#wanna make sure its worth continuing

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 6 (smexy times ahead)

To Kara’s surprise, steak dinner happens at Lena’s apartment. From how little Lena has shared so far, she’d expected to wait weeks or months to see where Lena lives. It’s not until she arrives that Kara realizes exactly why Lena is so willing to let Kara into her inner sanctum. 

It’s completely void of personality.

Well, Kara allows, it could be that a lack of personality could be a personality in itself. And there are photos, but they all feature Lena and her crew. All smiling– all recent. Nothing to suggest Lena had a life before National City. She spies a punching bag in one corner, but the rest of the furniture is worn and basic, suggesting the place had come pre-furnished by a landlord who didn’t particularly care about aesthetics. It’s spartan and plain– forthright in a way that actually fits Lena. Still…

Kara wishes the space could have given her a better look at Lena’s inner life. 

The kitchen, at least, is functional enough. Enough that Lena is able to season and sear her steaks to perfection, with some fresh asparagus sauteeing on a side burner. And she does it all with a smile, chatting with Kara as well as she had on the way home. A capable multitasker, Kara notes, though it’s less than surprising. 

Lena seems incapable of being incapable at anything. 

The meal is served up on non-descript plates– at least they’re ceramic and not paper, and Lena does lower the overhead lights to set the mood. Kara moans when the first bite of steak hits her tongue. Moist and savory and perfectly seasoned, it puts anything she herself could have made to shame. The asparagus is also perfectly softened without being mushy, retaining enough of its texture to allow for a bit of a crunch at the center. 

“Are you sure the Army didn’t put you on the chow line? This is delicious!” Kara groans. 

Lena smirks, taking a sip of her wine. “You think ‘chow’ tastes like this?” An arch eyebrow dispels that notion. “Nah. Not so much.”

“Well, wherever it comes from, color me amazed and impressed.”

Kara takes another large–too large– bite, and has to spend several quiet moments chewing her way through it. When she swallows– still too large– she tilts her head. 

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

Lena’s eyes warm with mirth, but takes a moment to consider.

“Jumping rope.” Lena shrugs. “I hate it. Can’t stand it.”

“But you can do it?”

Lena waves away the answer. 

“Then it doesn’t count!” 

Lena laughs. “Alright, alright… um. Okay. I can’t draw to save my life.”

It’s a surprisingly candid answer. “Really?”

Lena nods. “Any required art classes were passed on charm alone.”

Kara grins. Lena eyes her suspiciously. 

“What?” 

For a moment, they play a game of silent chicken as Kara waits for Lena to say the words, and Lean waits for Kara to confess what she already suspects. Finally, Lena caves.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you.”

Kara laughs, tickled by the suspicion at odds with the twinkle in Lena’s eye. “Maybe…” she draws out, unable to help the taunt. She relents when Lena’s eyebrow climbs dangerously close to her hairline. “Okay, fine. Yeah. I am. Kind of. At least, I was.”

“You were?” 

“Not much opportunity to flex my brush skills on a cop’s schedule,” she deflects, unwilling to dull the mood with the somber reality. If Lena suspects the deeper reason, she gives no indication. 

Instead, she tilts her head. “Well, I’d like to see some of your work, sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “If you’re willing to share, of course. No pressure.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I just know that anything you do would be amazing.”

Lena’s voice is low and throaty, and Kara senses the shift to a mood far more intimate than playful banter. “In that case, you would be right,” Kara confirms, leaning forward across the table. “Play your cards right, and I’ll prove it to you. Again.”

“Uh uh,” Lena returns, leaning to meet Kara midway across the table. She pecks a tantalizing kiss to Kara’s lips. “Tonight is my turn to go first.”

“Oooh,” Kara purrs. “I don’t mind the sound of that.”

She plays a light drumroll on Lena’s ass as she clears the dishes, which only receive a quick rinse before being forgotten in the sink. Lena’s attention turns to Kara, who feels the weight of her focus like a planar shift. The rest of the world ceases to exist, narrowing to the two of them alone.

They haven’t even reached the threshold of Lena’s bedroom before warm lips caress the skin of her neck. Her flesh prickles with goosebumps, a frisson of desire coursing through her. She wants this, and the flutter of nerves in her belly only heightens her anticipation. She’s never wanted anything– or anyone– as much as she wants this, wants Lena. She doesn’t know what Lena has in store for her, and doesn’t quite know how her body will react to her ministrations. If her current arousal is anything to go by, Kara suspects she might not survive what’s to come. And she’s perfectly fine with that.

Lena guides her with gentle hands to sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment, Kara thinks she’ll sit on her lap, like the last time on her couch. But instead, Lena lays her back, leaning over her with a muscled arm holding her up.

“Tell me what you want,” Lena murmurs between slow languid kisses. Kara whimpers into her mouth, making Lena’s lips curl in a smile against hers. “That’s not an answer, love.”

For a moment, Kara struggles to think, but Lena doesn’t relent in her ministrations. It takes long minutes of nearly losing herself in the sensations before she manages to conjure her wish.

“Let’s go slow.” she murmurs.

Lena pauses immediately, but Kara keeps her from pulling away by cupping her cheek. Lena gazes into her eyes, studying her to understand the meaning behind her words. Then, slowly, a low fire sparks deep in her gaze.

“How slow, exactly,” she asks, low and silky.

Kara lifts her chin to kiss her. “As slow as possible.”

Nodding her understanding, Lena runs a velvet touch up under Kara’s shirt; slow enough to count each and every rib. “And where would you like to start?”

Breath hitching when Lena hits a sensitive spot just under Kara’s breast, Kara tries to blink her way to at least partial coherency. 

“Do you have a vibrator?” she gasps.

Lena nods, nuzzling Kara’s ear. “Excellent idea, darling.”

Finally, Kara releases herself to the experience. Lena takes her time with her, going deliciously slow as she raises Kara’s shirt by inches, kissing every exposed bit skin on her way. Not just kissing. Licking, nibbling, suckling. She lingers on Kara’s breasts, brushing her thumbs over pebbled nipples as she diverts back to Kara’s lips. 

Slowly but surely, Kara’s skin heats with pleasure. But when her breath starts to quicken, Lena draws herself away. Without Lena’s body heat against her, chill air washes over her, making her groan. She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration.

“Now, now,” Lena tsks. “I want you to watch.”

Kara’s eyes fly open, and she props herself up on her elbows to watch as Lena unbuttons the fly of her jeans. Her fingers dip beneath her waistband, and Kara’s breath goes ragged in her chest. But just as smoothly as they slide under, they slip back out, and Lena shimmies out of her pants. 

She kicks them aside as soon as she steps out of them, and Kara is left to ogle smooth, tones legs. Lena may not match Kara for height, but her legs are long and packed with muscle. Kara’s mouth goes dry.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Kara mutters. 

Lena saunters closer, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Well, hopefully he won’t be the one fucking tonight.” 

She tilts Kara’s chin up. Kara lets her mouth gape, just enough for Lena to see the invitation and take it. Her tongue slides over Kara’s, then curls languorously up and along the roof of Kara’s mouth. She sucks against Kara’s upper lip as she withdraws, and Kara lists after her when she sits back on Kara’s knees. 

“Do you want to see more?” Lena croons.

Kara swallows thickly. “All of it,” she croaks. “I want to see all of you.”

Lena smiles, pleased with her response. She grips the hem of her shirt with her fingertips, and slowly begins to pull it up, up, up over her abdomen, her breasts, and finally her head. Dark hair flows through the neck opening, swishing around Lena’s bare shoulders. When Lena’s fingers move to her bra, all higher function vacates Kara’s brain. The little strip tease that follows sends bolts of arousal down through Kara’s core, pooling between her legs. Soon, only Lena’s underwear remains.

When Lena twists to deposit her bra on the pile with the rest of her abandoned clothing, Kara catches sight of a dark smudge on Lena’s ribs, but it flashes out of sight and out of mind when Lena turns her attention back to her. 

Thankfully, Lena makes quicker work of Kara’s own pants. Soon Kara is completely and enthusiastically nude, and Kara notes that Lena makes no mention of how wet she is. Kara’s glad for it– she suspects it will be her default state whenever Lena’s eyes take on this sort of glint. 

She jumps when the first rumble of the vibrator tickles the inside of her thigh. She inhales through her teeth, and is answered by a palm pressing flatly against her labia and clit. 

“Easy,” Lena coaxes. Her lips still smirk though. “Don’t want you getting worked up too soon, do we?”

The even pressure on her groin eases some of the edge that had been building within her, and she manages to take a breath that relieves any more. Even so, she knows that once Lena gets to work with the vibrator, she would be hard pressed to draw this out as long as she hoped she could.

Lena isn’t one to disappoint. She plays Kara like a fiddle, taking her tantalizingly close to edge after edge, before drawing her back down again and again. Her technique is expert– the vibrator seems to trace patterns everywhere but her clit. Her labia, her bikini line, even the bottom edge of her belly. Sometimes, when Kara lingers too long on one edge, a warm tongue soothes her clit, dulling the hungry ache.

“Hanging in there?” Lena checks in once Kara stops squirming. 

“Barely,” Kara gasps, panting. 

“You are so hot,” Lena purrs. “You’re doing so good.”

That alone almost almost pitches Kara over the precipice. She curls her fingers into the sheets, gritting her teeth. “Soon,” she warns.

“Just say the word, baby. I’ll get you there.”

Lena starts again, taking her time tracing more patterns around her ultimate destination. Slowly, inevitably, the pressure building to unprecedented heights. Kara’s never been attended to like this, never been read so plainly, so intuitively. It’s as though Lena has already memorized her body, chasing every sensitive part of her with expert precision until even the ebb aches as deliciously as the flow. 

When Lena brings the vibrator closer to her clit than she has so far, Kara cracks. 

“Now!” she gasps.

The vibrator has hardly touched her clit when Kara hurtles over. She can’t help the cry that escapes her, loud and long and desperate. She’s never made a sound like this before. She doesn’t realize Lena hasn’t moved the vibrator before she’s tipping into a second orgasm, then a third. The last lingers for long, long seconds and only then do the vibrations cease.

The whine that Kara issues is inhuman to her own ears, but Lena only chuckles as she climbs up to check on her.

“Still conscious?” 

Kara grunts plaintively, as her fingers slowly release the sheets. 

“That was– whoah!”

Lena’s exclamation is swallowed by Kara’s mouth on hers, lunging for a kiss before full conscious thought has even returned. Lena melts into it, letting the kiss deepen and last until Kara is the one to break it. 

“Amazing,” she finishes Lena’s sentence for her. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Lena’s cheeks flush under the praise. “And you,” she returns, “are a glutton for punishment. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Much longer.” She licks Kara’s upper lip so sensually, it almost makes Kara ask for another round. Almost. “Good girl.”

Kara sighs. “I don’t know if I can return the favor,” she confesses. It kills her to say it, but she barely feel her toes. Lena laughs. “I’m sorry…”

“Please,” Lena dismisses, still laughing. “That’s possibly the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Kara blinks. “Ever?”

“Ever,” Lena confirms. She smiles, her eyes warm and full of comfort as she gazes down at Kara. “How about an early night then?”

A sigh escapes Kara. “That sounds…”

“Amazing?” Lena teases.

“Yeah,” Kara confirms contentedly. “Amazing.”

[astralis-ortus]

lifetime worth of luck

✱ husband!bc x gn!reader

— omelet with fries for dinner, anyone?

w.count → 0.3k genre → romcom warning → chan referred to as chris, reader referred to as babe a.n → a comeback attempt, heh♡ don't wanna make promises since i'm not sure if writer's block is entirely gone, but i'll try to be around more♡ ⋆ see masterlist

it’s at times like this when you feel like you’ve used up all your luck for this lifetime.

“are you sure you don’t need my help?” you giggled, eyes trailing your husband’s broad back while he’s busy fighting against the uneven mushrooms with the help of your trusty knife. he might look intimidating with the muscles he’d been carefully sculpting at the gym for years on end, but frankly, chris could be somewhat of a clumsy toddler in the kitchen.

“i’m suuure,” he whined, and even without him turning to face your direction, you’re pretty positive his lips are all pursed up like a cute little duckling with a couple soft creases between his eyebrows.

“don’t you trust me? huh?” chris continued, still with his playful, whiny voice while he carefully attempts to chop another bulb of mushroom, “don’t you trust your own husband? huh? huh?”

oh, isn’t he just adorable?

“of course i trust you!” a giggle escaped along as your laugh finally simmered down, cheeks now feeling a little sore from all the laughing chris had squeezed out of you for the past hour since he stepped home.

you realize how lucky you are to have chris.

through chris, you knew what it’s like to be loved. you now know how to be the receiving end of a relationship, and it might be a slow process, but chris made you feel like you finally have someone you could call home.

you really, really are lucky,

hence, you think it’s time for you to end your husband’s suffering.

“but you do know you don’t have to be that careful for omelets, right? you can just roughly chop them up since you’re going to add them into the egg mixture anyway?”

and judging from the way his muscular arm had frozen in its spot,

chris had forgotten that one detail.

“…babe!”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[moremaybank]

okay I still cannot stop thinking about best friend jj and reader. Its mentioned her parents have body shamed her in the past and her mom makes that comment about her hips. What if it really got to her at one point and JJ is the only one who noticed. Not like a full blown eating disorder thankfully but that he noticed her skipping meals and he had to sit her down on his lap and tell her she was perfect...sorry just me thinking lol

eeek! first in between au request! thank you for the continuous love ♡︎ warnings reader skipping meals, body shaming (r's parents), bsf!jj being a sweetheart as usual [1k]

At first, it wasn’t a big deal. 

JJ was well aware that sometimes, when you were stressed, you’d forget to eat. He’d urge you to at least steal a few pieces of food off his plate (okay, maybe more than a few), and his mind would be at peace knowing that you were now fed and taken care of. 

But soon, he noticed that it became a daily thing. You’d tell him you weren’t hungry, or that you’d already eaten earlier, but then, he’d hear your stomach growling and watch you blatantly ignore it. You looked exhausted all the time, your physical strength was depleting. He’d watch you grow snappy at the smallest things, watch the way you’d pick at your food and move it around on your plate mindlessly every time you two ate together. Then, you’d dismiss his concerns with a forced smile.

After a few weeks had gone by, and your actions had remained the same, he knew something was up. He couldn’t stand to see you become a shell of who you usually were. There was no spark of wonder in your eyes. It was like all your hope had been sucked out of you. 

He also knew that your family was hard on you when it came to your body. And it sucked to admit, but at the beginning, he hadn't thought too much of it. Now, though, something was going on with his favourite girl and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

“Hey, you feel like goin’ to the Wreck? I'm feelin’ a seafood boil right now.”

You simply shrugged him off, your gaze remaining on the work in front of you. You’d been consumed in it all day, barely even blinking an eye in JJ’s general direction. 

“Not really hungry. I can come with you, though?”

Approaching you at your seat in front of your desk, his hands pried the pen from your hand, and he placed it down on the wooden surface. Then, he crouched down to get a better look at you.

“What’s goin’ on with you?” 

You turned away from him, scared of looking into his eyes. His tone indicated that you’d been caught. You should’ve known that he would pick up on your change in demeanour sooner or later. 

It was JJ.

Getting things past him simply was not a thing. It never was. 

Still, though, you’d make the effort even if it proved to be pointless. You weren’t sure the honesty was worth seeing the disappointment on his face. 

“Nothing. Jus’ not hungry.” 

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you eat a proper meal in two weeks.” 

“I said I'm good, J.” Your voice was bitter and sharp as you picked your pen back up, breaking free of his hold and trying to continue with your work. “If you wanna eat, go eat.”

He took the pen from your hand again, stuffing it in his pocket so you couldn’t get to it as easily. 

“You really think that by now, I don’t know when you’re actin’ up?” He held your face in his hands, ensuring that you couldn’t look away from him again. “Jus’ tell me what’s goin’ on so I can fix it.” 

“You can’t fix this, J.” 

He sighed softly, his thumbs swiping over the apples of your cheeks. “Try me.” 

You stalled for a moment. You didn’t want the judgement, You knew what he would say. 

Y/N/N, don’t listen to him. He’s a piece of shit. He has no idea what he’s talking about. 

If this was about anything else, maybe you would’ve believed him. But after hearing comments from your parents about your body for almost two decades…maybe their words had some truth to them, right? 

But when you looked into those oceanic puppy-dog eyes, it was as if he was willing the truth out of you wordlessly. Sighing, you broke free of his grasp carefully. You strolled over to your dresser, pulling your phone off of the surface and opening your messages on your way back to him. You handed him the device, the glow of your screen illuminating his face as it showed him the texts you’d received from your father earlier last week. 

You think your mother and I haven’t noticed how you’ve gotten fuller? Everything you’ve worn to our events lately has only made you look worse. A girl your age should be slimmer. We should get you on a diet, up your physical activity.

If you don’t fix your appearance, you’re going to embarrass us in front of our colleagues. We can’t secure this deal if you’re looking plump.

I’ve had it. You shouldn’t accompany us anywhere for the next few months. Not until you get your weight under control. 

Rage bubbled deep in his core, threatening to swallow him whole. It had always puzzled him beyond belief — how your parents could look at you and see the complete opposite of what he had.

Perfection.

He tried to remain stoic. You’d never been happy when he got upset over things your parents had done in the past, and right now, when you were looking so pained, how could he make things worse?

“Y/N/N,” he said, hands bracing your shoulders. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” 

You couldn’t even find the courage to look up at him. You were too scared, too ashamed. You didn’t want his pity, you just wanted the voices to stop, and though you believed JJ could do anything, you weren’t sure if he could quiet that noise. 

It was too blaring. 

“You’re actin’ like there’s somethin’ to fix, but there isn’t. You’re perfect. I don’t care what your dress size is. You don’t need to be cuttin’ back. End of story.” 

“J, it’s just not that easy—”

His index finger found your lips, effectively shushing you and garnering your attention. “They’re wrong about everythin’ else, right?”

You nodded slowly. “…Yeah.” 

“So what makes ‘em right about this?” 

He got you good. He’d always had a certain way with you, and thank God he did. 

One of his hands abandoned your shoulder, finding your face instead. Blue eyes bore their soul into yours, trying to engrave how he viewed you into your brain. 

“Eat whatever the fuck you want. You’re beautiful, and you always will be.” 

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Workout Buddy

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymojs

Synopsis: some drabbles of you growing up as the boys’ workout buddy

“I wanna try!” Dean turned in surprise when he saw you eyeing the weight rack that he’d just finished using. He wasn’t sure how you’d managed to get into the motel gym until he saw Sam hopping on the treadmill—he was supposed to keep you in the room.

“Really man?” Dean called out to Sam.

“She’s fine,” Sam insisted before putting in his headphones and starting up the treadmill. Dean huffed, looking around for something for you to do.

“Here,” he said finally, grabbing a weight bar that had no weights attached and handing it to you. “Like this.” He demonstrated with his own bar—although his had plenty of weight on it, of course.

“I do it!” Dean forgot his annoyance when he saw your huge grin as you curled the weight towards you, just as Dean had.

“Yeah, yeah you are,” Dean encouraged. “Now come over here and I’ll show you how to use the leg machine.”

…

“Hi Sammy!” Sam grunted in surprise when you suddenly jumped on his back. He collapsed from his former push-up position, almost smacking his chin on the floor before stopping himself.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I wanna workout with you!” You giggled. “Now up!”

Sam groaned, but listened anyway, pushing himself up before lowering back down, trying to continue his push-up count from before you’d jumped on him.

“Fourteen…” he muttered under his breath. “Fifteen…”

He was struggling to keep count with you giggling and squirming on his back, and eventually he gave up, just lowering and raising himself sporadically to give you a better ride. Your happy squeals and loud laughs were well worth the interrupted routine.

…

“C’mon Dean, it’s not too heavy!”

“Kid, there’s no way you’re gonna lift that.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.” You pushed Dean aside and took his place under the weight rack, waiting to make sure he was there to spot you—you may have been acting tough, but Dean could lift a ton, and you were just a little afraid that he was right, and his current set was too heavy for you; not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Ok, easy,” Dean said as you slowly pushed up on the bar.

“I got it,” you insisted, your face screwing up in effort as you pushed with all your might. The bar clanged against its holder as it—very slowly, and with great effort—began to lift. “I got it!” You said, triumph painting your words this time. “I got it, I—“ you had slowly lowered the bar, but suddenly you found that you couldn’t lift it back up into the holder. “I don’t got it, I don’t got it, Dean—“

“I got you,” Dean soothed, grabbing the bar quickly with both hands before its weight could overwhelm you. The two of you managed to return the bar to its original position before you quickly stepped away.

“Ok so maybe that’s enough for today,” you insisted, breathing hard.

“Hey, you did good,” Dean said with a proud smile. “But you’re right, you’re done for now.”

…

“Can I come?” Sam turned to see you all dressed and ready to go for a run.

“You sure you want to?” He asked.

“Hey, I’m not Dean,” you insisted. “I happen to think that a little jogging now and then won’t kill you. So are we going or what?”

The two of you returned almost an hour later, sweaty and exhausted yet smiling.

“Gosh, now there’s two of them,” Dean groaned when he caught sight of you. “Kid, haven’t I told you how crazy running is? I mean, take one look at Sam and you’ll see it,” Dean continued, gesturing at Sam. You had to admit—Sam was a sweaty mess.

“Well when we’re running from werewolves and you run out of breath and get eaten first, then we’ll see who’s laughing,” you said with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dena grumbled. “Go shower, both of you, you stink.”

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Sam said to you as you both headed down the hallway of the bunker to your rooms. “It’s nice to have a running pal.”

“Right back at you. Now get out of here, Dean’s right, you stink.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley

[loui3e]

Guilty Pleasure

It’s been awhile since you’ve turned up the dial’

Worst!Logan x Reader

Summary: After a first date gone wrong Logan finally confesses the truth.

A/n: I might make a smutty part 2 if you all enjoy this. Has been proofread.

Warnings: A sprinkle of angst, miscommunication (I know), all is solved in the end. Kinda suggestive.

Words: 795

First dates are odd things.

Scary even, especially with a man who you think doesn’t want a bit to do with you.

You’re convinced Wade put him up to this because there’s a scowl permanently etched into his facial features.

You won’t let this get you down though, I mean you’re still on a date with a man that you’ve had a massive crush on since he’s moved in next door. Better than nothing you suppose.

You sip your milkshake, your hands awkwardly tapping the table in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“What do you do?”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. That’s the first time he’s spoken since you’ve arrived to this diner besides telling the waiter what he wanted. His words are gruff, almost reluctant but its words nonetheless.

“Uh, what do I do? Um, art.” You stumble over your words, not use to the sound of your voice after all this quiet. Logan raises a brow from across you.

“Art?”

“Yeah, like I paint.”

“Traditionalist then?”

You chuckle and shake your head, “I guess so.” There’s a new bout of silence, a little more comfortable.

“What do you do?” You reflect the words back, a little happier than his. Shifting your plate out of the way and setting your head on your hand so your full attention is on him.

Logan wouldn’t consider himself a particular interesting person, sure he’s got some stories to tell but those are all circumstantial. But your eyes are on him; bright and curious.

You’re just a naturally curious person, but also partly crushing on him. He’s certainly handsome. You’ve seen him on the halls of your apartment complex, tall and broad. You could fantasise about him all day.

“Not much.”

Your daydream is cut short.

“Surely something?”

Logan’s fully realised he really doesn’t do a lot, now that he thinks about. He expects you to retreat back into disinterest but you don’t, you pry instead.

“Everyone has something, what’s your calling?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. That scowl sneaks back onto his face as he sits back against his seat arms crossed.

You think you’ve might’ve said something wrong, but not for long before the waiter comes over with the bill.

It’s not until you see him at a bar do you speak next, you haven’t really seen him since the date. “Logan,” you call as you take a seat beside him, smiling timidly.

He gives you a nod of acknowledgment. Logan feels a little bad for avoiding you after that date, but after your conversation he doesn’t quite think he’s worth your time.

“We hadn’t spoken after that date, I don’t wanna pry but did I say something wrong? I mean I know Wade put you up to this so you probably didn’t even want to go.”

“What? Wade didn’t put me up to this,” Logan speaks with hard honesty, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But I thought- you looked so disinterested.” You lean in closer to him, head cocked to the side. His eyes met yours and he feels a pang of guilt.

God, he’s an idiot, it didn’t even occur to him it he looked like that. “No, not at all,” he takes a swig of whiskey before continuing. “I just, haven’t been on a date in awhile. I don’t think you’d like me much once you got to know me.”

Your jaw falls open as you look at him before you start laughing. Relief washing over your features, and partly at the thought that you wouldn’t like Logan once you got to know him.

“Logan I’ve been crushing on you since you moved in, you can’t scare me off.”

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” Logan places a bill down onto the table for his drink before getting up to leave. He’s trying to put up a wall between you and him.

“Logan I’m serious,” you shout after him following him out of the bar. Logan turns on his heel to face you a before you can think you’re pulling him in by the lapels of his jacket and crashing your lips against his. You pull back, stunned.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even think-“ now it’s his turn to take you by surprise because his kissing you back. Your arms wrap around his neck, his walls crumble under your touch.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and smoke. An addictive taste that you’re sure you’ll be coming back for; like a cigarette.

“I guess you were serious,” Logan chuckles, breathing heavily.

“I can show you how even more serious I am, if you come back to mine,” you grin up at him, still wrapped up in his arms and the electricity of the moment.

“I’d like that.”

[bigwishes]

Tummy Trouble

Connor flexed at himself in the mirror, he'd been lifting for years but still was no where near as big as he dreamed to be. He looked at some of his buddies in the gym that had gotten bigger than him taking roids but Connor didn't want any of that crap, he wanted to get as big as he could naturally, without risking his health.

Still he couldn't help but wish he was so much bigger.

Connor was on his way out of the gym when someone stopped him.

"Hey bro," the man grabbed Connor by the arm

Connor turned to see a unbelievable tall man who was insanely muscular. The straps to his tank top where barely visable between his shoulders and traps, the length of his tank top wasn't quite long enough to cover up his entire torso and his gym shorts looked more like spandex underwear. Connor was both turned on by the sheer size of the guy and turned off, he was clearly a roid head.

"eer, hey man"

"hey bro you look real fit, are you training to get bigger?"

"yeah man, as big as I NATURALLY can" Connor made sure to pretty much shout naturally at the guy, he'd had too many roid heads try and sell him gear in the locker room before but never had one brave enough to try it out the front of the gym

"aw yeah man, nice nice, look I got a sample for you"

"sorry man, Im not into enhancements or roids or whatever"

"you got me all wrong bro, no roids, its free gym gear we are giving out some clothing samples and asking for feedback for payment"

Connor's face turned bright red with embarrassment, now he seemed like some entitled asshole who thought he was too good to even talk to anyone not natural.

"bro I'm so sorry, I just, normally when a guy like you asks me if I want a sample in the gym" Connor began to stumble over his words trying to back peddle realising he basically just called this guy a roidhead without proof

"a guy like me?"

"yeah, eerrrrr, ya know big and..."

The giant man began to laugh and slapped Connor on the back "I'm just fucking with you mate"

Connor let out a sigh of relief

"but hey mate, so you're all about the natural look yeah? but you also wanna be a massive tank?"

"yeah man, look I know I might be dreaming but I wanna be fucking huge, like you, I just don't wanna take any enhancements"

"I think I got something for you mate, here"

The giant handed Connor a small carboard box with the words "Big and Bulky" written in bold black letters and a gift card for $100 Food delivery service stapled to the top.

"Free of charge mate, put em on when you get home and I'm sure you'll be feelin like a freak in no time" The giant man winked.

Connor took the gift and continued to thank him multiple times trying to make up for the fool he'd made of himself just moments before. He got in his car and sank in his chair. He opened the box seeing a pair of briefs, he couldn't exactly try them on in his car, he thought it'd be better to just come back with some feedback tomorrow.

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

Connor stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, he began his normal flexing routine in his mirror but thoughts about being staying lean and small invaded his mind fairly quickly. He contemplated if staying natural was worth it if it meant he'll never get his dream body. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind Connor slipped on the briefs he was gifted earlier and......they felt like normal briefs. He couldn't work out how these were made special for athletes but at least he got a food gift card out of it.

Connor picked up his phone going to take a photo whilst he looked good in the light when suddenly a golden light began to shine off the waist band of the briefs. It was like sunlight was coming out of the fabric itself. He saw the letters B....I.....G slowly appear and he watched in the mirror as his body began to swell. His shoulders broadened, chest expanded with every breath, his arms began to swell up and soon his pecs and arms were competing for space. His thighs became tree trunks and he had to readjust his package so it didn't get crushed between them, even his feet began to grow outwards. Soon it all slowed down and all Connor could do was stare at himself in amazement.

Somehow, by literally magic he had swollen up into the size of his dreams. he couldn't help but start flexing and even licking his own bicep. A small noise, like a shop bell interrupted his self worship as a tiny slip of paper was ejected from the top of the box. Connor picked it up...

"Thank you for choosing Djinn.co transformative clothing, the transformative clothes you have chosen will permanently change your body, no need to workout to stay in shape never loose muscle keep the body of your dreams... NOTE: Your attendant for the day was Big Guy Bob he has added extra command words to your transformative clothing, we here at Djinn.co only print two command words on our clothing however your interaction with Bob had him convinced you deserved more"

Connor was amazed, surely this was a dream, there was no way he had stumbled into a pair of magic transforming clothes. As Connor was caught up in this thoughts light began to shine out of the other side of the waist band, the Connor felt his body start to get bigger. A part of him thought he should take the underwear off but he wanted to get bigger, he wanted to be a giant like the guy he met today. Another light began to shine from begin but Connor couldn't see. He flexxed in the mirror looking at the letters B...U....L....K....Y appear on the waist band. He flexed as hard as he could expecting to see his muscles to double in size again.

Connor's muscles became slightly large but nothing really changed. He dropped his arms to his side hearing his stomach make a slight gargling noise.

"awww, is that it, nothing even hap-"

*FWOOOMP

Connor almost fell forward as suddenly his six pack expanded into a loose gut. Hair quickly coated his entire body and he started sweating worse than he normally would at the gym.

"WHA...M...MY ABS...MY SIX PACK WHAT THE FUCK"

Connor rubbed his new tummy on the verge of tears.

"oh god...what the fuck do I do with this thing"

His stomach let out a loud hungry growl as if almost to respond to him.

He picked up his phone and used the gift card to order some food, as if on auto pilot he spent the entire $100 instantly and even dropped another $100 from his own bank account on food.

Connor just stood in the mirror staring at his new belly disgusted. He had all the muscle he had dreamed of but felt his gut, pecs and ass wobble as he flexed. Soon the doorbell rang and Connor went to go grab his bags of food.

Bringing the bags in from inside and placing them on his kitchen bench his hands instantly dove in grabbed a handful of fries out the box without even taking the box from the bag, without realising he had stuff half the box of fries in his mouth, salt fell from his lips into his new forest of chest hair and he simply wiped his salt covered hand on his brief whilst opening a bottle of off the shelf protein shake. He began chugging it down and could feel little bits slips from his lips and into his new beard. Connor picked up all the bags and moved to his couch.

Connor blinked awake as if from a trance, all around him were empty plasic bottles from protein shakes and soft drinks, multiple empty fry boxes littered the look around him and he noticed his chest hair was tangled with salt, some burger lettuce and dried protein shake, his briefs were also covered in stain from where he had wiped his hands. He slid his briefs off noticing 3 words painted on the ass he didn't notice appear. "SWEATY, HAIRY, SLOB". Connor rubbed his new gut and tossed the briefs to the side.

His stomach began to gurgle and it sounded like a water cooler. He watched as his loose gut started to become firm.

"oh...god...whats happeneing now"

each time Connor inhaled his stomach felt worse

"I....god what the fuck"

A small ding noise interrupted Conners panting and panicing as another small slip of paper magically was printed out of the top of a closed chip box. Conner leant forward and read it.

"Hey man, Big Guy Bob here, today you expressed wanting to become a natural tank, so I made sure you got a pair to turn you into an absolute unit but I know you were worried about people thinking you might be on roids, just look at today you were so quick to think I was on them, so I added some key words to not only turn you into a huge tank but to turn you into a huge slob, enjoy the size bro"

Connor groaned as he tossed the note to the ground.

"FUUUUUUUCKKK IM SO.......BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPP"

the pain subsided and his stomach went soft again. Connor stared at his enormous body in the reflection of the black glass of his TV.

"mm...mmaybe i can cut?" Conner said aloud, completely unaware of the cupcake he was stuffing into his mouth as he spoke...

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

I hope everyone who wanted me to write a weight gain story is happy with this one, this is probably as far as Ill every go with this kinda stuff but yall voted on it and I was happy to write it.

[jolalibrary]

11. dusky pink

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eleven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.7k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a boy!dad, luca appearance. an: this one is called jo kicked her feet mid-writing and editing.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

“You didn’t have to come to help me.”

Tilting your head, a grin playing at the corners of your lips, you adjust the apron he gave you. “I don’t mind. Plus, you did promise me food after, so.”

A hint of mischief dances in his eyes, tongue sweeping across his lower lip. “So, if I want to persuade you to do something, I should wave a carrot in your face.”

Smirking, biting down on your cheek as you slide the boxed screws onto the shelf. “Oh, you can definitely wave something in front of my face.”

It's instant, the way his mouth falls open, hanging. Frankie's arm pauses, mid-air, on the shelf as he stares, blinks, and eventually clears his throat. “That's… good to know.”

“Your voice cracked there a little bit.”

Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, body beginning to restock again, you watch as he swallows, his forehead crinkling. Did it?”

Laughing, you remove the empty box from the cart—grabbing the Stanley knife attached to the side of it to slice open the next.

Even though you've been here at night before, it's different being down the aisles than when you shared food. There's an eerie stillness that hangs in the air under the low lights, punctuated by the occasional creak of the shelving when the two of you stack something. The strong scent of disinfectant is wavering from its assault on your senses, mingling with the musty odour of warehouse cardboard boxes. A smell that worsens, for a moment, each time one of you empties and flattens it.

But, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Finding yourself charmed by the place. Although, you suspect it's by the man beside you. The one who had been prepared to do all of this himself all evening.

“Frankie?” you ask, hearing him hmm. “You ever thought of owning this place? Maybe, making it your own or something?”

Snorting, he shakes his head as his fingers slide to itch at the back of his forearm. “No. Not… Well, I’ve thought about it, obviously. Not owning this place, but…”

“But...?”

Shrugging, mouth open, all but chewing his response as he stacks the shelf and answers with, “Doesn't matter. Wouldn’t be good at it.”

Scoffing, you lift your head, finding him staring. “Sorry, I’ll scoff quieter next time.”

“It's a lot of work. And, it's risky. The place can barely afford me, never mind someone else.”

Shaking his head, you see that look appear—the disbelieving one—catching it flutter across his face. His attempt at making it unreadable fails, as you spot it written all over his expression, practically in bold, italic, and underlined; all very much screaming he very much believes he couldn’t.

Continuing, he shrugs, nostrils flaring under a sigh. “S’not worth thinking about. Got bills. Luca. I… I failed him once, don’t wanna do it again.”

Dropping the contents back into the box, you don't think when you gently lay a hand on his arm, urging him to look. You're just grateful that he does.

Head tilting, trying to find words you swap easily for the truth. “I know I don’t know the version of you from back then, but I really doubt you failed him. You were trying to do the best you could, with what you had.”

His gaze meets yours, a blend of gratitude and uncertainty shimmering in his eyes. “I… just...I want to do right by him now, you know?”

“I know,” you answer softly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “And for what it's worth, I think you're doing an amazing job.”

He gives a small, appreciative smile at your words, eyes blinking past you as if trying to process the unexpected validation. Then, when his eyes fall back to you, his smile widens ever so slightly, a gleam of hope seemingly emerging from the shadows of doubt.

“I think you could do something like this.”

Flicking his eyes from yours to your lips, he smiles. “I don’t wanna own this.”

“What do you want then?” Hand sliding back inside the box, pulling out glue—the industrial kind, you imagine—that thankfully is labelled. “Outside of me helping you restock after hours.”

Grinning, he shakes his head. “Haven’t given it much thought.”

Smiling to yourself, turning the labels out, you leave him in silence for a moment. Letting him think, stew. “Not renovating?”

Tipping his head, his eyes meet yours—something twinkling in them. Shimmering. It makes you wonder to yourself if he’s ever been given a chance to think about something that he wants in a while.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” he replies, evidence there of a smile, of something turning, cogs shifting.

“Could get Luca to help—get him a mini tool belt.”

Laughing, he nudges you. “He’d charm them all into giving us free coffee.”

“From the stories you’ve told me, I don’t doubt it.”

It’s then he slides his hand across your back, fingers fanning, spreading warmth through the thin fabric covering your spine. “You still looking forward to meeting him?”

“Only when I don’t overthink it, and worry about the possibility of making the only person who matters in your world cry or something,” you smile, hand gesturing. “Outside of that thought process, very excited.”

Shaking his head, he steps closer, arm sliding around your waist—lips pressing to the top of your head. “Don’t tell him dinosaurs are extinct and you’re good.”

“Noted,” you whisper, staring up at him.

Eyes holding his, lingering. Your throat becomes full with letters, lips rolling as you weigh up whether it’s worth saying them—confessing them.

Instead, you press your mouth to his—hoping he can taste them, and how badly you want to share them.

Did you put that song over your latest Reel for my benefit?

If I did, was it appreciated?

I’m disappointed it’s not the loud-cat-screeching version I gave you in the car, but guess the original would be more well-known.

I want to keep that version, selfishly, to myself.

Just like I want to keep the photo of you with fries in your mouth just for me.

See, we have our things. Thanks for the help putting the Reel together.

I liked being your camerawoman. But next time, could I have a clapboard—maybe one of those chairs that says ‘Director’ on it?

I think I could find something for you to sit on.

Think that movie is something we’d selfishly keep to ourselves.

Be a good movie, though.

[SENDS PHOTO]

Wow, I didn’t even know they did coffees that large.

It was a special request. I told you she’s persuasive.

I wish I wasn’t on my own, otherwise I’d come down and see you both.

You just want her to get you a large coffee. Which I think she would—she likes you.

Rainy, that is the largest coffee I’ve ever seen. I’m glad she does. It matters your friends like me like mine like you.

Yours love me.

I am very aware.

If you’re good, I might drop you one off before I go home.

Have I told you how pretty you are today?

Such a charmer. [SENDS PHOTO]

See I knew you looked pretty.

Waiting, nerves prickling beneath your skin, your fingers interlacing tightly as you flick your eyes from the array of items you've arranged to the still-closed front door.

For the past, so many minutes, you've paced, chewed your cheeks, and endlessly rearranged the items on the table until they blur into a mess of neatness or chaos, you're not quite sure anymore.

Because it matters. Not just to him but to you.

Speaking to Luca (briefly, and on the phone) is so wildly different from meeting him. A thing you're aware of.

It's big. Fucking huge. A thing that you don't take lightly, or ever wish to. Not the permission to meet him, or the fact it's happening. It's why it keeps churning inside of you, bubbling and swimming up your throat; hands wringing out in front of you, thinking over what you'll do when his big eyes draw out the shape of you, standing there, waiting for you, this person who has entered his dad’s life, to say or do something.

You suppose that’s why your fingernail has migrated to scratching at the skin on your index finger, why your stomach is doing somersaults—more so when you hear the sound of Frankie’s vehicle pulling onto his drive.

You’ve got this. You can do this. Just breathe, just breathe, just—

The door finally opens, and there he is. The biggest eyes meet yours, all curious and wide. Even if the shadow of Frankie is behind him, you don’t take your eyes off Luca. Offering a small, reassuring smile, hoping it’ll be enough to show you’re trustworthy as he steps hesitantly into the room.

Not bending over, but crouching down, you let him approach. Watching as Frankie takes his jacket from his son before the soft introduction you've practised over and over again rolls from you—the sweet hello, followed by your name and I’m your dad’s friend.

And you knew it from photos—from the glimpses of the boy in front of you—but he has his eyes. Those soft, expressive eyes twinkle and shimmer at you as he offers his tiny hand for you to shake. One you take happily, with nothing but joy.

“Hey,” you say, voice soft and friendly. “I've heard so much about you.”

He looks at you for a moment longer, taking in your presence. Then, with a shy smile, he mumbles, “Hi.”

Frankie, watching the interaction from the doorway, closes the door, stepping further into the room as he presses his hand to Luca’s shoulder.

"Luca, you remember her from the phone?” He pauses, looking at you for a moment, before finishing, “...the one who struggled to say Aegyptosaurus.”

Narrowing your eyes a little, you smirk playfully at Frankie, the slightest shake of your head as you stare at the boy—warmth spreading through you as Luca begins to grin.

“Speaking of dinosaurs, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to help me with something?” you ask, gaze flicking up to Frankie who gives a supportive nod. “So, I’ve found this colouring book full of dinosaurs inside your Daddy’s coffee table, and I’m not sure what colours to make them.”

Slowly, his face shifts—from a questionable blank one to a slow smile that has the shadow of his dad’s, but breaks into something you assume must be his mom’s.

And god, it’s the most beautiful smile you think you’ve ever seen.

“Sure, I can helps,” Luca says, walking to the coffee table where the book is—before he’s beckoning you, little fingers urging you to come closer.

And you take a breath, a sigh—letting it flow into your lungs, as you reply with a quick ‘coming’ before you glance at the man still giving you both space.

Joining Luca on the floor, you sit cross-legged, the book propped up already on the table as colouring pens, crayons and pencils begin littering the wood not covered by un-coloured pages.

He's eager, flipping through the book, pointing out the different dinosaurs and naming them with an enthusiastic flourish that makes you chuckle. But, when he finds one, he stops. Head tilting from side to side, little finger tapping on the page before he sighs.

“This one!”

Grinning, you take a closer look. “Perfect.”

His smile mirrors yours, before he copies the pitch of your perfect and begins grasping for colours as he hands them to you.

“What’s your favourite dinosaur, Luca?”

Pausing, Luca brings his finger to his lips—dabbing it, scrunching his face before it explodes into a grin so large it almost makes you laugh. “Stegosaurus.”

“Cause of the spikey back?”

Nodding, he grins even wider, doing a little wiggle. “His name means roof lizard, you know that?” Shaking your head, he scrunches his nose as the corner of his lips rises. “And, and it used its back to defend himself.”

“He has a little beak too, right?”

Nodding, Luca begins to scribble his crayon onto the page. "You know him?"

“I’ve been doing my research.”

At Luca’s loud wow, and insistence on you using a colour he doesn’t like—maroon, which looks barely used—you glance towards Frankie, finding him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, fingers lazily tracing up and down the back of his arm, while sporting a soft smile.

Returning your attention to Luca, you spend the next hour engrossed in colouring (a thing you discover you’re doing wrong), dinosaur facts (you’re not sure how he knows so many) and hilarious stories. Finding, with each passing minute, the anxiety sliding from your bones, it falling from you altogether—slipping away, disappearing completely the more Luca interacts.

The two of you only come to a stop when Frankie mentions that it’s almost dinner time, putting the cap on your pen down.

“Hey, Luca. I have to go now. But, I’ve had the best time.”

“You’re not wanting to stay for dinner?” he asks, eyes full of hope as you spot his fist clenched around the pen he’s pressing to the page—the colour bleeding out.

Leaning forward, you smile. “Next time, promise.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Thanks so much for letting me colour with you.”

Getting up, suppressing a groan as your body aches from having to unfold itself from sitting cross-legged, you find Frankie waiting, his expression soft and tender.

“Hi handsome,” you whisper, taking the jacket from his hands.

Frankie leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead—all out of view, just like the two of you had agreed. “You did good,” he tells you quietly. “He likes you.”

Heart swelling at his words, you look back at Luca, who is now animatedly talking to his colouring book, and you find yourself unable to stop smiling.

“I like him too,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

And as you listen to Luca's excited chatter, you realise just how much you mean it.

Think you have a new fan.

Stop, do I really?

Apparently, you’re very pretty, and old like me, and so I should kiss you.

Well, not that I love all of those sentiments, I do like the last one.

Do you want me to call when he’s in bed?

You not sick of me?

Not even a little bit.

I’ll wrap up these amends, shower and then I’m all yours.

The image of you covered in soap suds is going to get me through the next half an hour of this show.

It vibrates softly against the bedsheets, your smile spreading—replacing the earlier irksome client and the nervousness from your afternoon.

“He hasn’t shut up about you.”

No hello. Just a continuation, as if the two of you had only paused from the texting to now. Biting your cheek, you smile, knees pulling up as you feel your Lee scrunch.

“Yeah?”

“Baby, he’s pulled out books to show you the next time you come round.”

Grinning, you sigh. “He’s really great, Frankie. He’s so funny? You never told me how funny he was, and how smart. God, when he—”

And you ramble.

For longer than you’re even aware of as you accidentally go into a play-by-play from this morning—as though the man hadn’t been loitering, standing close by or joining in when Luca’s stories got more outrageous. A standout favourite had been Frankie saving the neighbour's lion from a tree, which had turned out to be a cat called Leon.

“—Also, how does he know so much about dinosaurs? And, fuck—Frankie. Did I just ramble to you about your own son?”

You hear his laugh, real and airy, flow down the phone. “I like it, don’t worry. It’s nice hearing you ramble.”

“You’re a filthy liar.”

With a deep, resonant snort, his sigh of contentment drifts through the phone, making your body, in response, relax. Every muscle slowly uncoils, back sinking further into the plush comfort of the bed beneath you. Ear meeting the pillow as it wrinkles gently under the weight of your head.

“Did it… do you think it went as well as you thought?”

“Better,” he confesses, hearing the breath he releases with it.

Biting your lip, you settle yourself further into your duvet—resting your back against the pillows. “Have I told you today that I really like you?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line.”

Smirking, you rest your tongue between your teeth.

“And, really like? That’s a new one.”

“Well,” you grin, unable to fight a smile, “Felt you deserved the extra word.”

Rolling your head, you trace your teeth over your bottom lip—hearing it, absorbing it, the way he repeats it back. I really like you too. The words find a home, rather than sliding in one ear and out the other. Burying themselves, slotting into a place so perfect as they fit so snugly.

A comfortable beat passes, a moment to linger in it before he asks about your work—about the latest thing you’re working on. Even if you always feel you’ll bore him, he always surprises you by reminding you he won’t be. Engaged, asking questions. Listening and recalling back to things you’ve said before, that you suspect most wouldn’t have paid much mind to.

But, then, he’s not anyone.

“I think I left my hoodie at yours.”

Humming, you hear sheets rustling, before rummaging. “Um, the—yes, yeah you have. I’ll hang it up for you.”

“Only if you have the space too.”

“Well, this is… awkward. I wanted to do it in person—”

Even if there’s no indication to do so, your stomach knots. Tangles. Your heart slams into your chest as your throat, all of a sudden, dries.

“I… fuck, if this is too much tell me, but I’ve made you some space—in my wardrobe. And a drawer. And—”

“And, Frankie? How much space are you giving me?”

Swallowing, you hear him click his tongue. “Well... I mean, as much as you want, baby.”

“Frankie…”

“Have I… Is it too much?”

Pulling your knees up, grinning. Quickly wanting to fire a text to your friend and scream HE’S MADE ME A DRAWER, only stopping yourself because, instead, you, all high-pitched and squeaky ask if you can swap to video. Fingers trembling, your face filling the screen before you can eventually push it to the corner when his greets yours.

“You’re so sweet, thank you—it isn’t too much. Not even a little bit. I want—if you want—to give you the same.”

Laughing lowly, you watch him slide back into bed—the freckles on his collarbone illuminated by the bedside lamp. “Baby, you have half my tools at your house—you’ve made plenty of room for me.”

“Yeah, that toolbox is a health hazard—it is very heavy.”

“I’ll make sure to move it next time”

Scrunching your nose. “Oh no, I moved it. Managed to find some strength from somewhere to do so. That’s my workout for the week.”

Shaking his head, you watch him get into bed—arm resting above his head, fingers teasing at his curls as he smiles at you—eyes somehow just as bright even in low light as he begins telling you about his day tomorrow.

You watch, noticing the little lift of his lips when he talks about Benny, when he mentions taking Luca to training—which in turn (he explains) means Luca bosses them around and they all have to listen. Then after they’ll go on a boys’ lunch, where ice cream is usually consumed, the tradition having started when Luca was teething.

“Send me a photo—post-training.”

His tongue slides into his cheek, eyebrow lifting as he stares at you.

“Dripping in sweat do it for you, Rainy?”

“I’m not rewatching your Reels because I want to use a circle-saw, Frankie. Plus, you look so good in sweats—that black pair. Fuck.”

Chuckling to himself, he runs his hand over his face—and you imagine his cheeks are warm, that if the lighting were better, you’d see the beginning of his pink embarrassment crawling up his neck.

Yawning and stretching, you reach for your charger, plugging it in before moving to lie on your side, hearing him ask—as soft, and as sleepily, as he would if you were next to him—you comfy, baby? as your heart does a little flicker as you rest the phone against the pillow.

“Very,” you assure him, pulling the duvet closer around you. “Be more comfy if you were here.”

“Would you, though?”

Hesitating, you hum—hearing the lightest laugh come from him. “You’re very warm—like a furnace. I like it.”

“That all I’m good for, warming your bed?”

Smirking, your eyes heavy, you sigh. “You have some other uses.”

“I’m glad I’m useful.”

Settling further into the bed, hearing him shuffle and rustle from his end, you clear your throat to ask, “Do you think you'd rather have a pineapple for a head or a watermelon?”

Even with your eyes struggling to stay open, you sneak a glance to see his grin break out. “I'd love to live in your head.”

“You sure about that?”

Snorting, he shakes his head, fingers pushing the hair back from his forehead. “Pineapple. Sweeter for you to kiss.”

“You're so thoughtful.”

Giggling, you find a response sitting on your tongue, it just not able to form as you hum again—finding yourself so comfortable and warm under the sheets you’re barely able to hang onto his voice until he whispers ‘baby’. A little noise coming from you that in your head is clearly words, but not to anyone else.

Only realising it isn’t when he says your name. Calls it.

“Frankie…”

“Baby, why don’t we hang—“

“No,” you groan, the O sound stretching out—hardly with any intent. More said with tenderness and pouting than anything as you hear him chuckle. “I’ll wake up.”

“No, don’t… don’t do that. I’ll stay—listen to you snore.”

Flicking your eyes open, glaring at the screen. “I do not snore.”

Chuckling, his voice wraps around you like a warm blanket. “Sure, baby. You just keep telling yourself that.”

“Francisco!”

His laugh roars down the phone, making your cheeks hurt from smiling, shaking your head against the pillow as his laugh turns to an ‘aww’.

“Do you know how pretty you look right now?”

“You can barely see me, Morales. Stop trying to flatter me.”

Somehow, his laugh is even louder than it was before. And somehow, your smile is larger too.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[southparktexts]

hi bby! saw ur reqs are open and ur inbox in empty!! so lemme get main three with a makeup gf who wants to do their makeup/skincare :3

AAAA OMG ITS BAE !!! HII BABE ABSOLUTELY YOU ANGEL !!

Doing Makeup on the Main 3

stan;

- okay, you know that episode where stan has a band and he plays a song abt him hating living on a farm?

- if you get it you get it

- you unironically already do his makeup for him

- but not full face though

- you help him with eyeliner on his under eyes

- i can see you bringing up the subject

- one day you were hanging in your room

- stan resting his head on your lap as you play with his hair silently

- eventually you got bored.

“stannnn can i do your makeup?”

“..why? im not performing anytime soon.”

“please..?”

“..fine”

- okay some headcannons time

- you do his makeup on his lap

- you’re doing concealer and he’s rambling to you about a fight with his dad.

- actually kinda stress relieving to him.

- i can see him as a cautious boyfriend when you do his foundation.

“ah- not the eyes..”

“careful.. the beanie..”

- also will slightly regret it..

“this is so gay.. you’re lucky i love you.”

- he doesn’t want to admit that he loves it.

- after you’ve cooked you show him and he gives you a ‘good job’ nod and kisses your forehead.

“..okay get this off me.”

kyle ;

- hear me out, kyles always had a fascination with makeup.

- i can see kyle watching his mom do her makeup and just being so interested.

- naturally, he was curious to see what he would look like with makeup.

- one day he was over at your house, you guys had a date planned in a few hours and you were doing your makeup

- kyle being kyle he watched, noticing how you grew more and more frustrated with your eyeliner.

- wiping it off with a q-tip aggressively.

- he continued watching as he thought to himself

- ‘if only she had someone to practice on..”

- he turned out to be the perfect person.

- he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your cheeks.

“do you wanna practice on me, love?”

“wait.. really?”

- the way your eyes light up, it made him want to ask that question all the time just to see your reaction again and again.

- while you’re doing his makeup he’ll ask you questions.

“soo is this.. blush..?”

“no baby this is concealer”

“oh.. what does that do?”

- he actually was interested and learnt a lot from you

“so now we’re going to use some setting spray.”

“oh i think my mom uses that!”

- off topic but he definitely remembers your shade and buys you makeup pallets and new products.

kenny;

- okay. okay. LET ME COOK.

- so as a juggalo myself, juggalos have events called ‘gathering of the juggalos’

- kenny and you were conveniently going to this event.

- as an icp fan its important to have the iconic black and white clown makeup!

- although you and your boyfriend were over at your house getting ready.

- when you saw kenny using bad drugstore makeup to do his clown face.

“uh.. ken?”

“yea hun?”

“do you want me to do that for you?”

“sure darl’”

- you had to scrub that shit off his face but it was so worth it.

- in the middle of you doing the white foundation you had just done prior on his face he’ll lean in a kiss you

“kennn!! no kisses”

“sorry doll, can’t help it.”

- the most laidback of all the boys

- will randomly kiss you all over

- but he doesn’t stay still when you’re doing the clown features in black.

- after your done cooking, you show him in the mirror.

- he does some silly poses, making you laugh and kisses your forehead.

“i love it my little juggalette”

“i love you to my juggalo”

reqs are open !! also i cooked wtf??

[bugcreditcard]

Law grunted, dangling above the water in the grip of a man ten times his size. If only he hadn't been so distracted by what happened this morning, these nobodies wouldn't have been an issue.

The early morning had been cold. The sun barely peeked through the tall outlines of Swallow’s signature snow-covered pine trees, casting lazy shadows in the dawn. Law rubbed his hands together letting his hotter breadth warm up his chilly fingers for a second before continuing on to his destination. He had left the mittens Wolf gave him behind. They were slightly too big for him and he wanted full dexterity of his fingers. When he got there, it would be brighter out anyways.

He was off earlier than normal to an isolated lake that he had found during one of his explorations mapping out the terrain of Swallow Island. Isolation meant no people, and no people meant it was a perfect place to practice the boundaries of his Op-Op-no-mi powers.

His powers were something that he was still getting used to, not quite sure where the 'theoretically' possible became the actually ‘now’ possible. He knew already that he could use them to heal once-thought incurable illnesses, his own body a constant reminder of that fact, but it also seemed to aid in fights as well. It would be around a month since he had used the devil fruit’s powers to save his new roommate, an anxious polar bear mink by the name of Bepo, from being poached by two eggheaded wanna-be hunters. The two young adults waving their guns around, cruelly boasting about their valuable catch had him rubbed the wrong way even before he saw the polar bear on the ground. Law was glad they never saw those shambled rocks until it was too late.

(And he would never be unprepared again.)

A few minutes of walking later and he was here. He approached the edge of the shore, his attention quickly caught upon a struggling trout that had somehow made its way onto land. As luck would have it, there was also a crab desperately hanging onto it (no doubt it's dinner gone wrong) that had managed to be flipped onto its back. At the time, it seemed to be a waste to not utilize the situation to perform some experiments. For what he had in mind to test, he would be needing two 'test subjects' after all.

Quickly he walked a few paces around to make sure there wasn't anyone in the vicinity. Pine trees enclosed a small area where land met the frigid lake that hadn’t quite frozen over yet, several smaller channels branching off, snaking their way farther into the land and probably the ocean. The lake was too small to set up fishing boats and it was far up enough in the mountain to make any sort of trek here not worth it. Satisfied, his hand moved to hover over the fish and crab, a small familiar blue encapsulating it. His brow furrowed in concentration. Attention pinpoint focused, his fingers twitched slightly and with a (admittedly) satisfying pop, the lower ends of the crab and fish switched places, slotting into place without any bleeding or seemingly outward complications.

"Holy fuck did you see that!"

"Shhhhhh!" Followed by a quick splash that had Law paranoidly whipping his head around. He stood up, hand clenched into his fist, heart hammering loudly in his chest.

The Crab-Fish and Fish-Crab wiggled uselessly on the ground below.

There was no one around. No one moved across the treeline and the lake was barren, lazy ripples scattering across the surface from the wind. Who saw him? Law took several steps back, his eyes darting around. Was it Doflamingo? "Hey." Law started off before raising his voice in anxiety and anger "HEY! Show yourself!"

There was no answer.

With an urgency that Law refused to say was paranoia, Law scooped the proof of his actions into his bag and broke into a sprint into the treeline. If it was Doflamingo he would have already been dead, Law chanted under his breath - the thought did little to settle his beating heart. Wolf’s house, yeah he would be safe there for now: he could pull himself together and form a plan there.

Continued here: In the beginning there was me and you (and you)

[notjustjavierpena]

Siggy, the real question is pls get some more pregnancy joel…..bc tempers has me feeling some type of way 😮‍💨🥹

The Making of Ellie - Part IV: Libido

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Ask and you shall receive, anon ❤️ Hope it is worth the wait. 

Summary: Your libido has increased since getting pregnant. Joel doesn’t have a problem with indulging you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni!), teasing, fingering, dirty talk, squirting, pregnancy sex, bit of fluff, intense orgasms, handjob, come-eating, desperate and whimpering joel is a warning in itself, the tiniest use of daddy.

Word count: 2.4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051/chapters/124097539

Libido

Since entering your third trimester, your libido has increased significantly. It is to the point where you feel painfully hot and bothered throughout the day, having described it as an itch that simply won’t go away no matter how much you scratch it. You’ll cross your legs, bite your lip, flush pink and be short of breath just by catching a glimpse of Joel, and he’ll be on you as soon as humanly possible. In short: You just want to, and you do, fuck all the damn time. Bed, bathroom, kitchen, in the hallway, once on the staircase, car. 

Joel is happy to oblige, at least inside the four walls of your shared home. Sarah has completely fled the house at this point; despite it starting with your temper tantrums, her distaste for being home was really set in stone when she walked in on the two of you in a compromising position. 

“Dad, I’m really happy for you and all, but Jesus Christ, I’ll be home again tomorrow,” she’d said, and now, she comes home for dinner and to pack her soccer bag. He lets her. She’s practically grown at this point, and he’ll see her when she needs him, he knows this. He has made it a habit to text her goodnight too, and she always responds quickly with a heart emoji.

You on the other hand are a whole different story. You are always in close proximity to him, circling him like a goddamn cat who does not want to admit its attachment to you and waiting to strike for the right moment to get attention. 

Joel is emptying the dishwasher, a thing that he has made clear is his job after the incident, when he spots you out of the corner of his eye. He smiles to himself and pretends not to see you, continuing his work on getting all the mugs into the cabinet above him without crushing any of the million amounts of snacks you have hidden in the back. 

You move closer. He watches still, catches the way your skirt flows as you walk to stand on his right side. You grip the edge of the kitchen counter, leaning against it and eyeing him up. 

“Hey babe,” you say, tapping a finger on the front of the kitchen cabinet. 

“Hi honey,” he replies nonchalantly to make you work for it. He starts filling up the dishwasher too, causing a microexpression of frustration and confusion on your face. 

“Do you wanna do something together?” You suggest. 

“Sure, when ’m done here.”

“How about now? Skip the cleaning up thing?” 

“Is there anythin’, in particular, ya wanna do?” He acts oblivious. He goes to wash his hands, “Somethin’ that can’t wait?”

“Well,” you say with confidence, “Wouldn’t you rather get with—“

You push your hands down onto the counter to lift yourself up onto the kitchen table, but the act is hardly successful; you’ve become too stiff to do it, and it ends up a lot less sexy than Joel assumes is your intention. You try again, but you can’t get your ass onto the table, round belly in the way of being flexible enough to be seductive. 

“Hold up,” you furrow your brows, trying your act again and using your legs to kickstart the jump off the floor but yet again to no avail, “I can do this.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says, one hand resting on his chin as he hides the urge to laugh out loud. He clears his throat to cover up a chuckle. 

“Stop,” you snap at him as you catch him actually laughing at you. He tries to suppress it, but when it bubbles up in his chest without his control, you become stubborn, “No, no, just wait.”

You struggle for a few moments more whilst Joel bites his cheek to keep you from getting upset. Eventually, you groan, “A little help here?”

“Sure,” Joel stands in front of you. He pushes on the soles of your feet the next time you try jumping, giving you the boost you need to perch yourself on the surface. 

“Now,” you brush non-existent dust off your skirt, gesturing to yourself afterward. Joel thinks you’re adorable, “Wouldn’t you rather get with this than clean the kitchen?” 

Joel sends you a smirk, “After that whole display, I’m actually not sure. Can you jump down and do it again so I’m certain?”

“Joel,” you bite, crossing your arms over your chest. He doesn’t know if you purposely squeeze your fuller breasts together or if he is just a dog, but he cannot help himself from staring. You catch him doing it, “Great. So you can stare at my cleavage, but you can’t touch me?” 

Joel says your name. You ignore him. 

“Have I not been paying ‘nough attention to ya?” Joel tuts in the softest voice, closing the distance between you to stand in between your legs, “Is that why you’re actin’ up?” 

You pout at him so prettily, arms still underneath your tits and fingers tapping on your elbows. It turns more fun when you don’t reply, gaze dropping after it becomes too intense to stare back at him. Joel loves this little game, can feel his cock twitch in his jeans and threaten to strain against the zipper. You look past his shoulder, chewing on your bottom lip with a sort of pained restlessness. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Joel continues. He reaches out to place his palm on your round belly, rubbing soothingly as you continue to ignore him in your attempt to repress a tantrum. He knows you get angry and frustrated when you don’t eat, but after getting you pregnant, he has discovered that you react the same to not getting fucked on the regular too, “‘S not right for me to tease ya like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you agree, placing your hand on top of his in a gesture of reconciliation, “Think you should make it up to your baby mama. She’s going insane, you know. Only you help.” 

Joel can feel his cock start to harden already. It is so easy for you to rile him up these days, hearing you talk about how he has ruined anything else for you. He is the only one to save you from this torment, and luckily, Joel likes to be useful. 

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Joel’s hand on your stomach slips down and then up under your skirt. He glides his fingertips along your inner thigh, watches you struggle to find the words as his digits go further north until they rest right by the fabric of your underwear. He can feel the warmth radiating from your core.

“Uhh,” you say as your mind fogs. Your legs automatically spread for him.

“This?” He hooks his thumb underneath the damp fabric right at your center, “Jesus, you’re so wet, baby. I’m so sorry. If you’d just told me, I would’ve—“

“Just touch me, stop talking, and—” you whine, scooting a little further towards the edge to give him more access, “Don’t have to worry now.”

Joel’s thumb settles on your clit and presses down lightly. It causes you to say his name desperately, the back of your head knocking against the kitchen cabinet when you crane your neck back. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Joel asks. He stops temporarily while you reach up to touch the back of your head. Though instead of wincing, you start giggling and Joel cannot suppress his own laughter. 

“Keep going,” you egg him on, “I’ll be more careful.”

Joel decides to pull your underwear to the side instead, so he can sink two fingers into you. You let out a shaky breath, “Oh, fuck. That’s just what I needed.”

Joel’s thumb is on your clit again. He fucks you on his digits slowly, searches for your g-spot for only a second before rubbing it with the pads of his fingers. God, the way your face goes slack. You absolutely love it. 

The wet squelches of your cunt are obscene enough to get him painfully hard in mere seconds too, combined with the feeling of your walls fluttering with your climax building.

“How the fuck are you so soaked?” He asks in disbelief. 

“May have pregamed,” you admit in your blissful state. 

“What?” Joel doesn’t stop what he is doing, but he slows down until he has almost come to a halt. 

You find his gaze with a frown, “Don’t stop.”

“I haven’t… pregamed?”

You squirm a little and try to move, but Joel places his free hand on your belly to stop you, “Tried to take care of it myself. Didn’t fucking work, okay? The angle is all wrong.”

Joel cannot believe his ears. He lets his hand go up to grab your chin and then starts fucking your cunt with his fingers in earnest. You cry out softly, holding his gaze intensely. 

“You find me, okay?” He puts on the voice that always makes you shut up and nod, “I don’t care what the fuck I’m doing. Say you wanna come and I’ll be there.”

Just like he predicted, you simply nod at his words. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and he marvels at how you are barely able to connect your fingertips when your hand is in a fist around it. He loves you. Sweetest little thing he has ever known. 

“Gonna be a good girl and come f’me?” He smiles devilishly when your breathing indicates that you are close. He lets go of your chin and splays the palm on your chest to feel your rapid heartbeat, “Make those legs tremble f’me?”

He curls his fingers upwards to torture his favorite spot inside of you, and then you are coming around them with fast pulses of your walls. He watches your thighs twitch once and then twice before actually shaking violently, making him wonder how long you’ve involuntarily edged yourself before finding him. 

“Fuck, Joel, Joel,” you gasp in a very particular way, and Joel quickly removes his fingers from your cunt to see how a wet patch forms on your skirt from how you gush repeatedly as your climax reaches its peak.

It doesn’t even matter that it’s in the fucking kitchen, because the pride that he feels at making you squirt knows no bounds, and he cannot help the boyishness in his chuckle, “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Holy fuck,” you groan as you come down from your high. You rest your head against the kitchen cabinet again, this time without knocking it roughly into it. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Fantastic,” you sigh contentedly, “Just gimme a sec. Take your pants off. I wanna do something nice for you before I go take this stupid skirt off.”

“Baby, you don’t have to,” he reassures despite how his dick hurts by now. 

“Pants off, Miller,” you commandeer. 

Joel follows through without further hesitation. He makes quick work of undoing his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear, grunting at the friction along his hard cock. 

“Look at you,” you say with a pout, “Poor baby daddy.”

You reach out to grab a hold of his cock, watching the bead of precome that threatens to drip down from the tip. Running the pads of your fingers up and down the shaft teasingly, Joel lets out a relieved moan at finally being touched but it only lasts for a moment because nothing escalates. 

“You said something nice. This ain’t nice, sweetheart,” he tells you with a groan, squeezing himself further in between your legs to get closer to your smug expression. You swear the precome over the sensitive head and both of Joel’s hands fly to the kitchen counter. He places them flat against the surface, “Really not gonna say anythin?’

You bite your bottom lip and shake your head, eyes still glazed over with your post-orgasmic bliss but now also sporting an innocence that drives him mad. You start stroking his dick, fist tightening around his girth and he can feel himself pulse in your hand.

It feels fucking great as you drag your palm over the skin again and again, but something clicks in Joel’s head when desperation hits. Fuck, he wants to come.

It would be impossible to make his body listen to him right now as it feels disconnected from reality and control. He tilts his hips, looks down at where you’re touching him so expertly, and then fucks himself into your tight grip. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say in disbelief but never falter. If anything, you manage to squeeze enough to make it a tighter fit without hurting him, “Fuck, you’re so hot like this.”

“Fuck,” he swears loudly and speeds up his hips. One of the hands on the kitchen table comes up to grab a cabinet handle, knuckles turning white as he strains to chase his orgasm. 

When the rubber band at the base of his spine snaps, Joel stills his hips. Your hand hesitates for a second, but then the first rope of come spills over your hand and you milk him for every drop he has in him. 

Joel hasn’t come like this in a while; always empties himself sheathed inside your soft cunt, but when you praise him absentmindedly as he comes, he finds that he might become partial to it. He pants through the almost painful clenches of his lower stomach and balls. 

When he whimpers at the over-sensitivity, your hand stills completely. Your free hand strokes his cheek with the back of your fingers, “You good? Talk to me.”

It takes a beat to find his bearings once more. His hand plops down onto the counter again. He mumbles with exhaustion coating his voice, “Alright. ‘M back.”

He thinks you’re as spent as him, but with your remaining energy, you lift your hand from his cock to lick his come off the back of it with the flat of your tongue. He groans, “Dirty girl.”

“What? It has vitamins,” you tease, giving your hand another kitten lick, “Unfortunately not D. Should’ve been vitamin D.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. He struggles a little with his balance as he gets dressed again, blood still not having fully returned to his brain. He gets the paper towels and helps you clean up, but you just look at him with a dazed smile.

“What?” He questions.

“You better fuck me like that tonight,” you muse.

“You know what to say, and I’ll be there. No pregaming,” he replies simply and helps you onto the ground again, “Now go change, momma.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[derww]

Hearts and their true value | Essay

ZAM: Something i've noticed is that people who are willing to stand up are the people that have been around longer. It's interesting. Its not like Jumper's that new anyway, like she's been around, she's, I feel like she's not really like... I don't know, understood the devaluing, or the lack of value that hearts have.

Okay, I wanna tell you a story.

[ENDGAME SPOILERS TO SKY:COTL | CW DEATH AND SUICIDE IN THE GAME CONCEPTS]

There is a game called Sky. This is a social game about human connections, and one of the important parts of the gameplay is wings. You get wings by grinding and lose them one by one when your health drops to zero.

From the very beginning, the wings are shown to you as a value: they accumulate as you explore the world, which is beautifully reflected by the star patterns on the cloaks, and, most importantly, they determine the degree of your ability to fly. and flying is the main mechanic of the game, you fly almost always. an unshakable and absolute value. This means that wings must be protected and saved, and this is the essence of the game!

But Sky is a cycle. The end of the cycle is death. and you are losing all your wings in the process. Invariant. And the game never warns you about it; it says that you can lose your wings, sure, but it's nothing in comparison with losing everything. And first time, it's very, very scary: me personally, stories about this place scared me bad enough that I finally got through it only after a week of constant playing. and in the end you're left with... nothing. You have only one wing. You have to start from the beginning. Was all this adventure, all these efforts, worth it?

Usually it takes several months for the players to get used to losing wings. Not only at the end of the cycle, gaining red candles and sometimes unlocking eternal wings or cosmetics, but generally. Leaving themselves in dangerous places, playing with the death, and... Protecting other people, especially new players, by bodyblocking the hits. because, despite the amount of wings being a reason to flex and the importance of being able to fly higher and longer and grinding being just straight up annoying, part of the Sky philosophy as i understand it is the idea that wings are not actually holding much value. 

Two years ago, I had a beautiful sky friend. She was Chinese, resembled an elegant and beautiful flower, and told me to call her 江妤 (Jiang Yu, "Like the Yangtze River,"  she had explained to me). Jiang Yu, in addition to all her wonderful personal qualities, was wingless.

In a normal situation, you can't stay wingless; you always have at least one wing. The whole game is based on the idea that you will fly, but there are many glitches that can temporarily make you wingless. However, here was only one way to stay wingless: from the moment the birth, you couldn't pick up a single wing and continued to avoid them for eternity.

It wasn't a planned way to play, but it was possible, and different people played that way for different reasons. Jiang Yu, having a very developed account on a Chinese server, explained to me that she wants to travel with her friends. "Lead me wherever you wish, and I will follow you,"  she said to me. She couldn't get to many places on the map alone, and even one drop of rain depersonalized her, and she needed someone to guide her. She was extremely dependent on others. 

But Jiang Yu, having no wings, being outside the existing equation, could not die. This was the catch of the wingless: having nothing, they were not afraid to lose something (except their own winglessness, but oh, well), and this made them invulnerable. For me, it was the true Sky experience of connecting with people around and trusting them.

Thinking about the philosophy of it in my walks with Jiang Yu, I came to a personal conclusion: Sky is a game where you are given value, given currency, demonstrated its importance and usefulness and irreplaceability, and then demonstrated that in fact it has no real value. And the wingless ones, even if not planned by the developers, are the apogee of this idea. It is—oh  well, let me give you the most banal quote: "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything." Do you understand where I'm going and how it relates to Lifesteal?

I don't like to row everyone under the same comb, but to simplify, let's say: many of the new members are scared to die. Old members are generally not. They all have different understandings and positions, and someone has 20 hearts and someone has 4; it's a difference in mindsets.

And Jumper is still new. Especially taking into account that the big part of the s5 she was pretty much immortal with the infinite (not really, but) stash of hearts and that PB&J was kinda built on not understanding things.

Yeah, this is the Lifesteal, the server about killing people for hearts. But it hasn't been just that way for a very long time. The server is fucking alive and is constantly changing, but even before, cool stories were much more important than just not dying. "Reaching 20 hearts" without any twist is a very boring video. Wanna show how cool you are? Do something better.

There is not much interesting in being just passive. Yeah, Wemmbu is scary, but he is the villain; of course he is scary. Im not saying that they have to pick up a sword and fight, but I think Zam is right in that they just don't really understand yet. but its something we've talked about many times before – unspoken rules and conventions and all that. This can be attributed to the same place as the fact that members tend to play along with each other even if it's dangerous. Content is more important than hearts. At the end, you came here to play.

Part of the reason I love 3ht so much is that they embody it. They're constantly dying; they seem weak and worthless, but they're here, and they are doing atleast something. And Planet... Is Planet. Even to go edit, you first need to give a dramatic speech, change movement of the whole arc, and backflip into the void. Despite how important hearts are and that you should still care, it's good to understand that it does not actually matter that much. Yeah, it helps with how many crits you'll take before dying, but is it really the only important thing here?

Many months after our first meeting, Jiang Yu made a mistake and accidentally got her first wing. She was so sad, and I hugged her, and her wings looked like a beautiful cherry flower. I haven't seen her in a long time, but we still exchange gifts sometimes. I miss her. And even if we never see each other again, I appreciate the memories we've made together. And it's more valuable than anything else.

(And, at the end, its just a game. It can be very important; you can be very invested, but it is necessary to draw a line. In-game life may cost nothing, but your real life is infinitely valuable)

[all444miles]

Hiii, I just saw that you were doing requests so I was wondering if you could do e-42 miles with black readers hair? Like helping her pick out different braiding and natural styles, maybe some wash day headcanons as well?

— TOUCH MY HAIR

— pairing: e-42 miles x fem!black!reader — genre: fluff — summary: just miles loving you and your hair ‹3 — a/n: tyyyy for this req, i am squealing rn + i alr had this idea in my prompt list but u gave me a reason to start it !! ‹3 my hcs always got miles saying sum outta pocket then the reader calls him out then he goes “my fault”, its a lil funny motif ima keep on adding 😭 also the n word is used a bit in this, js sayin!! enjoy ♡ ᖭི(ˊᗜˋ*)ᖫྀ

we all know n we've established this, miles is more than happy to pay for ur shit, esp if its your hair.

he wouldn't think twice before sending you the money for you to get your hair done. he wont listen or care if you say no, either.

"miles, bae, why u sendin me 200?" "what else? so you can get your hair done, mami." "baby, you know damn well that's too much." "buy yourself some other stuff too, if you wanna, but that money yours now, i ain't takin it back." "you.. you do too much." "mhm, make sure to show me a pic of when you get it done, you heard?"

he's always your hype man, for sure.

i got a feeling he a major fan of faux locs or boho/godess braids, so if you got that on? he'll fold.

"dayum ma, that shit looks good." "i cant even lie, Aaliyah did real good on this. she sure was tryna make me go broke though.." "worth every cent, cuz you look fine as hell with them faux locs." "miles." "im just saying, mami, your hair, like.. lord have mercy." "miles!" "my fault, i ain't lying though."

when your hair’s all natural, he loves to watching you style your hair for school, events, etc.

one time you let him style your hair, and you couldn’t even lie, it actually looked pretty good.

“these edges.. how do y'all do this shit every day?” “miles, baby, it ain’t that hard. look, lemme show you.”

you had to show him a quick tiktok tut on how to do edges, took him 2 videos before he got it 😭

“see that? like a c shape, and swoop it.” “..like this?” “yeah! you gotta do that like, 4 more times though.” “ay, dios mio. (oh my God). Mama, i ain’t doing allat.”

and wash day? his absolute favorite.

(short drabble ahead!)

Good Days by SZA played from Miles' speaker, blasting in the background, the gentle splashes of the warm water from the shower onto your curls.

You relaxed, your head leaning back further into the bathtub, your lover grabbing your scalp massager and rubbing it into your scalp carefully, shampoo mixed in, the rest of your products on the end corner of your bathtub.

"Ma, you know you really needed this wash. Your hair was tangled as shit, like a lion or sum.” he says, laughing halfway through his sentence. You scoff at him jokingly, "Miles, when you have hair as long and thick as mine, you can violate my hair."

Miles protested, adding the conditioner to your hair, setting your scalp massager aside. "Baby, my hair is basically almost as long as yours."

"Yeah, almost." you spoke, putting your fingers up to his face in pinching motion, the gems on your acrylics just an inch close to touching his nose, a grin on your face. He backed up, pushing your hands out of his face, continuing your wash routine. "Princesa, lemme finish washing yo hair without your hands all up in my face."

About 3 and a half hours later, your hair was washed and in overnight twists with your bonnet on. You laid with Miles in your bed, legs on top of each others, tired.

"Y'know, you actually good at dealin' wit my hair." you spoke, giving Miles a kiss on his forehead. “When you got a mama like mine, you pretty much have to.” Miles chuckled, shaking his head. “You should let me do it more often.” You smiled in response.

He buried his head into the crook of your neck, slowly dozing off by the way you'd play with the silk of his durag. "I love you Miles."

He mumbled words once again into your neck, half asleep, but you knew what he said.

"I love you more, mi vida."

© all444miles 2023. do not plagerize, copy, or repost my work in any way shape or form, without my permission.

likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !

[strawbxrryanime]

the businessman's sweetheart - kokonoi hajime x reader

Before you know it, he could swindle you easily like how he swindles paper dollar bills. You were his beloved, a charm worth more than money, worth more than anything he could ever purchase. You were the businessman's sweetheart, the pride and joy of Kokonoi.

That's why Kokonoi had to show you just exactly how much he loves you in bed, just enough for bed and breakfast to kick in. He's having you for breakfast, and there's no stopping him. His smirk making you squeal, he's just so conniving, he swindled your heart easily by his muscular bod, his charming personality.

How he swindled you in bed, with everything bare, clothes scattered all over the bedroom floor. Kokonoi muttering sweet nothings into your ear, kissing you so sweetly but a tad rough as he lowers down on you, lying below as Kokonoi closed in upon you.

"Y/N, did I forget to mention that you're the most precious jewel I could ever have?~" Kokonoi smirks, that same smirk, still having you in shambles. As he slowly licks your neck. "Had a tough day at work~ Might if you.. wanna cool me off?~" Kokonoi glares, his eyes admiring every aspect of your body, knowing that no matter what, you look beautiful and amazing. "You're mine Y/N~ My jewel~ And I'm so glad I get to claim you~" Kokonoi chuckles as he makes his move.

Kokonoi's cock knew how to slide into the right places, as soon as he inserted it in your gummy walls, immediately it worked your way up to a loud moan, followed by a grunt coming from Kokonoi. You were gripping onto him hard with your walls, squeezing every aspect of his cock. "So good for me Y/N~ And so tight, I'm sure I'm going to fuck you extra hard today~" Kokonoi smirks.

As Kokonoi held your legs, he began to kiss your thigh while eyeing you in the slightest, like a tiger devouring its prey. After that he smirks as you clench, making him grunt loudly. "You're so fucking good!~ You feel so fucking amazing~" Kokonoi mutters as he praises you for being his. He began to thrust. "Gah!~" Kokonoi screams out, you were so tight and your walls were squeezing him mercilessly.

Kokonoi thrusts again, now going at a continuous slow pace, gripping your waist as your legs laid atop his strong shoulders. His cock sending you to heavy amounts of euphoria as your fucked out face tells Kokonoi everything he needs to know about fucking you real good. "Fuck!~ Y/N~ So fucking good for me~" Kokonoi chuckles as he groans. His cock is being squeezed within each thrust, and he pounds harder and harder.

Kokonoi reaches in for a monstrous kiss, smirking as his thrusts become more faster and the groans spill out of his lips as your moans kept spilling. His cock is immersed in your hole, being swallowed up and pounded back and forth as Kokonoi kept thrusting and thrusting hard deep inside of you. This feeling is amazing, undoubtedly. Kokonoi is ramming every inch down inside of you, groaning and grunting.

"FUCK!~ Y/N!~ GAH!~" Kokonoi worships your body, as he thrusts faster and harder deep inside your hole, leaving you to scream otherworldly. Moaning deep into the pleasure that is to have your hole deeply fucked inside, making you feel things you never thought you could feel, and feeling the atmost best. Kokonoi just kept on thrusting, as he gets more sloppier and sloppier, his cock is way too deep inside you, being squeezed.

A band of moans and groans fill the room with lust and a burnt candle. The dimly-lit room followed by the sounds of Kokonoi’s sloppy fast thrusts were enough to send you into a fall from grace. Enough to send you to the moon if you could. “Y/N!!~ FUCK GAH!~ I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!~” Kokonoi yelled, his climax is near. You squeezed hard on Kokonoi as his thrusts come to an intense breakthrough, faster and faster his cock goes inside your tight, merciless hole.

“GAHHHHH!!~” Kokonoi groaned out, streams of his cum was pouring out deep inside of you, as you start to moan his name even more, filling up your favorite spot. Kokonoi smiled, he never knew you could take it so good. So obedient. He really did praise you well, he treated you well, he comforted you well, and most importantly, he made you feel the best.

“I love you so much Y/N~” Kokonoi smirks as he cuddles next to you. “I’m ready for a Round 2~ Get ready Y/N~” Kokonoi chuckled, leaving your legs the anticipation of them breaking off as soon as you step into the ground.

[hongluboobs]

ok i was cooking up another hong lu analysis thing bc i noticed SEVERAL things in his base id art the other day and wanted to share with the class but they just dropped a new one in the canto V trailer and i have some stuff i wanna talk about that one:)

My Hong Lu knowledge and interpretation is very heavily influenced by reading Dream of the Red Chamber, which may not be the best because I don’t know how much Limbus will pull from the book because it’s Long as fuck but I think it’s given me a deeper knowledge of Hong Lu.

Keep in mind this ego is NOT out yet so i could be totally off base depending on what the full animation/corrosion/sin affinities are like and this is totally theorizing but I wanted to have a go at anyway!! And this got totally out of hand so reading is appreciated :)

One of the first things I noticed here is this Hong Lu seems VERY Bao-yu. We still don’t know for sure what Hong Lu is within the context of Red Chamber (i don’t think it’ll be straightforward considering how that book works) but it’s important to note!

He has this little hat on (this is the best pic i can get atm to show it’s not a fancy hair tie, unfortunately the footage we have rn is a little scuffed)

and Bao-yu is ALWAYS depicted with a hat like this.

This could just be because that’s the appropriate outfit for Chinese nobility (I unfortunately have little to no reference point here, feel free to correct me, but from some quick searches hats aren’t ubiquitous and ESPECIALLY not ones of this style.) I think it’s worth noting because it comes up in nearly all modern depictions of Bao-yu.

There’s also the pearl Hong Lu is wearing on his neck/chest area, which is where Bao-yu wears the magic jade he was born with. His jade is translated into Limbus as Hong Lu’s jade eye, but this plus his hat and the abno’s themes REALLY makes me think we are dealing with some Bao-Yu stuff here.

Speaking of the Abno’s themes, now i can actually go over them! All we have for Walking Pearl right now is the MD event (as well as general observation), but there’s a few things that are relevant.

Just based off design, the abnormality seems to be mostly about the precious (the pearl) and the filth (the muck) intermixing. which makes sense with the EGO being named “Effervescent Corrosion” and our holders being Hong Lu and Rodya.

There’s some symbolism around greed/wealth (the offspring filled muck desiring the pearl and fighting for which one will earn it? the muck tarnishing the pearl? ) and I think we should read into that because it’s Hong Lu and Rodya who have this one and they’re both very tied to their financial status. Those two sharing an ego makes me insane for a bunch of reasons but that’s probably for another analysis piece! But duality is REALLY important for those guys and that’s a theme they’re emphasizing here with both the pearl and muck within the clam.

There’s also some elements of shelter/protection/potentially entrapment with the clam’s shell which are HUGE for Hong Lu, especially with his egos so I think those may come up.

But mostly it’s about the mixing of the precious (likely “wealth” here) and the unsavory, which works very well with what we know of the Jia family. The design likely referencing Bao-yu and thematically dealing with the Jia family makes me think each of those individual readings are more likely because they’re deeply tied together!

And now onto the MD event! I did not write this in order so I may repeat stuff here but. I realized I had to cover the design first so here we are!

First thing that stuck out of me is this portion when you choose to sample some of the clam’s slime.

Sibling/family infighting is very Jia family. It reminds me a lot of this line base Hong Lu says.

You could take this a step further because the clam is something that would typically offer shelter from the rest of the world, and even though it protects, its offspring continue to kill and eat each other.

It seems fine, the offspring have this lovely shell for protection, and they have the precious pearl held within, but even as they are sheltered and wealthy. They are still getting killed and eaten by one another! Reminds me of someone I know:)

It reminds me of some bits in the later half of Red Chamber, where family members more obviously start acting behind each other’s backs or turning on each other, some even killing other family members.

Another part of the MD event that I got something out of was the beginning portion.

using specifically jade as the color for the seawater is a Hong Lu thing. I may be reaching with this bc it’s more than likely just flavor text BUT when taking this color with the fact that there’s nothing in the water it makes me think of an important scene in Red Chamber where Bao-Yu is described as an empty shell, so I wanted to mention it. We know Hong Lu has TONS of water motifs, especially when relating to his family (see his base ego)

The main reason I brought up this section of the MD event is because of the question brought up by the last portion.

If you take one thing from Dream Of The Red Chamber into your perception of Hong Lu as a character, it should be the themes of ambiguity, duality, and being between binaries. Because he sure as hell does that a lot!!! (and i’m not just talking about his gender) He is both genuinely curious and sheltered with an urge to learn as much as he can, but he also plays dumb frequently, backpedals and asks a lot of stupid questions on purpose to maintain others’ perceptions of him. He is CONSTANTLY walking the line between truth and illusion and it can be hard to tell which is which and precisely how much is fake or real, which is why I find him such an interesting character to think about.

Tangent about Hong Lu's characterization aside, it's really easy to read this line as about his family's perceptions of him.

Hong Lu (or rather, Bao-yu) can be read as being the source of the contamination in that he is the heir of the Jia family who is just an absolute fucking failure of everything you’d want in an heir for that time period.

The clam containing the filth can be read as Hong Lu’s lies (whether conscious lies or otherwise) to himself and others about the true “filth” of his family. Really good example of this is with another bit of window dialogue, but these lies and half truths come up quite a bit if you know where to look. (what happened to cohort of kin looking to stab each other in the back at every turn???)

We already have Hong Lu’s assorted water motifs (his feet make ripples on the water in his base id, land of illusion has so much water theming and shows the Jia mansion is surrounded by water) so I think this is a reasonable analysis to make :)

There’s some other sections to the MD event, but there’s nothing of note that triggered the Hong Lu sleeper agent in my brain & also this has gone on long enough that I wanna talk about predicting some stuff for the ego!

I am manifesting Gluttony/Gloom/Wrath for this ego!!

Gluttony and gloom are in the MD event’s skill check already and I think tie in nicely with the themes. Gluttony works with the offspring in the muck killing and eating each other and themes of greed with the pearl (plus the ego is primarily green and that’s a pretty good clue) and then gloom comes up a LOT with Hong Lu’s family (Liu Hong Lu, the only one that remarks on his jade eye, is also the only Hong Lu with gloom. land of illusion requires 5 gloom resources and also relates a lot to red chamber/his family) Gloom’s also generally a stand-in for water which exists here.

Wrath in Hong Lu generally manifests in him going “yeah, maybe my family was a little fucked up actually” internally, instead of manifesting as taking direct action about the fucked up things like it works for most other sinners, and acknowledging that his family was at least partially filth and killing and eating eachother (metaphorically. maybe literally) works for that

i am not an expert on sin analysis but i wanted to take a prediction bc it’s fun :)

I have a couple of predictions for corrosion and i’ll be real they are the main reason i wrote this thing because i LOVE when bad things happen to Hong Lu!!

Since this ego seems to be referencing Bao-yu so much i can pull stuff from Red Chamber too which makes it more fun :)

First one I came up with is Hong Lu taking the place of the pearl within the clam and getting locked in there! A bunch of his egos have to do with being controlled/trapped so i think it works and it also can work as a parallel for Bao-yu’s treatment by his family. Bao-yu’s name means precious jade, and he’s often treated more like his namesake than a person, heavily controlled and never allowed to leave the Jia mansion (or, in this case, the clam.) I just think it’d be fun!

My other concept has to do with more Red Chamber stuff, notably what happens when Bao-yu loses his jade. I’m not quite there yet in the text, but from what i’ve heard he becomes incredibly unstable and essentially loses his mind. This sets the Jia family’s downfall into even faster motion and from that point things get REALLY fucked up. Since the pearl here parallels Bao-yu’s jade, I think having a reference to that part of the book would be really fucking crazy for all 5 people who have read 1800+ pages of red chanber to get to chapter 94 where he loses that thing. Also i just want to see Hong Lu lose his mind i KNOW it would be terrifying and chilling. but they may be saving that for his distortion (manifesting)

In my skimming Red Chamber table of contents to find when Bao-yu loses his jade i just found a chapter where Bao-yu’s father admires a pearl but we will just ignore that for now bc this has taken long enough to type already and that is several chapters off. but there may be more analysis when this thing actually comes out!

Thank you for reading this far!! I hope you enjoyed me looking far too deep into an unreleased ego we know next to nothing about for fun! this took WAY longer than expected to type out but i’m glad I did because I loveee telling people about Hong Lu!

There is a very real chance very little of my analysis and prediction is reflected in canon BUT please remember that truth becomes fiction when the fiction’s true and even if this doesn’t turn out to be correct now u know a little more about Hong Lu and the themes he plays with :)

[synamartia]

GUYS I SWEAR I'M TRYING TO FINISH SMUTMUS. I just can't stop myself from adding new things each time I try to enter the final editing stage 😭 I keep telling myself to save some bits for future stories, but fuck! It's getting too good for me to stop~ 😉 and then I get on here and get inspired to add something else, which throws me back a couple steps cause I'm trying to make sure it flows properly. SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY PHONE- *gets smacked down*

Btdubs I've used the word "tongue" WAY too many times so if anyone could help me with synonyms or alternative ways to describe the tongue that'd be great 🥲

Be prepared though, once it's done and posted, I'mma take some time to respond to messages/comments/reblogs, catch up on some reading *looks at Hazel, Mink, & Danny* and write ESSAYS on every little detail! Yall might wanna put me on mute when that happens 🤣

I'll come back and add proper CW tags to all the teasers I release later, but for now (and just as a general rule of thumb with anything I post): MDNI! And jsyk, it WILL BE WORTH IT. I've doubled my word count from the original nine parts, and it's still growing. So. Y'know.

GET 👏 READY 👏 FOR 👏 10K+ 👏 WORDS 👏 OF 👏 ABSOLUTE 👏 FILTH 👏👏👏👏

Quickly, you turned your head and pushed yourself up. “No! No, I can…” you paused for a moment to stifle a yawn. The incident that led to all of this occurred near the end of your work day, so you were already fairly tired when this started. The unexpectedly hard orgasm wasn't helping any, but the promise of even more kept you going. Besides, you couldn't be the only one having fun here. That wouldn't be fair. “... I can keep going. I wanna keep going,” you insisted, lowering your leg as you pushed yourself up straight, turning to face him fully now. “For you.” You added, staring up at him with an amorous look that made his breath hitch in his throat for a moment. Cautiously, you raised your hands to gently cradle his face, standing on your tip toes so you could place a soft peck on his smiling lips.

Lowering yourself to stand proper now, you began to trace your hands down his neck and chest, not missing the way his muscles still tensed at your touch. It was going to take some time, you realized, to get him to a point where he welcomes your touch rather than shies away from it. You hoped that he would give you that time; outside of this incident that you so clumsily caused, of course. When your hands reached the waistband of his pants, you looked up at him and waited for his permission to continue - something small and near insignificant but nevertheless something he still appreciated. He would have to reward you for that later. Nodding his head, Alastor watched you as you slowly pushed both his trousers and briefs down past his hips, his aching cock springing from its prison and slapping lightly against his lower abdomen. He looked away for a moment, unable to hide his growing discomfort with being so bare in front of another person. Gently, you pressed on his jaw with your left hand to bring his narrowed eyes back to your face. “Hey,” you called. “You can trust me, Alastor,” you assured him, knowing full well that was only part of the problem. Mouth twitching, Alastor stared at you as you leaned in to place tender kisses to his chest, your eyes never once leaving his face as you lowered yourself to your knees before him. “I promise,” you spoke softly, hands tracing the defined muscles of his abs and gliding along the dips of his pelvic v. Bringing one hand down to rest on his thigh, your other gently wrapped around the base of his cock. Humming softly as you smiled up at him, you rubbed your cheek against his length, then grazed your lips over his leaking tip. “I just want to make you feel good,” you continued to assure him, not missing the shaky sigh he gave in response to your touches. Experimentally, you let the tip of your tongue dart past your lips and against his crying slit, his entire body tensing as one of his hands moved to tangle within your tresses while you continued to deliver kitten licks to his sensitive tip. You stared up at Alastor with such innocence in your big doe eyes; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from forcing his cock as far down your throat as it could go. “Is that okay?” You asked after a couple more licks to his slit. “Will you let me make you feel good, Alastor?” You asked him so sweetly, voice dripping with honey as his name rolled off your devilish tongue. You really knew how to push his buttons. With a drawn out moan vibrating through his chest, you barely had time to fully open your mouth as he pushed his hips forward and guided your head down until your nose brushed against the carmine strands at his base, his head tilting back at the long anticipated sensation finally washing over him as he breathed out a singular,  “Yes!”

[jolalibrary]

iii - just say that you need me

javier peña x f!reader | chapter three of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: the amount of people who look forward to tuesday's makes me grin. for those who are new, i don't have a tag list. wordcount: 2.6k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

You should say yes more. 

to you or to my pop 

To your pop. I know you wouldn’t say no to me. 

you sure about that 

I’d bet my next paycheck on it. 

for you I’ll say yes to him once

Good. Now we have that out the way answer what the worst date you’ve ever been on was

shit. going with the hard hitting questions today

Just getting you to share, open up

probably when I first came back from colombia someone from my town where I live

They a bad host, bad dinner guest? Gimme more Javi cmon. You said you’d entertain me.

baby, im trying to entertain you but you told me to stop

I said stop flirting while I’m eating and answer the question

she wouldn’t stop asking me for details on escobar

Ah. Yeah I can see how discussing that would be a mood killer.

yeah didn’t wanna go in the first place either

So if we ever meet, do not ask about your Colombian experience. Got it. 

you can ask, doesn’t mean I’d tell you 

Ha! Good to know. I wouldn’t though. If you wanna tell me, I think you will. 

thanks, what’s yours?

Well I was stood up when we first began texting. Think that’s pretty bad, enough.  

he’s an idiot because only an idiot would stand you up 

You haven’t seen me, remember 

statement still stands 

Stop being so charming.

you still eating

No.

then I can flirt

Most of the time, he ignores the mail. 

Lets it pile up on the entryway dresser until his pop makes another reference to it. Unlike his pop, he is never in a rush to open them, knowing no good comes from the contents inside.

The same people contact him. The bureau being one. Sipping his coffee as he glares at the usual federal sign on the envelope, wondering how many more times they’ll try asking him to come in for a chat.

This afternoon, though, the envelope isn’t brilliant white, but rather off-cream. 

Peeling a bit, thumb digging in as he drags it across, the ripping sound filling the small space. It’s only as he opens it does he realise who it’s from. 

His eyes stare at the letter, taking in the number—the one in triple digits with his phone provider logo in the top corner. The number which is making him feel sick, the more he stares at it over and over again. 

“Fuck.” 

Folding it, he swallows. 

Shit.

Motherfucker.

He stuffs it away, tucks it under magazines and other leaflets, as though by keeping it out of sight, it’ll go away.

But it's there.

The edge of it sticking out. He even blinks, and the number is there, tattooed on the back of his eyes. Taunting him—the price of speaking to you. 

It's not that Javi can't afford it. He’s had a chunk of money sitting, gaining dust, in his account since he came home. Only able to force portions on his pop as and when he felt he could get away with it. 

But this was a lot. More than he’d bargained on, more than he even knew he could spend simply by replying to someone. 

There's a chance your day won't be done just yet—his day beginning far earlier than yours even began—but he pulls his phone out, fingers pressing into the keys.

so apparently talking to you is costly  Oh, you've had your bill. I feel I should ask whether I'm worth it? 

It’s instant—the way you make the nauseous feeling vanish. How you force it to slide back to where it came from, and in its place, warmth spreads. All accompanied by a smile on his lips. 

He doesn’t want to show his hand too much. Better at concealing, playing the long game when standing face to face.

This requires a skill he hasn't yet gained. Simply focusing on not sounding ridiculous, or over the top. Unnecessary. Like some of the desperate men, he's happened to arrest over the years.

Even if his chest flutters and his mind screams, of course. Wants to ask, isn't it obvious? But he chooses something easier, uncomplicated.  

yes just didn’t expect it  I had my phone bill the other day. I get it.  did your heart fall out your ass No. But I will be eating ramen for the next month.  We can stop texting so much though, if it’s costing too much.  would rather my bill be double than stop talking to you  You’re such a flirt. 

He drains the rest of his mug, leaning back in the chair—hearing the sound of approaching boots from his Pop’s side of the house. Fingers typing, all hurried and determined 

Don’t forget I’m out for drinks and a movie.  I remember don’t worry 

He remembers as soon as you remind him.

Realising it's the reason you're able to reply right now. You’d been telling him almost every night for the past week. All worried, as though hating the idea of breaking the nightly tradition the two of you have concocted. 

In a way, Javi should have assumed the bill would be high with the number of texts the two of you have been sending. How frequent it’s been—how nice it’s been. 

Nice things do usually come with a tag. 

you decided on sweet or salty  Verdict is still out. You sure about waiting to do the crossword?  if we don’t do it tonight, we’ll do two the next day  You sure? more than sure have a great time 

“Y’sure you don’t fancy coming with me, Jav?”

He thinks of it, tapping his phone against his palm as he thinks of your text the other night. The one about him trying to say yes—something curling in his chest as he realises he’ll be alone, alone if he doesn’t. 

A sentiment he didn’t mind on paper, but now confronted with, rather despised. 

 “Alright, yeah. Can—can I get changed?” 

Mid-grabbing his own jacket, his Pop turns, surprise knitted into his wiry brows. “Y-yeah, sure, I’ll….”

“I’ll meet you at the truck?” 

And he does. All without complaint. Plaid shirt on, a smile being forced as soon as the truck pulls off the drive. He doesn't even complain about the radio choice or the fact his Pop always takes the main roads when he could cut down the dusty roads. 

When he arrives, he doesn’t mind how many hands he shakes, one after the next. He tries not to grit his teeth as each person says the usual things, they’re proud, he’s grown, when is he settling down? Each time he laughs it off. Spanish rolling from his tongue as he smiles and winks. 

It’s performative. 

The old version of him coming out from a hidden place. 

Always there, ready, as his hand shakes another person's hand—one he’s already forgotten the name of. Someone he’s sure he’s met before, too. 

It always happens. The small-town boy who took down drug cartels has become somewhat of a celebrity tale. A thing to gawk at when he visits the store. Chucho's boy who ran away to Colombia and now hides away on the ranch.

For the amount of time it's been, he'd foolishly expected it to die down—but it hasn't. Not enough, anyway. 

After enough time, he excuses himself, sneaking down the corridor near the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, fingers trying to rub out a knot that hasn’t yet appeared in his skull. The one pulsing, threatening to build behind his eye.

He’s unsure what he wants to do, what he needs. Retrieving his phone, just clicking around, before finding himself on your texts—feeling better for it.

Reading them back, smirking at some, smiling wide at others. A shape forming in his head, little details he’d amassed to make up you. A person he was pretty sure meant more to him than evening company, but it seemed tricky to delve too far into it. 

That is until his phone vibrated. 

Just wanted to tell you I miss you. Even if that’s weird. 

His fingers hover over the keys, a retort quick—there in his touch.

Slowly he presses it out, hearing the click even over the bar’s music as he double and triple taps each button he wants, until it forms what it is he thought:

not weird, you drunk I’m tipsy, not drunk. Still mean it. good cause i miss you too

you never said how the movie was

As someone who flies a lot, I shouldn’t have watched it.

that bad

Will probably have to hold the hand of my seat mate the next time work makes me fly. 

I’m sure they won’t mind 

Depends on the length of my nails I guess. 

some people don’t mind nails clawing in certain situations

You trying to tell me you like nails down your back, Javi? 

if the situation is right, yes 

What about in your hair?

now who’s being a tease 

I’m learning so much tonight. 

and your putting images in my head 

I’d love to know what I look like in it, since you haven’t seen me.

beautiful, you look beautiful 

My face is burning. 

your day been ok

Yeah, was fine. Work has been rough. 

you want to talk about it

Not really, it’s stupid anyway. Plus, would rather do the crosswords and hang with you.

you do have two to make up to me

Best get giving me the clues then, Javi. 

four letters, begins with f 

Is this a Javi crossword or a real crossword 

baby, cmon 

Fuck?

fork 

someone’s in a dirty mood

You’re such a dick. Give me a real clue. 

There's not a point in time where he can track how his thoughts went from nothing to you. But, he thinks about you all the time.

Has been doing so constantly for the last two days, at least—the occasional vibrations from his phone making his lips twitch and his mind wander. Javi’s brain exploding with wonder at what your reply could say. 

Sometimes, he tries not to check immediately. Test—see—how long he can go before he does. It’s not been going well.

An excitement dashing through his veins that fills his chest, warms his neck and makes a ridiculous grin appear (one he’s caught accidentally in the mirror).

The back and forth has been quicker—for as costly as it was—outside of routines and work. His fingers have even improved in the speed of tapping the same key to get one single letter.

Each text makes him feel like he learns a new nugget about you, gathering a new piece of the puzzle—an idea of you forming in front of his eyes. One he likes—craves more of—wishing for other tidbits similar to how you like coffee after breakfast, not before. 

That you don’t care for birthday cake, but love cookies. 

morning hermosa hope you managed to grab the coffee

He doesn’t expect to hear from you.

Remembering that your time management in the morning isn’t to be admired. You are someone who is either awake too early or too late—never in the middle.

But, when he finishes. Sweat clinging to every muscle, he’s surprised to find nothing.

Even a little disappointed.

finished up for the day, unsure whether to lounge around on the porch or push the boat out and lounge in the barn

You’ve become such a part of his day, his shoulders sink when he steps out of the shower to see nothing.

His heart slips down inside his chest, resting unsteadily on his ribs as he checks and checks. His fingers fluff his hair as he runs his fingers through it before finding a strand, twisting, and twisting.

I’m probably worrying about nothing but just let me know you’re ok

A part of him had worried this would happen.

That he would allow the attachment to grow—ropes and threads wrapping around him—and it would be taken from under his feet.

He has a history of becoming hooked—usually combining itself with his need to help, to make someone’s day better, easier.

And on paper, he knew it was odd. To care for someone he hadn’t ever even met. But he cares all the same.

Copious amounts, in fact.

Far past an, ‘I miss you’—something else entirely, not that he’d admit as much.

hermosa I’m really getting worried now

He doesn’t want to call.

Doesn’t want to invade your privacy, your space. But it’s knotting inside of him. The things he’s seen, rushing to the surface, pecking away, making him overthink.

His mind conjures ideas that you’re hurt, wounded. That you’re crying, alone. Each flash of his past has the curated blob-of-a-face he’s created for you, written over it.

His fingers twitch, hand moving to his pocket before remembering there are no cigarettes to be found there. He quit. Ages ago. Felt better for it—for the most part—until now.

Now when all he wants is to focus on the taste, the way smoke swirls with the warm Texas air—

Hey, I'm so sorry, I had a bad day. Just didn’t check my phone.  shit hermosa, you scared me.  almost called you.  Really? yeah  Would you? what call you Yeah?

[Dialing number…]

you declined  I did

His heart sinks, crashes, and plummets. 

Then a new vibration, one that travels down his fingers to his wrist, suddenly staring at an instruction: Give me your landline number, be cheaper. For both of us. 

Glancing into the living room, he taps the number in for you. Hating each precious second he wastes by having to delete a letter that should be a number.

Pushing the chair back, hearing it screech as he hovers. Nervousness thumps through him, making him shake, vibrate. 

Staring, willing the phone to ring.

Even as he tries to collect himself, his mind has already begun running away from him. Hearing his pulse thump in his ear, thump, thump—

And then it’s ringing—you’re ringing. 

His voice shouts out he’ll get it as he picks up the phone from the hook. 

“Javi… that you?”

Grinning, he laughs, light and airy. “Hi. Yeah, it’s me.” 

Silence blankets his ears and the air, thumb circling a knot in his forehead. 

Smiling, he changes the phone to his other ear. “Knew you’d sound pretty. You have a nice voice.” 

“Shut up, Javi. I’ve said three words.”

“And a few more.”

He hears you suck in a breath as heat rushes to his ears, feeling the edges of his lips curl into a smile.

“You wanna talk about it or talk about something else?” 

He hears you take a breath another breath. Different this time, all accompanied by a shuffling sound from your end.

“Something else. If that… that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Alright, lemme… lemme think for a second—“

You clear your throat, “You have a nice voice, too, by the way.”

Pausing, he bites the inside of his cheek. “Like you imagined?”

“Better, honestly.”

“I could have called you. I have this additional thing on our plan—so my Pop could call. When I was away.” 

“From when you were in Colombia?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he nodded. “Yeah…” 

“Well, if this conversation goes well, you may get a new number to add to your phone book.” 

“That so? Who’s flirting now.”

You laugh, sweet—fluttering its gorgeous wings down the phone to his ear as he readjusts the phone.

Dropping his voice, he turns more to the walls. “So, what you wearing, baby?”

“Oh my god, Javi.”

He doesn’t even mute his laughter, just lets it flow from him—rushing through the house. Not even caring if his Pop can hear him in the next room.

"I'm wearing nothing."

"Hermosa, you tease."

You laugh, and it's different. It's rich, and makes the room glow around him, without you even being here.

"I'm not really, I'm in a baggy t-shirt."

"Not as sexy, but I'm sure I can work with it."

You snort, "Javi, stop."

He wonders if your cheeks are warm. He hopes they are.

Leaning against the wall, he smirks, if only to himself. "I like how you say my name, Hermosa."

an: thank you so much for all being wonderful, i heart you