#this was supposed to be just the first image

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"You're gonna go far"

okay yall this is chapter one! if it sucks or doesn't make sense pls don't hate. might take it down later if i decide i hate it. likes, comments, and reblogs encourage me!!!I brainstormed this pretty fast so it might be messy.

lmk if there's any plot holes! This is the week following the failed patrol and Tiffany taking reader's credit. About 6 to 7 months after Tiffany moved in.

The first day after the incident, you had stayed in your room, nursing the bitter sting of betrayal. You couldn’t even remember the last time they’d acknowledged your existence. Tiffany, of course, was the shining star of the household. While you were holed up in your bedroom, processing the snakebite that had changed everything, Tiffany was out there, winning their favor with her charm, her sweet smiles, and her sugar-coated lies. You spent all night aching and feeling your bones shattering in your skin, feeling your skin peel off, and your teeth sharpen and make your mouth bleed.

The day started with her knocking on your door, her voice dripping with fake concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I heard what happened last night... but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just walk it off, right? Just a snake bite! You weren't even supposed to be on patrol, Dad said that you can't be part of the team. You're not skilled enough.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. How could you? It wasn’t a matter of walking it off. The venom inside you had begun to manifest, the snake-like power curling through your veins, but Tiffany's words twisted the knife further. You could see the smug look in her eyes as she added, “It’s okay. I’m here now. I know you’re upset, but let’s just move past it. You need some tough love”

You didn’t know what to expect when the transformation took hold that night. One minute, you were trying to cry yourself to sleep the next—your skin tingled, muscles shifting, twisting beneath the surface. The bite on your neck from the damn snake burned like fire, but something deeper, something inside you, urged you to embrace it. Again you felt your mouth burn, your body tingle, your skin shed and a searing pain from the waist down.

As you lay flat against the wall, your hands pressed against the cool surface you couldn’t help but grin, pain was better than numbness. You weren’t just Bruce Wayne's outcast daughter, nor were you the wannabe batgirl, as Stephanie liked to call you, you were something else now, something powerful.

The first time you ejected venom from your fingertips, you almost dropped your phone in surprise. It was cold, sharp, and terrifying in its power. It didn’t make sense. You could feel the agility coursing through you, every muscle in your body aligning with the new capabilities as if your very bones were made for this transformation. This wasn’t you anymore.

The idea of getting even, of showing them all that you weren’t weak or invisible, had always been a fantasy. But now, it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real, solid in a way that left you trembling. You weren’t just going to prove them wrong. You were going to become something they could never ignore again. And they would never see it coming.

But what now? The Batfamily—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, all of them—had given you nothing but pain and neglect for years. They didn’t understand you, didn’t care to. They couldn’t see past their perfect image of family long enough to see you. Now, with this power, you didn’t need them. You never did.

Except… there was Tiffany.

She was their new perfect darling, their shining star. Every time she took a step into their world, they’d fawn over her, ruffle her hair, praise her as though she could do no wrong. You had tried to be perfect for them, but perfection never got you what you wanted. It never got you love. It never got you acceptance.

She was a liar, a fraud, and she’d ruined your life. You'd tried to warn them, tried to tell them what she really was—what she was doing behind their backs. But they chose to believe her over you. They always did.

So it was time for them to learn. To know what you were capable of.

You wouldn’t hurt them but you would make them understand. You would show them your worth, show them what they had turned their backs on. No more hiding. No more being invisible. You’d be the storm they couldn’t control, the one they couldn’t ignore.

One by one, you would take back everything that was stolen from you.

The next day Bruce didn’t even acknowledge you when he passed you in the hallway. You wanted to tell him about the snake, about the strange scary things going on in your body, of the violent thoughts running through your mind but the words died in your throat in fear of ridicule. You stood there, heart racing, desperately hoping he’d say something, anything, just a hint of recognition. But he didn’t. Tiffany was at his side, her arm linked through his as they strolled past you. She was chattering on about some trivial matter, and you could feel the coldness in Bruce's demeanor. No eye contact. No words. Nothing.

It was as if you weren’t there. It hurt, more than you could have imagined. And yet it wasn't anything new.

Alfred, the one person who might’ve shown you compassion, didn’t even make you breakfast. You waited in the kitchen, hoping for something—anything. But no, Tiffany had already filled the void with her charming demeanor, sitting at the table with Alfred, chatting about some charity event.

You stood there, waiting. Watching. Silent.

Eventually, you turned and left. Alfred hadn't even looked up when you walked out.

Damian.

Your little brother who you tried so hard to bond withhad taken to sneering at you when you crossed paths with more anomosity than usual. His usual arrogance and distaste for you had only intensified. You had caught him once, whispering something to Tiffany about how "pathetic" you were. “Father’s blood runs through me, not through you,” he had muttered under his breath. You had to fight the overwhelming urge to break down right then and there. The venom inside you seemed to thrum in response, as if it recognized the cruel words, feeding off them.

Later, you overheard him tell Tiffany, “You’re far more worthy of being in this family than she’ll ever be.”

Jason, who you once thought of as a brother, the only one who could’ve understood you, had turned his back completely. You had tried to reach out to him and tell him of the pains at night, to apologize for whatever wrongs you’d committed, but all he did was glare at you. A snide comment about how “you wouldn’t know what it means to feel pain” and then he walked away, his back to you as he followed Tiffany down the stairs.

Your heart shattered.

Tim was... absent, but his absence was worse than anything. He made no effort to reach out, barely acknowledging you when you passed by. When you tried to speak with him, to ask how his day had gone, he merely gave you a dismissive shrug and muttered something about needing to “work.” Tiffany, on the other hand, always had time for him. She seemed to be everything you were not—everything they wanted. She was their perfect daughter, their perfect sibling. She was the one who belonged.

You tried to slip into the shadows, but the truth was, you felt like you were already invisible.

You and Duke used to be friends when he first came, till he realized Stephanie was much cooler than you. Maybe you could hang with them in the cave, maybe they could help figure out what was happening to you. Maybe even talk to Barbra and Cassandra!

The Batcave was eerily quiet when you worked up the nerve to enter. You were sitting at a workstation, trying to work up the courage to talk to any of your siblings but your thoughts kept drifting. Tiffany had completely woven herself into the fabric of the team, and everyone else, even Duke, seemed content to ignore you.

You and Duke had once been close. He’d been one of the few people who had ever tried to make you feel like you belonged in the manor. You remembered the late-night conversations, sharing stories and laughter, plotting out plans for how you could prove your worth to the family. But now, every time you glanced in his direction, there was nothing but distance and confusion.

you could feel his presence across the room. He and Tiffany were standing by one of the equipment stations, speaking in hushed tones. You tried to ignore them. It hurt too much to look at Duke, to see how easily he had fallen under Tiffany's spell, how effortless it was for him to ignore you now.

Tiffany was front and center, as usual. Her presence always seemed to command attention, like a star that everyone gravitated toward. You had grown used to the way they all fawned over her, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Duke, you’re up next,” Tiffany called out, a smile playing at her lips. Her voice was sweet, but you could hear the subtle edge beneath it. A tone that made your blood boil. She wasn’t just charming them, she was playing them.

“You know, I’d never say no to a challenge, Tiff.” he said, his voice almost affectionate.

“You’re the best, Duke,” Tiffany purred, clearly pleased.

You glanced at Barbara, hoping for something—a glance, a small acknowledgment—but her eyes were glued to her computer screen. She might as well have been miles away.

Cassandra, as usual, was focused on her training. She hadn’t ever shown interest in you, and today was no different. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver from the sparring targets she was working through, ignoring you entirely.

You sighed, not wanting to add to the already uncomfortable tension in the air. The weight of it was overwhelming. But you couldn’t help but overhear the rest of Duke and Tiffany’s conversation.

“I’m telling you, Duke,” Tiffany was saying with a laugh, “you’ve got this in the bag. You’ve been training for years, they’re never going to see it coming.”

Duke chuckled, clearly reveling in her praise. “Yeah, but I’m still not sure I trust the plan,” he said, glancing at the others. “You really think it’ll work?”

Tiffany’s smile was cold and calculating. “Trust me, it will. I’ve been working on it for weeks, and with your skills, we’ll have it done in no time. Just follow my lead.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking up, even if you weren’t sure why you were still trying. You knew they didn’t care, but some part of you still clung to hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d listen. You and Duke were friends, he wouldn't ignore you. You didn't want Tiffany to pressure him into a plan he wasn't sure of.

“Tiffany, why don’t you give Duke some space?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “He might want to work out his own plan, you know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, Duke’s expression darkened, and so did everyone else's. Even Barbra glanced at you.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Tiffany asked, her tone laced with mock sweetness. “I didn’t realize you had any input. I guess it’s cute that you think Duke needs your help.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed. “I’m good, [Y/N]. Really. Tiffany’s got this. Don’t you have some... other place to be?”

Your mouth burned and your bones ached, since when did Duke treat you like this? What right did he have? You were friends, friends aren't mean to friends.

Your fists clench, "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" You spit out, unusually angry and brave.

His eyes softened for a second but then Duke looked up at you, his gaze colder than you remembered. “It’s not personal, okay? It’s just… you don’t really fit in with the rest of us."

The words felt like a slap in the face. Tiffany was the one with the skills. Tiffany was the one who was flawless. Tiffany was the one who didn’t need to try. Tiffany fit in.

You wanted to scream, to demand an explanation for why you were being discarded like this. You tried, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you silent. Duke wasn’t the person you had once leaned on. He wasn't your friend anymore. you could feel the deep divide between you both now, a gap named betrayal.

Before you could respond, Stephanie, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward. “Come on, (Y/N), don’t waste our time. If you don’t have anything useful to add, just leave. You’ll be better off on your own.”

Your eyes snapped to her. Of all people, you didn’t expect Stephanie to be so blunt. But here she was, her arms crossed and her eyes not even looking in your direction as she spoke.

Tiffany shot Stephanie a glance of approval. “Exactly, Steph. They’ll just slow us down. Maybe you should go back to the kitchen and bake something.”

The words were meant to belittle you, to remind you of the one thing they knew you were good at, baking, and nothing more. You felt your fists clench, the sting of her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

Duke’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. His silence spoke volumes. You could feel the finality of it, the way the space between you both had grown too big to bridge.

“You don’t have to listen to them,” Tiffany continued, her voice smooth, "You’re not part of the team. Just let it go. It’s better for everyone.”

Tiffany’s manipulation was sickening. But what hurt the most was that Duke was going along with it. He had always been the one person who had made you feel like you mattered in this cold, detached family. And now? He was treating you like you were nothing. He had chosen her over you. The reality of it hit you like a t train.

“Fine,” you muttered, swallowing the lump in your throat, ignoring the burning of your eyes and the hole in your chest.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, the cold stares of Tiffany, Duke, Stephanie and Cassandra burning into your back. no matter how hard you had tried, how many times you had bent over backwards to prove your worth, it would never be enough for them.

The final blow came that night on the 7th night after the incident and the day after Duke's betrayal.

Tiffany had won. You could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She won their trust, their love. Now, she was going to make sure you were out of the picture for good.

You overheard Bruce and Tiffany speaking in his study, a room you were never allowed to enter.

“I think it’s for the best,” Tiffany said, her voice sweet, almost too sweet. “She’s so... incompetent. Maybe a change of scenery will help her grow.”

“Maybe,” Bruce replied, his voice cold, indifferent. “But it’ll also keep her away from Gotham for a while. From the family.”

“It’ll be better for everyone,” Tiffany continued. “She’s been so distant lately, and honestly, I don’t think she fits in here. She doesn’t belong.”

“I’ll have Alfred make the arrangements tomorrow,” Bruce said, his tone final. “It’ll be good for her. A change of pace. A chance to learn discipline.”

And just like that, your life as you knew it ended.

You would be sent away to a boarding school in New York City. They didn’t even give you the courtesy of telling you themselves. Tiffany had already manipulated the situation, convinced them that it was for the best. That you didn’t belong. That you needed to be removed from the family.

Later That Night

You sat in your room, fists clenched, eyes burning with tears you refused to shed. You could hear Tiffany’s laughter echoing in the halls as she paraded through the manor, a crown on her head that wasn’t hers.

You weren’t going to cry. Not anymore. You weren’t going to beg for their attention. For their love. No. You had something far more dangerous now. Something that didn’t need them. Something that would show them all just how wrong they were. The venom in your veins burned brighter now. You could feel it coiling around your bones like a living, breathing thing. You would prove them all wrong. You would go to New York and never look back.

Ok I tried my best guys be nice! I just had so many ideas and didn't know how to execute them! Send in asks! I wanted to get the plot moving tbh

[annoyinglilbro]

I’m trying something here okay bare with me guys

Big brother who adores his little brother. He’s so protective, so defensive of the perfect little angel he’s been blessed with. He truely believes his little brother was made for him, and one day he’ll show him that. He just has to be patient.

But maybe he was too patient. Because here the boy was, sitting infront of him and mindlessly lost in his phone, completely unaware of the dark love bite dirtying up his neck. His brother had been so patient, so careful with his touches as to not go too far, so he knows he didn’t leave that mark.

Part of him tries to rationalize it. Maybe it’s a burn mark from his curling iron, or a bruise from playing too rough with his friends. He knows his little brother would never lie to him, so he asks him about it.

And the answer makes him sick.

“Dude I have no idea. I was with Evan during free period, things got heated in the bathroom. But Jamie loves to bite, ugh that boy is fucking feral. Could’ve been one of the girls too. I don’t know. It’s not a big deal, I’ll just cover it with some foundation or something before mom and dad see. Thanks for pointing it out though, bro. You’re a life saver!”

His eyes never leave his phone. He stays curled in a ball, cropped hoodie and shorts losing their cute appeal and looking more slutty than usual. Maybe it’s not the outfit that’s ruined, but the image he has of his little brother. His teeth grit and his nostrils flare at the thought of anyone else getting their hands on him.

His little brother was made for him. He was supposed to wait for him. He wasn’t supposed to be running around letting other people put their lips on him. What else has he done? How tainted is his precious boy?

Maybe that’s what fuels him to grab the phone from his hands and toss is across the room.

“Dude! What the fu-“ he’s cut off by a harsh hand gripping his face, squeezing the cheeks roughly together.

“Are you a slut, baby boy?” His brothers voice is darker than usual, more rough around the edges. It’s nothing like the gentle voice he’s used to.

“M’ not a slut…let go.”

His big brother just scoffs, turning his head so he can look at the love bite more clearly. It disgusts him, a smudge on something other wise perfect.

“Have I been neglecting you, ma petite étoile? Not giving you enough attention, you had to run and find it else where?” His other hand slides up his leg, stopping when he gets to the plush thigh and giving it a rough squeeze. He wants his finger points to bruise there, to leave proof that he was there. “Is that why you let those nasty boys touch you?”

“Stop…it’s not the same. You’re my brother, okay? Brothers don’t do this.”

Big brother who laughs as he slides his hand down his little brothers shorts. Tender fingers are quick to find the small bundle of nerves hidden inside the slick folds of his cunt. The touch makes him gasp and choke on his own spit, he shouldn’t feel this good from his brother touching him.

“Tell me, petit frère, did they take their time you? Did they take you apart on their fingers first or were you just a quick fuck, not worthy of any prep?”

Little brother who lets out a whine, biting down on his lip to try and stop the sound from escaping. Silence wasn’t an option here, if he wanted to act like a big boy, he could use his words like one. He couldn’t stop himself from letting out a cracked moan when his clit was pinched between two fingers.

“Answer me, my dove. How did they fuck you?”

“It’s…ah ah..Jamie is quick. He uh ah…he likes to bite and be rough. Not a lot of forplay. Evan really likes eating me out.”

Big brother who clicks his tongue, long fingers releasing his clit and instead pressing against his entrance.

“You let him taste you? Before your big brother could? That doesn’t seem very fair.” Fingers curled roughly inside him, making him flush and whine. “I’m disappointed, my little brother is nothing but a whore. You’ve really let me down here, ma chérie. Do you think you can make it up to me? Show big brother how sorry you are?”

“Oui... oui, s'il te plaît, laisse-moi te montrer à quel point je suis désolé, grand frère, s'il te plaît.”

Little brother who’s mind is gone, lost in the feeling of his big brothers fingers inside of him. Cocky attitude gone, replaced with a drooling and whining mess that’s humping against his hand.

He can work with this. He may have lost the chance to be his little brothers first, but he’ll make sure he’s his last. When he’s done with him, nobody else will ever compare.

And he’ll truely be all his.

His perfect darling little brother.

[trippinsorrows]

trials of love + three

authors note: the spiral continues....

masterlist

warnings: angst and inebriation

words: 3.9k

song inspo: evermore by josh groban

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue how she got home. Nor does she exactly recall what last night entailed specifically. She just knows that she feels sick. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically.

Laying in bed, still in her clothes from the night prior, upon waking up, one of the first things she notices is the soreness between her legs and some aspect of it with her jaw. Squinting, she goes to wipe her eyes while also realizing that she can’t because her makeup is somehow still on her face. But, the most aggravating of her symptoms is the throbbing headache. 

It’s that last symptom, as well as common sense, that helps her remember the copious amount of drinks she’d had followed by glimpses and flashes. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking.

Sex.

It’s that last one that has her stomach drop, makes the ill feelings intensify. She hooked up with someone. She hooked up with more than just someone. That much, she can recall, and it’s that that has her eyes watering.

She went out last night wanting an escape, and she got one, for sure, but it’s not providing the sort of relief and satisfaction at playing her husband’s game that she thought she would receive.

In fact, in some ways, she feels worse than what she was feeling before.

Needing to get out of bed, especially needing to check on Dulce, Solana drags herself to the bathroom, ignoring her overall aching body. 

She moves over to the sink and works to remove her makeup, a relatively easy task given it practically melts off seamlessly with the help of her face wash. But, it’s when Solana peels off her dress and realizes that her underwear are missing that it hits her. That she becomes fully aware of what she’s done. 

But, it’s really stomped into her consciousness when a glance down reveals dry, white patches almost on the space between her thighs, on her belly, and on the small of her back. Her eyes water.

She knows exactly what that is. 

The tears break through her already crumbling resolve, Solana crying into her hands.

She wanted to do something different, wanted to have fun, wanted to just feel something other than hurt.

Drinking was supposed to be it.

Getting under someone else should have been it, but it wasn’t, and now, she just feels even more awful but even more than that.

She feels disgusted with herself. 

This isn’t who she is. Never been who she is, and it’s not even the fact she had a one night stand that bothers her. She’s 25. There’s nothing wrong with having sex, with a hook up, of sorts. It’s the fact that she let two men she didn’t even know do that with her, that she got so drunk that she allowed herself to do that.

It’s a toss up if it’s better or worse that she can’t remember everything. Judging by the state of her body, especially the soreness, it might be better that she doesn’t.

She must spend a good 45 minutes in the shower, scrubbing her body until her fingers are pruned, the mirror is fogged, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat across her forehead due to the humidity. But even stepping out, she still doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel good. 

A truly unfortunate thing as she was hoping and expecting to feel just that. To feel good.

But standing there, having wiped a clear section of the mirror, Solana isn’t sure she’s ever felt so not good about herself.

—------

She’s in his head.

There’s no other explanation. 

Nothing else Roman can identify as being the reason why every time he closes his eyes, he’s almost instantly hit with an image. An image of her. Sometimes, she’s smiling. Other times, she’s frowning. Regardless of the emotion or expression, she’s still there.

She’s always there. When he’s asleep, he thinks of her, dreams of her even. When he’s working, negotiating a deal or sitting in a boring meeting, he wonders what she’s doing.  When he’s in the midst of torturing a confession or information from a prisoner, he imagines the crime has been committed towards her, and it ups the ante. Raises his violence to a completely different level.

And when he’s balls deep inside of a woman, any woman, he imagines it’s her. So much so that it’s Solana’s name leaving his mouth and not the woman under or on top of him. 

She’s haunting him.

And, she doesn’t even fucking realize it.

The same way her stabbing, penetrating words from her phone call he overheard have damned him to this perpetual cycle of suffering. He wants to talk to her, but he avoids her. He wants to return home and sit down and figure things out, but he makes it a mission to take every travel opportunity that comes his way. Even if he has to make something up.

He wants her, but he can’t have her.

Roman doesn’t know what the fuck it would even look like if he allowed himself to actually feel and act on his feelings for his wife. Because not doing so is already hard enough. Actually doing so just might destroy him. 

If she hasn't already.

Roman turns off the shower, stepping out and securing a towel around his waist. He grabs another to dry off some of his hair before reaching for his phone. Lifting up said phone causes it to light up, granting him the view of the same woman who won’t leave him alone.

It’s a photo from their wedding day, something he’d requested. He’d asked for all the photos to hide the fact that he really only wanted the ones with and of Solana. And, he’d gone through every single one of them, seeking out which one he wanted for himself. Wanted to make his lock screen and wallpaper. And, he’d settled on one of her in mid laughter, her head thrown back a little, that beautiful, big smile on her face. He can’t remember who she was talking to, nor did he care, hence him cropping them out the photo.

He just wanted her.

He still does.

But, it’s tracing her face with his finger, Roman knows that ship has sailed. He’s hurt her, hurt her in so many different ways that it’s caused her to go from maybe willing to give this marriage, give them a real chance, to her expressing her hatred of him on the phone with zero guilt.

She meant it when she said she hated him, and Roman can’t even blame her.

Because he was too cowardly to confront and deal with his feelings in an appropriate, healthy way and instead opted for the worse of the worse alternatives.

He turned on her.

Subjected her to cruelty and aloofness that have always defined his character to most people. He just never wanted her to be in that same category of most people, but it’s exactly what he’s done.

He did it. No one else. He can’t put the blame on anyone else for this situation, because it’s one of his own making.

Roman shuts his eyes, taken back to that moment in the kitchen, the moment where she almost broke him. Because seeing the extent she went to to make them dinner, the way she was still trying, despite all of his cruel actions toward her. And, that really fucked with him. 

She just wanted to give them a chance. 

After everything, she was still trying. 

It kills him, it killed him, because he didn’t deserve it then, and he really doesn’t deserve it now especially with how he fucked up that one chance he had. He could have pushed all this avoidance shit away, sat down and actually talked with her like the grown ass man he is.

Instead, he lashed out at her, said every cruel thing he could think of in that moment that completely contrasted everything he actually feels toward and about her. To push her away. He realizes now that’s exactly what he did, what he’s done.

And, it feels like there’s no coming back now.

Roughly ten minutes later, Roman steps out of the bathroom only to be filled with instant irritation.

“The fuck……”

The Tribal Chief doesn’t hesitate to walk over to the large bay window that faces the bed and snatch open the curtains, welcoming in all the blinding sunlight.

Satisfaction starts to fill him seeing the scowl on her face, the way her nose turns up in annoyance. Her eyes start to blink open. “W–wh—”

“You need to leave.” She should have been left. Roman doesn’t know how he let himself fall asleep without making sure he did so alone. See. More evidence of her. “Get out.”

The woman whose name he doesn’t remember and doesn’t care to remember, continues to look confused, which only pisses him off more. What is so goddamn confusing about get out? “Why?”

Roman scowls. “Because I fucking said so.” And, he’s never been and never will be a man to repeat himself. “I’m not gonna fucking tell you again.”

He would never forcibly remove a woman from his hotel room. No. Putting his hands on women and children has always been a line in the sand, largely due to the man he was forced to call father for so many years.

Getting the shit beat out of him by his own father and his emotionally unavailable mother never doing shit to help him taught Roman a lesson he'll never forget nor do away with.

It also fucked him up in ways he's never been able, and might not ever be able, to acknowledge.

All that being said, it doesn't negate the fact that he's not above having security come get this bitch out his space.

She scoffs, kicking the sheets off, nude, curvy body completely exposed. 

It’s only then he realizes why he’d picked her for the evening. Solana. In some ways she reminded him of Solana, similar builds and complexions. Even heights.

She was as best the option he could get to his wife, even if that resemblance still paled in comparison to the real thing. And, it always will. 

Because no one could ever come close to his wife in all of the ways that count.

And, that’s a fact.

“You fucking come all over me, call me some other bitch’s name and now you’re kicking me—”

She stops in the midst of dressing herself when Roman flips over the nearby coffee table at the word bitch. Fear flashes across her face as he says, so dangerously calm but still somehow menacingly. “Get…..out.”

It’s an effective thing, because she’s barely finished zipping up her dress and strapping her heels when she’s rushing out the room, all signs of irritation washed away and replaced with fear.

In some ways, he cares. In most ways, he absolutely does not give a fuck.

Now left alone, Roman runs a hand over his face. The isolation is helpful in some ways, but not others. Because the quiet paves way for the overthinking. Because once again, Roman finds himself thinking about his wife. 

Missing her voice. Her smile. Her laugh. Just her.

It’s a longing and craving that has him doing the unthinkable, has him reaching for his phone and navigating to her contact. Checking the time, he does the math, factoring in the 6 hour time difference between home and Italy, his current location. Around noon, he’s more than confident she’s awake.

Regardless of her being awake, it’s a silly thing to do. To just call her out of nowhere when the last time they spoke is when he surprised her with her dog, her reaction to seeing her pet emotional and telling. 

Her reaction to him, unemotional and also telling.

He could see how done she was with him.

Could almost feel her hatred. So, it's a dumbass thing to do, to try and call her.

But, it’s exactly what he does.

Roman paces across the floor of his opulent hotel suite, each ring of the phone another weight added to his chest.

And, then he hears it. 

The best and worst thing.

“Hello?” Her voice is laden with sleep, like she’s not fully conscious, something that surprises him given the time back home. 

Still, he swallows and replies, “hey.” Roman swallows, feeling the need to identify himself for some reason. “It’s....it's me.”

A beep and then nothing. 

Roman pulls the phone back from his ear to see Solana’s contact.

She hung up the phone.

He closes his eyes. A completely fair reaction, one he can’t blame her for. At all.

Still, he finds himself unable to accept this as he switches to their text thread and tries an alternate route.

It’s when his messages turn green that something similar to dread fills Roman. He’s not very tech savvy, at all, but he’s pretty sure he knows what it means when texting someone with an iPhone and the messages suddenly change colors.

He tests it out, going to call her again when instead of a ring, he’s instantly hit with the sound of her voice.

“Hi! You’ve reached Solana. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number……”

Roman’s look is distant, his emotions elsewhere as he distractedly hangs up the phone, letting it fall in his lap as he slumps back into his chair with the undeniable confirmation.

She’s blocked him.  

—-----------

Solana was already having a bad day. A bad week, even. Starting out with her unspoken, salacious actions with Tama and Zilla, the latter of which ended up being an asshole just like her husband. Tama, however, seems to be sweet. Seems more genuine.

Unlike her husband.

Roman….

Just the thought of him has her blood boiling.

Audacity. 

That’s the first and best word to come to mind. After everything he’s done, after everything he said, he has the fucking audacity to try to call her and act like everything’s okay. To act like nothing happened when everything happened. 

It messed with her, for certain. Messed with her enough for her to finally reply to Zilla’s texts, needing a distraction, only for that to be a shitshow. Thankfully, communication with Tama helped a bit. Even her stepping out of her comfort zone to take those photos, to send them, was a nice, different thing.

There’s a small part of her that wonders if she should have sent them to him, but he was so supportive, so kind, and she needed that in that moment. 

She needed that kind of attention to distract from her awful, evil husband.

Solana downs more of her drink, ignoring the burning and unpleasant taste. So far, she’s yet to see what people find so great about the taste of liquor. She’s been every bit unimpressed.

Granted, not enough to bypass going out tonight. A different club. Because while Tama has been nice, she doesn’t want to risk running into him and especially Zilla.

That….that was a one and done. 

A hook up is…..okay, but hooking up with two men at the same time is just….it’s too much for her, personally. 

And an hour later, she's back at it. Drunk, sitting at the bar in some random, nameless bar, having danced with a couple different guys but yet to find one she "likes" enough to hook up with.

Finishing another shot, Solana requests one more before squeezing her way through the crowd of intoxicated, dancing bodies and finds the restroom. She can feel it, feel the way Dre watches her every move, how he keeps a comfortable but not unsafe distance. It makes her want to both smirk and roll her eyes. He’s so serious. 

Had a bit of an attitude with her when she told him she wanted to go out again tonight. Had the audacity to tell her he didn’t think it was a good idea. Solana had to quickly remind him that he works for her. Not the other way around.

She already has one asshole in her life she can’t get rid of. 

She doesn’t need another.

After emptying her bladder, Solana flushes the toilet and stumbles a bit over to the sink to wash her hands. 

Damn heels.

“Oh em gee.” She looks up in the mirror to see two women looking at her. One tall and raven haired with an unreadable expression, her arms crossed. The other is short and blonde with a broad smile that seems too big for her face, like her mouth is too big for her face. “I love your dress,” she compliments, looking over at the woman next to her. “Isn’t it so cute, Raquel?”

The tall woman, this Raquel, simply nods. “It’ll do.”

The blonde woman scoffs, rolling her eyes and flipping her hair. She looks back at Solana. “Ignore her. She’s not big into fashion like I am.” She moves over, offering her hand. “I’m Liv, and this is my bestie, Raquel.”

Solana is only staring dumbly for a good few seconds, partially confused where these two came from as well as the almost strange encounter. But, as soon as she gathers her bearings, she shakes her hands dry and reaches for a paper towel to complete the drying before accepting said handshake. “Nice—nice to meet you. I’m Solana.”

Liv’s jaw drops. “Oh my goodness, what a pretty name!” She tilts her head to the side, asking, “is it like Spanish or something? It sounds Spanish.” She places a hand over her chest, a dramatic gesture. “Are you Spanish? I love Spanish people.”

Solana isn’t quite sure what to make of Liv or this whole encounter. “I’m—I’m Black and Mexican.” Even answering such a question, the way it was posed, the whole thing, just feels weird. But, that could also be the three shots she’s had so far tonight.

Liv starts to clap, looking at Raquel. “Raquel is Mexican, too! Maybe you two are like related or something.” Solana can only blink. “Anyway, you wanna hang out with us?”

Not really. 

That’s the first thing to come to Solana’s mind. It’s a bit of an instinctual thing. Something that Solana would normally, if not inebriated, would abide by and heed to. But, she’s not sober, she’s drunk as hell, lonely as hell, and partially eager to have some companionship from someone other than men who want to fuck her and men paid to protect her.

Especially as she’s found herself not engaging as much with her family and friends back home for reasons she’s not ready to acknowledge.

Solana’s loneliness is just too powerful a drug to resist. “Sure.”

Liv claps, and Raquel rolls her eyes, grabbing Solana’s hand. “Yay! I’ve gotta introduce you to the gang.”

Solana frowns. 

Gang?

Still, she remains quiet and wordless as Raquel serves as a sort of guide, navigating them through the crowd like an unofficial bodyguard. They arrive at one of the VIP sections, Solana instantly coughing at the overwhelming smell of smoke and weed.

She clears her throat, Raquel looking back and rolling her eyes. “Too much for you to handle, chica?”

There’s a hint of mockery to her tone coupled with the sly smile on her face.

Liv pouts and hugs Solana from the side. “Raquel, be nice to our new best friend.” She then gestures to the group of men Solana is just now noticing. “Guys, this is our new friend, Solana. Solana, this is the gang.”

The gang is made up of four men. Two white men on the shorter side, heads almost too big for their bodies, one looking almost indifferent, the other hitting a blunt. The other two look like they could be Hispanic, one significantly older than the other, than all of them, his wide eyes matching his wild, wild afro. He gives her a nod, while the other with a mustache that doesn’t make sense no matter how one frames it, smiles broadly.

He walks over, tall and lanky build also slanted, greeting suggestively, “very nice to meet you, mami.”

Solana doesn’t see it, too busy being distracted by the aroma of marijuana, the alcohol in her system, and the almost discomfort with the set of eyes on her. She doesn’t see the jealous, almost sinister gleam in Liv’s eyes watching the interaction.

Liv quickly shoves it away and clears her throat, forcing a big smile as she skips over to mustache man. “Oh, daddy Dom, stop it.” She giggles, reaching up giving him an eskimo kiss before looking at Solana. “Solana, this is my man, Dominik.” Solana offers a closed mouth smile as Liv continues with the introductions. “That’s Carlito, JD, and Finn. Don’t worry too much about Finn. He always looks like that, and JD is always high.”

“Fuck you, Liv.”

Liv responds by lifting her middle finger, still focused on Solana. “Hey, do you want—”

“Solana!”

Dre’s urgent voice immediately evokes an irritated countenance. Solana felt him following her and the other two ladies but hoped he would just quietly observe and not interfere. Clearly. That’s not the case.

Sighing, she turns around, rolling her eyes. Solana reaches for the nearest bottle of alcohol and downs some, ignoring the burning before mustering an insincere smile. “Yes?”

He looks every bit as pissed as she expected. “Look, I let you have your fun, but this shit is getting out of control.” He gestures to the group behind her, all now watching the scene unfold. “The Judgment Day? Do you even know who they are?” No, she doesn’t, and sober Solana would absolutely care to ask, to know more, and once she knew more, she would run like hell.

But, drunken Solana is controlled by the emotions she can’t control and the hurt she can’t seem to shake, so she doesn’t care who they are.

“Would you just leave me alone?” She sneers, looking around to see if she can score another shot or some type of alcohol. The bottle in her hand is nearing on empty.

Dre, however, stands ten toes down. “No. The Tribal Chief wouldn’t—”

There’s something about that, about hearing his title, anything about him, that’s triggering. So much so that Solana snaps and throws the bottle at the nearest wall, prompting cursing and laughter behind her.

Solana’s voice drips with all the venom as she asserts, “I don’t give a damn what he wouldn’t want.” At one point, she did. At one point, she cared. At one point, she maybe started to more than just care. And, it only led to disaster.

Never again.

The inebriation shows its full face as Solana scoffs, “you may be his bitch, but I’m not.” 

Dre’s jaw clenches, his ability to remain professional crumbling. “You’re drunk. You need—”

“What I need is for you to leave me the hell alone.” Honestly. Truly. He can take the Roman approach and get the hell out of dodge for all she cares. And then a thought crosses her mind, something so unlike her, but so aligned with this self-destructive path she’s found herself on. “I would hate for a certain someone you work for to find out about those pictures I sent you.”

Dre’s eyes widen ever so slightly, Solana sensing the brief panic. He steps forward, lowering his voice. “I never asked you to send—”

“You think that’ll matter to him?” Solana’s response is sharp and challenging. Her smile is almost malicious, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Think that won’t make him kill you any less painfully?” Dre’s silence as well as the look of defeat on his face is all she needs to know she’s most definitely won this round. “yeah….that’s what I thought.”

Turning away, the satisfaction that fills her is about what and what with the deep feeling stirring within that a dire mistake was just made.

One of many more to come.

[shinestarhwaa]

CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN || SAN

PART 1 OF THE YOURDESIRE.COM SERIES

Genre: Smut

Pairing: San x Fem reader

Word Count:3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Sexworker!AU, Sexworker!San, dom!San, strength kink, creampie, praise, orgasm control, bath sex, aftercare, handjob, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, doggystyle, dirty language, petnames, bigdick!San

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno @therealcuppicake @unholywriters @enbymingi @jjoongstar

ENJOY!

A bottle of wine on a late Saturday night combined with the internet might be certain to lead to trouble. Or a lot of pleasure. You're not entirely sure yet which is the case. It was supposed to just be an innocent scroll through your socials but when you landed on a special Twitter account that got your attention, you stopped. You stared at the username for a while, seeing the header and reading the bio. 'Yourdesire.com', it said, which made your heart flutter ever so slightly. The account was full of pictures and videos of handsome men acting seductively and almost pornographically. No, definitely pornographically.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you placed your laptop on your lap and googled the website. You quickly learned it was a company that provided sexual services. Those men are sexworkers, you concluded. Something inside you told you to close the tab and mind your own business but you felt so intrigued you couldn't help but explore the website a little more.

Soon enough you click on the blue ''Our men'' button and you are met with 8 gorgeous individuals posing sensually. You scanned each of them, noticing that they are all different-looking, some are much taller, some are buff and some have the most filthy looking gaze you've ever seen before.

It's not that you're entirely new to sex; you have done it before. But because of certain circumstances you haven't been dating much and therefore you haven't gotten laid in way too long. Maybe hiring a gigolo was the perfect way to get your needs taken care of, while not having to go out to meet somebody to date.

You scroll down the page and look at the pictures of the guys. Without thinking much more you click on the first man's profile.

Hongjoong - 1998 - Dominant

View Hongjoong's kinks/specialties list.

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding after reading his kinks/specialties list. You swallow thickly and scan the others' pages until you land on San.

San's image makes him look cold, stern, even strict maybe. His body is certainly well taken care of. You could only imagine what it's like to touch his toned, muscular body. He has broad shoulders, big arms and defined abs. His eyes are small and his bone structure is absolutely to die for, his lips full and soft-looking.

When you read about him you learn he identifies as a Dominant, but he's the most gentle and caring one of them all - he values women a lot and wants to provide a setting where he can rock their world but also make them feel safe. This made you smile softly, a warm feeling spreading through your body. It wouldn't do anyone any harm to look further, would it? You decide it won't so you click on his profile.

San - 1999 - Dominant

View San's kinks/specialties list:

Strength kink

Creampie

Orgasm Control

Voyeurism

Bath-/Shower sex

Voyeurism

Aftercare

You could feel your pussy pulse after reading about him and you took another sip of your wine. Before you realized it you were looking at the prices of hiring one of their men and the kind of experiences they offer. You kept telling yourself 'No, don't do it, it's ridiculous', but two glasses of wine later you booked yourself a dinner- and hoteldate with San for next Saturday.

The next morning you realize what you've done, looking at yourself in the mirror. ''I must have gone completely insane,'' you mutter to yourself, but you can't bring yourself to cancel the appointment either. The rest of the week you are filled to the brim with anxiety about it and your friends notice something's off. ''It's just my cycle, I guess, you know, hormones,'' you lie, but it works for them.

When the day finally arrives you have no clue what to wear, because what does one wear on a sexdate with a sexworker? You decide to not do much with your hair, letting it fall loosely on your shoulders. You keep your make-up light and put on a darkred lingerie set. 'It's nothing special, but pretty enough for a date' you convince yourself. After about 30 minutes of trying on different clothes you end up wearing a long, fitted black dress since your friends always tell you, you look absolutely snatched in it. And well, they're not wrong. You finalize the look with black heels and some accessories before grabbing your purse, leaving your house.

Your body is shaking while you drive to the hotel. You wonder if your friends would judge you for doing this. Would they think this is weird? Is this actually weird? You know there's no turning back now, since you can't cancel 10 minutes beforehand. With slight shame you look into the rearview mirror and look into your own eyes. There's no turning back now, you realize, you have to own it and enjoy it.

With a partly fake confidence you enter the hotel and enter the luxurious lounge, where you are supposed to meet San. You look around and the place is absolutely gorgeous. Dark floortiles reflect the large amount of lighting on the walls and ceiling. You see businessmen left and right, looking seemingly rich and equally busy with their calls. You wonder how many of them were also hiring a sexworker.

Suddenly you feel a light tap on your shoulder - to which you turn around. ''Miss Y/N?''

You felt your heart stop beating at that very moment, because holy fucking shit, the most handsome man on earth is standing right in front of you. ''Hi, it's nice to meet you, I'm San,'' he says with a kind smile. You shake his hand and nodd, still a little in shock. ''How did you know it was me?'' you wonder out loud. He grins softly. ''Because while discussing the arrangement you had to clarify what you look like and I've seen the photo. Although I have to say you're even more attractive in real life, if that's even possible.''

Everything about San was breathtaking, from his looks to his way with words. ''Let me guide you to our table, I hope you're hungry, the food is lovely here,'' he says with a gentle smile, and he carefully lays his hand on your lower back. You nodd and let him guide you to the table, where he takes place across from you.

After placing your order he looks you up and down. You're feeling slightly nervous, and he quickly picks up on it. ''Is this your first time having an appointment like this?'' he asks. ''Is it that obvious?'' you grin nervously. ''A little, but don't worry, it's completely fine. All I care about is that you're comfortable with me, then we're all good.''

San definitely succeeded in making you comfortable throughout the dinner date, he asked questions about you - not just sexually - and made sure to listen intentively. He occasionally flirted with you and held your hand and it was almost impossible not to fall for him. He was incredibly charming and even cute sometimes.

Since the dinner was paid beforehand, San took your hand and guided you to the elevator. You felt slight anxiety bubble up in your chest, but you pushed it down. San had been so great and gentle with you, you felt like you could definitely trust him.

Now you're standing in the elevator, all alone and suddenly the tension rises. The hand on your back slowly slides down over your ass and you feel his hot breath fan over your neck. ''I can't wait to feel you, darling, I'll make you feel so incredibly good.'' Goosebumps erect from your skin and you swallow thickly. You nod, because that's all you can do when San smirks slightly.

The elevator reaches the 4th floor and you enter the room that was reserved for you two. It was much fancier and bigger than you expected. You first see a large kingsize bed, covered with gorgeous luxury bedding, there's a small lounge and the half-open bathroom where you find a shower and a large walk-in bath created in the floor as if it was a hot spring.

''Wow,'' you sighed softly as you placed your purse on the bedside table, ''It looks absolutely incredible, don't you think?'' ''It truly does, it's gorgeous,'' San says, ''it suits you.'' He gently strokes your rosy cheek with his fingers as he sits you down on the bed.

''You've established you're interested in performing all my specialties, excluding the voyeurism, is that correct?'' San asks, sitting next to you. ''Yes,'' you nod, ''it's not like I'm against it but I haven't had sex in a long time and I just... I need some time.'' San chuckles at your shyness and strokes your hair caringly. ''You don't have to explain yourself to me, dear. Any way, if at any time you want me to pause or stop, tell me and we will pause or stop. Do you have any more questions?'' You shake your head. ''Please use your words with me, dear, I need verbal clarification.'' You shake your head again, muttering a soft ''no''.

''Perfect, let's get started then, dear.''

He pulls you a little closer and lifts up your chin with his fingers. ''Can I kiss you, Y/N?'' ''Yes, please,'' you say, leaning into him. San presses his lips to yours in a smooth motion. His lips are soft and his movements tender, but the grip of his hand on your upper thigh is firm, enough to slightly startle you.

You moved your arms around his neck as he laid you down on your back. His hands roamed over your thigh, down to your calf and ankle. San pulls away from the kiss and you pant softly, looking at him with full anticipation, your mind dizzy. He gently kissed your ankles before slipping off your heels. His hands move up again, along your hips and your sides, stopping to cup just underneath your breasts.

''You look so delicious angel,'' he grunts as he presses kisses over your chest and the top of your breasts. He helps you get up before he unzips your dress. You feel the way it slides down your legs and pool at your feet. You feel much more vulnerable now, noticing he's still fully clothed.

''I wanna see you too, San,'' you pant softly when you feel his lips in your neck, sucking on your skin gently. ''You wanna see me, baby? You got it.'' He smirks as he takes off his jacket, waistcoat and slowly unbuttons his white shirt, revealing his toned abs. You sit down and feel your throat go dry at the sight of his sculpted god-like body.

''How's that baby? Does that look like something you can get used to?'' he smirks. ''God, yes, definitely,'' you sigh, before laying your hands on him. When you place your hands on his abs you realize his cock is already half-hard. The desire to suck a man off has never been stronger than tonight, but San seems to have other plans as he gets on his knees in front of you.

His skilled fingers trail up your thigh and curl around the fabric of your panties, yanking them down and tossing them to the other side of the room. ''Look at that, what a perfect pussy,'' he praises as he settles himself between your thighs. Instinctively you try to close your legs out of embarrassment, but San is unbelievable strong and he keeps them parted.

''Don't you want me to play with that pretty pussy of yours, angel?'' ''N-No, I do, I really do, please,'' you cry out when you feel his breath fan over your sensitive wetness. When San's mouth makes contact with your sex you throw your head back and moan. He's literally 3 seconds in and you're already so disheveled.

His fingers skim over your thighs while his lips close around your sensitive bud, giving it a few soft sucks and kitten licks to test you. Even the feather-light touches are driving you crazy, and you think if he doesn't start to properly eat your pussy you'll go absolutely feral. ''Please, San, please,'' you whine out.

''Okay baby, don't worry, you don't have to beg, I'm here for you, angel, you're doing so well,'' he smiles before diving between your legs again. San starts to lick your sensitive clit, leaving small kisses across your sex, before diving his tongue in again, and God you could feel him everywhere.

You felt tingles throughout your body, your entire being responding to San pleasuring you. You're starting to think that stumbling on Yourdesire.com was the best thing that could've ever happened to you, just from his oral alone. It makes you wonder if he would fuck you as good as he eats you.

You let out nothing but loud moans, not having to fake anything, just letting all your inhabitions go. For the first time in your life you felt truly understood, truly taken care off. ''That's it, that's so fucking good,'' you whimper. He' takes his time's thorough with his work, every flick and twist of his tongue feeling deliciously good and evil all at once.

San took his time - unlike most men would - and spent over 10 minutes between your legs before finally pulling away and regaining his breath. San looks somewhat disheveled himself when he pulls away, looking pleased and fucked out just from eating your pussy for a while.

You feel his fingers skim through your folds before pushing two of his digits inside. You whine when he fingerfucks you with slow strokes, curling his fingers just right. He pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy that's gushing with arousal. With every stroke you feel yourself come closer to an orgasm, and San quickly seems to pick up on that.

''That's it baby, you're doing so well for me, are you gonna come for me? Come on my fingers?'' he taunts. You nod and cry out his name, ''S-San! G-God, yes!'' ''Alright princess, I'm going to count down and you're gonna come at one, am I clear?''

You nod again, but you feel like you could burst at any moment, pussy clenching with each thrust of San's fingers. With all the willpower you've got, you hold on, waiting for San to count down.

''Three...,'' he taunts, looking deeply into your eyes as he keeps fingering your wet hole, ''Two...,'' he says, lingering for a moment before coming down to the last number. ''One,'' San says, and in that exact moment your body releases, an enormous wave of pleasure washing over you, making your body tremble uncontrollably as he rocks you through your climax. ''That's it, that's a good girl...'' he whispers as he calms you down. San retracts his fingers and licks them off to clean them, looking at your fucked out state with a content smile.

He stands up and discards his remaining clothes and as you're starting to escape your high, you remember to take off your bra too, leaving both of you completely naked. You eye San up and down, eyes trailing from his toned torso to his bulky thighs and his crotch.

His cock is so thick, heavy balls hanging underneath as it stands up proudly against his stomach. ''Wow,'' you breathe out. San smirks as he comes closer, and you sit up, eye-leveling his cock. You lick your lips before running your hands up and down his muscular thighs.

''What do you want angel? Want me to make you feel good again?'' ''I want you inside... I want you on your back, and I wanna get on top of you,'' you pant. ''Well, that can be arranged, darling,'' he says as he takes place on the bed, laying against the soft, fluffed pillows.

You straddle San and spit in your hand before taking his stiff cock in your hand. You pump it up and down a few times, not because he's not hard enough but because you desperately wanted to touch him before taking him in. San grunts when you jerk him off faster and flick your wrist every now and then. ''That feels so good baby, you're so perfect, so perfect for me,'' he moans.

After letting go of his shaft you hover your pussy above it. With a loud moan you let him fill your tight pussy up completely. His hands hold your hips steady as you start to grind and roll your hips against him. You let out a shaky moan as his cock drags along your walls - still sensitive from your orgasm.

The pleasure quickly becomes too much and as your body gets weaker, San pulls you close against his chest and kisses you. Your lips move together in perfect harmony, swallowing each others moans as you keep grinding on his cock, his pelvis crazing your sensitive clit.

San starts to move his hips along with yours and fucks up into your pussy, earning loud whines from you against his plush lips. San's thrusts become rougher but keeps a steady pace, knowing just how to make you go crazy. He can feel your pussy clench down on his dick and he pulls away from your mouth, moaning out a string of curses.

''You're taking my cock so well, princess, God damn, your pussy's so well behaved huh? Squeezing my cock just right, you want me to come inside you, hm? I'll fill this pussy up with my cum, make it look so pretty and white. Bet you'd like that, hm? Isn't that the perfect reward for my pretty girl?''

All you can respond are merciful pleads and shards of his name. Your breathing becomes so uneven and you feel yourself getting close again when he reaches places no one has ever reached before. His hands grip your ass tight as he drives his cock inside you. ''I can feel you're about to come baby. Hold it, Hold it like the perfect girl you are, hm? Hold it for me baby, just a little longer,'' he orders you.

You try your best, you try so hard to hold on, keep yourself from coming while he fucks you into oblivion. Lucky for you he says the word ''Come,'' and you burst instantly, crashing onto his chest you scream his name and writhe, your orgasm taking over your entire body. With a few more thrusts he empties himself inside you, filling you up with his hot cum.

''That's it, angel, slow breaths, good girl,'' he says as he slows down and then lays you beside him. He gives you a moment to calm down and drink some of the water from the mini fridge before he gets up.

''Where are you going?'' you ask him. ''Follow me, darling,'' he says with a smile, reaching out for your hand. You hold his hand and stand up, legs wobbling as he takes you to the bathroom. You could feel the mixture of his and your own cum trickle down your inner thigh, but decided not to say anything.

The both of you walk down the steps and enter the hot bath that was ready for you. You hum softly when your body gets absorbed by the nice, warm water, feeling more relaxed instantly. San pulls you closer by your hips and pulls you in his lap as he sits down. You feel his half-hard erection slide between your asscheeks, and he groans. ''Oops,'' you giggle.

San smiles and shakes his head, ''You're so cute and sexy, my princess, you know that? I'm having an amazing time with you, you've been taking it all so well, haven't you?'' he praises you. You feel San's lips on your skin, pressing soft kisses over your shoulders.

''Hm, I'd say so, yeah,'' you giggle, grinding your ass back on his cock once more. ''Hm, was it not enough, my angel, does your pussy need a good fucking again?'' He asks, his voice low. San's cock hardens again and you feel him grinding himself between your cheeks. ''Hm, yeah, you should take me again, San, as a reward~'' you say playfully. San definitely can't say no to that, so he orders you to lean on the edge of the bath. You obey him and push your ass up as much as you can for him.

He pumps his dick a few times before sliding it into you with ease. ''God, you're so perfect, taking me instantly,'' he grunts as he leans on you. You feel the heavy weight of his body on yours and moan. You've always loved a strong man, and you love the feeling of having one on top of you.

San holds you in places as he ruthlessly fucks into you. You try to move as you whimper out his name, but you can't go anywhere. San's got you trapped under his body, holding you so tight there's no possibility of escaping. You whine as you try to hold onto him, overwhelmed by his hard thrusts, abusing your hole and making you feel good at the same time.

''Good girl, that's it, taking it perfectly angel,'' he moans, quickly chasing his own release. San fucks you at a pace you're sure is inhumane, and you can't do anything else but moan, moan loudly and let the entire hotel know how insanely good you're being fucked.

With one more rough thrust he combusts, releasing inside of you a second time that night. When he pulls out he lays you on the edge of the tub and makes you spread your legs. He watches your pretty pussy covered in his cum, and rubs your clit just as ruthlessly as he fucked you. You moan loudly and uncontrollably as San gets you to your fastest orgasm you've ever experienced.

After calming down and drying yourselves up San holds you in his arms as you lay on the bed. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear as he playfully nibbles on them. You love laying in his embrace, taking in his warmth.

''Thank you,'' you breathe out eventually. ''My pleasure,'' he smiles, ''it's my job, but I've certainly enjoyed this.'' You grin. ''I'm glad you did, I loved it too. I definitely needed to just get pleasured again by someone else. It was perfect. And worth every penny,'' you smiled.

After cleaning up and getting dressed you gave San one last kiss before saying your goodbyes. As you drive home he keeps playing on your mind, but your mind also wanders to the other men on the website. Would they be able to pleasure you just as much? How different would they be? You suppose there is only one way to find out...

[xmads-omensx]

Part 5

Word Count: 1,994

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: angst, self-image issues, fake dating, swearing

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @amelia-acero @thisbicc @dominuslunae @enemiestolovershoe @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @cheyyyyr @littlebear423 @dsireland86 @missduffsblog @overmydeadbodysblog @dominuslunae @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @kait16xo @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch

NOAH

Grace’s appearance at the party, whilst irritating, wasn’t exactly unexpected.

As a group, we had become accustomed to her unwanted presence in our lives. My only regret was that I never told Y/N about her. She was supposed to be my best friend, after all.

Except that wasn’t enough for me. It never had been.

She plagued every thought in my brain.

I had written countless songs about her that had never seen the light of day. Songs about her eyes, her smile, her hair, her laugh. I had written songs about everything and anything that reminded me of her.

Except that still wasn’t enough for me.

I wanted her. No. I needed her.

Three years ago, she went on a girls trip with some of her friends to Italy and it had been the worst two weeks of my life.

I missed her so horrifically that it hurt to be away from her for so long.

Sure, I was happy that she was having fun with her friends, but I wanted it to be me she had fun with. I wanted it to be me who took her to Italy, not her friends.

Hell, if Bad Omens fell apart I wouldn’t give a single shit about it because I would still have her.

Or would I?

The first time Y/N told me about Stephen’s behaviour I was enraged. I told her that once she had finished talking.

What I didn’t tell her, however, was that Nicholas had to hold me down in order to prevent me from storming over to the office building and beating the shit out of that perverted asshole. He even went as far to make me sleep in his bed that night so he could make sure that I wouldn’t do anything that could land me in jail.

I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, listening to the front door slam shut, indicating that Jolly had re-entered our house.

I could hear their muffled conversation from the living room. Jesse and Jolly were probably filling in Y/N with whatever they could think of in regards to Grace.

I didn’t care.

After all, Grace was right.

Y/N was, in fact, using me.

Granted, I was using her too, but not for the reasons she thought.

Yes, I did want to keep Grace as far away from me as possible, but she was still harmless regardless of if I was in a relationship or not.

I just wanted to be her boyfriend. For once. I just wanted to get what I wanted. Even if it wasn’t real.

The longer I lay there, staring into nothingness, the more I longed for it. I didn’t want her to be downstairs, talking to the others, I wanted her up here with me, curled up into my side with her head resting on my chest, rising and falling with my breaths.

I would look down at her and brush those shorter hairs that often fall into her face from that time she impulsively got bangs away from her face, making her giggle because she was so ticklish.

I would laugh at the goofy things that she said, making her head bounce along with my laughs.

I smiled absentmindedly at the thought.

Suddenly, the front door slammed, interrupting me from my daydreaming.

I sat up, confused.

Jesse and Jolly lived here and Y/N was staying the night, so who could have left?

Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I walked to my bedroom door, opening it with a slow creak before tiptoeing down the stairs to investigate what the slamming was about.

Jolly sat on the sofa nearest the front door, looking at it with a shocked expression, whilst Jesse stood in the middle of the room, also staring at the front door. Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

“Did she leave?” I asked, startling the other two who must’ve not heard me coming down the stairs.

“Uhh- umm- yeah. She did.” Jesse spluttered, eyes darting to me with a slightly panicked expression.

“Why? I thought she was staying over?” I asked, getting increasingly worried. “Did she leave because of Grace?”

“I- uh- she didn’t say.” Jesse stuttered.

An awkward silence filled the living room as the three of us looked at eachother, all awaiting an explanation.

“I think she went back to her place, she said she was tired.” Jolly shrugged, clearly making up what he was saying as he went along.

“You both are terrible liars, you know that right?” I laughed, walking towards the front door before Jesse stopped me, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me back.

“No!” He shouted with a panicked tone. “She probably wants to be alone, you know, with the whole Grace thing.”

That wasn’t like Y/N at all.

If someone had irritated her or pissed her off, she would automatically storm right up to my bedroom, throw herself onto my bed and begin telling me all about it.

TWO YEARS AGO

“Ugh I hate that bitch.” Y/N began, flopping onto my bed with an exaggerated sigh.

“Hello to you to.” I laughed.

“Bridget.” She sighed, twirling her hair around her finger. “I hate her.”

“What did she do now?” I asked.

Bridget was one of the new employees at Y/N’s work. She had claimed to be perfect for the position, but had proven to be the opposite. She was constantly late, backtalked Y/N and Gabi non-stop and was basically just the worst coworker ever.

“She was late. She rolled her eyes at Gabi. She spilled my coffee all over my desk.” Y/N began listing off all of the things Bridget had done that day to slight her, counting them off on her fingers as she went.

It made me laugh, how passionately she hated her new coworker.

She did everything passionately.

Hated, loved, laughed, cried. You name it.

“Want me to scare her off?” I laughed.

“Would you?” She asked, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.

I stared at her before bursting out into laughter, whilst Y/N playfully smacked my chest, complaining about how horrible I was being to her.

“You know I would scare anyone off for you.” I said sighing.

“I know. That’s why you’re my best friend.” She smiled.

Whilst the moment was sweet, it didn’t stop that crack in my heart from deepening as I smiled back at her.

I needed to accept the fact that she would never want me as anything more than that.

PRESENT

I hesitated at Jesse’s words, taking in his panicked expression.

Jolly had stood up now too.

“Whatever.” I mumbled, retreating back up the stairs and into my room, crawling back onto my bed and resuming my earlier position.

She definitely wouldn’t want to see me after I failed to defend her to Grace.

Once again, I had fucked up and let Y/N slip through my fingers.

False hope after false hope had made that crack deeper and deeper, and I was pretty sure my heart was only being held together by a thread.

The last few weeks had both made me the happiest man alive, and the most miserable.

Whilst I was able to be her boyfriend in reality, I was willing to accept the falsehood of the lie we had created if it meant that I got to hold her hand and kiss her.

The thing was, pretending to love her was easy, since I already did. I had for a very long time.

She would never love me back, of course. Y/N was the most incredible woman I had ever met, therefore she had the ability to pick whoever she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and I had accepted that I would never be that man.

After all, I was her best friend.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I had never uttered a word about any of these feelings to anybody. Not even Nick.

I closed my eyes, trying desperately to retreat to the memories we had created over the last few weeks.

Y/N had a work party not too long after we had started our arrangement, which I had to attend as her boyfriend.

That night, I had driven over to her place in my black dress pants, freshly polished shoes and a white button-up shirt. I had even busted out my most expensive cologne and let Jolly style my hair for me.

It felt silly, when I was waiting for her in my car, that I had put all of this effort in despite us not really being together, but I wanted to show her that I could be a good boyfriend. Even if it wasn’t real.

“Damn where the fuck did you hide the real Noah?” She had laughed when she climbed into my car in a floor-length lilac dress with matching heels and a matching purse.

My heart fluttered in my chest as I looked at her. Beautiful wasn’t enough to describe how she looked.

Fuck that.

Not a single word in the English language was enough to even begin to describe how breathtaking she looked sitting in the passenger seat.

“I- uh-“ I had stuttered, making her laugh.

Fuck that laugh would be the death of me.

The party itself went by in a blur, especially since I spent the entire night looking at her.

I watched as she laughed with Gabi and Ashley about something.

As far as I was concerned, she was the only thing worth looking at.

“How on earth did you bag that?” A nasally voice spoke up from beside me, interrupting my thoughts.

This was the moment I had been waiting for.

Stephen was speaking to me.

“Sorry?” I said with a laugh, hoping I had misheard him.

“How did you manage to get with her?” He doubled down. Big mistake. “I mean, look at her.”

“Yeah, let’s not do that.” I laughed again.

“Do what?” He asked, genuinely confused, and mildly offended that I had argued back.

“You looking at my girlfriend.” I went on, my expression turning serious. “Don’t do it.”

He looked genuinely taken aback by my response.

“I was only complimenting her.” He defended.

“And I was only telling you to stop.” I retorted.

I easily towered over him.

His bald head reflected the lights above him. He looked almost comical stood next to me.

“She is my employee.” He argued.

“She is my girlfriend.” I laughed.

Stephen huffed and retreated back to the group of older men who stood away from the main party, glaring at me and clearly pissed off that I had stood up to him.

Y/N grinned at me from where she stood with her friends, having clearly witnessed the interaction.

I smiled back.

I was going to kill Stephen.

The ceiling above me offered no comfort as I reminisced.

Granted, I was only hurting myself by thinking about the times I felt like I was actually her boyfriend, but I couldn’t help it.

Besides, Y/N would never fall for someone like me anyway. A fake relationship was the best I was ever going to get, and I was more than happy.

Except I wasn’t.

I was in a constant state of happiness since I got to have her, whilst continually having my heart broken over and over again since she wasn’t mine. Not really.

Soon enough, she would find someone else, someone real, and I would be left alone and used.

The more rational part of my brain wanted to break our arrangement off, but I knew I couldn’t if I wanted to make sure that Stephen stayed the hell away from Y/N, but my selfish heart never wanted this to end.

I needed to decide what to do. And I needed to do it fast.

But it was too late to turn back now.

I had dug a hole so deep that I would need to tear myself apart to get out of it.

[nerdykorgi]

QUICK YAP SESH: Location of Gravesfield from The Owl House

so uhm, while I am finishing the rest other art things I did decide at like 3 am to find the supposed "actual" location of Gravesfield. At least, what town would most likely be Gravesfield if it were real.

I used a lot of info from the wiki and that cool official Gravesfield Website Mock-Up that John Bailey Owen posted. (this thing in case no one knows what im talking about)

Anyways to get started, here's this poorly done thing i made in google draw lol, hopefully you can actually read some of it oof. Its color coded to the info below:

Firstly, I do find it interesting how Conneticut was actually the FIRST colony with a relatively large witch panic in the American colonies, happening 40 years before the infamous Salem Witch Trials.

To start off I think the most poorly backed-up possibility is Hamden.

The reason im suggesting Hamden is because it is Dana's hometown and she said she has taken a lot of major inspiration from it. Like churches and graveyards.

However, the reason I'm not drawn to it is because not only was it founded 1786, way over a decade Gravesfield was said to be founded, I also couldn't find too much about Hamden having Witch trials, but if they did it definitely wasn't as big as Wethersfield's or Hartford.

Now I'm basically stuck between Litchfield and Wethersfield.

Litchfield:

Litchfield I was drawn to because of its name really. It means Field of Corpses and that's basically the same thing as Gravesfield lol. On top of that, it also holds the county seat of Litchfield County, something Gravesfield supposedly is as well. (In modern day context of course.)

Also Gravesfield was said to be along Conneticut Route 109, putting right along either Washington pr Litchfield (which J. B. Owen said was probably false on the Washington part but at the same time he uses an image of Washington's river as stated below)

The thing is though, like Hamden it wasnt founded until the 18th century, and there was no witch trial things that i could find. :/

Which then led me to Wethersfield:

Now Wethersfield is WAY more appropriate in both time, setting, and history. Wethersfield was one of the first colonies to be pop-up around the correct time for the Wittebane brothers to arrive in Connecticut. Wethersfield was founded in 1633-34 and Gravesfield in 1635 (Mind the brothers were said to arrive in 1613 I think it was, either this was a continuity error or they were among the very first settlers in Gravesfield.)

Random but it was also called Watertowne before it was changed to Wethersfield.

Anyways, In the Mock-up website we can see at the top, a banner picture of a winding river. Now i did google search this image and it is actually Washington Ct, womp womp, but I think it could actually be pointing to another more prominent river in Connecticut and that's the actual Connecticut River, which Wethersfield is conveniently placed right next to.

Now lets look at a map of Wethersfield:

river, check check, and HOLY SHIT THAT COULD BE THE FLOODED GRAVEYARD LOL (where i circled) Sadly, Its not actually, but it shows how similiar the geography possibly is.

I think last and most importantly however is the fact that Wethersfield is known to have some of the earliest of the witch trials in Connecticut at the time. (There were 9 documented accusations and only 3 executions, one of which was a woman who openly admitted to using to witch craft, Mary Johnson, and a married couple name Joan and John Carrington.) This goes very well with the whole Witch Hunting thing.

Lastly I think the cherry on top would be that they both just look incredibly similar lol:

Also fun fact, If the Wittebane brothers did actually arrive in 1613~ they would have been among the Dutch settlers rather than the British, whom were the ones to found Wethersfield. Take that information how you will but I am certainly going to make some kind of headcannon out of it lol

Anyways more art soon once i actually finish it, but please, Let me know your guy's thoughts :D !

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Misunderstood

It started small. Marshall wasn’t the most openly emotional guy, but you always knew when he was present—when he was *there* with you. He had his way of making you feel like the only person in the world, even in his quiet moments.

But recently, that connection felt like it had been fraying. He’d been coming home later, spending more time in his home studio, and his usual warmth had been replaced by something distant. When he did talk to you, his responses were clipped, like he was only half-listening.

You tried to push through it at first, chalking it up to stress. He was always juggling a million things at once—his music, his kids, his public image. But when he started leaving the room to take phone calls or spacing out during dinner, a nagging thought crept into your mind.

What if he was pulling away because there was someone else?

It wasn’t like him, but you’d seen it happen to other people. Relationships falling apart quietly, slowly, until one day you wake up and realize you don’t know the person lying next to you. The fear of that happening to you and Marshall clawed at your chest, and the frustration of not knowing how to fix it bubbled over.

---

It was late, and you were already in bed, staring at the ceiling. Marshall had just gotten home after another long day. He sat on the edge of the mattress, scrolling through his phone, completely silent.

“Marshall,” you said, your voice sharp in the quiet room.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

You sat up, your arms crossed. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, finally glancing over his shoulder.

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Distant. Distracted. You barely talk to me anymore, and I feel like I’m invisible.”

He sighed, setting his phone down on the nightstand. “I’ve just been busy. That’s all.”

“Busy?” you repeated, incredulous. “You’re not just busy, Marshall. You’ve been completely checked out. What is it? What’s going on?”

“I told you—it’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me!” you snapped, your voice rising. “Is there someone else? Are you cheating on me?”

His head snapped toward you, his eyes narrowing. “Are you serious right now?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” you shot back, throwing your hands up. “You’ve been shutting me out completely, and I don’t understand why. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just say it!”

Marshall stood, pacing the room, his jaw tight. “You think I’d cheat on you? After everything we’ve been through?”

“I don’t know what to think!” you yelled, your voice breaking. “I don’t know anything anymore because you won’t talk to me!”

Marshall stopped pacing, running a hand over his face. He looked… tired. Defeated.

“It’s not what you think,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I’m not cheating on you.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, your tone softer now.

He sat back down on the bed, his shoulders slumping. “I have to go to L.A. for a few weeks. The label booked studio time, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without it turning into a fight. I know it’s part of the job, but it’s killing me, okay?”

You blinked, confused. “Why would it be killing you?”

“Because I hate being away from you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I leave, it feels like I’m leaving part of myself behind. And this time, it’s worse. I don’t know why. I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own, but it’s messing with my head.”

The weight of his words hit you like a freight train. All your anger, all your suspicions melted away, replaced by a pang of guilt so sharp it made your chest ache.

“Marshall,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his hand.

He shook his head, his blue eyes clouded with emotion. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just didn’t know how to talk about it without making you upset.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you scooted closer to him. “I thought… I thought I was losing you. I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked you about it sooner instead of jumping to conclusions.”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “You shouldn’t have had to guess what was going on. That’s on me. I should’ve talked to you.”

You sat there in silence for a moment, his words settling between you. Then you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, his voice breaking.

“Me too,” you whispered, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go.

**Rebuilding**

That night, the two of you stayed up talking. You told him how his behavior had made you feel, and he told you about the pressure he’d been under, the way the thought of leaving had been eating at him.

It wasn’t easy, but by the time the sun started to rise, you felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off your chest.

When the day came for Marshall to leave, you were still sad to see him go. But this time, there was no tension, no distance between you. Just love and the promise of his return.

As he kissed you goodbye, his hands lingering on your face, he said, “I’ll call you every day. I’ll be back before you know it.”

And for the first time in weeks, you believed him.

**The Return**

Three weeks had never felt so long.

Marshall had called you every day like he promised—sometimes more than once. He sent pictures of the studio, snippets of songs he was working on, and messages that made you laugh. He was doing his best to close the distance between you, but it wasn’t the same.

The house felt emptier without him. You missed the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his arms around you, the way he’d sneak up behind you in the kitchen just to kiss your neck. You tried to stay busy, but it was impossible not to count the days until he came back.

Finally, the day arrived.

You were in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast, when you heard the front door open. Your heart leapt as you rushed into the hallway, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

And there he was.

Marshall stood in the doorway, his bag slung over one shoulder and his baseball cap pulled low over his face. He looked tired, but the second he saw you, his entire expression softened.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet.

You didn’t say anything. You just ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He let out a soft laugh as he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I missed you more,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands cupping his face. “You look exhausted.”

He shrugged, giving you a small smile. “Long flight. But I’m good now.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you something—”

He cut you off with a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with an urgency that made your knees weak. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“All I need right now is you,” he said softly.

**The Rest of the Day**

You spent the day curled up on the couch together, talking, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s presence. Marshall told you about the recording process, the late nights in the studio, and how he’d stayed up some nights just staring at his phone, wanting to hear your voice.

“You know, it’s not the same,” he said, running his fingers through your hair as your head rested on his chest.

“What’s not?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him.

“Talking on the phone. It helps, but it’s not the same as being here with you. I hate being away from you. Every time I leave, it feels like part of me is missing.”

You reached up to touch his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “You don’t have to explain, Marshall. I get it. I felt the same way.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “I promise, I’m going to try to balance things better. I don’t want you to feel like I’m pulling away again. Ever.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know. And I’ll try not to jump to conclusions next time. We’re in this together, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, his lips curving into a smile against yours.

**That Night**

As the day turned to evening, you found yourself in bed together, tangled up in each other like you couldn’t get close enough. He held you like he was afraid you might disappear, his hands tracing gentle patterns on your skin.

“I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me,” he said suddenly, his voice low. “You’re the most important thing in my life. You know that, right?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you nodded, your fingers threading through his. “I know. And I feel the same way about you.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Good. Because I don’t ever want you to doubt that. No matter where I am, you’re always on my mind. Always.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you. As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you felt more connected to him than ever before, knowing that no matter how far apart you might be, you’d always find your way back to each other.

[heal-the-ashes]

[ Flora Reinhold (Moodboard) ]

My first Flora Friday!

Making moodboards is a hobby of mine. I've just been afraid to post any of them.

First, here's the sources, and then I'll get into my thoughts and explanations for this one.

[Taiyaki and orange]

[Heart orange slice in tea]

[Vinyl saying "I can't tell you everything"]

[Monarch butterflies]

[Flora Reinhold]

[Heart candles]

[Waffles]

[Deer pattern]

[Apple pie]

Background is (and almost always will be) made by me!

First there's three taiyaki there. I think anything with three represents her, Luke, and Layton, or it can represent her, the Baron, and Lady Violet. But I think this image represents Flora, Luke, and Layton. The orange represents Flora herself.

In the tea, there's only one slice of the heart. This could symbolize how Flora's love is always lonely. Just like how anything in tea seeps and brews in water, both her love and loneliness is concentrated and self-contained. I just thought the cup was pretty too. It looks like something she would own.

The record saying "I can't tell you everything"... It's self explanatory, but the fact that it's on a vinyl is interesting. It's supposed to be played. It's supposed to be heard. But it'll never get the chance to do that, or so Flora probably thinks.

Monarch butterflies. Flora is probably seen as the crown princess of St. Mystere. It's also interesting that they: mostly live alone, and also represent rebirth, transformation, and new beginnings. I find it interesting that they also group together when trying to stay warm or when migrating. (Also that they usually land in the same area or even tree after migrating, or so I heard?)

The candles—There's three, they're heart shaped, and they're lit up. A family relationship that both lights up her life and hurts her in the sense that wax is getting burned and melting. Candles are sometimes used as a metaphor for patience or energy, mostly in negative terms because it's usually slowly dwindling away. However, there's always light involved…

The waffles, um. Gonna be honest and say it just looked good and fit into it. Maybe she made them :0 There's also multiple, so maybe she made them for everyone else?

The deer pattern. Deer represent spiritual authority, regrowth, devotion, care, grace, innocence… Also alertness and wariness. But one thing that I learned while researching is that mother deer leave their baby fawn for a few weeks on purpose to protect them. They wait until the kids are old enough to travel with them. Doesn't that sound like someone we know?

And finally, we have the apple pie. I love this one. There's the bow, there's three hearts in it—But also, a section of the pie is perforated, cut to be taken out. One of the hearts is within that section, but it's also not like other images where the slice is actually separated. It's still there. It has a severed connection, but it's still there.

And taking that as a metaphor is really beautiful to me. All of this is really pretty to me, and all moodboards I make have some sort of symbolism to them. I hope everyone likes this one :) I may post more, because... My layton ones.. I have at least like 10+ of them already, this is the newest one I just made today. Anyway :) Happy Flora Friday 🍎

[plounce]

come with me on my wikipedia journey about the trash tube

visited the wikipedia page "list of musical instruments" (i was trying to remember instruments) and immediately encountered the problem of the image for "anvil" being ten billion times larger than all the other images (or rather, "pictureks") and ruining the formatting by adding a horizontal scroll bar:

nevertheless i scroll down and find another even more baffling entry

"trash tube". no linked page. just a photo of a guy holding... something.

it is titled "The Trash Tube being used by the creator Jeremy Leafey". i click to see more details on the wikimedia page.

The Trash Tube is an percussion instrument made by Jeremy Leafey who is the bass guitarist to the Philadelphia jamband “Refrigerator” in 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic. The instrument is made of old trash found in Jeremy’s house such as two plastic cups taped together with pencils and popsicle sticks inside so it can be used as a shaker and has many other things attached to make different sounds such as, a hair comb, wrench, bracelets, paper clips, and toothpicks. Jeremy used this instrument in jams from psychedelic funk to experimental music and continues to use it till this day.

well that's pretty cool i suppose. don't know if it warrants an entry on this wikipedia page, though.

Starrlightmighty5's contribs are:

it is fairly obvious this is jeremy. "trash tube in use.jpg" was his first upload.

here is the relevant edit history for the inclusion of the trash tube in the list of instruments.

the other files, though: "bassduet.jpg" is him playing with his bass guitar teacher, who runs a bass guitar school. "standstraightorleave.jpg" is the album cover to his avant-garde/experimental music, released under his solo name - "starrlight mighty5", which explains the username (unfortunately when you google it, you mostly get results for traveling in utah). here is one of his recordings on youtube, uploaded in july 2020, which he describes as "an original Lowercase song by me that is made of objects/instruments around my house".

he then adds, "I play in a jamband called “Refrigerator” Here’s our website where you can find our social media, band info, and concert/tour dates!: https://sites.google.com/view/rerigeratorband/home?authuser=1"

now, if you click that link, you will find that it does not work. it does not work even if you add the "f" in "refrigerator" to the url." 404 page :(

the most recent jpg in the list is "refrigerator together.jpg", from april 2021, and it's a photo of six teen boys in a backyard, all holding up white shirts with their first names printed on them in a cool font. the description is "Refrigerator all together before playing", and it was taken in june 2020, almost a year before it was uploaded. one of the boys is named cole, and on the song i linked earlier he commented "Pretty Cool Jermey".

he has a lot of marching band & jazz band vlogs on his youtube as well, along with a lot of uploads of more obscure rock songs, re-uploads of rock concert footage, him playing some pretty sick bass riffs, and references in various pieces of media to bands he likes, especially phish. he just seems to be a real big music nerd, which is awesome. he's 19 now and hasn't uploaded anything in two years. i hope refrigerator still hangs out and jams. i hope he's doing even sicker bass riffs. i wonder if he still plays the trash tube.

[altocat]

Okay it is time

I seek Alto angst

Seph for the hcs but make it….

Pleaseeeee

FINE. I WARNED YOU. THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED ASDFGHNGBFDS

Headcanon A: Sephiroth has probably not been that many places on the FF7 world map, at least not beyond places that he was assigned for missions. He expressed longing to travel in First Soldier and also stated that he only ever goes on business trips in Rebirth. So he was probably never permitted to go anywhere by himself, never let off Shinra's leash. They were likely constantly watching him and not letting him go anywhere fun or relaxing. Sephiroth was constantly moving, constantly fighting.

Headcanon B: HOW TF AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE THIS ONE BOTH ANGSTY AND HILARIOUS CROW YOU TELL MEEEE. OKAY FINE LET'S PRETEND THAT LUCRECIA DIDN'T GO INTO THE CRYSTAL RIGHT AWAY SINCE WE DON'T REALLY KNOW WHEN THAT HAPPENED

ANYWAY SHE AND MINIROTH ARE LITERALLY WITHIN THIRTY FEET OF EACH OTHER IN WHEREVERSVILLE AND JUST MISS EACH OTHER BY A FRACTION OF A MINUTE HOW HILARIOUS.

Headcanon C: I have like vivid images of a Post-Rhadore Miniroth growing so incredibly bitter and angry because of what happened with Team Glenn. He trusted them so much. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to stay with them. And they threw everything away. We see Sephiroth's expression harden for the first time in his life, his expression cold and detached. He's done with people. He's done protecting them. Believing in them. He's done with attachments. Better to be an empty, emotionless machine. Better to be alone.

And then Angeal and Genesis come and his life is changed all over again. And for nearly a decade, all Sephiroth comes to know and feel is love, real, earnest love.

Only to lose it all over again.

And never go back. This is truly the end of the line.

Headcanon D: However FS Episode 2 ends, my epilogue hc for it will always involve a Sephgeal hug. Or at least early attempts of one. Sephiroth pushes Angeal away at first because he's not ready. Not after Glenn.

[thehypnone]

Symbol on the Surface Chapter 21

WC: 950

Relationship: SwissAlps & the kits

Tags: Transmasc Swiss, Body Image Issues/Insecurity, Reassurance, Fluff

After they get all full of milk and content they get sleepy again, so Mountain puts them back into their crib. He watches them for a moment and Swiss soon joins him, gluing himself to the earth ghoul’s back and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 21 under the cut or on AO3.

For two weeks since giving birth Swiss hadn’t had a chance to look at himself in the mirror. First, he wasn’t strong enough to be up most of the time, and when he did have mostly healed, the kits kept him busy.

Now when he’s finally seeing his body, he is…disappointed.

It’s not that Swiss thought his stomach would go back to normal right away, he just never thought about how it would look after giving birth. It simply didn’t cross his mind.

From what he has looked up online, and from what Omega has told him, the way he currently looks is completely normal, and would get better with time—even faster than it would for a human—but it will never look the same way it did before he got pregnant.

Swiss doesn’t really know if he’s okay with that, but he tries to convince himself he’s still as attractive as he was, and that his stomach is only a symbol of bringing life into this world. Three precious lives.

At least the multi ghoul knows that Mountain won’t see him as less for it; it helps. And Mountain himself doesn’t spare reassurance, either.

The earth ghoul wishes Swiss could literally read his mind. His mate trusts him without that to be speaking truthfully, but if he had an unfiltered look into Mountain’s brain, he could never doubt himself ever again. 

But that is not possible, so Mountain makes due by other means.

The moment silence falls in the room, when the kits get lulled to sleep, Swiss falls into his armchair with a deep sigh. He pulls his legs up to cover himself, but he does it absentmindedly—he doesn’t even realize.

It makes Mountain a little sad; Swiss has always been so open and beaming, and now he’s hiding like this.

The earth ghoul walks up to him and kneels on the carpet before the chair, making his mate raise an eyebrow in question. He can see in Mountain’s eyes, though, that it’s not sex he wants. He places his hands on Swiss’ knees and gently pulls his legs down onto either side of him. Then, Mountain leans forward, wraps his arms around the multi ghoul’s middle and nuzzles his face into his stomach as he starts to purr.

“What are ya doin’, sweetheart?” Swiss rumbles in question, smiling faintly.

“I loved you pregnant, but I’ve missed your tummy being so soft,” Mountain replies with his face shoved all the way into said tummy, making his words barely audible. The multi ghoul giggles at that, but it’s weak and quiet—lacking his usual liveness.

Mountain doesn’t say anything more, nor does he move. He stays there, purring louder than ever as he’s genuinely enjoying the predicament he’s put himself into. At some point Swiss brings his hand to his head, to drag through his hair and scratch at his scalp.

He only pulls back—regretfully—when the kits start to wake again. The earth ghoul gets up to get them, leaving Swiss on the chair to get out of his sweater; the kits need a snack after a nap.

“Hello there, my little loves,” Mountain coos as he reaches into the crib for Aelin, who’s the first one awake. He smiles brightly as he pulls her out and brings her to his chest, holding the tiny sleepy ghoulette close. Swiss feels like he’s about to melt into a puddle as he’s watching the scene.

After a moment, though, Aelin wakes up more and starts getting wiggly and whiny, so Mountain hands her over to Swiss so he can feed her, while the other gets to the other two.

“Hi, baby,” the multi ghoul greets her, but she seems to only be interested in her mama’s boob, not him. He can live with that, he supposes.

In no time at all the other two are fully awake and latching onto Swiss as soon as Aelin’s done—she doesn’t love having either of her siblings feeding on the other side as she’s doing so, the spoiled princess that she already is.

After they’re all full of milk and content they get sleepy again, so Mountain puts them back into their crib. He watches them for a moment and Swiss soon joins him, gluing himself to the earth ghoul’s back and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

The kits are all touching each other in at least one spot and each is wrapped around a plushie—the ones they’ve gotten from Dewdrop. They fell in love with them right away, especially Amon, whose favorite thing to do is suck on his teddy bear’s ear.

Swiss grunts dramatically every time he has to touch the slobbery plushie, but he still finds his kits the most adorable ever. Adorable, but nasty at the same time; he’s so grateful to Mountain for dealing with most of their…mess.

Swiss did not know how poopy kits are.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he loves them so much, it’s practically insane; he feels like a man possessed.

The multi ghoul can’t stop himself from grinning as he watches both of Arya’s tiny hands holding onto her siblings’ tails—each in one hand. She has taken a particular liking to the fluffy tip of Amon’s, because the fins on Aelin’s are a little too spikey to play with.

That doesn’t stop the small ghoulette from trying, though; barely two weeks old and she’s already following Swiss’ steps of being the designated menace.

He can’t wait to run around setting fires with the little ghoulette on his shoulders, cheering.

Taglist: @arkeusruin @skele-bunny @everybodyshusband @ratsummer @jazz-bazz @mac-and-thefox @karmicbias @wine-irytatus @ghoultrifle (if anyone from here wants to be removed lmk, and also if anyone else wants to be added)

[elanorpam]

Shen Qingqiu and Binghe designs as I poke at my own mental image of them a little more. I did a thread on my thought process on bluesky, but i'm pasting and expanding on it under the cut:

anyway: big, manly, muscley Binghe is very cute and all, but doesn't really match his canon description. He's meant to be beautiful rather than handsome, such that PIDW!Binghe actively uses his appearance whenever he wants to be underestimated, and can convincingly play underdog or ingenue as his strategy requires.

SVSSS satirizes roles and appearances-- and Binghe's whole thing is that he looks AND plays the bottom (cooking, cleaning, crying and playing up his emotional fragility) but is actually the voracious top! It's the joke-- he's a beautiful maidenly white lotus with a dick longer than the heavens who yearns to tie his teacher down and make gentle missionary love with him for twelve hours straight and gay.

So for him I wanted to play up a shoujo uke look. Thick lips, big sparkly eyes with unrealistic lashes, rounded face structure. I love the curly hair design, but it doesn't match the beauty standards Binghe is supposed to represent, so I limited myself to a very gentle wave instead. Maybe once his hair is long enough, the wave at the tip becomes more accentuated? But I think it would work best once the length goes past the knees...

as for SQQ: he suffers from resting bitch face. It's canon. So long as he can keep his face relaxed, onlookers will assume he's cold and detached. He also describes his facial structure, way back in the first chapter, as sharp and thin-- so i emphasized that: sharp chin and eyes, thin nose and lips. Pin-straight hair.

in that way i made him look severe but clean, with few detail lines-- and I intend to emphasize the slant of his eyes more when I draw him next, and make the area around his eyes even more clean. I did want to give him eyelashes but couldn't seem to make them work; so, uh, picture them as thick and long, but curving down...? i might handle that next time by making the upper line of his eyelid visibly thicker. Needs workshopping.

This is it, really, just some thoughts on character design. Maybe next time when my cintiq isn't overheating i can do a SJ!SQQ vs SY!SQQ thing, with SJ's signs of stress and undereating vs. SY's health and indulgence under Binghe's care.

[thatidiotsuds]

TASK FORCE 141 x Fem sniper! Reader

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or images used in this work, nor do I claim any rights to them.

Summary: you called Price "Dad"

Word count: 761 Masterlist

Slip Up

The dimly lit room was filled with the faint hum of the overhead lights and the smell of stale coffee. Task Force 141 had gathered around a large, battered table strewn with maps, intel reports, and empty soda cans. The atmosphere was tense but focused; they were preparing for a mission that could change the course of the conflict they were entrenched in.

You sat at the table, your rifle resting against the wall nearby. As the team's best sniper, you had earned your place among the elite soldiers of Task Force 141. Your eyes scanned the maps, absorbing every detail, while your mind raced with strategies and contingencies. Captain John Price, the seasoned leader of the team, stood at the head of the table, pointing out key locations on the map.

“Alright, listen up,” Price said, his voice steady and commanding. “We’re going in hot. Our target is a high-value individual, and we need to take him out before he can mobilize his forces. Ghost, you’ll be on point with me. Soap and (your callsign) will cover us from the ridge.”

You nodded, your focus unwavering. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, your close friend and secret crush, leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He was always quick to lighten the mood, even in the most serious of situations.

“Just make sure you don’t miss, lass,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wouldn’t want to let the old man down.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “I won't miss, Soap. You know that.”

Price continued outlining the plan, his voice steady and authoritative.

“Once we’re in position, we’ll need to coordinate our movements. Communication is key. You’ll have the best vantage point. Just keep your head down and stay vigilant.”

“Sure thing, Dad. We can handle it,” you blurted out before you realized what you had said.

The room fell silent. Time seemed to freeze as everyone turned to look at you, wide-eyed. The tension that had filled the air moments before was replaced by a wave of laughter. Soap was the first to break the silence, his laughter ringing out like a bell.

“Did you just call him ‘Dad’?” he howled, clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

Price raised an eyebrow, a tint of red creeping onto his cheeks as a smirk formed on his face. “Well, I suppose I do have that fatherly look,” he quipped, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, your heart racing. “I didn’t mean to! It just slipped out!” you protested, trying to maintain your composure.

Ghost leaned back in his chair, a rare smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. “Looks like we’ve found a new nickname for the Captain,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Gaz nods "she's getting too comfy"

Johnny, however, wasn’t ready to let it go. “Oh, this is gold! ‘Dad’ is gonna be your new call sign. Just wait until we’re out in the field,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You shot him a playful glare, but deep down, you couldn’t help but laugh along with the rest of the team. The camaraderie you shared was what made Task Force 141 feel like family, even if it meant enduring a little teasing.

As the laughter subsided, Price cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the meeting. “Alright, enough of that. We have a mission to prepare for. (Your callsign), just remember to keep your head in the game. No more slip-ups, understood?”

You nodded, seriousness returning as you focused on the task at hand, a smile still lingering on your lips. “Understood, Captain. No more ‘Dad’ moments.”

The team resumed their planning, but Johnny kept shooting you playful glances, a grin plastered on his face. You could feel the warmth of his gaze, and despite the embarrassment, you found comfort in the lightheartedness he brought to the situation.

As the mission drew closer, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. You were ready to prove yourself once again, but you also knew that no matter what happened, you had a team that had your back—and someone who would never let you live down that one little slip of the tongue.

[lawisnotmocked]

Catching up on Les Mis letters for this year so I thought I’d share all my thoughts on the canine imagery from volume 1 book 1 in the same post.

The first instance of canine imagery in book 1 shows up in chapter 1.1.7 when Myriel wishes to cross the mountains to visit a small community of shepherds. The mayor warns him not to leave without an escort because of the threat of bandits but Myriel refuses the escort and tells the mayor he has no reason to fear them.

“But the brigands, Monseigneur?” “Hold,” said the Bishop, “I must think of that. You are right. I may meet them. They, too, need to be told of the good God.” “But, Monseigneur, there is a band of them! A flock of wolves!” “Monsieur le maire, it may be that it is of this very flock of wolves that Jesus has constituted me the shepherd. Who knows the ways of Providence?”

Wolves in Les Mis often represent two things - their position as powerful apex predators is often used to represent that a person has dangerous, malicious or violent intentions, but they’re also contrasted with dogs, a domestic canine with close proximity to human society, to show the ways certain people are prohibited from being part of society, usually because they’re in extreme poverty or are a criminal. Wolves are canines who are not allowed to participate in human society, and dogs are canines who are. Lots of people who are both violent and criminals get assigned wolf imagery, including Thenardier and Montparnasse.

In this case Cravatte and his bandits are wolves because they’re a dangerous group of highway robbers, but Myriel is also the shepherd for a flock of wolves because he’s the kind of bishop who goes out of his way to try and offer help to people who have otherwise been abandoned or cast out by the rest of society, including people like Valjean and Cravatte who had a reputation for being dangerous.

I love the way the imagery of Myriel being the shepherd for a flock of wolves ties in to the Christian symbolism of Jesus as a shepherd too it creates such a perfect mental image for me that represents this part of Myriel’s character so well 👌

Wolf imagery also shows up in the next chapter, 1.1.8, during Myriel’s conversation with the senator.

I am not enthusiastic over your Jesus, who preaches renunciation and sacrifice to the last extremity. ’Tis the counsel of an avaricious man to beggars. Renunciation; why? Sacrifice; to what end? I do not see one wolf immolating himself for the happiness of another wolf.

The reader is supposed to dislike the senator so him specifically comparing his personal philosophy to the behaviour of wolves might just be another way for Hugo to emphasise that he’s The Wrong One in this conversation. It could also be Hugo trying to make a point that a good society requires people to act with compassion and make sacrifices for each other or we may as well just be wolves instead of men? (violent and dangerous metaphorical wolves at least, not real wolves lol) I feel like parts of this chapter are definitely going over my head because it contains so much of Hugo’s Opinion on contemporary discussions so there might be something I’m missing here too.

[malsmind]

“what are we?”

better than him part 2

matt sturniolo x reader

summary: after what happened between you and your bestfriend, you can’t help but feel weird towards your guys’s friendship, feelings that you never even knew you had suddenly weighing on you.

warnings: smut, angst, p in v, unprotected sex, oral f receiving, pet names (baby) use of y/n

authors note: PART 2 OF BETTER THAN HIM! lmk what u think! this one’s a lil angsty, don’t rlly know what to think about it tbh

wc: 3k

part 1 here!

english is not my first language!

last night felt like a weird dream. it wasn’t bad, not at all, you enjoyed every single moment of it. the only problem was your mind racing with the thoughts of what had happened, confusion, anxiety, maybe even the slightest hint of regret.

"do you want me to make you cum?"

you didn't know what to say. you were speechless. you couldn't help the heat rise to your cheeks, causing you to look away from him. did you want that? he's your best friend, surely this would make things... weird, right? matt grew a little anxious at your reaction, not sure what to do. he mentally face palmed himself for even thinking like that. why would you ever even-

"okay."

matt was pulled out of his thoughts, looking back at you to meet your eyes again.

"what, really? you don't.. have to i understand if-"

"no i want to." you cut him off, leaning slightly closer to him.he nodded, his eyes darting down to your lips, inching closer. it didn't take long for him to fully lean over the middle console of the car and put his lips to yours. the kiss was gentle, his lips moving against yours at a

the image of what happened was running circles in your mind, replaying the moment over and over again.

“you’re so beautiful.”

“fuck, you feel so good sweetheart.”

remembering his words, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, it made your breath tremble, a slight shiver running down your spine. you didn’t know why you felt the way you did. matt on the other hand knew exactly what he had felt from the moment he met you. sure, you guys have been best friends for years, nothing more. matt always felt something more for you though, something he couldn’t quite explain until he actually got to share some sort of intimate moment with you, the connection of your bodies that night also connecting the dots in his brain.

he drove you home that night, hugging you before driving home himself. he came home, smiling like an idiot. of course, chris and nick noticed the change in his behavior. how smiley he was. however, all that changed pretty quickly when the night after, you still hadn’t replied to any of his texts. the occasional instagram reels or tiktok’s that everyone would send around, that you would send around to matt remained unopened. chris, nick and you would also usually send each other a few things, or chat, but since that night you and matt had your little drive around, ending up in the backseat of his car? nothing.

matt was quick to grow concerned, a weird, unsettling feeling building up inside of him. did he cross a line? were you weirded out? was your friendship ruined?

you read his messages. you didn’t mean to click on the notification but now he knew you were purposely leaving him on read anyway. you couldn’t bring yourself to reply, too confused with your own feelings and how to proceed with whatever happened. matt kept checking his phone, leg bouncing up and down as he sat in his living room with his brothers, supposed to watch a movie.

“kid what’s up with you? you’re not even watching the movie.” chris spoke up, growing annoyed at the way matt’s leg bounced like crazy. he put his phone down, looking up at the TV in the process. “i’m fine, just waiting on a message.”

chris scoffed at his response. he knew something was up. the fact that you haven’t messaged neither him nor nick nor matt said it all. you were all friends, none of you had gone quiet on each other like that before, leaving each other on read like that was something you guys just didn’t do. “you guys had a fight or something?” nick took over, noticing the slight annoyance in chris’s expression. matt looked over at nick with a frown forming on his face.

“what are you talking about?” he huffed, knowing very well what nick meant.

“yeah, don’t give me that. you’re not the only one she’s not talking to. did you piss her off or something? t’was just a drive around, what could you have possibly said to make her act like that?”

matt leaned back into the couch, rubbing his hand over his face. he didn’t know where to start, how to answer. it’s not like he even had an answer, he didn’t know why you just suddenly stopped replying to his messages or the others. after thinking for a while, he simply shrugged, sighing.

“i didn’t do anything.” he lied, kind of. he did do something, but you wanted it too, you both did. one of you just didn’t know how to process what had happened. his eyes not meeting nicks when he lied was all nick needed to connect the dots for somewhat of an answer.

“did you guys like kiss or something?” he huffed with an amused smirk. his smirk disappeared almost immediately when he saw matt’s reaction, the uncomfortable shift in his seat along with the sound of him clearing his throat.

“gross, dude. seriously?! in the van?!”

chris looked at nick confused before he also understood what was going on, his eyebrows raising.

“how the fuck did that happen then?”

“do i really have to explain that shit now??” matt sighed, running a hand trough his hair, pulling his phone out again to check if you had replied to him yet.

chris and nick watched him. the frustration and concern in his eyes growing with every passing second he didn’t get a reply from you.

“did you tell her how you feel?” chris spoke up.

“what?” matt shook his head, a frown on his face “i have no idea what you’re talking about man”

the silence in the room was loud, matt denying his feelings was only making the situation worse. he sighed, throwing his phone aside.

“no..i didn’t. how the fuck am i even supposed to do that?”

“drive over and do it. i doubt she’ll reply anytime soon.” nick sighed, pressing pause on the movie and checking his phone.

matt thought for a moment. was it really a good idea to just show up to your place after you haven’t even answered any of his messages? on the other hand, he didn’t want to leave this whole thing unresolved. he wanted to make sure that you’re okay, that you didn’t regret anything that happened the night before.

”yeah..okay.”

matt sighed, getting up from the couch and grabbing his car keys, walking out the door and getting into his car. he sat there for a moment, thinking about if he should really do this. he picked up his phone again, seeing that you still hadn’t replied to any of his messages.

…

you were sat on your own couch, reading his messages. you wanted to reply, you wanted to talk to him, you just couldn’t get yourself to do it.

when matt saw you were still leaving him on read, he decided he had enough, following his brothers advice.

you didn’t answer, you just put your phone down. you didn’t have any words, not able to express whatever confusing feelings you had over just some simple text. you waited while matt quickly made his way over to your place.

you sat there, anxiously waiting for him to arrive. the knock on your door made you straighten your back, quickly getting up from your seat on the couch, hesitantly opening the door to see matt stand there. his gaze softened when he saw you, anxiety now creeping up on him aswell. “hey..” he spoke softly “okay if i come in..?” he asked, giving you a thin lipped smile “yeah..” you stepped aside, letting him in and closing the door once he was inside. you avoided eye contact with him, walking towards you kitchen. “you want anything to drink?” you asked him, avoiding the topic that the both of you knew you needed to talk about. “y/n don’t do that..” he followed you into the kitchen, reading you like a book. he could tell you were thinking about what happened too, your unreadable expression worrying him slightly.

you stopped, turning around to face him, but not looking at him directly. he took a few steps closer to you, putting his hand down on the kitchen counter next to him. he studied your face, trying to figure out what was going trough your head. he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself and to find the right words, find somewhere to start. “listen.. if it’s about what happened last night.. i’m sorry if i crossed a line. i don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or ruin our friendsh-“

“you didn’t.” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “i’m sorry for ignoring you, i’m just.. i don’t know..” you sighed, struggling to find the right words. you knew you liked him too, more than just a friend, but you were scared of the feeling, scared of the affect it could have on your guys’s relationship to each other. you didn’t wanna lose him, you didn’t want what you guys did to ruin the amazing moments you had, the many more you wanted to share.

matt noticed the way you grew upset, lost in your own mind, overthinking. “i really suck at stuff like this. i probably should’ve told you way earlier. i guess i just didn’t want to ruin our friendship but i can’t help the way i feel whenever i’m around you..”

for the first time that night, you moved your head to look up and and meet his eyes, a nervous feeling in your stomach. you didn’t consider the consequences of having sex with your best friend, not until it actually happened. it made you realize the feelings you had for him, the feelings you never cared to acknowledge, the feelings you were sure you didn’t have, but you did.

listening to a song in his car, driving on some random, empty road. singing along to a song together, laughing together, talking about the most random shit, deep talking, watching movies together. small moments that you loved, you loved them because of him, because he was the one who shared those memories with you. parking in an empty parking lot, eating McDonalds together. looking at him while he was ranting about one of his interests. if he asked you what he was just talking about, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell him, because you were so busy with admiring how beautiful his eyes were. not even noticing how you were studying every single feature about him.

your throat went dry, nothing was the way you thought it was. matt saw the way you was tangled in your thoughts and worries. he took a step closer, putting his hand on top of yours on the kitchen counter.

“it’s okay if you don’t…y’know..” matt spoke softly, his voice low.

you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, to tell him you did feel the same. instead, you leaned closer, giving him plenty of time to pull back. when he didn’t, you pressed your lips to his in a soft, gentle kiss. his hand slightly tightened around yours, interlocking his fingers over yours. he deepened the kiss, moving his lips against yours more urgently, his tongue gliding over your lips, asking for entry and you didn’t hesitate, parting your lips slightly. matt’s free hand came to rest on your hip, gently pulling you closer.

you never broke the kiss, and neither did he. your breathing grew heavier and so did his. his hand squeezed your hip before it came up to cup your face, his other hand left yours to grab the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. everything happened faster than you could process, your bodies needy, small moans leaving matt’s lips along with your needy whimpers. before you knew it, your hands made their way down to his belt, fiddling to unbuckle it.

matt’s breath hitched, moving back a little, breaking the kiss in the process. he looked down at your hands struggling to unbuckle his belt, taking his own hands off of yours to help you out. once his belt was off, your fingers worked on unbuttoning his jeans, his eyes now staring into your ones that were focused on what you were doing. he stared at you, the nervous feeling in his stomach that he always had when he looked at you that way building up. he didn’t know how it happened, but he was just so mesmerized by you. everything about you.

you felt his eyes burning into yours and you stopped after you unbuttoned his jeans, looking up to meet his eyes. he smiled at you, the way your eyes looked into his, questioning his sudden stop. he shook his head slightly, “don’t let me stop you.” he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to yours, traveling down to press soft pecks to your jaw. your head tilted back slightly, his lips moving lower, kissing and gently sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck. it was like you hands were frozen in place, a low moan leaving your mouth. matt chuckled against your neck, helping you pull his pants down, his boxers sliding along with them. you felt his erection against your hand that still hasn’t moved a muscle. instinctively, your hand wrapped around him, moving up and down in a slow motion. matt groaned, his lips parting against your skin. his hands found the waistband of your sweats, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear. you kicked them off, tossing them to the side with your foot.

matt’s head came up from your neck, looking at you. he turned the both of you around so your backside was against the kitchen counter. along with his hands grabbing the back of your thighs to lift you, you jumped up, placing your body on top of the surface. matt stepped in between your legs, spreading them further apart. your wet, needy cunt on display for him. he cursed under his breath at the sight, placing his thumb on your clit. you moaned when he began to move his thumb, circling the sensitive nub. while his eyes stayed on where his body was connected to yours, he shook his head, exhaling sharply.

“i’m not fucking you. i need to taste you. so fucking bad..” he breathed out, moving to kneel down between your thighs, his breath fanning over your pussy. matt didn’t waste much time, pressing his tongue to your clit, circling it. your hands moved down into his hair, tugging on it lightly. every movement of matt’s tongue against your throbbing clit earned a moan from your lips. his pace picked up, his lips occasionally sealing around your clit, gently sucking on it. a groan left his lips when you tugged at his hair again.

he pulled back, catching his breath and standing back up and pressing his forehead to yours. his hand wrapped around his cock, giving it a few gentle strokes before sliding it up and down your slit.

you sucked in a sharp breath when matt pushed his hips forward, the full feeling of his cock inside of you making your head fall down on his shoulder, moans leaving your lips. “fuuuuck.” he groaned as he bottomed out, starting to move his hips. “you’re so perfect y/n..” he breathed out, “so fuckin’ perfect.”

you moaned in response, too deep into the moment to actually mumble out any sort of reply. matt’s hips picked up their pace, pulling back and snapping back into your tight hole. your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, lifting your head back up from where it rested on his shoulder. your eyes met his, and he leaned in, kissing you passionately while fucking into you faster, harder. your lips tried their hardest to move with his, but your moaning made it hard. he pulled back, looking at you again, your eyes shut, mouth hanging open. the built up tension and emotions mixed with the arousal you both felt made it hard for you to last long, both of your orgasms building up with every thrust of matt’s hips against your own. “open your eyes, baby. look at me..” you did. you opened your eyes, meeting his again, moans leaving your lips, pants and grunts leaving matt’s. your moans grew louder, walls clenching around his cock twitching inside of you while it pounded into you.

a loud string of moans filled the room, your orgasm crashing over you. the way you tried to keep your eyes on his while cumming around him was enough to send him over the edge, moans leaving his lips as hot drops of cum painted your walls. matt’s breath was heavy and so was yours, his forehead pressed back down to yours and he pressed a small, sweet kiss to your lips.

“i love you.” he breathed out between pants, “i think i have for a while..”

“i love you too.” you managed to answer between heavy breaths.

@middlepartmatt @emely9274 @impossiblecollectorcat @staargazr @sllutty-sturniolo @shadowthesim

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 26

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

@garbagemilkshake making Donnie as scrumptious as possible. What's better than crib flexing? 🤤

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

This one goes out partially to @obstinatejules who actually asked for one thing, but I can't count, so now they get two and this is the first half.That will probably be offset by how heavy the chapter opens so…. Sorry about that 😅

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Trigger Warning: This chapter addresses themes of anxiety, stress, negative body image, and mentions of harming others and self-harm associated with pregnancy. Please prioritize your well-being while reading.

You were sidelined.

It was a blow to your entire being. 

Even if it was just.

You hadn’t started out as a nuisance; your day had begun with all intention of being helpful. Today was the day Donnie brought in the near completed crib pieces. He had been working on it for weeks up on the roof. He cut down the best pieces of wood and spent the long hours while you were at work sanding. It had been the bulk of his project  and he described it as therapeutic. You weren’t sure you would have been able to muster the many hours of work, but Donnie had just the fortitude to make sure everything was perfectly smooth and safe. After staining, curing, drying, and a simple coat of baby-approved paint, he presented the sides of the crib for you to assemble together.

It was supposed to be an event.

A celebration of your 30th week and Dr. Kuro had confidently decreed that you were on track for a typical human 9 month gestation.

All your baby’s progress was at a predictable rate.

The only intrigue left was birth.

With everything now on a known timetable, Dr. Kuro felt it may be possible for you to safely pass that oddity of the egg shell. Her myriad of tests seemed to indicate that its makeup was unlike your husband’s spiny softshell genes. His species typically laid hard eggs and with that she launched into a commentary on the chicken myth. She pressed that not all eggs laid are hard, especially when it came to reptiles. Either something in the mutagen’s cocktail or the fact that your body wasn’t equipped to create one had sent your egg toward the heavily calcified and flexible territory. Since you were only incubating half a shell, what was there appeared malleable enough that it could pass through the birth canal without incident. She projected that it would bend through the pressures of birth and because of that you would also be protected from any sharp bits of plastron. There was really only the matter of orientation left and Dr. Kuro plainly said she wanted to see if your baby would move into the typical head down position. 

You were in for an all natural birth if you wanted it.

It was frightening and you weren’t sure.

Pros.

Cons.

It seemed meaningless when you had everything else to deal with.

Time was slipping through your fingers and you barely had a hold of your heartburn. You were drinking water nearly as fast as you would urinate it out. Your ankles had somehow contracted all that supposed water weight and ballooned. It felt grossly in time with the child inside you that took on a half a pound per week. Every inch of you was going into creation and what was left was a nervous husk who had to also contend with pushing said baby out or getting sliced open and having your organs laid out to retrieve the little person you worked so hard to make.

It was bad.

Everything was bad.

All that and more.

Hemorrhoids.

Sketch marks.

Varicose veins.

Exhaustion.

Constipation.

Back pain.

Leg cramps.

You set it all aside to build a crib. 

You clung to the building like a single ray of sunshine burst from the clouds of your discomfort. Donnie laid out the crib pieces and was downright ecstatic. You shared his joy and it was infectious. You had to kneel down to start construction. It was there that those clouds gathered up. 

You immediately found yourself unable to get on your knees.

You teetered and almost fell.

With Donnie’s help and a tick that said you were optimistic about the weather, you were in position. 

The clouds hadn’t budged. 

Leaning over pressed your bladder and you needed to get up.

You couldn’t.

Your center of gravity was far too low.

Your pelvis was spread too wide.

You were stuck again and sent weepiness up to your husband.

It broke actual tears with only a trickle.

He helped you up with overbearing concern.

A concurrent wave hit and you were angry.

Why were you crying?

Your eyes watered when you yawned; this wasn’t that much different than fatigue.

When you were upright, you tugged away from your mate to go to the bathroom. You took a solitary moment behind the bathroom door to breathe. Your belly protruded wide in front of you and all you could sense was all the things you needed to do in just this room. There was getting your pants down, an agonizing process. You had to sit, which was always a thing. Then there was undoing all that had been undone; you had to get back up and put your pants back on. It came with pain and irritation. 

All to do it again in less than an hour.

Your crib was meant to be a testament.

It was a prelude to when you wouldn’t be struggling to move and your baby would be in your arms instead of attached to you via your organs. You executed each annoying step of peeing until you were done and by the door again. There, you breathed out the negativity and joined Donnie where he was waiting.

Getting on your knees wasn’t an option, but you had others. 

You bent over to get the wood.

You were thrown off balance from your weight and almost fell again.

Donnie caught you and tepidly offered to grab the pieces you pointed.

Rage boiled up and you subdued it with a soft, “That works.”

You could hold things.

That was helping.

He held up a side for you.

“I’ve studied all necessary safety regulations and protocols. This was built to the utmost standard. With these last pieces affixed and secured, our first child will have their first bed.” He told you.

Something about the way he phrased it made you think this bed would be used again.

Fresh tears sprouted at the thought of the future.

The joy of creation and your child having a sibling.

How they interacted.

Donnie experiencing his youth more than once.

He had a name for that period back then, you vaguely thought, as each joint perfectly fell into place with little more than guiding.

You couldn’t remember what it was.

It wasn’t his name and it wasn’t his villain name.

He never named the latter.

He had named another.

You thought and thought.

“If you could.” Donnie gestured for you to switch sides with him.

He clicked more lengths of wood together until the crib developed into a frame.

You remembered it ended in an ‘O.’

Something that sounded like Donatello.

You were hung up on it.

You couldn’t remember the last time you heard it, but you wanted to remember.

You didn’t want to ask for more help.

All Donnie did was help.

He minded you.

He followed you.

He had to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

He fussed.

Got you drinks.

Got you food.

Got your pills.

Endless.

Always.

You could do this.

You could remember something as simple as a name. 

You had a good enough memory.

An ‘O.’

Hugo.

Bruno.

Antonio.

How many syllables was it?

Mikey’s judgment passed through your ears.

“Battle shell? S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.? Talk about on the nose!”

Your defense had been that your husband was just a kid.

A name a kid would come up with.

Donatello.

A name he picked from his precious books.

A name for the library that had given him the closest thing to an upbringing of all he knew.

A literary name.

Representative.

You hadn’t talked about baby names yet.

Was that because Donnie had picked his own name?

Who picked the other turtle’s names?

The ones that infuriated him for sounding similar to his own.

For encroaching on his territory.

Splinter didn’t seem much of one for classic art.

He liked game shows that had a high rate of contestant injuries.

He did movies.

Was he classically trained in theater?

There was Draxum.

He had the boys first and he was a baron.

He also hated humanity.

Were the old masters secretly yokai?

You would believe anything.

“Awaiting the mattress delivery.” Donnie chirped stability as he reviewed how there was space for one now. “I hope its softness was not exaggerated.”

“I’m sure it’ll be super soft.” You were almost amazed at how on task he was.

You also weren’t.

You were off.

It felt like things were flying in and out of your head at a constant rate.

“Blankets…” He mooned softly.

“Safe and soft.” You heard yourself say.

Donnie’s eyes closed in the moment.

You felt the peace until they popped open.

“Slats!” He was bliss as he gestured to the pile. “Now that the frame is assembled, we affix the slats.” 

“I think I can manage that.”

He nodded and grabbed two at a time.

You were passed one slat and observed the two dowels on each end. They matched up perfectly with holes along the frame. Donnie took a moment to grab some adhesive of his own making and showed you how best to apply some to each dowel. There was something about it being baby safe after it cured and how long it would take to bond to the wood, but the explanation didn’t permeate. You had to do a good job on this since you already said you could do it. This was now a test and you were going to pass. 

He got in position across from you and you both slid your respective slats into each side. You marveled at both how easily and sturdily the pieces fell into place. They were expertly cut. You never thought lightly of your husband’s handiwork, but experiencing it like this was something else. Each inch of this crib held  his craftsmanship and care. You bet he daydreamed of the baby for all the hours he was sanding.

You spent most of your evenings now with him between your legs.

Not in an unsavory sense, but ever since he figured out that he could settle with his face upon your stomach to commune with your baby, it was all he wanted to do. Just like that, he had fallen asleep more than once. You always felt bad stirring him, but you saw glimpses of your near future. 

They would surely sleep together.

Your eyes welled up as you placed more slats in their holes.

You saw Donnie collapsed on the couch with one hand holding up your baby securely, even while unconscious. Your small child fit so perfectly upon that ledge of his plastron. They were both tuckered out after a bout of crying. Donnie had a rag for spit up still sitting messy on his shoulder. He smiled even in his sleep.

You were done with the row before you even realized.

Next came the headboard and baseboard which had far fewer pieces. You got those lined up into a small protective jail cell. You had caps for all the looming slats and it took great care to line up all the holes. Donnie came around with a level and you directed him by eyeballing as best as you could. The moment everything was in place, Donnie pounded with the hammer of his palm to make sure it was secure.

“I should get some clamps.” He ruminated as he held the seemingly finished piece in place.

“I can hold it while you do.” You offered.

He openly thought.

“I think I can handle it.” You pressed.

“Not my concern.” His head tilted. “I wonder necessity.”

“‘Cause of the glue?”

He nodded.

“There’s still screws to put in right?” You tipped only your head to see where there was a clear exterior hole to fasten the sides. 

“Brackets. Yes.” He gestured that he would step back.

You held the crib firmly.

He reviewed the object as a whole. “Safety begets nothing less than adequate tightness. I will be right back.”

“Sure.”

He departed for what you guessed was the roof as he jogged out the front door. As soon as it closed behind him, you looked over the crib. While the slats were glued into place, the four sides were only connected by their seated joints. You could see Donnie’s concern as the headboard and baseboard had the unit’s legs. It was built with the future in mind. Not gluing the side panels onto the head and foot of the frame meant the crib could eventually be converted into a toddler bed. The screws were the last piece currently necessary and you spied the small tub of them off to the side.

They were housed in a tub that detached from a larger unit. Your husband’s organizational skills were a wonder and he had every bit and bolt you could fathom. You bet he made the hole on the bed the same size as the brackets he already had. You scooted in the direction of the tub to see after checking that the bed would hold.

The glance over the crib made you wonder about the bottom. While you left most of the crib choices up to Donnie, you had both discussed the mattress platform. You had opted for the support of more slats as the box spring mechanism freaked you out when you considered a fragile baby. Everything was built snuggly enough that there was no way your child could get to the springs, but now you thought further into the future. You weren’t sure if slats would hold up to inevitable jumping when your child became more mobile.

You watched a vision of your baby scrambled up onto their bed a hundred times. Each leap got shorter. Everytime they hoisted themselves up it was easier. They were growing like a weed in your mind and you jumped developmental stages. Your tiny helpless baby would outgrow this bed and need another. You were getting weepy again and you reached up to rub a tear that had matted itself amongst your eyelashes.

Your baby kicked suddenly and you heaved.

“Why…?” You whimpered out loud and hunched over slightly.

Your child was quiet in a sort of pouty way.

“You don’t like it…?” You brought your other hand down to your stomach.

You felt some wriggling.

“What’s wrong?” You turned to better hold your stomach. “You didn’t like lunch? I thought that soup was pretty good…”

Your baby hadn’t settled.

“Yeah… You know, I didn’t think sweet potato and black bean would go together, but your papà did a good job.”

Your baby kicked a second time.

You jolted backwards at the sharp strike, bumped wood, and heard a creak.

Your adrenaline wrapped its hand around your throat. 

The front door opened. 

“I gathered the entire set.” Donnie called.

You barely lifted your head and saw the bed teeter in your periphery. “Ah!”

 “What?!” Donnie appeared in a blur as all four sides of the bed fell outward and apart.

The headboard clipped the tub of screws.

In a perfect arch, they shot up into the air and scattered down like pelleted rain. The little plops trickled and your husband was still in motion. He yelped to a halt and it was enough that you caught a glimpse of all the clamps. They lined his arms and he reared in pain. It caused a few of the clamps to snap off and, with their combination of plastic and metal, they bounced harder than the screws. One landed directly on the headboard and carved out a chunk of its wood from the force.

Donnie brought his good leg up and grimaced as there was a screw embedded in the center of his bare foot.

“Donnie!” You moved forward on instinct.

You could only see the head of the screw. 

The metal bits weren’t lengthy screws, but they were long enough.

Over an inch was shoved straight into his arch.

“It’s alright…! It’s-!” He found the couch for stability.

You kicked one of the legs of the bed frame and the pain shot straight through you.

“Y/N!”

“Fuck!” You couldn’t reach your stubbed toe to nurse it.

There was nothing near you to hold on to.

You scooted forward, but the bed pieces were scattered.

If you stepped, you chanced landing on those same screws.

It was dramatic.

You felt the absurdity right at the crest.

The emotion continued to rise.

Anger.

At your baby for kicking.

At the bed for falling.

At the screws that hurt your husband.

At his insistence on making a bed instead of buying one that would have been just as serviceable.

At yourself.

At your constant needs.

You sobbed.

Drops fell onto your belly.

Too large and angrily in the way so that you couldn't even cry in peace.

“Darling. Dearest. My heart…” Donnie approached you and was clearly offsetting any sort of hobble.

You looked at him through fat tears.

“Let me clean up.” He told you.

“Your foot.” You blubbered.

“It’s alright.” He ushered you away from the scene. “Here. Sit a moment.”

He led you to the edge of your bed.

You sat.

He checked in with you for a solid look.

You returned a watery one.

He squeezed your arm before he moved to clean up.

You watched him.

He moved mechanically to pick up each and every screw. Like clockwork, they went back into their awaiting tub like sheep herded from their time in the field. He tended to the fence next in the form of the crib. He got the sides of the bed and clamped them where he saw fit. The unit appeared whole again and he propped it up out of the way. It was in the process that he found the divot in the headboard. 

He mumbled something about filling it in.

That meant wood filler. 

That meant drying time. 

He would have to sand it a second time. 

Stain.

Dry. 

Cure.

Paint. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Because of you. 

You sat with your enormous ass on the bed.

An uncomfortable lump.

An unsightly and useless shape.

That’s why pregnancy clothes were ugly, you thought then.

They were meant to make you disappear.

A frumpy look for your final shame.

When you were too large to be anything but a problem.

What had upset your baby had settled.

You had been mad at them.

You hugged your stomach the best you could.

Even for a split second, you hated that the feeling had flashed by.

What happened when they drew on the walls?

When they spilled food?

When they broke something?

What would your anger do then?

You had punched Donnie long ago.

You had warned him and thought you were justified.

Violence.

It flashed by you with anxiety.

You saw yourself as a vicious person.

A swirling image where your guts were rotted pustules.

Not part of you, but something you harbored.

A cyst to be excised.

Your baby.

You almost screamed aloud.

Your baby wasn’t some parasite.

Fear shot like an icy injection through your veins.

It coursed and took your anger and morphed it.

Its born frustration consumed you.

“My love…?”

Donnie touched your knee.

Yet another bulging knob that ached.

You looked up at him through streaked cheeks that sagged.

Dull vision met his where he tensed at the sight of you.

Hideous.

He tenderly took your head.

His hands felt warm.

“What can I do?” He asked in a voice that was soft.

It blanketed over you.

You needed to order those blankets.

Your lids closed and your attention bottomed out.

You slipped straight through yourself and caught on the huge weight hanging off your front.

“I don’t know.” You spoke all you understood.

“Describe it…?” He tried.

“I don’t feel good.”

“Your stomach? Heartburn? The lunch?” He asked.

You shook your head between his hands.

“The bed? Were you injured?” He clearly looked.

You repeated the negative motion.

“The baby?” He stopped moving. “Are they-?”

Third.

You weren’t sure if you were happy he had asked about your wellbeing first or mad that he waited so long to ask about your precious child.

Both occurred.

They trashed your mental form where it was already in tatters.

More tears leaked from you.

You would have to drink those up and pee those out.

The endless cycle.

The discomfort.

The pressure.

“Help.” You felt yourself whisper.

It rattled up and out like something clawing from within.

Your child begged its parents to stop being like this.

It affected them too.

Donnie squeezed the base of your skull.

Open your eyes, he said without saying a thing.

You did so with lopsided curtains.

Your husband was there with a stern expression.

You expected concern.

The bubble of confusion popped to clear away your muddled emotions.

“Donnie?” You murmured to his apparition.

His thumbs swept down from your eyebrows.

He made you close your eyes.

The redundancy bred further confusion.

Hadn’t he asked for your attention?

Your uncertainty made a noise.

He chirped in response.

What did that mean?

You ran through definitions, but came up short.

A chirp was a multi-faceted sound.

Highly dependent on a frequency you couldn’t actually hear.

A tongue you didn’t have.

An appendage that didn’t exist in humans.

“What do you feel?” Your mate asked.

“Confused.” You responded immediately.

“I need to get something.”

“O-kay…?” You wondered slowly.

His fingers lightly massaged your neck.

He played pressure valves and you sank into his touch.

He gave a final squeeze before he departed.

You looked after him and watched him scour a drawer.

He produced a sleep mask and you felt your brow crease.

“Dearest.” He approached with it.

The mask had been a recent purchase for himself. Your thoughts had become too loud at night so you had started to compensate with the television. You turned it on a low volume in the living room for a drone. Instead of counting sheep, you tried to make out the voices which took your focus until sleep could have you. The noise didn’t bother Donnie as he could easily tune such things out with his implants, but he was far more sensitive to the flashing lights beyond the bed. With him acting as your pregnancy pillow, he often couldn’t turn away if he needed to face them. The mask was a simple solution that worked. 

“May I?” He offered it to you.

You looked at it and then him.

You didn’t understand.

It leaked from you.

“To help.” He whispered.

Could it?

You nodded once.

He eyeballed the measurement, adjusted the band, and stretched the elastic to apply it to you. When he came away, it was a snug fit that allowed for no light to leak in. You were entrenched in darkness and that spoke to the mask’s quality, you guessed. It felt a little like his hands without the warmth which you missed until they quickly found you. 

They coasted down to show you their destination. If he wanted to sit in his favorite position between your legs, then you were nowhere near ready. You weren’t adjusted for it and everything about you was far too broken. He would have to prop you up like something lifeless and with that came more of his help. 

You heard your breathing pick up.

Donnie caught your knees and held them firm.

They would not be moved.

Then what was he doing?

If he wanted to confer with your child then he needed to go about the necessary steps. 

All that needed to be done.

Everything.

He slid his grip up and squeezed the outside of your thighs.

The pressure tipped just a bit stronger than it should have. A prickling of his calluses caught your smooth skin. Your flesh had been supple from the constant moisturization. It’s the one thing you felt alright about. The thing your mate helped with that you didn’t mind. You let him churr against your stomach and he rubbed you down with all sorts of creams at least once a day.

Skinship.

You pressed against him.

You offered to be his weighted blanket once.

It felt like a fond memory.

You were just you then.

Not this person housing another person.

Not a version of you that was so bloated that two of you would fit in place of one.

You were someone who had time once.

Selfish cares of your own. 

Donnie’s hands moved again.

To the widest part of your hips where he added pressure.

It reminded you of a dancer’s hold. 

You used to dance. 

Before there was a bulbous growth separating you.

He traveled further up to what was once your waist.

He could easily hold you once. 

His fingers tingled along your ribcage and he touched your arms. He pressed and tested the flesh like he was performing an examination. You knew that as well. He had his pound of flesh and then some. There was nothing left of you that was new. That was why you bred a new creature.

You had gone stale.

Bloated.

You would pupate and another would claw out of your remains.

Endlessly used.

Tears cropped up within your mask.

Donnie grasped your upper arms and held you there. “Y/N.”

You startled, but he had you. “Y-yeah?”

He knew.

You tried to hold your expression.

“When I hold you here…” His fingers sank into your limbs. “What do you see?”

“See?” You felt yourself parroting.

“Imagine.” He pivoted.

“You.” You spoke softly.

“When I touch here you see me?” He flexed his digits. 

You nodded. 

“And here…?” He returned to your waist.

“You…”

His hands drifted downward.

“All you.” You felt embarrassed to say.

You heard him move.

His clothes rustled as if he was sitting up. 

In a split second, you felt all the hairs in your body rise on end.

Would he kiss you?

Your lips puckered in preparation.

Maybe he’d kiss your cheek instead.

You felt the readied flush.

He could also hug you.

Readiness tickled your spine.

You heard a puff of air.

You blinked into the darkness of your mask.

He chuffed with an affectionate noise.

As if you were cute.

“Donnie!” You scolded and squirmed.

He was gone, you realized then.

None of him was touching you. 

You searched for him with your hands and knees, but didn’t find him. 

The pads of his fingers ghosted over your cheek.

You squeaked involuntarily.

It didn’t feel like fear.

It felt like relief.

From not to knowing.

Your husband was absent once again.

“Donnie?” You tried softly.

“I’m here.” He sounded like he was right where he had been.

You thought for a moment before you searched for him with your toe.

It was your injured one, but it only ached faintly when you curled it curiously into the air. 

You heard his pant legs rub as he adjusted.

You toed his shin.

He had been injured.

“How’s your foot?”

“I’ve yet to remove the screw.”

“What?!” Your hands flew out to him.

That time you heard him dodge.

“Hey!” You waved your limbs.

You felt he was pleased with himself as he maneuvered your blind advances.

“You can’t just leave it!”

“I’ll tend to it later.”

You felt a whiff of him and tried to come down on that. “Gotcha!”

In a duck, you felt him dip through your palm and shove his head up into you.

You held him with wide fingers before you pet over him.

He was facing you based on what you could feel.

He added a bit more upward pressure before he left your grip.

“I don’t want it to get infected.” You told air.

“I won’t. Promise.” His nail brushed your chin.

There was another flicker of excitement at the connection point.

“Raised sensitivity.”

“Hm?”

“Depriving eyesight.”

“I can’t tell where you’ll be.”

“I’m right here.” He spoke plainly.

That conjured a bit of a smile. “Sure, but I can’t tell where you’ll touch me.”

He trilled softly and a tap came to the back of your calf.

You slid your foot.

He brushed his knuckles against your forearm.

It left goosebumps in his wake.

A curled finger touched the center of your sternum and led up.

You looked down through darkness.

He didn’t make contact with your chin again.

“You’re overwhelmed.”

“Yeah…”

He skimmed around the mask.

You let your eyes shut as there was no point in leaving them open.

“There’s no remedy.”

“I don’t think there is.” You nodded solemnly. “Not until the baby is out of me.” 

“I wish to alleviate your discomfort.”

“Thanks, but you do enough already…”

“Y/N.”

“I know. I know you don’t mind. I know.” You shook your head and didn’t feel him. “But this can’t be fixed and there’s… no use.” 

He had paused.

He was thinking.

Your head moved as if to look for him.

“Can I describe what I see?”

The thought struck you as curious.

A hand settled above your knee.

You mimed looking down at it. “I guess.”

“My mate.”

You took a turn giving an amused chuff. “Donnie…”

“My stunning heart.”

“Hey…”

His thumb warned near the corner of your mouth before it landed on your lips.

For a moment, you thought you could see him.

Half crouched and looking up at you with adoration.

Your husband.

“These lips…” He waxed.

You listened.

“How they speak what I most hope to hear. The longing in which dispels fear. Take nary but air between sweet sips.”

A poem.

It wasn’t too flashy, but you were still surprised.

Donnie preferred to drum up romantic drama with his actions.

You took a shaky breath.

“My heart…” He continued.

His hand felt down above your breast and pressed to the beating organ.

“Displaced for one I hold dear. Left in your presence to steer. For no other does it dare chart.”

Your hand came up and covered your mouth.

“Your strength…”

His hand moved away only to be replaced with his head.

“Your canter, your walk, all that you do. Raise earth and touch fire as if you always knew. No measurement possible per your distance lengths.”

You delicately traced his head.

“Your prowess.”

You felt his breath warm your breast.

“Watching you is an undeniable show. You cast forth in life and erase my woe. An honor that which allows us.”

He turned his head and listened.

“What words could I have.”

Your heart beat layers.

“Any which to label the entity of you.”

You leaned your head against his.

“Of all language combined there are still far too few.”

He moved slow until he could kiss the underside of your chin.

“Without you I am but a half.”

Othello.

You knew it then.

Amongst his sonnet.

That was his pseudonym of a bygone era.

The ego death of the character he could have been.

If given the chance.

A love of theater and something dyed the tragedy of Shakespeare.

You pulled up your mask.

Your husband appeared against your chest and was clearly embarrassed by the dark flush to his cheeks.

Your eyes widened.

“Juvenile.” He spoke in a sudden moping. “Why I thought that may help…?!”

“Sweet…” You reached for him.

He watched you warily. “I have encyclopedic knowledge. Possess all prose and yet I come up with such paltry drivel. It is not comparable.”

“I liked it.”

“You are not moved.” He chuffed.

“No?”

“No.” He decided. “I thought how to quell concern that I cannot give name. I will need to be better. More creative. Lullabies. Stories. All while suiting you.”

You smiled as he included your child. “Young kids are pretty forgiving. It’s the whole ‘never experienced the world’ thing.”

“After that?”

“They judge anything you do, no matter what.”

Donnie sighed slowly.

“You wrote me a poem.”

He twitched.

“While you were reciting it or before?”

“During…” The self-consciousness returned.

“Why the blindfold?”

“Limit your stressors.”

“If you’re practicing then you should know you can’t blindfold a baby.”

“I’m aware.” He scolded you with a nudge of his beak.

You smiled and let your head loll.

He waited a moment before he kissed your neck.

It went straight through your pulse.

“I thought I’d mention it...”

“Your troubling root is abstract cause. Errant emotion. My prime concern lies with you. I would have no other practice partner. Produce heirs with no other. You alone are my life.”

Your cheeks warmed. “That might be a better poem.”

He made a lightly disgruntled sound.

“I think instead of flowery words, poetry is more… connecting emotions we can’t name so easily. It’s basically impossible to capture and compare certain feelings, but you try.”

He looked up at you.

“As long as it comes from the heart.” 

“My heart.” He leaned further into you.

“Donnie…”

“My gorgeous, stunning heart.” He stopped just shy of a kiss.

You wondered why and searched him.

“You are beauty.”

The honesty coming off him was palpable enough that it conjured adolescent giddiness. 

“You always are.” For the first time, in all that time, he touched your stomach. “Not for this. Not the glow. The chemicals. The hormones. You, my dearest, are ethereal. Without compare or language. You are all that I see and knowing I conjure the same…?”

You knew he was talking about how each touch reminded you of another of his.

“I will woo you for all our days.”

“You’re doing a good job.” You blurted out.

He was quiet.

It felt like building courage, but you looked at him.

He was blushing again.

You knew you were doing the same.

Heat broiling, you gazed into each other’s eyes before you both flicked glances down to one another’s lips. They were the next to connect. With all your years of practice, it was almost embarrassing that your kiss was a sloppy miss. You were far too eager to linger on the mistake. You both immediately moved to correct. It bumped your noses and melded your flesh.

You parted for gulps even though you hadn’t kissed long enough to starve yourselves of oxygen. Desire scented the air as Donnie ghosted close. You breathed each other in literally and made figurative your need. When you connected again, it was you each raising up to consume the other.

A push and pull in tandem.

Two bodies moved of the same necessity.

His grip plied into your limb.

You tugged at the material of his shirt.

The thin separations were too much. 

He avoided the expanse of your belly.

It wasn’t the point.

Your giddiness was reassurance.

A comfort.

Your love.

Safety against him.

With him.

Your devotion.

And his.

He found the fallen sleep mask and gave it to you suddenly. You gawked at it from where you were nearly nude. He dipped down momentarily and you heard a rip of fabric. He came up with a length from the sheets and a stunned vowel left your lips. In a whip and curl, his fangs glinted a smile as he tied it off around his head.

On top of the mask he already wore. 

Instead of giggling, you felt the continuing urge to match him and donned your mask. Both unseeing, you felt one another. It lit all your nerve endings to each touch. His being was all the more enhanced by your imagination and all he sought of you was the same. 

Your body.

You messily fell back into bed.

Your heart.

He hoisted your legs up.

Your mind.

The scald of his dropped cock swiped against your inner thigh.

Your soul.

Messy and directionless, he felt out his path with his hands before trying to follow it with is prick. His tip dragged pointed need across your leg. It leaked his passion and surged with all that was built up inside you. Tangible and more, until he ran his cock over the length of your cunt. Pleasure centers fired all over your body and brain.

Your thigh where he had a grip.

His knuckles about your labia where he adjusted his cock.

His dick that ached to slip inside your inviting caverns.

Where your two joints fit under master craftsmanship.

Fated to be matched and connected snuggly.

His glans pressed your entrance and fed ins. That glue of his was his cum and had stuck you with quite the entity. When he bottomed out, you felt the edge of his plastron press your bulging body. He churred a reverberation that shook through your bounty. You the fruitful horn to bear harvest.

With discoordination, you found each other amongst thrusts. You giggled as you blindly caught his arm after a few missed tries. He laughed when he incorrectly wove your fingers. You got hold of each other and you wound your legs around him. You weren’t that youthful version of yourself and you weren’t the one who only received.

You had long grown.

More powerful.

Learned.

To handle him.

To match him.

To exceed him.

You captivated him.

You heard him gasping for your attention.

“Here.”

You beckoned.

“Here.”

You called.

“Here.”

You told him just where.

This time when you kissed, it was exact.

Firm.

Established.

“I’m turning you.” He spoke intensity.

“H-huh?” You felt settled.

He swiped around you and you felt what had to be a pillow messily drag down your torso. He ushered you onto your side and lifted your leg to stay connected. The pillow tucked under your belly to mitigate the hang and he scrubbed his pelvis forward. It met flush with yours and your child was out of the way.

“Donnie!” You harked.

“Y/N!” He returned the call.

Your leg hiked up and bled into his form.

Each jostle shook you to your core, but the resulting shake wasn’t jiggling out of your mate’s reach.

He moved all of you.

Into you.

Around you.

He had you.

“Close.” He warned.

“I’m not, but please!”

“Won’t stop.” He promised. 

You knew he wouldn’t.

He never would.

No matter the mood or temperament.

Your stubborn mate.

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Beep boo-boo bop boo bee bop, is robot for thank you to my betas @tmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup