sign had manifested before you, pleading for you to turn back. Carefully stepping before the small, well crafted shrine primarily containing stone and wood along with various offerings and a portrait of Ei herself, you knelt down before the oddly clean structure. While everything had been shrouded in moss over the past few centuries—even millennia or so, the shrine remained well painted and clean, even the area around it seemingly glowing in contrast to the gloomy greatness of the surrounding structures.

Now looking back, you truly wished that you had heeded the warnings. However, you don’t regret it one bit. Not when the very woman you had yearned to preside before had you knelt before her, divine sword dangerously positioned below your chin as her piercing gaze shot through to the bone.

You briefly paused, choking on your breath once more as the tip of her blade grazed the already open wound along your neck. “I said, state your purpose for summoning me, (Name).”

It was quite difficult to even utter a word in her presence. Her enchanting figure absolutely hypnotizing as she was looking down at you, polished black armor with her wings unsheathed, and a cracked halo crowning the top of her head as it hovered over her. Clearing your throat, you eagerly tilted your head up at her, joy boiling up within you as she had addressed you by your name. Most of the time, you had overheard ancient stories transmitted from older time periods, where this goddess wouldn’t even acknowledge, much less care about the identities of her followers even.

“Ah..Lady Ei. Am I so important you must use my name?” You breathed out, cocking your head as you were still on your hands and knees before her. She merely scoffed, a light chuckle finding its way from her throat.

“For once. I’ve never once encountered a mortal so willing to put their all into me.”

“Would you despise me if I said that I only summoned you to come face to face with my goddess?”

“Not at all.”

Withdrawing her sword from your neck, Ei beckoned you to stand up, which you did so albeit a bit weakly due to the wound you had nearly forgotten about. The moon centered between the two of you like a medium of division, pale rays outlining each of your figures in the shadows of the dark crowding the two of you as your sillouhettes burned into the the night sky. Ei hummed in satisfaction upon seeing the pure devotion fired up within you, knowing that you would serve her as anything she wanted. Any cruel punishment, any position as her right hand or so, any battle, absolutely anything.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, presiding like a huge stone weighing down your belly before speaking up. A neat maniac smile stretched your lips as you brought your palm flush against the nerves of your neck, expression crazed you proudly showed off the engraved cut along your throat despite the blood smearing across your palm.

“Lady Ei, I should be greatful that you had even laid your blade or gaze upon me! I shall forever be in your debt. Show me no mercy as I am nothing in your presence”

Any sane person would say you were insane.

Yet, you didn’t care. You didn’t care when you were face to face with the goddess you had devoted everything for you. You were absolutely wiling to fall under her lack of mercy.

Her palm suddenly glided along your cheek, cupping the side of your face tenderly. Your body froze up at the closeness of the gesture, eyes widening in utter confusion as Ei began to caress your face as a lover would, not a superior to her subordinate.

“Lady Ei what-?“

—

…

Your words were abruptly cut off as a searing pain shot through your body, abdomen tightening as you gasped for air. Her blade had speared through your torso, deeply lodged into your body as her hand remained unmoving on your face, deep purple eyes locked onto yours.

“Humans are quite foolish. They say everything they will do, and promise it. Swear it on their life even. Yet plead and beg when it truly occurs, never following through with their promise.”

She paused, twisting the blade like a crank deeper into your stomach as the crimson liquid pooled out along your skin, staining your clothing and decorating her hand grasping the hilt as it formed a small puddle onto the ground. She smiled as she observed your features, clearly in pain yet still keeping your eyes locked onto her.

“So how come you’re different? You’re so devoted you don’t beg or cry when I go through with refraining from bestowing mercy upon you, (Name).”

The sweet smile on your face was one that would remain with her for eternity as your knees buckled inward, balance near impossible to remain as you grew more and more lightheaded. Chest heaving as blood was beautifully patterned along your body like a piece of abstract art hung in a museum, eyes lowering as you collapsed over into Ei’s arms. She kept the sword buried into your chest, as if you were the stone to Excalibur.

As your eyes slowly lowered themselves feeling your end closely trailing up to you, you squeezed them shut in bliss as her lips gently pecked your bloodied temple, heaving chest slowly calming down as you grew limp into her arms. Reaching up one last time, hand brushing along your throat…

No pulse.

She heaved a sigh, carefully setting you down in the blood steeled grass as she kept the sword embedded in your chest. Looming over your corpse, Ei gently whispered out, the first time her voice had grown soft when speaking of someone below her.

“A shame I had doubted you, (Name). I promise your afterlife will be with me as you will gain all you desire. Either that, or I shall bless you in your next life for as long as you live. I swear it.”

Drops of scarlet blood ran down her fingertips situated at her sides, her eyes fixated on your exposed throat coldly. She wasn’t saddened by your death. However, she was more..empty knowing she hadn’t gotten to speak with you any longer. It was all fine.

The mark she had slashed onto your neck which she would brighten in the near future.

The engraving of your devotion.

A/N: GUYS I AM WAY TOO SLEEPY TO ADD A/N’S TO THESE PLS BEAR WITH ME

[wqnwoos]

minghao knows he’s in a mood again, but frankly, he couldn’t care less.

his whole day had just been wrong, and he’d set about it with a frown marring his features and a biting undertone to everything he’d said. it just happened sometimes — one of those bad, awful days where nothing goes right and it feels like everything’s against you.

it was when he snapped at jun that he finally gave in, retired to moping in his bedroom. his roommate had said he understood — jun had plenty of his own bad days, after all — but minghao still feels awful about it. he’s still too irritated to apologise — he will do it, though, he promises himself.

for now, he’s thrown himself on the covers of his bed, staring at the ceiling listlessly, and blasting music through his earphones — loud, but not so loud that he doesn’t catch the soft sound of the doorknob when you twist it, and slide yourself into the room.

you do it almost apologetically, a regretful smile directed towards him. you don’t even speak, just make your way over to his side.

minghao wishes he could be annoyed, but he never can be, at you. you’re his best friend, and maybe something more that he’s not quite willing to accept yet. it’s lurking, though, at the bottom of his chest, and it pushes up every so often — like now, as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, almost as if you’re unsure; uncertain if you’re welcome here or not.

you always are, but he doesn’t quite know how to say that yet.

instead he thinks about how he knows jun must have called you, just as he knows you, too good for this world, dropped whatever you were doing to come and talk to him.

not that you’re doing much of that — talking, he means. you’ve only flopped beside him on the white duvet; and yet it’s enough to relax a little of the tension in his limbs.

it’s so easy to be around you.

it’s so easy to offer you an earbud without even looking. it’s so easy to close his eyes, slip his hand into yours. it’s so easy to interlace his fingers with yours too, squeeze gently, keep his eyes shut, pretend.

and then suddenly it gets hard. when you shift slightly, card a hand through his dark hair like you’ve always been doing it — you’ve never done it before, he hopes you do it forever — and you blur the lines even more. that makes it harder, harder to breathe with your careful hand against his cheek, the smell of your conditioner against his lips, he can’t breathe, he thinks he loves you.

you move back slightly. the moment is gone, he can breathe, but the lines are still blurred and you can’t unblur them. god knows he doesn’t want to redraw them.

your hand slips back into his, and squeezes. his eyes flutter open — yours are shut — your breath catches — minghao realises, then.

“oh,” he whispers softly. and it’s his turn to brush your cheek with slender fingers, but he’s always been the braver of you two — he leans, he brushes his lips against your cheek too.

you might not be able to call it a kiss, but maybe you could call it a confession.

an / guys i think this might be one of my fav things i’ve ever written which is so annoying because it starts off kind of badly 😭 but also it’s 12:17am and i’ve slept like 4 hours max in the last 24 hours so my judgement may be misguided. idk. possible deletion when i wake up ⁉️

[iwas-princess]

hello! can i request y/n overthinking about their relationship with suna as she over thinks that when suna is with another girl (or when they broke up which no doubt will not happen), he's just treating the girl the same as y/n does then suna reassures her. i hope this makes sense, that is all! 😩🫶🏻

suna rintaro • forever my princess

“rinnie, can i ask you a stupid question?”

the slightly higher pitch of your voice nearly alarmed your attentive boyfriend, only earning a quick glance up at you through his lashes for safe measures. his fear of you crying while spending time with him taking over. once he saw that you were clear, his eyes found his phone screen again.

“always, princess.” he absentmindedly answered back.

thinking over the question, you fidgeted with a random loose string on your jeans as you contemplated brushing your current stresser off. surely, he’d think you were too attached if you expressed your biggest worry, right? wouldn’t any man in this situation?

your silent pause clued to rintaro that whatever you were thinking about in that moment was bothering you. locking his phone with a soft sigh of worry, his eyes smoothly glided to your pouting face, deep contemplation covering your features.

“what’s on you pretty mind, angel?” he gently pressed, his voice as soft as cashmere and genuine.

you shrugged, your teary gaze glued to the floral sheets of your mattress, making out all of the thin lines each rose’s outline was made of. your teeth pressed down against the tip of you tongue softly, the sensation grounding your cloudy brain as you tried desperately to shake off your heavy emotions.

“you know that you can tell me anything, right? i’ll never judge you or get annoyed, m’kay?”

you nodded slowly, his reassuring words working their charm on you.

that was the thing about suna rintaro— he always made you swoon with just the bare minimum.

you couldn’t help it, he just knew what made you tick and fold.

“i-i’m just worried about something. the thought makes me sad and my heart hurts when the reality of it hits.” you explained, your voice mumbled and wobbly.

he understood what your disclaimer meant, and took note to keep his mind open and prepared to give you any amount of love that you would need afterwards for being so brave. his position on your shared bed allowed him to effortlessly reach out a hand to you and give you plush arm a loving squeeze— something that wordlessly lets you know that no matter what, he’ll be there.

“it’s okay, sweetheart. just let it out, you know i can take it.”

you took in a puff of a deep breath, preparing yourself for the disapproving look he’ll give you before calling you clingy and too worrisome.

logically, you knew deep down that your loving boyfriend of five years would never do that, but in the depressed haze you were in, your mind altered the chemistry of your collected thoughts.

“if we break up-“

“we never will. not on my watch, sweet girl.” his hand moved to your exposed thigh, squishing it in emphasis to his next truthful statement. “i’m never letting my perfect princess go.”

a coat of silence filled the room, a tear running down your cheek before you locked eyes with him.

the pure sorrow that lingered in your eyes broke rintaro’s heart. what has been on your mind so heartbreaking that it involves a hypothetical breakup between you two?

you were his soulmate, he was sure of it. there certainly was one other than you in this entire universe for him. he would never love anyone again, it was pointless. you were everything he could ever want and there was no possibility of his happiness if you weren’t his.

his princess.

his brows furrowed at the sight of your saddened face, but what really tipped him over was when your lovely bottom lip began to wobble uncomfortably.

“oh, princess.” he gasped.

sitting up and opening his long arms wide, suna leaned over your sitting figure, enveloping your smaller body in a loving hug.

your heart sped up at the homely contact, but soon sunk in your nervous stomach when you remembered the gut wrenching scenario you’ve created within the past three days. each day, you’d continue to add on devastating pieces of the story, breaking your own fragile heart in the process.

the miserable feeling of your bleeding heart being caressed by the man you broke your own heart for caused a wave of uncontrollable emotions, allowing a sob to leave your lips as rintaro held you in his arms.

he cooed sympathetically at the display of overwhelming sadness, a soft peck to your damp cheek being his testing offer. he usually gave you a small kiss to test the waters at times like this, mainly to avoid overstimulating you with affection to comfort you but also to show you that he cared and would wait as long as you needed.

another sob slipped past your pouting lips— the lips he adored waking up to and kissing first thing in the morning— and another crack sprouted inside of his cold heart.

“what’s got you so worked up, beautiful? have i done something wrong?” he asked, although gentle, his tone still held a note of anxiety as his embrace ever so slightly tighten around your shaking shoulders.

“would you treat your next girlfriend the way you do me? will-will someone else be your princess?” you sobbed, your heart finally opening and flooding your entire being with built up emotion.

sob upon sob racked through your body after you finally expressed your rotting thoughts, leaving a surprised suna frozen as his limps cradled you.

he was stunned, speechless at your unrealistic question.

had he gave you the impression that you were replaceable?

because you weren’t, at all.

he was positive that there was absolutely no other being other than your future child that would claim the princess status you held, and that was just pure fact. he couldn’t possibly imagine his life without waiting on you, indulging in your needs and wants so carefully and selflessly every day. he never even exchanged a compliment once about the overworked state he was in, only giving you more luxury as each day passed.

he loved you endlessly, and he knew that his heart would always carry you in it.

“no, no, baby. absolutely not, there will be no ‘next girlfriend’ ever, okay?” he pulled away from you, his eyes locking with your teary ones as he softly took your face in his calloused hands, slender fingers brushing against your sensitive cheeks. “i love you, and i’ll never leave you. until you break up with my stupid ass, you’re mine.”

you lashes fluttered at the raw desperation in his voice, your heart healing ever so slightly at his words. he stared at you, taking in your broken state and capturing it in his swollen heart. even as messy as you looked, his eyes still sparkled at you as if you were the prettiest girl in the world. to him, you were. right now, he thought you looked enchanting, like a damsel in distress from those old fairtales where the cruel prince ends up with the most beautiful girl in the village when she’s in dire need. how could he ever move on to someone different when you had him wrapped around your finger so tightly?

his thumbs gently rubbed your continuous tears away, completely unbothered by the snot that began to run down into his palm.

if this was anyone else, he would have either threw up or grimaced very obnoxiously to the point where the culprit would feel even more awful, but this was you— his pretty princess. nothing you could ever do would be disgusting in the rose colored glasses he wore proudly.

“besides, you’re the only princess that anyone could ever ask for. hypothetically, no one would ever be my princess other than the true one that i happened to snag. what a lucky man i am, sweetheart.” he added.

you sniffled, finally managing to pull yourself together.

“r-really?”

he smiled softly at your pouting lips, your completely oblivious state of what he hid in his side of the dresser. in the top drawer of the expensive furniture, you would find a small velvet box that contained the prettiest engagement ring he had purchased a week prior. he had been planning to marry you since the first moment you two love birds locked eyes at one of his high school tournaments, but he had to wait until he could find the most perfect ring to slide on your pretty awaiting finger, the very best for his girl.

it took years to find what he had in mind, spending countless hours searching in jewelry shops for the right one. there were a few that caught his eye, but none were quite what he pictured you swooning over, and there was no way that he would settle for a ‘good enough’.

finally, after one impulsive trip to a run down mall four towns over, suna found the exact ring he longed.

the diamond was gorgeous, a perfect sized tear shaped rock that screamed ‘i’m a spoiled princess’ with a 24k gold band. hundreds of miniature diamonds littered the area around the crystal, stopping halfway around the band.

he always kept in mind the time when you mentioned tear shaped diamonds being your favorite, rambling about the elegant look it gave off. if there was any conversation that rintaro replayed the most, it was that one. he recalled the night perfectly, and often found himself absentmindedly smiling to himself at the remembrance of your drunken state.

“yes, princess.” his narrowed eyes planted themselves on your left hand folded in your lap, picturing the ring sitting pretty on your lovely finger forever. the thought of spending the rest of his long life with you sent shivers down his spine and a twig of pure excitement rang through his body.

the words he had gotten engraved in the inside of the ring floated through his mind momentarily, causing his lips to perk up.

‘you’re forever my princess, with eternal love from rintaro’

[charlott2n]

CHARLOTTE DO YOU HAVE OCS? CAN WE HEAR ABOUT YOUR OCS PRETTY PLEASE BATS MY EYELASHES... SO SWEETLY BTW...

yaaayyy of course 😁🥺🥺

first off, my biggest oc project is definitely victor's midnight revival! big jazz band that started out in the late 40s and after a string of successful hard bop albums from the mid fifties to the mid sixties victor's son joined the band and encouraged them to try new sounds, resulting in a tradition of each new generation joining the band as well as a constant experimentation in sound. they do everything from jazz funk to disco to afrobeat to jazz metal to jazz rap to acid jazz to new age to a wildly successful jam band era in the 2000s :) so theyre basically this band that lives forever and is constantly experimenting with whatever genres they want. jazzy king gizzard!

i also have two ocs related to VMR! shannon grace, a memoirist and essayist, and David Caulkin, a poet. not as much to say about them, theyre just writer friends of victor & co and shannon wrote a lot about their early decades (40s to 80s) :)

i also have my anatopsychosexual ocs, kepler and gliese! i got the idea for them from an acid bath song, scream of the butterfly. the line

theyre basically paranormal sex freaks who do no-anesthesia surgery on each other and can bring each other back from the dead if they fuck up but theyre supernaturally good at surgery and theyll like give each other bottom surgery and create funky new genitals to have sex with. theyre awesome i love them. i have no intentions of expanding their lore theyre just a concept i like to think about :)

[eliluvschan]

Polaroid Memories

pairing: lee know x reader

word count: 700

warnings: just a cute Minho

genre: fluff

a/n: Lino has been wrecking me a liiittle too bad so another imagine for him today hihihi (next one is bang chan again i promise:)) + polaroid pics are by me :)

standing in my parents’ attic, i rummage through a box and find an old polaroid camera at the bottom.

“hey, look at this!” i call to Minho from across the room, holding the camera up for him to see.

he comes over and takes it from my hands, turning it in his hands and observing it.

“oh wow, haven’t seen these in so long. think it still works?” he asks.

“i don’t know. is there a film in it?”

Minho shakes the camera and we hear the film rattle around inside.

“jagiyaaa.” Minho sings as i look up at him.

there’s a bright flash and a few seconds later, the blank film slides out from the bottom of the camera. Minho shakes the film a few times, and soon my face develops on it.

“beautiful.” he says as he admires the photo of me.

“beautiful? if you told me you were gonna take one, i’d smile.” i say as he smiles. “let me take one from you then.” i say, taking the camera from him.

he looks at the camera, his lips in a thin line and i click the shutter button, the flash going off and capturing his incredibly handsome face.

we end up having a mini photoshoot, using old coats, hats and whatever other trinkets we can find to enhance our photos. we make each other laugh with crazy poses and silly faces.

eventually we use up the last of the film left in the camera after compiling a huge stack of polaroids.

“i love these.” i say as i shift through each of the photos. “but i love you more.” i say as i lean over and give Minho a peck on his cheek.

“i love you too. and by the way, i’m stealing all of these pictures.” he says, taking the stack from my hand.

“what? why? i want some.” i exclaim.

“you’ll get them back. i just want to do something first.”

“fine, but you better not ruin them.”

“trust me, i won’t.”

— ❀ —

“can i open my eyes yet?” i ask as Minho’s big hands cover my small ones over my hands.

“almost.” Minho replies and i hear some rustling from the table in front of me. then he takes his hands off of my eyes.

when i look down, i see a wrapped gift, resting on the table.

“can i open it?” i ask eagerly.

“of course.”

i rip off the wrapping paper to reveal a simple black scrapbook with the words ‘now and forever’ inscribed in gold lettering on the cover.

“what’s this?” i ask, even though i already have a feeling of knowing what it is.

“open it!”

when i flip the cover open, i see pages and pages full of all the polaroid photos we took that day in my parents’ attic. and some new ones that i hadn’t seen yet. he even had some photos of Soonie, Doongie and Dori.

beneath each one, were neat handwritten captions. in Minho’s pretty handwriting.

“i told you, you’d get them back.” he says.

“i should’ve believed you.” i say, giggling. “i love it. i’m going to look back at this forever.”

“i’m glad you like it. oh! and i wrote a little something on the inside of the cover.”

i glip back to the front cover and see a handwritten note addressed to me.

my dearest Y/n,

i told you that i would give these back to you, didn’t i? i just wanted to say how much i love you. i will cherish all these little moments with you and the kids. all the spontaneous photoshoots, goofy moments, and never ending laugh fits, for the rest of my life. 1 4 3 <3

kisses forever,

Minho.

when i finish reading his note, tears of happiness stream down my face.

“thank you so much, Min. this is the sweetest gift i’ve ever received. i love, love, love you.”

Minho takes my face in his hands and presses his lips against mine. just like every kiss we’ve shared in the last two years, sparks fly and butterflies erupt in my stomach.

how did i get so lucky?

~

[here2bbtstrash]

Since I’m in lovvvvve with Jimin being all subby… may I please request reader sucking/edging jimin off until he begs for her pussy🔥🙈

Thank you and I love youuuu happy jihope month 💜🫶🏼

HI JAZ ILY 🥺 i kinda cheated a little bc my brain...... really wanted to write fleshlight porn idk i have no excuse. but i hope this still gives you what you were looking for 🥰 stan sub!jimin forever and ever !!!!

~taking jihope drabble requests all month!!~

pairing: sub!jimin x dom!reader wordcount: just over 1k but i won't tell if u don't contains: subbbbbby jimin, reader is pretty soft w him 🥰, edging with a fleshlight hehe, orgasm control/denial, crying, quick mention of brat taming, one face slap, dumbification if u squint, mentions of ownership, teasing, BEGGING, noona kink (sorry 🙈), unprotected sex, jimin comes immediately, we love him anyway

~*~

Jimin’s got his mouth dropped open, tongue lolling out, showing off the places where he’s soft and pink the whole way down.

Eyes closed, lids flickering, keeping time with the pace of his hips. Twitching, shaky, humping up into the toy in your hand as you work it over his cock. The slide is easy, his shaft slick from his own mess of precum and the thick squirt of lube you prepped him with.

There’s a loud squelch for every sloppy pass of silicone down his length, a dirty fucking sound, but Jimin is too gone for the sour-shame shivers that drew his nipples up tight when you first started pumping him. He’s chasing the feeling entirely now, all animal. Brainless.

You want to take him in your mouth and bite down– on the fat muscle of his tongue, the weeping head of his flushed-dark dick, everywhere.

Chew him up and spit him out, pretty baby boy.

“Y-yeah,” Jimin pants, tongue thick in his mouth. “Oh, fuck.”

The muscles of his thighs roll and flex as he fucks himself closer, his cock rabbiting up into your grip, strokes punctuated by desperate little whines, wet gasps. His voice is wrecked, wrung out with pleasure. “Just like that, fuck, fuck–”

All at once, you pull the toy off and watch as denial crashes over Jimin like a wave.

He collapses against the bed, a shattered groan torn from the back of his throat. Shivering, hips still jerking with enough force to smack his useless cock against the flat plane of his stomach, like he’s trying to get himself over that so-close edge untouched. His balls are drawn up tight, surely heavy and aching with pent-up release, enough that a fresh, fat teardrop of it leaks from his slit.

When you drag your gaze back up his body, you find more tears glittering at the edge of his lash line.

You shift up to straddle Jimin’s spread, shaking thighs as his hips finally still; you’re so turned on you may very well be dripping wetness too.

“Are you going to be a good boy now? Not a little brat anymore?” you ask softly, and he nods, bottom lip twisted between his teeth.

“Use your words.” You know he’s not too far gone for it.

“Y-yes. I will,” he sniffs. “Be so good.”

It’s so easy, the pliant way he moves when you grab his jaw with your hand, tilting his chin up to force his gaze to follow. Doesn’t even flinch at the slap you deliver to his cheek, just because you can.

“Then tell me who owns you.”

“Noona does,” that sweet little broken voice mewls.

“Yeah? Who does your cock belong to?”

“Noona,” Jimin answers as you tighten your grip on him again, pressing the blunt edge of your nails into the smooth, soft skin beneath them. “To noona. My cock belongs to noona.”

“That’s right, baby. It’s mine to do whatever I want with. To play with for as long as I want, hmm? Even all day?”

“Love it,” he gasps. There’s a flush to his skin all over, blooming hot want; his chest heaves with it. “Love it when you play with m-my cock all day. ‘Cause it’s y-yours.”

“Aw, baby.” That deserves its own reward. “You are a good boy, huh?”

His fingers twist helplessly in the sheets when you flick a thumb over the brown bud of his nipple, just once. It kicks through him like an electric shock, you can feel it, his hips bucking up between your legs.

“Yeah,” he whines. Reiterates, “‘M yours.”

So fucking perfect. “Why don’t you tell noona what you want, then?” you purr.

A tear drips down Jimin’s face as he breathes his confession like a sinner. Like he’s ashamed to even ask for it, good boy that he is. “Want noona’s pussy.”

“Is that right?”

All it takes is your thighs spread a little wider for you to sink low enough that the folds of your cunt kiss his glossed-wet shaft. Jimin outright moans when you roll your hips, dragging your pussy along his needy cock once, then again.

“Just like this, baby?” You move slow for the delicious slide of him over your clit, and it’s torture good enough to have you both leaking slick.

It takes Jimin three tries to get the word out. “Inside,” he finally whimpers. “Want in, noona.”

“Yeah, you wanna fuck me? Is that it?”

A sob wracks his chest as you keep grinding your slit on him, slow-burn sparks popping in your gut as he loses it beneath you. “Please, noona. Wanna come, wanna fill it up, be a good boy. Please let me in.” He’s babbling, spine arching up like his body’s pleading too.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur. “How can I say no when you ask for it so pretty?”

Jimin’s shuddering like a plucked string, as if every inch of him is hovering on the edge of indulgent blackout pleasure. He’s still begging, an endless pleasepleaseplease drooling out over his tongue until you finally, finally line yourself up to the fat head of his cock and let him stretch your pussy open.

You’re halfway down his shaft when he gasps, “I’m coming.”

“Good boy,” you rasp, greedy for it now as you take him entirely. “Give me what’s mine. Did so good, saved it all for me.”

You can feel the hot pulse of his cock squeezed tight by your walls, pouring out thick spurts of cum, giving back everything you worked up in him. Tears spill down his face, the sweet fucked-up relief kind, like his whole body is shattering to pieces, coming all the way apart.

Jimin takes his time with his long-denied orgasm, his hips shoving up in twitchy aftershocks until he’s worked his way through the last of it. His cock throbs, spent and empty inside of you.

“What do you say, baby?” You reach both hands up to swipe your thumbs over the tear tracks on his face.

“Thank you, noona,” Jimin breathes, his voice softer without that raw edge of need coloring his words. He nuzzles his cheek into the palm of your hand, smudges a kiss there too. The creases under his eyes deepen in an afterglow smile, all the desire shot through him now replaced by the molten warmth of praise.

“You know the rules.”

You tip forward to grab your small purple bullet off the nightstand, then let it drop carelessly onto Jimin’s torso, where it tumbles down to rest in the hollow dip beneath the swell of his ribcage.

“Keep that pretty little cock where it belongs and make noona come, too.”

[pandorasfavorite]

My idea is that Reader is at home (she's due any day with their baby girl) while Dominik is at Monday Night Raw. He doesn't like the idea of being away from her while she's so close to having the babu, but she had convinced him to go because he was scheduled to be there, and his sister was with her so she had a ride to the hospital if she needed it.

Luckily she goes into labor just after he's finished doing what he had needed to do, and he's able to get to her an hour before their baby is born. He's emotional, not just from seeing reader in pain, but also from seeing his little girl.

Our forever

AN: contains pregnancy, Dad Dominik, labor (nothing graphic). Also no water break because it’s rare believe it or not. Only a minor change with the request. Love you guys ❤️

Dominik has always been attentive to your needs, no matter the circumstances. His attentive nature only increased throughout pregnancy. He went from showering alone to showering with his wife everyday so he can ensure she doesn’t hurt herself. Dominik goes out of his way to provide a comfortable pregnancy for his wife when he can.

But the WWE is a hard business to be apart of when you have family. For big events like Wrestle Mania or the classic Monday Night Raw, Dominik is away from home much longer than he would prefer. His requests for time off is not easily granted due to having to peruse an continuing story line. You had your doubts about how often Dom would be spending time at work. Dominik Mysterio was not his father, he sat you down 4 months in your pregnancy to reassure you that he would be there for his child’s life.

———————————————————————————

You lift off the bed with a groan holding your firm stomach, you feel ready to pop any day now but that’s nothing Dom needs to be stressing about. You’re confident the baby has at least another week before it’s due. Dominik walks out of the shower connected to the bedroom a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping down his chest.

A smile hits his face when he see’s you start to get up, he rushes to your side hoisting you up. You smile at him appreciatively kissing his cheek while walking into the bathroom. After relieving yourself, you step back into the bedroom seeing Dominik dressed in his all black and people gear looking apprehensive. He turns towards you no longer tussling through his clothes drawer, he steps in front of you holding your stomach in his hands. He rocks on his heels, a obvious nervous tick he has, “I was thinking-“, you immediately cut him off knowing what he is trying to do. “Dominik” you say to him sternly, “You are going. You are scheduled and I don’t want you to get fired”, you remind him every day.

He rocking stills and he tilts his head back momentarily to show that he isn’t happy with that. He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, he looks down at your stomach rubbing it soothingly. “Okay mi amor, Call me whenever you need to” he requests earnestly, you can tell he means this with every ounce of his being. He kisses your lips softly then he kneels down and kisses your stomach as well.

The front door shuts and you continue the day like you would normally. Make breakfast, 30 minute rest, clean whatever is necessary, lunch, and other small tasks. During this routine you contribute to healthy habits like drinking super large amounts of water and squats to make sure the baby is prepared for labor later in the week. You walk into the kitchen for a snack holding the curve of your stomach much like you’ve been doing for months now. As you turn the corner a pulsing pain hits the bottom of your stomach.

The pain is nothing like you’ve ever felt before and you double over in pain. It’s 10pm and usually Dominik doesn’t get home until roughly 11 after broadcasting and prep. This Monday night is going to be a long one. Five minutes after your first contraction another one hits and you begin to get concerned. The doctor informed you that contractions are normal and not to come to the hospital until they are about 4 minutes apart.

You count and time the minutes earnestly staring at the timer on your phone. When another contraction hits at the 4 minute mark you make the decision to call Dom’s sister like promised.

“Can you come pick me up? I need a ride to the hospital I think I’m in labor”, you half yell into the recover that is connected to Aalyah.

“Omg are you serious?! I’m on my way be ready!”, she says briefly frantic, moving around quickly for her keys. You hang up the phone with no response too preoccupied with more important things like your hospital bag… and calling Dominik. You breath through another contraction before calling him.

After 5 rings the line picks up and Dom’s voice passes smoothly through the receiver. “Hey baby, everything okay?” He asks sweet as ever. You moan in pain much louder than intended, Dominik worry begins in a instant. “Baby are you okay? Baby?” He says quickly, shuffling can be heard on his end of the phone. You being to speak only to hear Dom tell someone that he has to leave. You manage to grit out the hospital you’re planning on attending, you also inform Dom that his sister is here and taking you now.

He nervousness is extremely apparent, “I- I’ll be there soon mi amor, just one second”. I nod to myself, forgetting that he can’t see me, “Okay” i reply through another shot of pain.

———————————————————————————

You lay on the hospital bed, sweating bullets looking at the door waiting for your lover to show up. Aalyah can tell him being unintentionally late is stressing you out beyond belief. Aalyah texts Dominik hastily asking how close he his, communicating that you are 9 centimeters dilated. When she gets her answer she turns to you, “He’s two minutes away, hang in there”. You grit your teeth in pain and aggravation.

Contractions are also two minutes away from eachother. And groan and scream are combined when the most painful contraction hits you, unfortunately Dominik bursts in while you are writhing in pain. His hands are on his head and he paces for a moment before coming back to his senses. He sits in a chair right against the bed holding one of your hands in both of his. “I’m so sorry, I got here as quick as I could baby” he apologizes, the only thing he can think of doing right now. “It’s oka—“ you cut yourself off with a high pitched scream and a doctor walks in preparing to check your dilation again.

You’re pain is chewing at Dominiks heart, his tears burn his eyes and roll down his cheeks at the sight. He folds his lovers hand tighter and he lays his forehead on the conjoined hands. Sniffles from him mama you realize that he is crying, that you’re pain resonates with him. You whimper in pain but you try and subside it to the best of you’re abilities. Another whimper leaves your lips and Dominik winces from the side watching you hurt while he can’t do anything. He kisses your conjoined hands over and over again. He whispers praises into your ear as the doctor tells you to push.

You take deep breathes and yell while you push, your grip stinging at Dom’s hand. Dominik also takes deep breathes trying to control himself for your sake. One final push and a piercing cry rings through the hospital room. Dominiks one composed tears come rushing back the the sight of his daughter being swaddled and laid on the chest of the love of his life. Dominiks sobs can be heard from outside of the room, he holds your hand before moving his other to touch his daughters delicate body.

She is laying on your chest just taking in the world with her beautiful curious eyes. You cry along with Dominik squeezing his hand in comfort and joy at the life you both have created. Dominik looks up into you’re eyes and tells you something unforgettable, “Nothing will compete with this”. You laugh and sob at the same time smile and nodding while agreeing with his sentiment. You both look back down at your newborn holding the beginning of forever