#Paint Roller Covers

[bunnyb34r]

I just realized I never posted what the hood vent looked like when I was posting ab removing the paint and then having to paint it.

This sucker has not been properly cleaned in at LEAST 30 years. I tried to clean it with Goo Gone and a spray on degreaser. Well they both (in two separate spots, I was testing them) ended up just taking the entire paint off with them. Got the gunk off though! So I just decided to remove the decades old gunk and paint and figured we'd paint after.

Left is when I stopped half way through and went "oh god what have I done..." (which is when I was posting ab having a breakdown) And right is the last picture I took before painting. Mom and I removed the remaining paint, except the top part bc I had been at this for 4 hours and was DONE.

We didn't prime the surface, nor did we think to check that the paint was rust proof. So there's specks of rust on the vent, but imo it makes it look like we CLEANED then vent and just didn't fully remove every stain and not that we painted over it. ;)

It probably could use another coat, but it's far better than it was 👍

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject

pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: reader seeing her ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of a miscarriage, just pure agony! wc: 1.8k inspired by the song 'touchy subject' by peach prc. originally posted 11/21/2024

part II & part III

a white baby gate fixed in my hallway stays haunting the house with the angels we made; sometimes, i dream, a decade away, we meet in a grocery store; you look the same, with just a few grey hairs. the blonde little girl who tugs on your shirt with your smile looks nothing like me.

it had been four years since you had last been on kildare island; four years of trying to forget the life, or the ruined bones of one, that you'd been escaping from.

after ending your engagement with your fiancé, you'd traveled all around the country in your beat-up truck, hoping to find a place where you'd belong; only to end up back in the outer banks. they say there's no place like home, and in a way, it was true. you can leave kildare island, but kildare island will never leave you.

"everything okay?"

you're startled out of your thoughts by the melodic sound of your mother's voice, and when she follows your gaze to the baby-gate attached to the door leading to the kitchen, her mouth twists into a frown. "i was meant to take that down before you got here..." she chewed on her lower lip, a pang of guilt almost punching her in the chest.

"it's fine." you shrug, trying to lift the ends of your lips into a smile, only for it to look artificial and rehearsed. "i should start unpacking."

"alright." your mother placed her hand on your shoulder, but should've been a comforting gesture, made you feel like you were underwater and the hand was simply pushing you deeper.

you stood alone in the living room of your apartment, the only thing to be heard of was the ticking of the clock your mother had already mounted on the clock, mixed in with the sounds of passing cars, so unlike the day you first moved into the apartment, yet so much like the day you were last there.

"you should keep the apartment."

"rafe, i can't do that. it's way too much, and i'm leaving-"

"it's already in your name." the man sighed, smoothing his hand over his shaved head; he looked so different than usual, the dark bags under his eyes making him look like he had aged ten years, his usually tan face almost pale. "you can do whatever you want with it. keep it, sell it, i don't care. it's yours. i never want to step foot in this place again."

your feet were almost moving on their own, the hardwood floor cold under your feet, leading you to that door, and even though you felt your blood run cold, every cell of your body telling you not to open it, you couldn't help but nudge the door open.

you didn't know what you were expecting.

stepping into the room, you let your hand trail over the soft-pink wall, still remembering the smell of paint.

"you know, you shouldn't be doing that." he sighed, leaning against the doorway. "i can just hire someone to paint the walls."

you roll your eyes, your denim overalls covered in the soft pink paint as the paint stained the white wall, "i want to do this. i'm not gonna hire someone to do everything for me when i'm perfectly fine doing it on my own."

"you're not-"

"hush." you pointed the paint roller at rafe, "i'm doing this. now pick up a paint roller or quit whining."

you look down at the crib, lined with white lace, picking up the brown teddy bear that used to belong to you when you were a child, brushing your hand over the fur, straightening the pink bow around its neck.

hung above the crib, was a picture of a couple that had just gotten engaged, wide smiles on both of their faces; a couple that had once been so familiar to you, but now, it was like you couldn't recognize either of the people in the photos.

it felt like everyone was staring at you as they walked past you; four years clearly hadn't been long enough to make the people of outer banks forget about you, and as you made your way towards the local cafe, you couldn't help but think about how long it'd take for the person you didn't want to know you were in town to find out.

you were strolling down the street, rafe's hand in yours, your fingers intertwined. you licked the ice cream cone, deep in thought, letting rafe take the lead.

"what's going through that pretty head of yours?" he chuckled softly, bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, your engagement ring glimmering under the sunlight.

"baby names." you shrug, "what should we name her?"

"do you have any names in mind?"

"i was thinking..." you pursed your lips, not sure if the name you had been considering would be appropriate or not, chewing on your lower lip as you turn your head to face your fiancé, an expectant smile on his lips and his brows lifted in question, "evelyn."

when the name left your lips, you saw his mouth fall open, and for a moment you thought that you never should've spoken, but after rafe cleared his throat, there was a clear smile on his lips, his blue eyes glassy.

"you- you uh, wanna name her after my mom?"

"yeah." you smile, squeezing his hand. "i do."

for the millionth night, you were laid in bed, looking through pictures, featuring the faces of the couple above the crib in the room next door. pictures with the man's arms wrapped around the woman's waist, ones of them holding hands, ones where one was pressing a kiss the other person's cheek, ones from the several midsummers parties they spent together, ones from halloween, thanksgiving, christmas...

the girl in the dress she had planned to wear on her wedding day.

"rafe, where are you taking me?" you laughed, the blindfold covering your eyes, "if the blindfold's for some kinky purpose, you better forget about it."

rafe laughed, continuing to lead you, his large hands on your waist, "come on, have a little faith in me. i'm not that bad, am i?"

"oh, you definitely are. just last week we were an hour late to ava's party because you just thought i was irresistible."

rafe snorted, "well, that's because you were." he pressed a kiss on your cheek, "you can take it off." he whispered, taking a step away from you.

untying the blindfold, you blinked a few times, letting yourself get used to actually being able to see again, only to be startled by the sight of your boyfriend on one knee in front of you, a small velvet box in his hand, "rafe...?"

you wiped away the stray tear that had left your eye without permission before it could reach your jaw, continuing to scroll through the pictures, knowing that it'd be yet another sleepless night, but when you saw a picture of her, you paused.

you weren't sure who was more nervous, you or rafe, even though you were the one in the examination chair, your shirt pulled up and your rounded stomach on full display. his hand was tightly gripping yours, the man's jaw clenched.

"let's take a look, shall we?" the ultrasound technician smiled, and you nodded, feeling her spread the cold gel onto your stomach, a slight yelp leaving your lips, making rafe squeeze your hand even tighter. you looked to him, nodding reassuringly, speaking softly, "it's okay."

rafe's grip loosened slightly and he softened his grip, both of you turning your heads to the screen, and the moment you saw the little lump on the screen, you couldn't help but feel tears stinging in your eyes.

"look. that's our baby."

"shit..." rafe stared at the screen wide-eyed, letting out a low breath, "that's our baby."

just like on any average day on the island, the sun was shining, your skin radiating with warmth as you walked down the street, looking in through shop windows; it had been a few days since you'd first stepped outside, and it seemed like your arrival had become widespread news, and you didn't receive as many stares as you did before.

you arrived at rafe's door, bringing your hand up and pounding on the door before you could stop yourself and chicken out for the third time that week. you were a wreck, unable to sleep, to think about anything other than how much you knew you needed to talk to rafe.

you waited, tapping your foot against the ground and biting down on your lip, when finally, the door slowly started opening, a small smile forming on rafe's lips when he realized that it was you.

"hey baby," he chuckled softly, placing his hands on your waist, "you miss me so much you couldn't even text me to let you know you were coming?" he grinned.

"i have to talk to you." you pull away from his embrace, taking his hands off your waist, the blonde looking down at you with furrowed brows, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, clearly alarmed by the slight frown on your lips.

"what's wrong?"

"i'm pregnant."

without even realizing it, you had stopped in front of a jewelry store, gazing inside at the things on display as you were going down memory lane inside your head. you let out a small chuckle, about to step back and continue walking, when your blood ran cold, the smile fading away from your face, feeling as if someone had stabbed you in the heart.

to anyone else, it would've just been the backs of two random people. but even without seeing his face, you could recognize the only man you'd ever loved no matter where you went.

his short-sleeved white collared shirt was tucked into his dark jeans, riding up slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, having grown out slightly since the last time you'd seen it, his signet ring on his middle finger.

you saw him let out a chuckle, and you could almost picture how it'd sound, his hand going to rest on the back of the person he was with.

a younger woman smiled up at him, and even just from her side profile, you could tell that she was gorgeous, her flaming hair flowing over her shoulders, the smile on her face genuine, matching his.

and when you saw what she was holding up and showing to him, the knife in your chest was twisted.

an engagement ring.

[borathae]

Scents | JJK x f.Reader

“Life as Jungkook’s mate is everything you ever dreamed of. He is there for you, he keeps you safe, fulfills all your wishes and fucks you to complete satisfaction. Life as your mate is, well, it’s how Jungkook always imagined having a home feels like. Because his life as his father’s son isn’t easy, but with you by his side, it finally doesn’t hurt anymore. When one night, Jungkook comes home feeling like shit because of his father, you decide to show him that he can always count on you to be his comfort and his distraction.”

Pairing: Alpha!Jungkook x f. omega!Reader

Genre: Werewolf!AU, True Mates!AU, Married Life!AU, Angst, Hurt & Comfort, Fluff, Smut

Warnings: lots of plot <3, Kook is such a layered character omfg, his father is abusive fr, we hate him, she is there for him, scenting for comfort, he cries in front of her for the first time, this is just so :(, which means that the smut is gonna hit so hard, scene switch to morning, morning cuddles & slow kisses, he loves her i just want to say it again that he really loves her, he really does, the next ones are for the smut: needy Dom!Jungkook, service sub!Reader, she wants to make Him feel good for a change, adoration of his scent spots, which he never had done before so he is a goner, neck kisses, nipple licking & play, thigh kisses, biting, he has a big dick, oral sex (m.receiving), deep throating, rough face fucking, in my universe omegas can switch off their gag reflex, stimulation of his knot, she licks his balls too, lots of drool, and lots of slick, they do it on the window bench first where she kneels, then he carries her to bed and fucks her face while he stands, dirty talk & praise, pussy fingering & clit play while he face fucks her, choking (f.receiving), cum swallowing, rough hair pulling, multiple orgasms for both, very rough penetrative sex on the window sill from behind, exhibitionism kink cause yk window, squirting, subby girl tears, belly bulging, major breeding kink, creampies, they call each other "my omega" & "my Alpha", the softest & most loving aftercare, i want him so bad, also! he is a lot taller & stronger than her

Wordcount: 13.5k

a/n: you wanted more of alpha!koo, unaware that i was already working on a third installation because i want more of him too. i don’t think you even understand What he means to me like this story means so much to me and I’m so happy that so many of you love him as well <3 tbfh? there will definitely be more of him in the future but for now let us enjoy giving him the sloppiest head ever 💛 ps: i really need him to be my Alpha like-

You know from the sound of his bike that he was home. You drop the paint roller, which you were using before, to greet him by the door. You are currently redoing the living room so that it would feel homey. Jungkook told you that you can do whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy. It makes you really happy and you are practically skipping to the door to tell him all about your awesome day. 

You reached a point in your marriage where you get excited at the aspect of exchanging stories of your days with each other. Having Jungkook come home and listening to him tell you about his day is so exciting to you. In return, you can’t wait to share your day with him. Whatever this might mean in your development of feelings for him, seems positive to you. You definitely don’t want it to stop. 

You enter the hallway in sync with Jungkook. 

“There you are, I have so much to show-”

Bang! 

Jungkook coincidentally slams the door closed at the same time with you beginning your story. You stop abruptly, covering your ears instinctively. Loud noises scare you. They always have. Maybe it has something to do with your omega gen, but when something is loud, it means danger to you. 

Jungkook is huffing his air at first, but takes a moment of shocked gathering where he realises that he wasn’t alone. He lifts his eyes, studying you in a mixture of guilt and shock. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks you. 

“I don’t know”, you speak quietly, body smaller to keep yourself protected, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” he is talking harsher than he normally does.

“Just so.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He throws the keys on the dresser and shrugs off his leather jacket. He slips off his boots and discards them on the rack. 

“Did something bad happen?” you ask him while your body is still trying to regulate itself from the loud noise. You feel shaken and jittery, despite being aware that you aren’t in actual danger. 

“When does anything good ever happen to me?”

Your heart stings in a funny way. Does this mean that this bond is terrible to him?

“Oh, uhm.”

He studies you, visibly regretting his poor choice of words.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just. Fuck, I just need to be alone, I can’t do this right now”, he says and stomps past you to the cellar door.

He has a home gym down there. In which he very obviously disappears right now. He slams the cellar door closed and moments later, you can hear the downstairs speakers blast heavy metal music.

You feel helpless and clueless. In the end, you sit in the living room, unable to do anything because you are frozen. You wonder if it is something you did. Maybe he actually hates the home renovations and he finally had enough. Maybe you are being too clingy. Maybe you aren’t being clingy enough. Or maybe it has nothing to do with you. Whatever it might be, you can’t figure it out and so you are frozen.

You continue to sit frozen and helpless until Jungkook returns from the cellar an hour later. You know when he finally leaves because the music turns off and he stomps upstairs.

You are on your feet instantly, following him hastily as he hurries to the front door.

“Where are you going? Talk to me, what happened?”

“Leave me alone, you’re only making it worse.”

He is going to leave. You can’t let him do that. Not when you are so confused. 

“I’m worried. Is it something really bad?” 

You are outside. All he has to do is take these five steps and then he has the house – and you – behind him.

“Jungkook”, you round him on the steps, forcing him to stop.

He snarls in distaste, sending you a poisonous look. You don’t feel scared in his presence however, placing your hands on his upper arms. They are hot to the touch and his muscles are hard. As if his entire body is constantly tensing in anger. 

“Talk to me. What happened?” you stress, rubbing his flexed muscles in hopes of calming him down. 

“Well, what do you think happened? My dad happened”, he spits.

“Fuck, so I was right. What did he do?”

Two hours prior

Jungkook drags his heavy legs to the foot of his father’s throne. It would be really awesome if the throne was only a metaphor, but it wasn’t. His father quite literally sits on a throne, head held high and eyes lowered in judgement about his son’s state. Alphas normally don’t own thrones.

“It’s done, father”, the words come with difficulty for Jungkook. His ribs still ache from having them punched repeatedly. “The last of Urquard’s pack is gone. I did it. Ah, fuck.”

Exhaustion and a still healing leg drag Jungkook to his knees. He falls hard, pillowing his descend with his hands. Some of the omegas present instantly rush to help him, touching him on spots of his body to check for more wounds. Jungkook is heaving and panting, staring at the floor as he waits for the pain to pass. He should be used to it by now. He stopped counting how many times his father sent him past the walls to eradicate his enemies. They were never Jungkook’s enemies. If he was the Alpha, there wouldn’t even be any to begin with.

Jungkook should be used to the pain by now, but he isn’t. Just as he isn’t used to his father’s stone heart.

“Get up, boy. An Alpha doesn’t show weakness.”

His father never asked him if he was alright. He never did. Jungkook bites back his emotions, standing back up with the help of the omegas. He wipes the blood from his mouth, forcing his head to stop pounding.

“Forgive me, father. I guess being bit in the leg twice and then having your side scratched open does that to someone.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Be glad that your mother only bore you, otherwise I would have replaced you as my heir ages ago. Ungrateful brat.” 

“Are we done here? I’m exhausted.” 

“We are done once I tell you that we are done. And you fucking omegas stop touching my son!” 

The omegas flinch back, scurrying away from Jungkook as quickly as possible. He studies them with a tight face, shifting his eyes to his father afterwards. 

“I’d prefer it if you stopped talking to the pack like that.”

His father scowls, gripping the arm rests of the throne tightly, “what was that?”

“You heard me. You wanna be their Alpha? Treat them with respect. Please.”

“I am their Alpha!” His father yells. 

Jungkook should be used to it by now, but it doesn’t get easier. That’s his fucking dad and he is yelling at him. Why does shit like this hurt even after the millionth time?

“Why are you yelling at me? I was only making a suggestion.”

“Because you don’t get to suggest anything! You get to listen and behave!”

“You know. It hurts me when you yell at me. I wanna talk with you like normal people. Why can’t we? Just once, please dad.”

“Oh so now I’m the bad guy? Look at yourself first! If you didn’t turn out to be such a disappointment, I wouldn’t have to yell!” 

“I’m a disappointment?” Jungkook gasps, touching his aching chest. “I just killed ten wolves for you, dad. I do everything you ask of me. I take the pain no matter how much it hurts and I’m a disappointment?” 

“And yet you ended up bonding with an omega. If your mother was still alive, she would hate the view of you.”

“If mom was still alive she would tell you that you’re a major jerk!” Jungkook finally yells, spilling tears he doesn’t want his father to see. “And she would be happy for me! Mama always wanted to see me happy, she wouldn’t hate me!” 

His father jumps up and closes the distance to strike Jungkook across his face. Jungkook stumbles back, feeling disoriented for a few moments. It hurts, but not as much as it once did. His father is getting old and weaker.

“Don’t hit me. Why did you do that, dad?”

His father grabs his collar, lifting his hand in warning.

“You rather I use my claws?” he threatens.

“Go on. Do it”, Jungkook challenges through his angry tears. “It’s nothing I haven’t felt tonight. It’s nothing I keep feeling whenever I leave these walls to kill in your name. My hands are trenched in the blood of innocents while you sit on your throne, clean. You really think that your claws could damage me?”

His father scowls, flashing his eyes golden. Jungkook challenges him, eyes burning so much brighter. The truth has been out there for months. It is the reason why his father clings to his throne so obsessively, why he sends Jungkook on such deadly missions. He is losing his spot as the true Alpha. Dynamics in the pack are changing.

“I’m keeping the pack safe, father. Remember that. I’m the one who looks out for everyone. Like an Alpha should”, Jungkook challenges. 

His father growls, pushing him away to stumble back to his throne paranoid and blind in rage. 

“Go. I can’t look at you.”

The victory of tonight is Jungkook’s, but it leaves him empty. He doesn’t want to win, he wants a normal interaction with his dad that doesn’t leave him feeling drained and like shit. Fucking hell, he just wants a normal family. 

“Good night, father.”

Jungkook turns and leaves the throne room, holding his head high despite feeling as low as the fucking floor.

The now

“Urgh! I just”, Jungkook lets out and turns to slam his fist into the stone pillar. It crumbles at some parts under his strength and when he pulls back, bloody imprints of his knuckles are on the white stone.

“Jungkook, oh my god, you hurt yourself”, you gasp, trying to reach for his fist but before you can, he punches the pillar again.  

More crumbling and bloody prints.

“Stop it, you’re already bleeding.”

“If I don’t punch this fucking pillar, I’ll do something I’d regret. I’m so angry”, he growls and does it again.

“Stop it! This isn’t you!” 

“But it is”, Jungkook barks, whipping around to look into your eyes as he spits his words. “You’ve just never seen me like this. You’ve never seen me fucking angry.”

“No. No, you aren’t like this.”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me who I am. You have no idea who I am! How could you? If your deadbeat brother didn’t fuck up and I had to mark you, you never would have had to bond with me. You’re not in love with me, of course you don’t know me!”

You bite back tears.

“Don’t say that”, you get out quietly.

“I mean it. And, here is a little fact for you. This is me. I’m impulsive, I do stupid shit and explode in anger. This is me. So go ahead, push me away, call me a fucking dick. That’s just who I am.”

Your heart feels heavy, forcing you to whimper like a hurt puppy. Jungkook falters, taking a small step back.

“Leave me alone”, he says because he feels that pushing you away is all that he can do right now. 

You however don’t feel strong enough to leave. Behind all this anger and aggression, behind every brick he breaks, you can smell the hurt and insecurity he is currently feeling. He might hide it behind violence, but you are his true mate and an omega. All you can smell is that he feels like an anxious pup pushed into a corner, desperate for care and a helping hand.

“I said leave”, he stresses.

“No.” 

“Yes.”

You shake your head and step closer.

“Go! Before I use it.”

He is talking about his Alpha voice. It is a voice which will force any beta or omega into instant subordination and agreement. Any good natured, kind Alpha rarely uses this voice because of how much it feels like an abuse of power. Other, less kind, Alphas find joy in making their pack obey this way. Urquard was one of those Alphas. You know Jungkook, you know the kind heart and gentle soul he hides behind  his tough exterior. He would never use his Alpha voice. Especially not on you. 

This is just a desperate, empty threat. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone in this.” 

“Well, you have to because I’m telling you. With, with my voice. Go.” 

You close the last distance and pull him down to you.

“I said leave”, Jungkook insists panickedly, body tense. 

You rub your nose into the scent spot on his neck, hoping to spread some of your relaxing scent this way. He reeks of anxiety and guilt right now. 

Jungkook tries to protest again, fight you off and not appear weak, but you are very powerful in your attempts of calming him down, breaking him within a minute. 

“Why are you doing this?” he sighs out and hugs you, melting with you and revealing more of his neck to you. It feels so good. In no way in a sexual manner, but emotionally and physically and in some way also spiritually. 

Jungkook felt all over the place. He felt out of balance, without footing or a destination. He felt betrayed and hurt, but also anxious and insecure. It was eating him alive and all of a sudden, it is gone. All of it. It is just gone. And it’s all you. His head is quiet, his heart feels light and his stomach stopped twisting. He is free. And he is home. 

He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, right where your scent spot lies, and inhales deeply. He cradles you against him, strong hand on the back of your head and eyes closed. 

He exhales, shedding his heart of today’s burdens.

“I’m here now, Koo”, you whisper, playing with his hair slowly.

He never felt such relief before. Nor has he ever experienced such comfort. It goes so deep and feels so real. Jungkook wonders how he was able to get through life for so long without you. 

Sighing deeply in relief, he pulls you closer and puts his hands under your jumper so he can feel your skin. Warm and soft. You seem to melt closer from the touch, which only calms him down more.

It is a quiet moment as you and he stand on the porch and let the day finally stop bothering you. You and he aren’t aware yet that you are visible to anyone who could walk by your home, but if you were, you wouldn’t care. Let the world see that you and he found meaning in this once forced bond. Let them see what it means to be mates. And let his dumb father see that a bond between an omega and an alpha actually works. 

You change sides of his neck, wanting to make sure that he smells your scent equally. You stop by his lips as you make your way to it, having your eyes closed and resting your forehead against his’. He has his eyes closed as well, breathing slowly. Kisses are exchanged in the slowest rhythm ever. It is meditative. There is nothing else to him right now than you and what you are doing to him. Whenever he breathes in, it feels as if the air is filling literally every single fibre in his body. And when he breathes out, it feels as if he is ridding himself of toxins. He was never as aware of his energy flow than he is right now, breathing with you and sharing kisses. He can feel it coursing through him, mixing with your energy until it feels as if he is glowing from the inside out. And then you reach the other side of his neck, you nuzzle him and give him soft kisses and Jungkook feels invincible. 

His head rolls back in defeat, he sinks into you for just a second before his bodily instincts kick in again.

“Sorry, almost lost it”, he whispers, dragging his words.

“It’s okay. Should we go inside?”

“Yeah, let’s do that”, he says and picks you up with his hands under your butt.

Your legs instinctively close around his waist, your arms hug him. You keep your nose in his neck, getting droopy in his warm, relaxed scent. 

“I’m sorry that you had to see me like this. And I’m sorry for all the things I said. I didn’t mean them.”

“It’s okay. I get it. You have every right to be as upset as you were. I just, I don’t want you to think that this is who you are. You’re not aggressive or impulsive. I know you. You’re strong and kind and really sweet.”

“Thanks.”

“And your mom would be proud of who you became.”

He stops in his steps, looking up at you with glassy eyes. You cradle his cheeks.

“I remember when she would make us picnic baskets and call you home when it was dark out. She loved you so much. I know how she was. She would still love you and she would be happy for you.” 

He presses his eyes closed, spilling tears he doesn’t want to spill. He curses, showing his fangs in a desperate snarl to control his emotions.

“It’s okay, I’m here”, you whisper, nuzzling his scent spot again.

Jungkook stumbles to the entrance hall dresser and sits you down on it, holding you oh so close. 

“Holy fuck”, he croaks out.

“I know, I’m here. Right here.”

Jungkook got used to the feeling of grief in his chest. He learned that it will always be there and learned how to live with it. It doesn’t mean that it ever stopped bleeding. You stop it right now. It doesn’t feel like a gushing open wound in his chest. It is there, but it is bearable, as if he can finally carry it in his hands without cutting himself. 

And it is all you. You make it bearable, you keep him in this warm, healing space. 

“Thank you”, he whispers, “my mama would love you so much if she was still here.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure that she would tease you about how it happened though.”

“Yeah”, Jungkook laughs, covering up a sob with it.

You laugh with him, changing sides of his neck to make sure that he gets your soothing scent equally.

“Yeah, she would. But she would be happy for us. Mama always wanted me to bond out of love and I did.” He looks at your face. “I don’t ever wanna let you go. I can’t believe I lived without you for so long.”

You fluster, “wow, I don’t know what to say. I just…wow.”

“Don’t say anything. Just know that you’re the most amazing person ever.” 

“Shut up, don’t say that”, you mumble, nudging his chest and avoiding eye contact in nervousness.

He laughs, picking you up in his arms to get you closer. You snicker, holding him tightly. 

You and he fall asleep holding each other that night. Jungkook sleeps through the entire night, which he never did after past arguments with his father.

Jungkook wakes after you the next morning. Your side is empty and cold. He peels his heavy eyes open, shifting them to where you disappeared off to. 

The window bench, lost in a book and with your face still puffy from sleep. The rising sun is illuminating you. Jungkook swears that he is seeing an angel when he looks at you. His heart flutters and his stomach tingles. He has such immense feelings for you and seeing you be so utterly you only strengthens them.

“Good morning”, he murmurs sleepily. His cheek is squished on the pillow, his back peeks out from the blanket because he is lying on his stomach.

You lower the book at the sound of his voice, looking at him. He is smiling at you.

“Hey, good morning.”

“Why aren’t you in bed?” 

“I had to pee and then I saw the book and yeah, it was over for my sleepiness.”

“Mhm, whatever it was, get back here now”, he lulls and rolls to his side so he can open the blanket for you.

Your bedroom in the morning is really chilly because the timer for the heater hasn’t turned on yet. He smells so warm under the blanket. His invitation is incredibly easy to take. 

You put the book aside and hurry back to bed, climbing under the blanket. It is warmed up from him.

Jungkook purrs in contentment, pulling you against his chest and into his arms. He hides his nose in the crook of your neck, tickling your skin as he sniffles sleepily. 

“Mhm, my favourite smell”, he whispers, snuggling closer.

You still haven’t gotten used to being cared for in such ways. Of course you had boyfriends who were in love with you, but none of it felt like Jungkook’s affection feels. 

His affection feels so deep, so real and so eternal. As if nothing could ever change it. As if all he ever wanted to do was love you. It is unfamiliar but nice. So nice. 

The sun wanders over the horizon while his fingers wander over your arm and his lips take small steps on your neck. Your once chilly body heats up under the blanket and because of his incredibly warm body. It is such a cozy state to be in that you are fighting gravity with your eyelids.

He exhales deeply.

“What’s the matter?” you ask him.

“Just living in the moment. I feel like shit, but it’s, I don’t know, bearable like this...” He traces your side, mouthing at your neck as he talks. “...with you in my arms…so warm and soft.” He slips his hand under your shirt, touching your skin most tentatively. “My life’s bearable like this.” 

His words and gestures are sweet and filled with relaxation, but you can’t help still feel a twinge of sadness for him. If only you knew that behind the elitist, distant façade he put on, a deeply complex and troubled person was hiding. Perhaps you wouldn’t have hated him so deeply.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, but still. I could have made the first step too, maybe tried to fix our friendship. I thought that you felt like you’re better than anyone and therefore didn’t want to hang with us anymore. If I knew what you were going through, I…I just feel guilty. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.” 

“Don’t be. I fucked it up, we grew up and thought that the other moved on. Of course I missed you, but I didn’t blame you.”

“Yeah well, I’m here now if you wanna talk.” 

Jungkook kisses your neck gently, whispering his words, “I’m gonna be okay. That’s just how my dad is. It’s okay.”

You keep quiet, but hold him closer. No kid should have to defend their own parents like that. But you also understand him. His father is the only kin Jungkook has left. If he cut him off, the last reminder of his once happy family dies right with it.

“But this is nice”, Jungkook says and shifts so he can kiss your cheek. He purrs and lifts his head to give you a smile, caressing your temple. 

You retort it, but apparently do such a bad job at it that he furrows his brows in worry.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“No, something’s up. Tell me.”

“I’m sorry that your dad sucks.”

He falters, looking to the side.

“Uhm, it’s fine. Thank you”, he says and sits up, “seriously, it’s fine.”

You sit up, closing the distance to hug his waist and kiss his shoulder. Jungkook places his hands over yours, leaning back into you. 

“If there is something I can do, just tell me”, you offer, rubbing his stomach and chest slowly, “I’m here for you from now on.” 

“Just be you. That’s all I need from you.” He takes your left hand and guides it to his lips. “Just be you.” He kisses the wedding band on your ring finger, resting his nose against it afterwards. “You bring me so much peace.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah”, he smiles to himself and squeezes your hands, “now I really gotta go. I need to shower because I feel like I stink.”

“No, you smell so good.”

“Thanks, but I still need to go.”

You get the sense that he needs this. Emotionally. That he needs this shower to leave yesterday truly behind him, watching it metaphorically run down the drain as he washes it off of him. So you let him.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be here when you come back. Today’s a lazy day, don’t wanna leave the bedroom.”

“I’m taking your words for it.”

And with that, he leaves for a shower while you sink back into the pillow. You stare at the ceiling for a while, thinking. 

You have wonderful parents. Of course they have their flaws and made mistakes like any parent does, but they love you. And you love them. You would describe your relationship with them as healthy. So you don’t have any first hand experiences of bad parents like Jungkook does. 

It doesn’t make your understanding and shared pain for his situation any less however. It hurts you to know that his father manages to hit him so deeply that Jungkook still recovers from it one day later. You make a promise to yourself that morning to be the shoulder he can always lean on. Because that’s what best friends are here for, that’s what mates do. 

For the rest of Jungkook’s shower, you think of him and everything you have already experienced together in your short time as mates.

Jungkook forgot to bring his briefs to the bathroom with him, joining you in the bedroom in nothing but his towel. Snug around his hips, it reaches him a little under his knees. His hair is freshly washed and blow dried. His torso is bare and dried off. You are sitting on the window bench, clearly waiting for him, when he joins you. 

The view of him instantly shoots warmth between your legs. It is instinct. You can’t help it. Especially when you woke up not that long ago and you are still so warm from being held. 

“Hey there, baby”, he greets you, making his way to his closet.

“Hey.” 

“Why are you sitting over there again?” he asks you, busy with picking out briefs. “Is the book that good?”

“No I uhm. I was thinking.”

“What were you thinking, baby?” 

You stand up and close the distance. Jungkook turns to you, giving you his full attention and his hands when you take them. The briefs are forgotten again. You lead him to the window bench. 

“I was thinking, you had a bad day yesterday and you still have a sucky morning and maybe I could make it better.”

“You already did. The thing you did yesterday was amazing. I haven’t slept that well in, like, basically ever. I feel so good, baby.”

“Yeah well, what if I do something else amazing too?” 

“I don’t seem to follow.”

You sit him down. Jungkook looks up at you because you are standing and therefore are taller than him. But there is no ounce of power shift in your dynamic. He might be looking up at you right now, but you still feel so utterly submissive to him. It is nice because it is safe and feels like home. He puts his hands on your waist, talking in a warm yet raspy voice.

“And what’s that something else supposed to be?” 

“Please don’t judge me. Promise.”

“I promise. Now tell me. Come on baby, don’t make me work for it”, he encourages you, rubbing slow circles into your lower back. He slipped his hands under your sleep shirt, so his current touch is addicting. So warm and raw. You could honestly melt in his hands once he gets you started.

You put your hands on his strong shoulders and take a deep breath to gather your courage. You make your confession as you breathe out.

“Can I give you a blowjob?” 

Jungkook gawks with widened eyes, giving you his answer in the form of shocked silence. It makes you nervous and so you shift from one foot to the other.

“Please say something”, you whisper.

“Why on earth did you think that I would judge you for this?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I-I know it’s a lot of me to ask and kinda insensitive. Oh god, is it insensitive? I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean-”

He silences your nervous babbling by cupping your cheek and pulling you down into a kiss. Your knees buckle instantly, the electric pull he has on you, tugs you on top of his lap. A small moan escapes you when his hands instinctively grab your ass and squeeze. The touch is so tender and possessive. It feels so good. Honestly, you would have started to kiss him until your lips were tired if he didn’t break the kiss to talk.

“Don’t apologise. Yes, baby?”

You nod your head, whispering a shy “yes.”

“Yes. That’s good.” He gives you a sweet smile, running his strong hands to your waist. “You’d actually want to blow me?”

You nod your head. 

“Kook, I missed you”, you confess and rest your forehead against his’. 

Jungkook chases the affection, sliding his hands into your pants and back to your ass to squeeze it gently.

“You missed me?” he whispers, letting you taste his minty breath while his fingers drive you just a little bit insane.

“Yeah, when you were in the shower, I missed you. I, I thought of us and my life and how awesome it is to be your mate and then I thought of the sex we’re having and how good you always make me feel.”

“I do. That’s so important to me, baby”, he rasps, kneading your soft buttocks. His touch is needy. He can’t deny it. Feeling your naked skin under his fingertips after such a yesterday is healing him as much as it turns him on. His instincts tell him to get you naked and fuck you until his anger is gone. His love for you tells him to take it slow and really saviour the current moment. As always, the latter wins. It will always win when it comes to you.

“And then I thought about all the things we haven’t done yet. And I never gave you head before and I…” you exhale shakily, giving his shoulders a needy squeeze, “Koo, I really need to have your cock in my mouth. Please can I make the bad yesterday go away? A-and maybe make this morning nice?” 

“Yes, holy fuck, of course you can”, he breathes out, pulling you against his body and claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. 

You almost fall sweet victim to it, but stop yourself before that can happen, breaking the kiss.

He purrs, chasing you. 

“You have to tell me what to do. I really suck at taking the lead”, you confess, giving him shy puppy eyes.

He chuckles, “I can do that. What if I tell you to surprise me? Mhm? That you have free range of my body and I want you to surprise me?” 

He takes your hands and begins guiding them over his bared torso. 

You follow the touch with your eyes, heart racing and breath speeding up. 

“You can touch me wherever you want to.” He makes you trace his pecs. “Feel me up.” He guides your fingers over his ribs. “Turn me on”, he purrs and drags your fingers through the ridges of his impressive abs.

“Kook”, you moan, writhing on his lap. You are soaking through your shorts by now, getting it all over his towel as well. The morning sun shines so beautifully on his skin, really bringing out how muscular he actually is. And just how sun kissed his skin is.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. Why? Because that’s what I’m ordering you to do”, he says, making you trace the glimpses of his pubes sticking out from the towel.

“Oh god”, you whimper, salivating to the point of barely containing it.

“Is this something you can do for me, baby? Can you be my good omega and surprise me?”

“Yes, I can do that”, you press out, voice quivering in excitement. You gulp down your saliva hungrily, spilling some down your chin. You can’t help it. Your body is preparing for his cock in your mouth and it is such a turn on for you.

“Look at you.” He wipes the drool for you. “Does it turn you on to follow my commands?” 

“Yeah, so much. Koo, I want to kiss your chest. Please.”

“Do whatever you want. I’m all yours, baby.” 

“Oh god”, you get out and begin. You can barely breathe. You are so nervous. This is such unexplored terrain for you. Being the one to touch and kiss is new to you. Normally you are the one receiving, but something about Jungkook makes you want to give. It still doesn’t take away the fact that you have no idea how to give. 

His neck first. This is familiar to you and gives you the needed confidence boost. It also really turns you on because his scent spots smell more and more like arousal. It is such a masculine scent, more lethal than any cologne could ever be. Sitting on his lap feels so good as you kiss and suck his neck.

Jungkook is in heaven, eyes closed sensually and body feeling weightless. Your mouth feels amazing on his scent spots, giving him the most intense tingles. It’s different this morning than it was yesterday. The deepest feelings you communicate are still to relax, but the intention is something else. This is meant to relax him so he can take the pleasure you are about to give him without any stresses in his head. And it’s working. Jungkook feels fucking droopy. 

Soon you have enough confidence to take on an unfamiliar path. Down along his collarbones to his chest. Jungkook takes his hands off your body and puts them behind himself so he can lean back a little. 

You have better access like this, using your fingertips to get used to the unfamiliar paths. Up close like this, his strength is so noticeable. Shit, you are so into him. Feeling a little crazy, you grace your teeth over his skin. Jungkook purrs, pecs twitching as he tenses them in reaction to your bite. 

You shy away instantly, sitting up and covering your mouth behind your hands.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook tries not to show his disappointment, but you still see it. It increases your shyness. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

“Why are you sorry, sweetie?” he asks you in a soft voice.

“I just haven’t done this before. Do you even like this?”

“Yes, baby I do. I like it too when I get some loving.”

“Oh.” You squirm on his lap. “This is hot. Do you really like it?”

“I do. It’s nice to lean back and really enjoy it for once.”

“Oh wow, Kook. Okay, this is so hot”, you confess and close the distance. His confession motivates you. It isn’t weird for him to receive as a change. He likes it. It turns him on. 

Dripping pleasure on his lap, you kiss and bite his chest with new found confidence. And Jungkook reacts in deep purrs and tenses of his pecs. His head is rolled back and his eyes are closed. He is utterly lost to the touches, turning you on with his scent and sounds. 

It isn’t long after, that you feel brave enough to take the next step. You take his nipple between your teeth and tug.

“Yeah…fuck” he cups the back of your head, arching into your mouth, “good girl, that’s amazing.” 

His praise makes you shudder. You drool and whimper as you kiss a path to his other nipple to repeat what you did. Suck, lick, bite and tug.

“Yes baby, yes”, Jungkook lulls, petting you in motivation. 

Change sides again. Maybe tug a little harder. Jungkook moans. Change sides. More confidence. Jungkook growls and closes his fingers around your hair. 

“You’re driving me insane”, he gets out under his breath, fighting for his air in deep pants afterwards. 

You have to look at him, kiss him and taste his moans. The kiss starts sloppily. Jungkook feeds you his tongue instantly, holding your hair possessively while his other hand rubs your soaked cunt over your shorts. This is his version of rewarding you for being such a good omega and it makes you mewl into his mouth unapologetically. 

“Koo, I’m so horny”, you confess. 

“Me too, baby. Wanna do disgusting things to you”, he says, giving your swollen clit an especially good rub.

You tremble, giving him your neediest puppy eyes. 

“But you’re not done. Give me more, baby”, he orders and takes his touch away. 

“Oh god.”

It hurts to be denied, but you aren’t sad about it. Being denied means that you can explore him more and you found your new obsession for it. You slip off his lap and kneel down between his legs. He spreads them for you in such a sexy way. With a needy moan, you connect your puffy lips with his upper stomach. You grab his sides, tingling when you can feel him tense up and later shiver. 

“Yeah, holy fuck…” Jungkook moans, rolling his head back and closing his eyes.

You mewl, drooling like crazy. His stomach is so sculpted and strong. Each new inch you explore, you kiss and lick and bite, makes you feel subbier and subbier. He is so strong and you get to worship him. Oh god, this is so hot.

“Keep going, fuck, so good…”

Jungkook gets pleasure through pleasing. This is what he thought was in his nature. This is what an Alpha is supposed to do. Please, give, touch. Jungkook thought that this is what he is supposed to enjoy. 

What you are currently doing, is rewriting his definition of wrong and right. Nothing which is “wrong” feels this fucking good. He is meant to get some loving too. And getting your loving is everything he ever needed.

It makes him desperate in ways which were still unknown to him. As a matter of fact, they get him so needy that he gives you his version of a beg when you finally reach his lower stomach. You are nuzzled into his faint happy trail when he begs.

“Fucking hell, if you don’t take off my towel soon and take care of It, Imma lose my fucking mind.”

You mewl something unintelligible, speeding up in your needy licks. Your hands follow his command while your mouth takes his exposed state to explore his scent spots. 

“Fuck. Woah”, Jungkook gasps, hands falling to your head and legs shaking in surprise. 

“Kook, oh my god. You smell so good”, you whimper, rubbing your face into his inner thighs. You need his scent all over you. 

“Baby, I’m serious. I’ll lose my mind, fuck. Ah fuck”, Jungkook warns, head pounding and cock aching. So this is how it feels to have his scent spots stimulated. No wonder that he regularly forces you into impromptu heat when he does it to you. All Jungkook can think about right now is rutting into you, knotting you and breeding you with his cum until he is alive inside you. The desire gets stronger and stronger and stronger and then it suddenly gets replaced by a new desire. The desire to fuck your pretty face until you are fed a full course meal of cum. 

The reason for his change of mood is your tongue licking his balls vigorously while your hands rub his scent spots. You keen needily as you do it.

Jungkook growls, tugging you away from him by a bundle of your hair. You mewl, gasping for air because of his strong grip.

“Stop teasing me or I’ll punish you”, he growls, but adds in the most loving and soft voice, “okay, baby? Do it for me.”

“Yes, Alpha”, you mewl and lower your head. You give his scent spots a bite each, then finally pay attention to his cock.

You dance a wet path from his balls to his swollen base up to his heated tip with your tongue, wrapping both hands around his base afterwards.

“___ baby…”

Jungkook watches you as you sink him in. Your lips look so good stretching around his girth. His head is pounding. This is the sexiest thing which ever happened to him.

“There we go, take me in”, he praises you, caressing your cheek gently. “What a good omega you are.”

You whimper, sucking on his tip vigorously.

Jungkook frowns, “urgh fucking intense. Yeah that’s it, baby. Suck me off.” 

Drool runs down his shaft, messying your fingers. You use it to your advantage, jerking off his base with it.

“Fuck, so good. Do you like it? Mhm, does Alpha taste good, baby?” Jungkook lulls, vision just a little blurry because you suck him off really fucking hard.

You slip off of him, voice quivering as you answer him.

“Alpha tastes so good. Thank you, ah, so much”, you get out, shaking with your entire body. Of course you love it. Your dream is coming true. You get to taste your Alpha’s cock. Your need for him is unbearable. 

You open wide and take him in completely. Your nose hits his crotch, your lips feel his balls.

“Woah. Wait”, Jungkook gasps, stopping you instantly. He even pulls you off of him.

“What?” you ask him, looking up at him with needy eyes.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Force all of me inside. I know I said to stop teasing, but I didn’t mean it like that. You can stay at the tip. You don’t have to push yourself.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you don’t have to make yourself gag for me.”

You widen your eyes in shock, staying silent long enough for Jungkook to become a little nervous.

“What?” he stresses.

“Did you…never get head from an omega before?”

“Why…is this so bad?” 

“No, it’s not. It’s just that…can I show you?”

“Sure?” he sounds unsure, but that’s okay, he will feel amazing in one, two, three. 

Jungkook gasps and tenses up, face falling in utter shock as you take him in completely and instantly start bopping your head up and down quickly.

“Woah, woah, woah. Woah. Fuck, wait. Woah.” 

He somehow manages to pull you off of him again. His cock slaps his abs, leaving a mess of spit and his pleasure. It throbs, begging to be taken in again.

“What was that?” he breathes out, pupils blown out and eyes glowing golden.

“Did you not like it?” 

“You didn’t gag.”

“We, uhm, omegas, you know, we can switch it off.”

“You can?!”

“Yeah, we can. When we’re with someone we really like, it happens automatically and I…” You nuzzle your nose into his scent spot, kissing it a few times before looking up at him. “I didn’t have to switch it off with you.”

“Wait. Oh my god, wait. Does that mean?”

“Yeah, I guess I really like you, Koo.”

“Baby, I’m. Wait, don’t make me get emotional, I-” He cups you cheek. “Baby, my love. Oh my god, my love.”

You giggle, “yeah, I guess it’s out there”, you say and take him back inside. 

“Yeah..it’s out there. Fuck, woah”, Jungkook croaks out and rolls his head back, burying his hand in your hair as deeply as your texture allows it as your warm mouth engulfs him entirely. He twists it a little, having to moan your name as you make him experience pleasure he never felt before.

You moan right with him, having to grasp his waist for support. You need it because it’s very difficult not to lose yourself.

Giving head for an omega is different than for others of the pack. Giving head has an almost drug-like effect on an omega, leaving it delirious and ecstatic. If the person they are giving head to is another omega or a beta, the effect is mild and an omega can easily go back to being normal afterwards. If the person is someone with the Alpha gen, it is a different story. 

Being close to an Alpha’s scent spots, tasting their pleasure and essentially getting bred in one way or another, bring the omega into a state of disillusion and an inability to think for themselves.

In the most disgusting and twisted circles of the werewolf community, evil Alphas use this to get disobedient omegas back under their control. The details of how such cruel acts happen will not be disclosed here, but trust, dear reader, that it is rarely gentle or consensual.

But Jungkook isn’t such an Alpha. Jungkook is kind and loving and gentle beyond anything else. And Jungkook is your true mate, which means that you have even less control over the effects his cock has on you.

You are so greedy for more, clawing at his waist to desperately get more of him inside. You mewl and sob as you do, barely breathing.

“Breathe, my love. Breathe”, Jungkook orders you, despite being so far gone. Because he is a loving Alpha. Because he knows how to make you feel safe. 

Your body obeys his orders because you are currently under his control and fighting your instincts is impossible. You breathe and breathe and breathe. Then get too greedy again. 

His base is starting to swell. Just a little bit. You wrap your left hand around his flushed tip to jerk it off while you connect your messy mouth with his growing knot. You tongue kiss the area sloppily, adding sucks to it as well. An Alpha’s knot is just as sensitive as his cockhead is. Perhaps even a little bit more sensitive. 

“___, holy fuck”, Jungkook gets out, actually closing his legs on you because of how good this feels. He moans loudly, throwing his head back to the point where he loses balance and drops into the pillows. 

He throws his left arm over his own eyes, moaning like a fucking pornstar while the morning sun shines onto his glowing face. He can feel his knot grow. It’s you who does this to him because of how good you make it feel.

“Baby, please don’t stop”, he actually begs, rolling his hips desperately to keep the stimulation going.

“Koo, I’m yours”, you get out and sink him back inside. His knot hinders you from deep throating him, but this doesn’t stop you. You wrap both your hands around his knot, jerking it off in circular motions while your mouth takes care of the rest. 

Jungkook writhes, voice pitching because of how honestly ruined you get him. His hands flail around for a little while, finding their support on the edge of the window bench. He grips it. Which is something totally new to him. He never had to grip something for support before. Especially not the edge of something. He feels like a fucking whore.

“Please don’t stop, it feels so good”, he gets out, squeezing the edge harder. 

Which honestly? It isn’t all that bad to feel this way because you give him so much pleasure. The kind of pleasure he swears should be illegal for an Alpha to feel.

Can people see him? He’s got windows all around him and the sun illuminates him like he is a fucking star. Can people see him? Can they see how the future Alpha of the pack is getting sucked off? Are they fucking jealous of their Alpha? Because he’s got the best wife and they don’t?

“Shit urgh”, he arches his back at the thought of people passing by and jealously watching their future Alpha get head, “don’t stop, holy fuck. Sweetie. I feel fucking high. Aaaahmmm.”

You couldn’t stop even if someone tried to drag you off of him. Jungkook’s constant begs not to stop manifest themselves in your drugged mind as little orders. Don’t stop. Alpha wants more. Don’t stop. You can’t stop even if someone tried to drag you off of him and it’s sacrilegious to you. 

You don’t want to stop. His taste is heaven. His scent is overwhelming. You have never smelled so much fucking pleasure on him. It’s making you even droopier.

“Yes baby, yes. My good omega. My fucking pretty omega”, Jungkook growls, sending you deeper into your delirious headspace.

Oh my god, you fucking love being his good omega. You sob around him, spilling tears. You love being his omega. You love it. You love it. You love it.

Trapped in your ecstatic omega space, you didn’t realise how much sloppier you became with your blowjob until Jungkook’s right hand in your hair lets you know. 

“Baby, you’re making me cum”, he gets out, tensing his stomach.

You mewl, shaking more than he does. You need his high. You need it so fucking bad. You suck him off harder, speeding up your hands around his throbbing knot. Please. You need him.

“Now, baby. ___ baby, now!” Jungkook tries to warn you but to no avail. He climaxes down your throat in thick spurts of his seed, gripping your head with both hands to rut up into you. 

He hits the back of your throat like this, really testing your jaw. Not that you mind. You are so drugged that he could do anything to you and you wouldn’t mind. All you can take in is hot cum down your throat and the ecstatic effect it has on you.

Jungkook comes down after seven thrusts, growling demonically and pulling you off. If he didn’t, his instincts would have kicked in and he would have hurt you. Your mouth is not your cunt. He can’t breed it like he could your pussy. He has to be stronger than his instincts. 

Using his abs, he sits up. His thighs are still twitching.

“Come up here you”, he orders you in a lull, pulling you to your feet and into a sloppy kiss. 

You fall on top of his lap, feeling limp in his arms. Like a little doll unable to use her muscles. Jungkook holds you safely, licking his cum out of your mouth. Tears mix with your drool and his cum. Jungkook instantly tastes them, breaking the kiss in worry. 

A mixture of drool and creamy cum seeps out your mouth, your cheeks are wet in tears. You whimper, desperately trying to get him to kiss you again. You can’t open your eyes, looking so goddamn intoxicated.

“Did I hurt you, sweetie? Is this why you’re crying?”

He can see from the way you move and your face is, that you are currently non verbal in submission. He instinctively knows that he could either break you right now or fix you up depending on how he will use this power.

“Arms up, baby.”

Your body obeys. He takes off your sleep shirt, pressing you against his chest like this. 

Naked skin and naked skin, he begins moving you and him in a slow grind. Your scent spots rub against his’, exchanging not only pleasure but also comfort. It slowly brings you back to him and Jungkook knows that, holding you through it. 

His knot shrinks again in the time, but his cock stays swollen. The situation you and he are in is too sensual and intimate for him to grow soft. His utmost desire still lies in breeding you. Oh, how he wants to breed you, his perfect omega. His. All his.

“Mine. You’re mine. You know that, mhm? You’re my pretty omega. Just mine.” 

“Yours”, you get out. 

“Hey baby, you’re back”, Jungkook breathes and lifts your head by cupping your cheek. “How are you doing? I was a little rough at the end. Is your jaw okay?”

“Yeah ‘s okay. I want more, but it’s so hard to move.”

“I know, baby. Do you trust me?”

You nod your head, leaning into his palm.

“Alpha is safe”, you lull, sending his heart into overdrive. He’s got you feeling safe. Fuck, he would set the whole world on fire if it meant you kept feeling like this.

“Thank you for your trust, baby. Now let me kiss you. You fucking ruined me”, he says and pulls you into a kiss, which you eagerly retort.

He moans deeply, picking you up while his tongue licks onto your mouth. It is like he is starving, like his own taste on your tongue is a drug to him. You moan just as much, writhing in his strong arms.

He carries you to bed like this. Kissing you as if he was starving. He lies you down by the edge of it, breaking the kiss when your head is tangling over the edge. He climbs off bed and rounds you so you have a view of him and his heavy cock between his fingers. He looks so big and veiny like this, forcing drool to the tip of your tongue. You sigh his name, opening and closing your mouth in hunger. You need him so bad.

“Tap your foot if you had enough”, he says and connects his leaking tip with your chin to drag it to your lips. “Now open up.”

You obey gladly, gurgling in ecstasy when Jungkook sinks his leaking cock back into your mouth. 

“That’s it. Take all of me”, he purrs, caressing your cheeks. His eyes are dark, lowered sexily as he gazes down at you. “So beautiful, taking me like this. Is it nice for you?”

You moan around him, nodding your head as best as possible. This is heaven. He fills you out so well. You could honestly orgasm with your throat because of how good it feels. 

“Fuck, it does…fuck, you drive me insane”, he rasps and picks up a rhythm. Finally. Fucking finally. 

You whimper, eyes instantly rolling back and jaw going slack. This is your heaven. This is everything you ever wanted. 

Jungkook watches your blissed reaction with a tingling stomach. He mewls, scrunching his nose and biting his lower lip at the same time. You are so beautiful, turning him on like no one else ever did. Quite frankly, Jungkook wasn’t even aware of how hard his cock can actually get. But being inside you like this, is showing him new sides of pleasure.

“This is so sexy, you have no idea”, he confesses, caressing your soft cheeks, “I’m making love to your face. It’s..hah it’s heaven, seriously.”

You whimper around him, reaching up behind you to touch him. You need to hold him, digging your fingers into the softness of his butt. It forces him to go even deeper, making him moan from the deepest parts of his stomach. He gasps afterwards, abs rippling and thighs twitching.

“Wow. Fuck. Holy fuck, wow”, he lets out, scrunching his face even harder. “So deep. What the fuck, wow.”

You moan with him, spilling tears of joy. He is right, he is so deep. So deep that you can feel his pubes tickle your nose and so deep that you drown in his masculine scent. Your body quivers, throat convulsing around his girth. You scratch down his butt against your will, stopping only when you have his thighs between your claws instead. So tensed and so big. It motivates you to take him even deeper. You lift your head as best as possible, bopping it back and forth on his cock.

“Fuck, your throat…it’s bulging so nicely, I just wanna…” he trails off, ghosting his thumbs over it as if he wanted to choke you. He doesn’t give in, not wanting to hurt you or go too far. 

You however want him to continue. You want him to steal your air and make you his’ in any way possible. You grasp his hands and pull them into place, doing the job for him. 

“___”, your name leaves him in a deep growl, cock throbbing in your tight throat. His strong hand closes around it, forcing it to tighten even more. 

You wail, clasping his lower arms with your claws exposed. 

“You’re so tight. Holy fuck, look at you taking me. Fuck. I can feel myself. Shit, baby. This is so hot”, he is babbling, which is new for him. It is insanely hot, driving you to the brink of insanity.

Air is sparse like this and you want it. You want to choke on his cock. You need it. You need to feel every second of it entering your mouth, every inch of throat he bulges, every tender spot appearing on your neck as he chokes it. 

You feel so high and satisfied and yet at the same time, you ache. You ache for more of him, wishing for something of him to fill you more. And more. More. 

“If you keep moving your hips like that baby, Imma think you’re tryna make me jealous with the air. Why you humping it, hmh?” Jungkook lulls his words, switching his hungry gaze between your fucked face and your needy hips.

You mewl, writhing. You can’t do it. He is tightening his grip on you, burying his thick cock deeper. His balls slap your face as he fucks it, his scent is making you foggy. And now he is teasing you. 

You can’t take it anymore, slipping your hand between your legs to take away the pain. You whimper around him, choking oh so sloppily as your fingers try to make up for the emptiness. Three digits. Three digits are buried inside your weeping cunt and it doesn’t help. You still feel empty, unsatisfied, needy. A fourth one doesn’t make any difference. You pump and twist and fuck your fingers into yourself, hoping that one of those things will scratch the itch, but it doesn’t. It only makes it worse because it makes you miss him.

It was a foggy evening, cold and wet and dark, when Jungkook showed you what his fingers could do for the first time. It happened in the living room, during a movie date which you planned to keep romantic. There were only supposed to be cuddles and snacks. One hour into the movie however, he had you naked and spread out on the couch while he drilled his long, tattooed fingers into your puffy walls. You might have ripped one of the cushions that evening.

And right now, it is haunting you. You want his fingers. Please. His fingers felt so good. He did it so much better, he fucked you so much deeper. Please.

You push him away with your free hand. Jungkook listens, letting his cock slip from your mouth. He holds it over your face, watching the spit drip from his tip back onto your lips.

“Please, it hurts. I want yours”, you beg, thrusting your hips up needily.

“Aww I see. I was already wondering what you were oh so clumsily attempting to do”, he teases you. “Let me do it, sweetie. Don’t worry, your Alpha’s got.”

He slides his hand into your shorts and swipes your hand away, giving you your sweet relief by sinking his long fingers into your dripping cunt. The position naturally allows his palm to press against your clit, applying such warm and intense pressure that you sob his name. He instantly picks up a quick rhythm, forcing you to cry out and claw at his hips in your clumsy attempt to get his cock back inside. He gives in for you, fucking his girth back into you in one harsh thrust. His right hand falls back to your throat, his hips pick up a punishing rhythm. The kind of rhythm which turns your moans into choking gurgles and which constantly slaps his heavy balls against your face. And how it leaves you feeling high. You stopped trying to swallow, letting the spit spill out of you messily and endlessly. It smears all over his cock and your face like this, making the glide so much easier.

“There we go, make those pretty sounds. Try to breathe whenever I pull out, baby. Breathe.”

You obey him. Breathe. Moan. Breathe. Sob. Breathe. Wail. Breathe and breathe and moan some more. You are so utterly his’. 

He has your face fucked, your throat claimed and now your cunt as well. Nothing. Truly nothing is missing.

“Yes baby suck on it. Suck it dry, baby. Suck it, yes baby. Yes. Fuck. Yes.” He is babbling, being loud with you as you shake and writhe your way to your orgasm. 

If this continues, it won’t be long. You are so high on him. So fucking high. Tears stream down your temples, your throat is starting to get sore from his rough breeding. You aren’t aware of it yet because you are truly lost to him. 

He is just as lost. It hasn’t been that long and your pussy is already so lose around his two fingers. Greedily, he slips in his pointer finger and pinkie too. You wail up, throbbing around him as you take his fist.

“Feels good?” 

“Ymgmeahm”, you gurgle out, grasping his hips to the point you leave marks.

“I’m gonna fucking ruin you, baby. Gonna put some puppies down your throat, make you my fucking cumslut”, Jungkook is losing it, which means that he is just as drugged as you are. Just in his own kind of way.

The kind of way which means that you are getting fucked harder and better. Which also means that he brings you over the edge mere moments later.

“Ah! Baby!” he yelps, legs stuttering. He throws his head back. “___!” 

He orgasms right with you, finding his crescendo deep in throat, which forces you over the edge a second time. And while your screams are muffled by his heavy cock, his scream bounces off the bedroom walls.

He didn’t even know that he could be this fucking loud. Normally, he is always the one who gets his partners screaming. Or in his case ever since he became your true mate, who gets you, his pretty wife, screaming. But this is new. He can scream as well. And it’s fucking needed because you make him feel goddamn invincible like this.

The moments after your highs died down are messy. It should have been enough, but it wasn’t. You want the stretch of his cock while Jungkook feels the need to truly use his strength. No more holding back for the sake of your jaw. 

Besides, he wants to make the cumshots count. He wants to feel fucking alive inside you again. Which has been his favourite thing to do ever since you and he bonded.

You drag yourself out of the position and onto your knees while he tries to make sense of what happened. You pull the shorts off of you, sobbing as you do.

“Please”, you beg, “please more, please.”

“You’re insatiable.”

You begin trembling, looking in pain. If he doesn’t give you another dose of him soon, you will pass out in withdrawal.

“Please, it hurts. Please.”

“Hey, calm down for me” he whispers and cradles your cheeks.

Your body obeys. The shakes stop. You look up into his eyes submissively. He is so tall and dominant, taking up your entire vision. And yet, he is gentle. He holds you with no strength and talks to you in a soothing voice.

“I want you too, but I need to make sure you actually want it. Tell me your honest feelings without taking me in account”, he orders. He knows that your little omega body wants to please him. That everything wants to make sure that he is satisfied. But he wants your truth. 

“Please, I want you. It’s, it’s the truth.”

“Yes? Does my little omega want more?”

“Yes, Alpha. More”, you hug him, feeling so small against him, “please more.”

“God, you drive me insane”, he rasps and lifts you to carry you back to the window sill. He lies you down on it, chuckling when you spread your legs all on your own. 

Your pussy is throbbing. She is so wet and puffy. 

“Fuck sweetie, I’m so lucky to have you. Can’t believe I get to fuck such a pretty pussy”, he purrs and sticks his cock into you.

You wail up, arching your back. Tears instantly shoot to your eyes and your body trembles.

“Shit sorry, I forgot to warn you. You okay?”

“Thank you, Koo thank you”, you sob, writhing in ecstasy.

“Mhhhm babyyyy, you drive me insane”, he purrs and grabs your hips to pull them up and on his cock. Your legs hook themselves over his lower arms, your body is bent so he can drill you oh so deep.

“Such a good omega. Fuck, keep moaning for me”, he encourages you, staring down at you with obsession in his golden eyes.

Your eyes are closed, your mouth is open. Your body writhes and shakes. Your skin is glowing in a sheer layer of sweat, reflecting the sunlight. Fuck, it looks so pretty on your nipples. How plumb they are. 

Jungkook pinches them, soaking up the wail you let out because of it. They leak a little, making the massage easier. 

“Fucking look at you. You’re fucking meant to be bred”, he growls. His hips rut into you without him having to concentrate on moving. It’s instinct. He’s inside his omega and his body knows exactly what to do.

“How are you that good?” he rasps, staring at you with a dizzy head.

“Good…what?” 

“Good at making it all better.” He thrusts into you as if he is trying to reward you for your mere existence. “Good at distracting me.” Another thrust, a twist of your nipples, quivers down your legs. “Good at being you. Perfect, amazing you.” He fucks into you with each word, knocking the most delicious moans out of you.

He pulls out of you just to watch your slick spill from your puffy cunt. He runs his heavy cock through it, playing with your stretched entrance. 

“You’re just so fucking good”, he rasps and pushes back inside. 

You wail, arching your back.

“Please rougher”, you beg instantly.

“Like this? Do you like it?” 

“More. Please, more. Kook please.”

Jungkook feels invincible when you are like this. It hasn’t been long since you and he have bonded. It has been three months, two weeks and one day to be exact. Jungkook counted the days. It hasn’t been long, but it has been long enough for you and him to fuck way too many times. You just love it too much. It is as if you can’t stop doing it. 

Whenever he gets you like this, so cockdrunk and needy for his rougher sides, Jungkook feels invincible. He wants to fulfil your every wish and keep you safe. This is your shared moment. Only he will ever see you so submissive and vulnerable and he would be damned if he didn’t keep you safe while he rearranges your insides.  

He lifts you up onto the window bench so you are kneeling on all fours and looking outside. He joins you on top of it. Your body falls to the front, colliding with the window. He slams his hand on the glass right above your hand, eyes shifting to the world outside. He towers over you, letting anyone know that trying to take you from him would end in fucking death. You’re his’. 

“Is this alright for you? Wanna make the world see how good we fuck?” he makes sure because he knows that once you are high on pleasure, you can’t really think for yourself anymore. He wants to make sure that you are aware of what is happening to you, that you always have a chance to change something.

“Yes, okay. Just please. Harder.” 

“Anything you want. Take me, baby. All of me.” He fills you up from behind, slinging his strong arm around you to hold you against his strong chest. “Let everyone see who makes you feel that good.”

You sob his name, sinking back into him. Your head hits his chest, your fingers grasp his lower arm. 

“Happy, so happy”, you whimper, drooling on his arm.

“Me too, baby. So happy”, he rasps, drilling his huge cock into you. The sunlight hits it each time he pulls out, really showcasing just how fucking wet you get him. “You like how I fuck you, sweetie?”

“Yeah, rough. So good”, you mewl, writhing in his arms.

“Mhm what a good omega you are, fuck”, Jungkook growls and slips his left hand to your pussy. He takes your swollen clit between his fingers and begins playing with it.

Of course you wail up because of it. Of course your pussy throbs around his cock. And of course you arch your back in the prettiest of ways.

Jungkook watches your nipples leak in pleasure, going insane because in the same fucking view he can also see how his cock is entering you repeatedly. He’s so big that your stomach bulges each time he ruts into you. Leaking nipples and cock filled tummies. Jungkook growls at the view, biting your neck right on your scent spot.

You sob his name, limp body shaking in his arms and legs quaking. He is going to make you climax. You’re his’. And now the whole pack is going to see.

Months ago, the thought of sealing your bond so publicly scared you. Right now, the potential of being watched is ecstatic to you. This is the future pack Alpha who’s fucking like this and you’re the girl he chose as his queen.

“You know that I’m so happy it’s you?” He rasps into your ear while his fingers torture your puffy clit to an orgasm. “You know that I wouldn’t want it any other way?”

Bonds between Alphas and omegas are rare in the werewolf community. Alphas don’t want to risk their pups being born with the omega gen and therefore most Alphas bond with other Alphas to guarantee their offspring to have the Alpha gen. Sex between Alphas and omegas is a more common thing, but marriage? Not that much. Too many risks. 

Sometimes you feel so wrong as Jungkook’s mate. You know how his father thinks of you and there are probably others in the pack who share his feelings. Being Jungkook’s mate bears the risk that your pups are going to be born as omegas too. It’s a risky marriage. 

Hearing Jungkook talk like this as he fucks you against the windows for everyone to see, changes you as a person.

“I gotta be the luckiest fucking Alpha out there, baby. I have a pretty omega as my wife. I’m the goddamn luckiest bastard.”

“Jungkook”, you mewl, grasping his hair as his words send you off the edge.

“You liked that, didn’t you? What a pretty omega you are cumming for me. That’s it, sweetie. Cream my cock, good omega. Such a good girl”, he talks you through it, rubbing your clit as he writes his name on your throbbing walls.

Panickedly, you reach down to get his hand to stop. He is stronger than you, torturing you and holding you close.

“I-I will- Jung- I- please”, you stutter.

“Don’t hold back, baby. Let’s show the pack how prettily my omega can squirt.”

“Jungkook”, you wail, sinking into yourself as he sets you off. 

He growls, pressing you against the window as he fucks the pretty liquid out of you.

“Yes princess, yes. Urgh what a good omega you are. Give me everything. That’s it”, he talks you through it. Of course he does. Jungkook always talks you through your orgasms, which is reason on its own to be totally crazy. You’ve got this sexy, strong Alpha as your mate and on top of it all, he always talks you through it.

You’ve got to be luckiest omega in existence. 

Jungkook is rougher after your high. His voice is deeper too. His grip is punishingly strong.

“I need to use your body. Can I? I’m so close.”

“Please”, you beg and sob when seconds later, you get pushed down into the pillows. The top of your head is pressed against the window, the sun shines right onto your face. You can’t open your eyes, crying tears because you are so sensitive and he drills you as if you have a debt to pay.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, it’s gonna be over soon. I’m sorry”, he chants, keeping you down with one hand on your head. He hates seeing you cry, but it’s impossible to stop. He needs to rut, breed you and make you his’. “I’m so fucking sorry. Oh god, baby. I can’t stop.”

Something holds him back. Maybe it’s guilt. He doesn’t want to do this to you, but can’t stop. Fuck, why can’t he cum? Jungkook ruts even harder despite not wanting to. He feels so fucking guilty.

“I’m sorry, I can’t- I-”

“Feels so good, Koo. Koo. Please Koo”, you sob and shut off his guilt for breeding you with such strength.

The intense pleasure returns, hitting him with such intensity that Jungkook arches his back and throws his head back.

“___!” he moans, feeling his orgasm finally hit him. “Holy fuck”, he gets out, falling to the front. He cushions his fall with one arm against the window, dropping his head against it as he fills you with his creamy cum in heavy spurts. 

You sob his name, finding one more high because of his cum, but you know that you couldn’t take any more afterwards. You are ruined. This was the last thing your drugged omega body needed to be completely satisfied. Now you are finally filled up with him on both ends. Your tummy is truly only there to carry his pleasure. What a perfect life you are living.

Jungkook finishes with a growl of your name, then a tremble of his body and a curse. 

“Holy fuck, sweetie”, he croaks, pulling you up into his arms. He kisses and nuzzles you instantly, whispering the sweetest words repeatedly, “I love you, I love you, oh sweetie. My sweetie, I love you.” 

“I…I love you too.”

“What?” 

He pulls out and turns you, cradling your cheeks. His eyes are widened, racing between yours in urgency.

“What did you just say?”

“I love you too.”

“You don’t mean that”, he seems in disbelief, voice quivering.

“I do.”

“No. No, you don’t. Baby”, his lower lip quivers. He pulls you closer, tilting your head up so you can still look at each other. You are so close like this that you feel his breath tickle your lips as he talks, “tell me you’re not serious.”

“But I am”, you insist, touching his waist, “Koo, I love you.”

Jungkook laughs, eyes filling with tears.

“___, my love”, he chokes out, picking you up just so he can dance through the room with you. “Oh baby, I love you. Baby.” 

“Koo, I’m leaking. Please no twirls. It’s going everywhere”, you squeak, trying so hard to clench your pussy. 

“Doesn’t matter. Just leak on me. Oh baby, you make me so happy”, he says and drops on the bed with you. 

He buries you under him, attacking your face with too many kisses to count. He cradles your cheeks for it, making you giggle and squeal because it is so nice to be adored this way. 

“Oh baby, my baby”, he kisses your forehead and cheeks, “I could melt with you”, he pulls your head up to repeatedly kiss your lips. 

Once he stops, you feel butterflies in your tummy and warmth in your chest.

“But how are you? How’s your jaw?” he rubs it gently, “How’s your pussy? I was so rough. Is there anything hurting?” 

You shake your head, “just a little sensitive, but it’s nice.” 

“Yeah? And your tummy?” He rubs it. “I fed you a lot of cum. How are you handling it?”

You place your hand over his’, smiling at him goofily, “I feel like I could do anything.”

“Yes? Oh sweetie”, he nuzzles against your scent spot, “you have no idea how happy I am. I can’t shut up. The way you made me feel, it’s. Wow.” He laughs breathily. “Wow, I never felt this way before. I literally can’t shut up about it. I feel, wow.” He falls to his back and kicks his feet in the air, giggling. “Fuck, I could do anything! Ah!” He exclaims and stretches his limbs from himself in starfish position. 

You giggle, rolling over repeatedly until you are snuggled into his side again. Jungkook flips to his side, closing his arms around you. He purrs, kissing your forehead. Afterwards he just kind of lets the view of you sink in. He traces your temple and ear softly as he gazes into your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful”, he whispers, letting shyness appear in your eyes. “It sucks that I can’t share with everyone how you make me feel when our bodies connect”, he speaks softly.

“I feel like we kinda shared it a little.”

You and Jungkook glance at the window bench. The windows are dirty to the point where the sunlight looks a little milky through it. You look back into each other’s eyes, cracking up at the same time.

You and he giggle like teenagers doing something harmless yet forbidden. 

“I can’t believe that we did that”, he confesses.

“Me neither. Oh my god. Do you think someone saw us?” 

“I lowkey hope someone did and they tell my dad…” He kisses the tip of your nose. “...that his son has the best, most beautiful wife ever. And that he loves her so much.”

“I’m sure that they would also tell him that happiness looks so good on his son and that she loves him too. And that their bond is forever, no matter what anyone says.”

Jungkook’s features soften, “oh baby” he whispers, caressing you under your eye, “you’re just so…” his eyes glimmer in adoration, “... goddamn perfect.” 

You lean into his touch, rubbing his chest mindlessly. He kisses your forehead, nuzzling you into him afterwards. He draws hearts on your back while you melt in his embrace. 

He studies the windows you and he dirtied. The prints of his hands are next to the prints of your tits and the spots where he made your squirt. He feels so proud and giddy. He did that with you. Wow, he will think about this forever. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks in a quiet purr.

“A little. Why?”

“Just making a mental plan on how to spend the rest of our day. Just wanna cook for you and take care of you.” 

“Cooking sounds nice. I’m so sleepy though. I’m sorry it’s suddenly so hard to...talk.”

“No wonder. You’re coming down.”

“You’ll hold me, right?”

“Of course, baby. I’ll hold you. Just relax, I’ll make sure that nothing happens.”

You sigh in relief, growing softer and smaller now that he reassured you that it was safe for you to relax. Omegas rarely can function normally after sex. After basically being high and doing everything to chase pleasure, an omega’s body is spent. Most omegas use what little strength they have to flee to somewhere safe and hide away until it passes. Knowing that you have Jungkook as your protector and safe space to hide in, makes the entire recovery process a moment of healing. You won’t ever have to flee. You have someone safe who will be with you. 

“I love you”, you whisper with your last strength.

“I love you too, my sweetie”, he whispers.

You fall asleep in his arms and Jungkook stays with you for a while until he is sure that you are safely gone in your slumber. He tugs you in as he leaves to shower and begin preparing breakfast.

He wants you to wake up to your favourite dishes being finished and your favourite flowers waiting on your bedside table. And as he cooks, he dances to his favourite music. He hasn’t danced in ages, but being your mate makes him want to do the things he loved doing when his mental health wasn’t terrible. Being your mate makes him want to heal and become happier again. Life isn’t all bad, it really isn’t, Jungkook thinks and sings as he dances. Life isn’t all bad.

[dakusan]

What kind of TikToks/ memes skz spam you with

stray kids ot8 x reader | memes, tiktok brainrot, delulu love

🌙 synopsis: they send you cat videos. they send you emotional edits. they send you memes so cursed you wonder if they love you or hate you. this is what it’s like when skz start spamming your phone with tiktoks and memes—chaotic, flirty, embarrassing, and just a little bit soft. some say “this is us.” some send frogs. one sends you his own fancam.

💌 a/n: i know i’ve been gone. i was in my bed, vertical, rotting, and thinking about how lee know would send me a meme with a cat falling off a table and say “this is you.” anyway. here’s how skz spam your phone with absolute meme chaos while being in love with you. some of them are unhinged. some of them are soft. all of them are annoying about it. p.s. if han sends you a capcut edit with 4 fonts and trap remix audio—run (into his arms). p.p.s. reblog before changbin sends you a thirst trap labeled ‘this is me without you’

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Roller Coaster" — NMIXX

bang chan // 방찬

meme/tiktok type:

Workout fails

Dogs doing dumb things

Emotional “this is us” edits with sappy music

Also sends you TikToks of his own songs and pretends to be shy about it

caption game:

“this reminded me of you. the dog. not the person.” “tell me this isn’t us if we were koalas” “also ignore the fact that this is Stay edits of me i just thought it was cute”

lee know // 리노

meme/tiktok type:

Absolute crackhead humor. Nonsense memes. No context.

Cats slapping people. Cats vibing. Cats being dramatic.

Will send you the same meme 3 times across different apps

Secretly saves romantic ones but never sends them

caption game:

“this is dori. and you. and me.” “no idea what this means but i laughed for 6 minutes” “look. cat.” (sends TikTok, says nothing, stares at your reaction)

changbin // 창빈

meme/tiktok type:

Gym memes. Fails. Motivational edits of himself.

Screaming memes. People eating weird food.

Occasionally sends one labeled “u and me” that’s actually too cute to handle

Also “this is so us” but it’s SpongeBob yelling

caption game:

“THIS IS ME WHEN YOU DON’T TEXT BACK” “also me when you look at someone else” “us. if we were anime protagonists in love. which we are”

hyunjin // 현진

meme/tiktok type:

Aesthetic montages. POV “he’s in love with you” TikToks.

BookTok clips. Art edits. Dramatic softboy content.

Sends you thirst traps then acts like he didn’t

Occasionally includes frog memes and pretends he’s above it

caption game:

“this is how i see you. every day.” “i want to paint this but it’ll never capture your energy” “also this frog is me watching you flirt with someone else”

han // 한

meme/tiktok type:

Unhinged edits. Capcut disasters. TikToks with 5 fonts and dubstep

Conspiracy theory memes. SpongeBob clips. Rats doing ballet.

Screaming animals. Scenarios that are you coded but in the most ✨ cursed ✨ way

Also sends one serious, wholesome one every 38 chaotic ones

caption game:

“this is literally you when you see a bug” “me thinking about u at 3AM” “wait but look. the rat is crying bc the cheese is gone. that’s me without u” “the brainrot is real. here’s proof.”

felix // 필릭스

meme/tiktok type:

Wholesome couples. POV cuddles. Cozy TikToks with soft piano covers.

Animal rescue glow-ups. Minecraft cats.

Sends you “this is us” compilations like he’s not one of the hottest idols alive

The occasional thirst trap with “me if u ever leave me”

caption game:

“us when we’re 80” “this cat reminds me of the way you hold my hand” “also this one is just rly cute pls watch all 3 mins” “lowkey cried watching this idk why”

seungmin // 승민

meme/tiktok type:

Dry humor. TikToks where the joke is deadpan and subtle

Will not laugh at your meme unless it’s actually funny

Sends you roasts disguised as “random meme”

Occasionally soft but pretends it’s ironic

caption game:

“this is u when you get 3 hours of sleep and say you’re fine” “just so you know, this is what you look like when you lie” “also me. watching you simp for me. loser.” “(i love you tho)”

i.n // 아이엔

meme/tiktok type:

Gen Z humor. Audio layered. Text flying. Capcut on crack.

TikToks that make NO sense but somehow hit

Sends memes of himself. Reacts to your TikToks with TikToks.

“this you?” energy at all times

caption game:

“YOU IN 4K” “this is so us but also it’s you being feral” “me when you leave me on read for 0.03 seconds” “if you don’t laugh i’m blocking you (jk… unless?)”

[soldiersgirl]

— 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝟏-𝟖𝟎𝟎-𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐞 .ᐟ

summary — ben isn't willing to learn a lot about new, modern society and it's "made-up" words, but when it comes to you? he wants to finally give it a go.

cw — fem!reader x soldier boy, 18+ smut (mdni / wrap it up), phone/facetime sex, masturbation (f & m), fingering, jerking off, dirty talk, degradation, name calling (slut, whore, good girl, sweetheart, love, angel), daddy kink, self-tasting, swearing.

word count — 2,580 words

during your time babysitting the infamous supe, who had also somehow become your boyfriend, you had fallen into a comfortable routine of teaching each other things about your eras. his lectures talked about the high-roller parties and the actresses he got into scandals with, the golden age of cinema (aka the movies he starred in) and the high passion of a war-torn america. however his lectures soon progressed into how to properly enjoy a good aged whiskey and an assortment of pills.

whilst you diligently spent your time trying to educate and update him on everything he had missed over the past 40 years, or so, in the company of the russians. everything from slang, fashion and popular culture to the most important; how to use the phone and internet. no modern man could function without that and despite how stubborn soldier boy was, to his dismay, you were more. and no matter how much he denied loving it, he really did.

after weeks of pestering him, begging him to let you give him a crash course, he finally agreed. or rather yelled that "if it got you off his fucking case, then he would." so, you started off gently with a flip phone, which you thought couldn't be easier to use. no one breaks a flip phone. except for ben. he grunts and curses as he presses the keys multiple times, his attempt at typing before swiftly breaking the phone in two and chucking it into the corner of his living room with precision.

"the buttons were too fucking small." he defends himself before settling back into the couch and stared at the tv, ignoring the dumbfounded look painted across your face. the next day you skip into the living room with a new gift and smile widely at him as he rips open the packaging and scowls at you as he pulls out the newest smartphone.

"the fuck is this? portable tv? can't watch shit on this fuckin' thing! where would i put in the vhs?" he mumbles as he examines the device before haphazardly throwing it on the kitchen table, where you scramble after it. good thing you had gotten that deal on screen protector and hunters green phone cover, matching ben's suit.

"adapt or die, grandpa." you scoff. "this thing is gonna become your life after i've shown you how to use it." you wave it in his unimpressed face. "you can stream shit on netflix, watch your movie clips on youtube, listen to that awful shit you called music on spotify and, most importantly, order anything right to your door with amazon and uber eats." you pat his head and he swats your hand away before grabbing the phone and frowning at it. he sighs and looks up at you with those puppy eyes that harden under your hopeful grin.

"i don't know fuck about shit or shit about fuck, but what i do know is that those are all made up words." he lowly chuckles, brushing away his bangs.

"oh beeeen..." you sigh and sit down next to him. "listen, you'll be able to call or text me whenever you want." you flutter your eyelashes at him. "send videos... pictures." you trail off, tracing your finger over his veiny arms, hoping he'd get the message. but as he always does, he understands it at face value and just grimaces at you.

"why the fuck would i want that? not some snivellin' pussy who needs to talk to his girl all the time." he scoffs. with that, you snatch the phone away, stuff it in your bag and look back at him with a frown. the rest of the evening, unfortunately for ben, was spent with you giving him the silent treatment as he slowly grovels his way back into your good graces and begrudgingly accepting the smartphone all while you snuggle up to him and explain the ins and outs.

despite your best efforts and loudest protests, you were stuck at home as ben had decided for you that you weren't allowed to put yourself in harms way, not now that you were his girl. thankfully, teaching ben how to use a phone significantly eased your heavy heart when he went away on missions, now you didn't have to rely on butcher to tell you whether or not he was alive, and that prick barely checked his phone to begin with.

you lounged around in ben's signature blue new york giants button up alongside your go-to order for sushi and new girl, your favourite comfort show, blaring on your tv before you settled in for another uneventful evening; whilst ben and the boys got to have all the excitement and fun. as the evening dwindled on after watching god-knows how many episodes and doom scrolling on your phone, you found yourself reaching a new height of boredom and loneliness. you had gotten so used to ben that whenever you had a moment alone, your thoughts wandered to him immediately.

his distinctive earthy scent as he towers over you. your fingers graze over your white cotton underwear as you tease yourself. his cocky smirk as you whine and moan underneath him, at his mercy. you push against your bundle of nerves and you can't help but let a small whimper escape you. the way he fills you like no one else and fucks you like his hunger can't be sated. you slip your fingers under your waistband and lose yourself in the feeling of your fingers delicately rubbing over your needy clit. you hum in pleasure as you let your imagination take over and allow your fingers to explore yourself as you bite into your lip to quieten your whimpers when you quickened your pace.

PING!

"fuck." you groan in annoyance as you pull your hand away from your aching pussy and reach out for your phone. you had been waiting to hear how the mission went from ben and finally, it seemed he had a second to spare for you. you scoff inwardly as your eyes glance over his message, as if you hadn't been waiting anxiously for hours to hear from him and this is what you get.

bennie boo<3: wyd

you: why are you texting me like you're a horny teenage boy and not my boyfriend??? you: try again and maybe i'll actually talk to you

as the grey tick turned to blue, indicating that ben had read your message, you can picture the theatrical way he would roll his eyes and huff at your tone of message and you can't help but giggle.

bennie boo <3: my beautiful princess with a disorder bennie boo <3: talk to me, wyd

"asshole." you whisper to yourself as you knew that ben sent that message with a smug smile plastered across his face, anything to get you riled up. you don your own sly grin as you type truth about what you were doing.

you: touching myself and thinking of u, ofc???

"bennie boo <3" flashes across your phone and you laugh out loud, that man never denied himself of any pleasures and you knew he'd be desperate to see you fall apart for him. you let him suffer for a few seconds, keeping him on his toes as you laid down in your bed, readjusting your top so the valley of your breasts peeked out underneath his top and checking your makeup before answering.

"what took you so fuckin' long?" his rough voice floods your ears and your smile automatically widens.

"i miss you too, ben." you sigh.

"yeah, yeah. whatever, you know i miss you. blah blah." he sighs on the other end. you can hear his bed sheets rustle as he gets comfortable in his motel bed, still wearing his supe-suit trousers and his usual white, tight wife-beater. his shield, guns and supe-suit top were strewn around the room and a 6-pack of warm beer stood unattended on his nightstand.

"how did it go?" you sigh as you mindlessly twirl your hair, imagining your big, tough boyfriend lazily lay on his bed, his strong hands wrapped around his phone and the other around him.

"cut the bullshit." his voice was strained. you had him exactly where you wanted him. it was almost too easy. you shook your head and giggled into your shoulder before feigning ignorance.

"what do you mean, babe? i'm just aski–"

"don't fuckin' make me repeat myself." he interrupts. "touchin' yourself without my permission? you're in some fuckin' trouble, you know that, don't ya sweetheart?" you heard the familiar sound of his zip being pulled down and a soft sigh followed swiftly. "what were ya doin', love? huh? touchin' your pretty pussy and thinking of me?" his tone softens as he coaxes your sins out of you like a trained priest at confessional.

"mhm." is all you can manage as ben's shallow breathing is all you can think about.

"yeah? want to show me how, baby?" he chuckles darkly. before you can answer, you hear him swear and furiously tap on the screen before whispering to himself "which fucking button... motherfuckin' technology." you cover your mouth to hide your laughter, but ben hears and breathes out a tirade of curses as he struggles. you press the camera button and there he was. tired, frustrated and as handsome as ever as he lets his eyes glide from your face down to his top that practically swallowed you up and let out a loud groan. "fuuuuck, baby." he runs his hand over his face, freshening himself up.

"i'm wearing those cute panties you got me, you know. the ones with the lil bow on front." you admit as you tilt your phone down and teasingly pull up the top and reveal them to him. so white and so pure; a contrast to the wet patch that was pooling in them as you watched his tortured face. your fingers dance over the top, fiddling with the bow and circling your clothed clit. you keep your eyes focused on him as you notice his composure falter and his phone slightly shake as he slowly jerks himself off.

"take them off. now." he dictates, his tone rough and his voice hushed. you waste no time in peeling them off, pulling them down your legs and revealing a string of cum between your slick folds and damp underwear. ben sighs heavily as his eyes rest on your needy pussy as it begs for your attention, for your touch. "fuckin' touch yourself for me. show me what you did. be a good girl for daddy, c'mon." you lick the tip of your middle finger before connecting it your yearning clit and rub it in swift and quick circles as you watch ben's lip twitch and his eyes widen with desire. he furiously taps his screen again. tap, tap, tap. followed by a harsh whisper of "how the fuck do i turn this shittin' camera around?!" suddenly, a filter appears over ben's face and a groan, that came from a place of utter exasperation, pulls you out of your pleasure. a loud laughter erupts from you as ben's face had been transformed into a dog's and his anger was only escalating by the second.

"babe," you say through gritted teeth to contain your laughter. "press the left button and then the middle one." you calmly explain, only getting a grunt from ben in return before he turns the camera around and you stop in your tracks. his muscular hand wrapped his already-leaking thick cock, each vein prominent and the tip a deep shade of pink. his experienced fingers graze over his tip and he shudders at his own soft touch before he leisurely rubs it and resumes his iron grip at the base.

"yeah, that fuckin' shut you up, didn't it? cock-hungry whore." he sniffs as he jerks himself off, each stroke slow and calculated. "touch your pussy for daddy, baby. wanna see." your fingers return to your clit and in unison, you both let out pained whimpers as you wish it was one another's hands on your bodies. "how does it feel baby, hm? wish it was daddy's hands instead, don't you?" he spoke with a playful lilt before spitting into his hand and continuing his lazy pace as his piercing gaze watches you toying with your swollen clit.

"yes, daddy. i wish you were here, filling me up. fucking me like the good girl i am." you whine as you unconsciously buck your hips and apply more pressure to the frantic pace on your glossy bundle of nerves.

"good girls don't touch themselves." ben states matter-of-factly.

"daddy," you huff. "i was always thinking of you, though." you snivel as your fingers slowly glide down and slide with ease into your weeping cunt. with a loud moan you push them all the way in and curve them to hit the spot. a tirade of curses tumble past your lips at the sensation.

"so fuckin' dirty, oh my god," ben mutters through a soft exhale. "fuck yourself on those fingers, slut." you thrust them into you at a feverish pace, searching for your much-needed release as ben urges you on, encouraging you. "c'mon, show daddy how much you miss him. show me how wet you are, show me." you pull out your fingers and he marvels at them, covered in your slick. "yeah, baby. put them in your mouth, tell daddy how good you taste." you flip the camera and obediently wrap your lips around your glossy digits, batting your eyelashes at the camera as you suck on them, moaning at the taste.

"god, i taste so good, daddy." you hum around your fingers as your tongue dances over them. "wish you were here to taste me." you pout.

"when daddy comes home, he's gonna fuckin' devour you, baby. just you wait, you won't be able to think straight when i'm done with you." a soft groan tumbles past your lips as your fingers find their way to your entrance and massage themselves against your soft, velvet walls. bens pace picks up and all you can both hear on the line is your muffled whimpers and ben's shallow breathing. as your peak finally draws closer, you throw your head back in pleasure and grimace as your muscles tighten and clench.

"i'm so close..!" you whine.

"cum for me, bab–" ben's voice suddenly cuts off and you whip your head up in surprise. you freeze immediately and drop your phone in disbelief. he forgot to charge his fucking phone, again. you curse under your breath, clean yourself up and grumble in frustration as you turn your attention back to your tv show, unsatisfied. ben, on the other hand, had lost his shit, chucked his phone into the wall and sending it through to the neighbouring room. hughie peeked his head sideways and stared through the phone-shaped hole in his wall at a fuming, half-dressed ben.

"give me your cock-suckin' phone!" ben yells as hughie just stares before slowly nodding and handing it to him through the hole with a hidden smirk. "wipe that smirk off yer fuckin' face, asslicker. i swear to god." ben growls before settling into his bed, typing in your number and waiting impatiently for you. finally, after the third ring he hears your soft voice. "let's finish what we started, angel." he murmurs with a shit-eating grin as you giggle on the other end.

a/n: this is kind of the second part to perv!reader x soldier boy that you guys loved so much <3 HUGE shoutout to @emeraldcrs (ily!!) for the idea, i had so much fun with this and enjoyed making it a bit funny too, hehe -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth (comment or inbox me to be added)

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

House Calls.

Summary: Aaliyah has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his college buddies bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student. ANGST.

Part three

1999:

Walking into a hair salon was an interesting experience. Pulling into an overly stuffed parking lot in futile anticipation of being in and out “in a decent time.” opening the salon door and walking into a room overflowing with peering eyes full of a mixture of both curiosity and judgment that covers you from your head to the bottom of your favorite shoes. Slinking down into chairs that go from stuffed and comfortable to hard as steel while waiting for the appointment that was due more than an hour ago. Out bursts of group laughter, “girllll, no she didn’t!” and “say what now?!” coupled with the familiar smell of hair sheen spray and neutralizing shampoo that seeps through the fog of sporadic steam that fills the air from the super-wattage, neck-burning hair dyers, steamers and marcel ‘top of your ear frying’ irons, reminds you that this is going to be long day.

Aaliyah Noelle Davenport sat in an unoccupied salon chair within a popular salon in Baton Rouge called Gina’s. Gina’s had been around for over ten years. The pages of her coloring book she was currently scribbling in with old crayons kept her busy so she wouldn’t go snooping around like last time. She burned her fingers touching a curling iron heater.

“He’s back home…coming to pick Aaliyah up in a few…”

Aaliyah’s mother, Rochelle, was currently doing a roller set on a client. She worked the rollers around thick strands of hair with her long, curved, golden nails. Rochelle was a hard working woman. She did hair and worked night shifts at a local motel to pay the bills. Anything to make up for Aaliyah’s father being in prison for six years.

She was the epitome of 90s fine: Rochelle embodied a beauty that was both timeless and undefinable, leaving a permanent imprint on anyone that crossed her path. Her unique blend of elegance, confidence, and charisma inspired and resonated with Aaliyah. That kind of fine isn’t just about looks — it’s about attitude, style, and an effortless grace.

“Make the money, don’t let it make you. Money can't make you anything…only your actions can make you something. Money can buy you things that make life easier but one thing it can’t buy is happiness…”

“Girl, stop acting like you ain’t happy he back home...”

One of her mother’s friends and fellow stylist, Donna, was flipping through one of many hair catalogs the shop owned.

“The less he know the better,” Rochelle added the final touches before she walked her client over to the hooded dryers, “It was one time, that’s it…”

“Rochelle, if you don’t calm your fucking nerves. He won’t ever find the fuck out if you don’t hush!”

“Okay, okay…shit–that’s him coming up right now. Aaliyah?”

“Mhm?” Aaliyah mumbled from her seat while coloring in a teddy bear.

“Your father is here…come on and get ya stuff. He’s gonna take you back to the house while I finish up. C’mon, little girl!”

Aaliyah frowned and pouted her lip while packing away her crayons and coloring book.

“Fix that face. You got homework to do…”

She climbed down from her seat and slipped her Barbie book bag over her shoulders. A candy painted Donk with shiny rims slowed to a stop outside of the salon and Aaliyah’s eyes lit up when she recognized her father’s low–cut ceasar with the deep waves. He shut his door and strolled over to the entrance of the salon with swagger.

Roland Davenport AKA Pressure. He was a smooth cat from Baton Rouge with a nefarious past and a deep love for his daughter. Aaliyah was his entire world.

“Is that my little girl! What’s up, Princess!”

He scooped up his six year old and spun her around. Aaliyah giggled joyfully while clinging onto her father’s crisp white tee. His skin was the deepest brown and blemish free. He flashed his pearly whites at her before giving her a kiss to the forehead. Roland put Aaliyah down and then he made his way over to Rochelle.

Aaliyah watched her parents hug each other affectionately. Their lips connected with a gluttonous passion. Roland’s hands roamed down to cuff Rochelle’s dump trunk and she squeezed his bulging biceps in return.

“Stop! Stop…I’m with a client…”

“How long ya gonna be, baby? I was thinking ‘bout taking my favorite girls out to eat.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rochelle grinned flirtatiously, “Where to?”

“It’s a surprise…”

Aaliyah’s parents talked for a few more minutes before her dad led her out of the salon hand in hand. She skipped along the way. Roland opened the back door and took her back pack so that she could buckle in.

“Daddy, I wanna sit up front.” Aaliyah protested with her sweet little voice, “Please?”

“Liyah. You can’t sit up here today. Maybe next time, okay?”

Aaliyah hung her head before fastening her seatbelt. Roland made his way to the drivers side and climbed in.

“How was school today?” Roland questioned, staring back at his daughter through the rear view mirror.

“Good.” Aaliyah flashed a grin with no two front teeth.

“That’s not what ya momma told me…”

Her smile disintegrated.

Aaliyah fiddled with her pleated, khaki uniform skirt. She avoided her father’s gaze, afraid he’d appear angry and she would be in big trouble.

“Look at me, Liyah…”

She did as she was told, staring up at her father.

“I’m not mad. You had every right to defend yourself. ‘Dem lil’ boys won’t mess with you again after what ya did…”

Aaliyah had been dealing with constant bullying from two little boys in her first grade class. They would pull her long plats, kick the back of her chair, call her names, and other cruel things that always resulted in her crying in the bathroom.

“Now if these lil’ niggas wanna have kids of their own someday, they better leave my daughter alone or I’m putting foot in ass…”

Roland made a silly face at Aaliyah and she couldn’t help but to smile and laugh.

“How ‘bout we make a pit stop to grab a snowball?”

“YAY!!!” Aaliyah cheered, her little arms up in the air like she’d just had a victory lap.

Roland cranked the radio, Sho Nuff by 8ball & MJG blasting through the speakers. Aaliyah could feel the seat beneath her vibrate. She watched her father rap the lyrics, a sudden gush of humid air flooding the car when he let the windows down. Roland extended his arm from the window to greet people he knew, the Chevrolet Impala Donk slow gliding through the hood.

They pulled up to a snowball stand that was situated next to a bowling alley and roller-skate rink. Rolland turned his music down before looking back at Aaliyah over the headrest of his seat.

“Which flavor?”

“Georgia Peach!”

“Aight, munchkin. I’ll be back…”

Roland climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Aaliyah peered out of the open window, her eyes following her father’s retreating frame. What she hadn’t noticed, however, was the way an all black Escalade crept up, all four doors opening in unison.

Everything went in slow motion.

Repeated muzzle flashes sparked the air like it was the Fourth of July.

RAT–rat-rat-rat-rat!!!

Her scream pierced the air.

——

Those memories flooded Aaliyah’s mind that Wednesday morning. She’d woken up in good spirits, ready for her Ethics and Psychology class and a lunch date with a special someone. After showering, Aaliyah slipped on a pair of light grey leggings that molded into her hips, thighs, and booty. She paired it with a fitted, white T-shirt and low top Vans. Glasses on, messy hair pinned back with a claw clip, she threw on a denim jacket and collected her school bag near the front door.

Before she could even leave, a hard, booming knock on the storm door of her Shotgun House caused her forehead to wrinkle with surprise. She paused for a second before walking up to the door. Aaliyah brought one dark brown eye to the peephole.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Aaliyah flinched.

“Aaliyah! Open the door! I know you’re here!”

It was her junkie mother.

She didn’t look like herself.

Acne, dull skin, and self-inflicted wounds from picking at her face. Needle marks and collapsed veins from shooting up.

Rochelle was unrecognizable.

One look at her, and all the trauma from her youth flooded her mind. After her father was shot down, Rochelle went into a deep state of depression. She lost her job at the salon, and the pay checks from her motel job didn’t keep the bills paid. Rochelle had no choice but to seek help from a man. Any man that was willing. She sent Aaliyah away at the age of ten for a few years to live with her estranged grandmother, Ruby. Ruby was a strict, Christian woman with no tolerance for misbehavior or rebellion. She lived in a different Parrish in rural Louisiana, closer to Shelby Springs.

Aaliyah was made to do yard and farm work. She had Bible studies on weekends and couldn’t hang with many children because their parents weren’t ‘Godly Folk’. The only thing Aaliyah really enjoyed was horseback riding whenever her grandmother would visit a church friend. When Aaliyah was nearing fourteen, she started sneaking out to see an older boy. Word got around and Ruby lashed out on Aaliyah.

“I didn’t have sex with him! We were just kissing!”

Aaliyah wailed, hands raised to brace herself from her grandmother’s blows.

“You’re just like your mother! Can’t keep your legs closed! Don’t lie to me, Aaliyah! I know you slept with that boy!” Ruby shouted.

She couldn’t stay there any longer. Aaliyah called her mother that same night, begging her to come get her. Rochelle drove an hour out and when Ruby opened her door, Rochelle shoved past her mother.

“You put your hands on my child?! You evil bitch!”

Aaliyah watched from the top of the stairs with her packed bags. Rochelle and Ruby were in the middle of a screaming match.

“You asked for my help, remember?! She lives under my roof, she abides by my rules!” Ruby argued.

“But did I ask you to beat on my child?! Just the same ol’ shit with you! I can’t even rely on you to be there for my daughter—”

“OH! Now look who’s talking. You couldn’t even get your shit together after Roland died to be a mother. Which man is it now paying the bills, Rochelle?! Look at all this,” Ruby pointed to Rochelle’s jewelry and designer, “Don’t look like you struggling to me.”

Rochelle remained silent, scornful eyes glaring at Ruby.

“Aaliyah! Let’s go…”

She hadn’t seen her mother in almost four years. Rochelle looked…fancy.

“Sully is in the car…He drove me here…I missed you, Liyah…”

Ruby watched with folded arms. She locked eyes with Aaliyah, a look of guilt flashing across her face for just a second. They left without a backwards glance.

Aaliyah was very careful around Sully. He was a drug dealer, bringing home money and gifts to spoil Aaliyah. She became used to the revolving door of other criminals entering her home. She was just happy to with her mother again. Aaliyah focused on her studies and poured herself into cheerleading and hip hop majorette.

Eventually, things started to go downhill. Rochelle was introduced to harder drugs, Sully owed people money and he had gambling debts. Things in their home started to disappear, bills were piling up, and Sully turned violent. It took for Ruby and Aaliyah to fight back for Sully to finally leave. It opened the same wound of her father’s death, Rochelle unable to stay strong. Rochelle’s addiction became worse, so bad to the point that she would steal from her own daughter.

Aaliyah couldn’t handle it. As soon as she graduated high school, she got her own place and left her mother behind. It broke her heart, but in order for her to evolve, she needed to break free. Aaliyah hated working at Hooters, and when she turned twenty–six, she started stripping at Crazy Horse.

“Make the money, don’t let it make you…”

Aaliyah opened the front door, but the storm door remained locked. Aaliyah stared down at her mother. Rochelle looked desperate and more frail than the last time she showed up. She’d relapsed again.

“Hey, baby…”

Rochelle pressed her hands against the door.

“Can you help me? I need some cash—”

“I gave you five hundred dollars when I last saw you, momma. I see you back on that shit again…”

Rochelle hung her head in shame.

“I’m trying, Aaliyah. You don’t understand how hard it is.”

“You’ve tried for over twenty years now. I’m tired of helping you and all you do is use me. Weren’t you staying with Mama Ruby?”

She definitely wasn’t staying with Aaliyah.

“I can’t stay wit’ you?”

“Hell no.” Aaliyah quipped.

“I’m your fucking mother!”

“Did you forget what happened the last time you lived with me?! You stole shit from my house! I don’t trust you!”

Aaliyah didn’t need this. She had to go to school.

“Please…please, Li–Li. I’m hungry…I’m broke…pleaseeee…”

Aaliyah stared her mother down with a venomous glance. There will always be a soft spot for Rochelle, but the repeated hurt was exhausting. Seeing her mother like this broke her heart. She just couldn’t stop using.

“Okay…”

Aaliyah opened her storm door. Rochelle slipped inside quickly. Aaliyah kept a watchful eye on her mother while she admired Aaliyah’s cozy home.

“C’mon…”

They entered Aaliyah’s kitchen. Rochelle climbed onto a bar stool, peering around with a nervous look. Aaliyah opened her fridge, bringing out leftover catfish and grits she’d prepared last night for dinner.

“That piece right there…yeah…”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes.

She gave her mother the thickest piece of catfish and a good portion of cheesy grits. While the food heated, Aaliyah reclined her plush bottom against the counter. She stared her mother down, unable to shake the pain that fought to bubble to the surface.

“How’s school?” Rochelle questioned, unable to avoid picking at her skin.

Aaliyah tampered down her resentment and cleared her throat to speak.

“Good. I’ll be graduating in June.”

“That’s good, baby. Real good…June…How many tickets you gettin’?”

“Uhm,” Aaliyah checked on the catfish, “Not really sure yet.”

“Still dancing?”

Aaliyah rubbed her arms.

“No.”

The smell of the crispy fish wafted her mother’s nose. Aaliyah opened the oven to retrieve it. The grits on the stove top were nice and smooth now. After plating the food, Aaliyah wrapped it with aluminum foil and slid it across the kitchen island to her mother. She opened her pantry to grab a plastic fork and knife, securing it with some paper towels before holding it out towards her mother.

“I can’t sit here and eat?”

“You know you can’t…”

“Aaliyah—”

“Look, I have class. I’m gon’ miss it if you don’t take this shit and leave—”

“LOOK,” Rochelle stood, “I’m sorry you hate me so much. I’m sorry about all that shit, but I’m still your mother, Li–Li.”

“Oh? Last time I remember you being a mother was when I was six years old. Anything after that don’t count.” Aaliyah fired back.

Rochelle parted her cracked lips to speak, but her words stilled in her throat. Her tears flowed down her face and she wiped them away with the back of her dingy sleeve. Aaliyah stood before her with a rigid expression.

“Okay, I’ll leave…”

Rochelle grabbed her plate of food and Aaliyah stepped out of the way for her to walk in front of her. Tears prickled her eyes but she hastily pulled herself together. Aaliyah followed her mother towards the front door. She opened it, unable to reach her mother’s gaze.

“I love you, Li–Li…”

A solemn tear cascaded down Aaliyah’s face.

“…think you could look out for me?”

Aaliyah released a sigh before reaching into her bag. She plucked out whatever cash she had– one hundred and fifty dollars– handing it over to her mother.

Rochelle accepted it shamefully.

“Thank you, Li–Li. Take care of yourself…”

——

Professor Richmond carried his brown leather briefcase with him into the lecture hall. There were already students present the more he approached his desk in his brown dress shoes. His oceanic eyes swept the rows of students, his gaze zeroed into a vacant desk. Bringing his Apple Watch up, he was right on schedule. She would be arriving late today it seems.

Terry couldn’t go the remainder of his weekend into the early weekday without Aaliyah crossing his mind. She invaded and consumed him without her physical presence. He was two grand broker and overjoyed. He’d spend more on her in a millisecond. That shapely body is a walking sin. He found himself daydreaming of how it would feel to press his muscles into the softness of her curves. How would the curl of his biceps feel around her thighs? The ridges of his abdomen beneath her hands as she explored?

“I hope you all read up on Darwin and The Moral Sense. We’re jumping straight into discussion…”

Terry removed his navy blue suit jacket, then he rolled up the sleeves to his white, button down shirt that he wore tucked into matching navy blue slacks. He used a red Expo marker to write: Chapter Three of The Descent of Man. After capping the marker, he turned his attention to the class. With his pointer finger, he pushed his glasses back from the bridge of his nose.

“The keystone significance of morality in human distinctness is clearly asserted by Darwin in the first sentence…and the quote says….”

Terry snapped his fingers before pointing at a student within the second row with their hand raised. A white male with wooly, dark brown hair and a hooked nose.

“I fully subscribe to the judgment of those writers who maintain that of all the differences between man and the lower animals—”

“The moral sense of conscience is by far the most important, correct, James. But why is that?”

He cast his penetrating eyes across his students before flicking his gaze at the door. Another student bravely raised their hand and Terry motioned for them to speak. He continued to lecture shortly after that.

“We know from his notebooks that Darwin was reading the contemporary philosophical literature about moral behavior in 1837…”

As he continued, pacing in front of his desk, hands in the pockets of his slacks, the absence of Aaliyah weighed heavy on him. Minutes ticked away and soon enough, class was dismissed. Terry spoke with a student after class about the grade he’d given them for the midterm paper before packing away his things and leaving.

He made it back to his makeshift office space, shut the door and shuffled inside, careful not to knock his briefcase into stacks of decades old textbooks and files. With his thumb and pointer finger, he flicked on his table lamp, a yellow glow igniting the space. The swivel chair situated at his rectangular, wooden desk creaked slight as he settled down. Terry cracked his wrists, a habit of his when he felt too wound up.

iPhone in hand, he found Aaliyah’s contact.

“Here,” Terry handed Aaliyah his phone, “Put your number in.”

Aaliyah stared up at Terry through her curled lashes with a smile that enticed him into a further aroused state. She held out her small hand and made a come hither motion. Terry felt his phone slip from his fingertips and watched her with a sharp gaze and a slight smirk. She typed away, and he caught her eye before she saved it.

Terry texted her phone later that evening and Aaliyah replied with a kiss emoji.

Terry: Goodnight, Beautiful ❤️

Aaliyah: Nite Professor 😘

He texted her on Sunday, not saying much, just a simple greeting. He didn’t want to come off too strong, although he was fiendish for her attention.

Terry: Hi, Aaliyah. Hope you slept well ❤️ Any plans for today?

Aaliyah: Hi 😏 slept well thanks for asking. how was your sleep? & I’m currently out to brunch with friends.

Terry: You’re welcome. had a great rest. Brunch is fun. I’m sure you look great 😌

Aaliyah: I do 😉

Terry: SO BEAUTIFUL 😍

Aaliyah: Thank you ❤️ can’t wait to see you on Wednesday.

Terry: I’m looking forward to it ❤️

Terry sent Aaliyah a new text.

Terry: Hey, is everything okay?

It wasn’t like her to miss class. Terry unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt. He stood to stretch his sore legs from his workout earlier, easing his way over to the only window in his office. Terry looked out the window. The sky was tar-black and the large clouds seemed as if they were moving towards him. He heard a tapping on the window and then it became a pitter-patter. People ran for cover outside and umbrellas were opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Puddles began plinking as the rainfall became heavier. The roofs of the cars danced with spray and he could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees.

Buzz Buzz

Terry back tracked to his desk, reaching over and grabbing his phone.

Aaliyah: I’m sorry I missed class, Terry. Everything isn’t okay actually. I wasn’t feeling it. Can I call you?

Terry: Yes

He answered immediately.

Terry took a seat, “Hello?”

“Hi…”

Her voice sent chills down his spine.

Terry sensed her sadness.

“Want to talk about it?”

“…Can we still meet for lunch?”

“We can. It’s raining pretty bad out. Sure you’ll be okay driving?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m standing on my back porch right now…looks like it’s slowing down.”

“Okay. Uh…I was thinking Noir. It’s a nice jazz inspired restaurant and it’s a great vibe for cozy and intimate dining. Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No, that’s okay. I can meet you there. I know Noir.”

“Okay, drive safely, love.” Terry said.

“I will, you too. See you there.”

——

Noir didn’t have many patrons that afternoon, and Terry wasn’t complaining. He scooted himself into a booth, the dim light hanging above him so dull as if a shade had been cast upon it. His wet dress shoes squeaked slightly as he made himself comfortable. Terry ordered two filtered waters with lemon and hot water to soak the silverware. His legs swung back and forth beneath the booth table anxiously. Eyes that appeared turquoise glanced towards the entrance and he made out the silhouette of Aaliyah Davenport entering.

She must’ve gotten caught in the rain. She was dressed casually, a large Louis Vuitton tote bag over her right shoulder and a denim jacket flung over her left arm. She paused, eyes searching for Terry. He leaned further out of the booth and waved her down. Aaliyah fixed her gaze on him and a small smile graced her beautiful lips. Terry watched her saunter over, and the further she approached, the more her smile brightened.

Terry stood, fixing his pants since they had ridden up on his thighs and bulged around his crotch. Aaliyah slowed down to a stop before him, an awkward pause with nervous glances between them. Ultimately, Terry opened his arms and Aaliyah giggled before wrapping her arms around him. Terry caught a whiff of her hair; coconut and hibiscus. Mmm…he could feel the slight dampness of her curls through his dress shirt.

Her T-shirt beneath his fingertips was slightly wet from the rain droplets. Aaliyah broke away from him and gave him one last look before settling into the booth. Terry followed, situated across from her. He loved how natural and beautiful she looked. Her curls were slightly heat damaged at the ends, giving it personality. She wasn’t wearing her glasses today, Terry able to enjoy those pretty brown eyes again. Her hoop earrings swung as she swept hair from her eyes.

“I ordered us some water for now if that’s okay.” Terry mentioned.

“That’s ‘awrite with me, Professor.”

She has such a cute voice. Honeyed.

“I hope I didn’t miss anything crucial. I’m sorry.” Aaliyah apologized.

“Don’t be. We discussed chapter three…have you read it?”

“I have. No assignments?” Aaliyah replied.

“No—Aaliyah, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t care to talk about class. He wanted to know what was bothering her. She looked so saddened. It didn’t sit right with him.

“Uh…it’s a lot. I don’t wanna pour my shit out on you.”

“I’m willing to listen, if you’ll let me. No pressure…”

Aaliyah tilted her head and considered his words. Their water arrived and the waiter was ready to take their orders. Aaliyah hadn’t even looked over the menu.

“Give us another minute, please? Thanks…”

Aaliyah started flipping through the menu. The conical body of the saxophone in the background soothing.

Terry decided to order them an appetizer. Mini crab bites. He wasn’t too sure what to order for lunch.

“Do you like crab bites?” Terry asked.

“I do. That sounds good,” Aaliyah peered up at him with a timid smile, “I was thinking of getting a salmon ceasar salad.”

“Tasty,” Terry stroked his goatee, “I’ll probably do a shrimp Po’Boy.”

Their waiter circled back and Terry ordered everything. Alone again, they sipped their water and caught each other’s eye. Aaliyah pushed the wedge of lemon in her glass down further with her straw. She released a sigh before leaning against the table.

“My momma showed up today. Right when I was leaving for school.”

“Ya’ momma? I take it you’re not happy about that…”

Aaliyah’s eyes glistened. Terry wanted to reach out and stroke her soft cheek.

“My mom is a drug addict. Been an addict since I was sixteen.”

Terry allowed what she revealed to him to settle into his mind. He gave her a slow nod, and his eyes fixated on her deeper.

Aaliyah continued with a shaky voice, “After my father was killed, she became depressed and she blamed herself for the longest time. I was there when it happened…saw the whole thing,” Aaliyah rubbed her arms, “He hadn’t even been out of prison for a year and he was shot…”

Terry watched her straighten her back and sniffle, trying her best to calm herself down.

“My momma’s been in and out of rehab. I’ve help her, my grandmomma helped her…she stole from me, disappointed me every single time…” Aaliyah stared down at her hands, “And all she can think to do is show up on my doorstep with her hands out. That broke me.”

Terry twisted his full lips and his eyes fell to her hands. He watched the way her fingers fiddled. With an impulse so strong, he covered her hands with his much larger ones, stroking them with his thumbs. Aaliyah watched the way his hands worked to sooth her. Like he was massaging the stress out of her. Aaliyah exhaled, and then she locked eyes with Terry.

“I love her so much…”

“I know you do, I can see it…I can feel it.” Terry spoke softly.

He released her hands so she could thumb away a tear.

“I’m so sorry, Aaliyah. Sorry about your father. Sorry about your mom…”

“Thank you, Terry. I really appreciate it. I know this is supposed to be a nice lunch. I feel like I’m ruining it with my fuckin’ bullshit.”

“There’s nothing ruined, love. I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to open up to me about it. I just don’t like seeing you like this…your mom isn’t willing to get help?”

“That’s the thing,” Aaliyah took a sip of her water to help get rid of the lump in her throat, “She’s been in and out of rehab plenty of times. It’s this guy she keeps running back to. I don’t really remember his name…all I know is that he’s a dealer. She’s always had a thing for criminals.”

“Your grandmother, what’s up with that?—am I asking too many questions?”

“No, no,” Aaliyah shook her head, “My grandma is…her and my mom have always had a strained relationship. She’s attempted to help, but it never works out. There’s a lot of unresolved issues and my mom just can’t stick around long enough to deal wit’ it, ya know?”

“I get it. What was your father like?”

Aliyah frowned slightly, “He was so funny. Had so much swagger to ‘em. Loved cars. He got himself mixed up in some shit. He was doing a favor for a friend that turned out to be a robbery and it landed him in prison.”

She had this faraway look in her eyes, as if she were recalling the nostalgic feeling of being with her dad.

“…I saw him…die…and…” Aaliyah exhaled, “Took me a while to shake it…”

“Damn,” Terry hung his head, “Aaliyah, that’s heavy…”

Terry squeezed her hands and sought out her gaze. Aaliyah looked across at him and a single tear cascaded down her cheek. Terry released her hand and lifted from his seat, scooting in next to her. He snatched up a few napkins and dabbed her face gently.

“It’s okay…it’s okay, Aaliyah…so sorry…”

One hand rubbed her shoulder while she bawled up the used napkin in her hand. With one last sniffle, Aaliyah turned her brown eyes that reminded him of cognac through a glass and just then, she leaned in and those lips he’d desired to feel grazed his cheek with a feather–like touch before molding into his skin with a pressure so soothing his eyelash’s fluttered in satisfaction.

“Thanks for listening,” Aaliyah whispered in his ear.

Terry turned his head at an angle towards her. He gave her a searing, sideways glance.

“You’re welcome. Anytime…”

“Crab bites…”

Startled, Terry leaped up from his seat and returned to his side of the booth. Aaliyah thanked the waiter and they put in their orders. Terry and Aaliyah shared the appetizer. After chewing, Aaliyah licked her lips before speaking.

“Tell me a little more about Terry Richmond.”

Terry gave Aaliyah an attractive half–smirk. 

“Ask me and you shall receive.”

“Why teaching? Is that something you’ve always had a passion for?”

“That’s a really good question. Uh…yes. I was an instructor when I spent time in the Marines. I trained Marines for combat and firearms. Each day was new and exciting. I’ve always had this…desire to share knowledge, inspire others, and make a positive impact. Although my pops wanted me to continue into the Marines, I fell in love with Psychology. So…I got my PhD a year ago, and here I am.”

Aaliyah sat her face into her hands with her elbows propped up on the table, listening to him like he was retelling a fairytale story. Her eyes sparkled with joy at listening to him drone on about moving to North Carolina with his parents after Katrina, enlisted into the Marines, finished his undergrad, living there up until the age of twenty–seven before he moved back to Louisiana to attend LSU. Both of his parents are still together and living in North Carolina. Their food arrived and they tucked in, talking in between bites.

Terry was happy that Aaliyah is in better spirits. She smiled and giggled and it warmed his heart. She thanked him for cheering her up. Terry was honored. The topic veered to hobbies and interests. Aaliyah shared that she used to be a majorette dancer.

“Fishing? Living outdoors? Wow. I grew up doing farm work and riding horses but nothing that deep,” Aaliyah responded with a giggle.

“I can take you sometime…show you what it’s like.”

Terry cocked his head to the side and stared at Aaliyah. She held onto his gaze, the tip of her tongue peeking through her teeth. Terry wanted to wrap his full lips around her tongue and suck on it.

“So…is it a date then? Taking me fishing and camping, Professor?” Aaliyah teased.

“I’ll take you anywhere,” Terry slurped down some water.

“Anywhere?” Aaliyah dragged out with her cutesy voice and lips twinged with a sultry smile.

“Anywhere…anything for you.”

“I like the sound of that,” Aaliyah smiled, “You’ve earned the privilege to spoil me.”

They laughed in unison.

“How did I earn it, exactly?” Terry quirked a brow up and narrowed his eyes playfully.

“Giving me two thousand dollars cash was enough to let me know,” Aaliyah replied bluntly.

Terry chucked. He licked his lips, eyes scanning the space before he lowered his voice an octave, “You liked that, huh?”

“More than you’ll ever know…”

“Let me know, girl…”

Aaliyah tucked her chin and giggled.

“Let me know…” Terry persisted.

“I didn’t like it I love it. I’m a princess and I should be treated accordingly.”

Terry’s eyelids lowered slightly. He leaned in on his arms, eyes roaming her body before staring into her eyes again. He felt a sensation so deep within his ripped core. Something akin to butterflies. Aaliyah excited him. That mouth on her…he loved it.

“The minute I laid my eyes on you at that bachelor party…you were gettin’ all my money…”

“Good, that’s what I wanted,” Aaliyah nibbled on her straw with a teasing smile.

Terry licked his lips. He stared at her through his spectacles while his fingers drummed against the table slowly. Aaliyah sat her glass down and leaned back against the booth.

Staring.

They were practically eye–fucking each other.

Beneath that table, Aaliyah took it upon herself to run her pointed, left foot up Terry’s right leg. She did it achingly slow. It traveled up and up until she stopped with her foot propped up against his seat between his legs. Terry did one lazy sweep of his eyes over her foot and his teeth latched onto his bottom lip.

”Aaliyah…”

“Huh?”

Terry was going to lose it. Lose all his control. He was itching to walk her to the back of the restaurant, push her into a bathroom stall, and beat that fat pussy up with her chest against the door and his large hands keeping her pinned in place and stable on that dick.

“If I could tell you how beautiful you are…how gorgeous you are a million times I would. The moment I laid eyes on you at the beginning of the semester…I couldn’t ignore it. The feeling. I just knew that I had to have you…”

Aaliyah sat transfixed by his words. Lips slightly parted, eyes misty. He loved that look on her face. He wanted her to look at him like that in a kneeled position with his dick hanging in her face waiting to be tended to.

The thoughts in his mind…

“Wow,” Aaliyah chuckled breathlessly, “You want me that bad, huh? Wow…”

She acted as if a man never pined for her so deep like Terry. His unspoken energy even spoke volumes.

He. Needed. Aaliyah.

Professor or not.

“You don’t even know…”

“Mm,” Aaliyah shut her eyes and nibbled on her bottom lip. Her eyes opened slowly, “Terry…you gotta stop.”

They chuckled, Aaliyah’s thighs clenching beneath the table and Terry’s thighs swinging back and forth.

“Why stop?” Terry whispered.

Aaliyah kisses her teeth, “‘Cause…”

Her cute voice was enough to make the tip of his dick respond. He could feel himself leaking.

Thank God the waiter returned with the check. Terry paid the tab, and Aaliyah looked at him, not quite ready to go. Terry didn’t want to, but he had an evening course starting within the next hour or so and he needed to head back to campus.

Fuck that class. Look what’s in front of of you, nigga…

“You ready?” Terry questioned reluctantly.

——

They hadn’t even made it out of Noir for two seconds before it started again. They quickened their pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. Up to now, the sky had been postcard-perfect, but it was changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade was beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of clouds were forming, blotting out the old-gold colour of the sun.

Aaliyah got the first splatter of rain when she was halfway across the parking lot. She took shelter under her Jean jacket, hoping that she could see out past the shower. Terry’s brawny bicep pulled her closer while he covered himself with his own jacket. Droplets of moisture began to drip from the leaves. They were sprinkling onto the concrete like a gardener’s hose. Then the rainfall became more intense. A wall of rain moved over the oak trees and the drops were drumming against the tops of cars. So much rain was falling that the sound blurred into one long, whirring noise. It reminded her of the rotor blades on a helicopter.

Terry’s truck was closer. He rushed to fling the door opened, helping Aaliyah inside before sprinting to his side and climbing in. He slammed the door shut before tossing his drenched suit jacket onto the back seat. The humidity caused the car windows to fog as it poured. Eventually, the noise lessened and the drops faded into a musical chime. They sought out each other’s gaze and laughed.

Aaliyah threw her head back and sighed with contempt. This was a great lunch date. She was so happy she came. After bawling her eyes out about her mother, she needed some fun. Terry was more than just his looks. He was so refreshing. Such a gentleman. Hard working. So deeply fascinated with her. And it was more than just a lustful gaze. A gaze Aaliyah was more than used to. No. This man wanted her.

Aaliyah turned her cheek against the headrest to watch him. Terry felt her eyes and he gave her his undivided attention.

“I want to see you again, as soon as possible, Aaliyah.”

The urgency in his voice let her know he was a man about action.

“I’ll let you know what my days are looking like…okay?”

Terry hummed. The sound vibrated her core. He was impatient.

“Why not check on that now? Friday for an hour and thirty minute class ain’t enough.”

The bite in his voice sounded so much different from his professional tone. Aaliyah was stunned.

“Okay,” She pulled out her phone from her bag, “I have plans Saturday with friends…”

“Friday night?”

“Nothing.” Aaliyah replied.

“Then how about Friday? I’ll take you to dinner.”

“I have to study, Terry.” Aaliyah said, a playful glint in her eyes.

Aaliyah clocked the way Terry’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath. She imagined what he looked like beneath his business attire. Her imagining could only conjure up enough for her to fantasize about. She needed to see the real thing. Up close. Touch on him and memorize the planes and valleys of muscle threatening to bring the freak out of her. He looked like he could bench press and squat three times her size and Aaliyah wanted to test that theory. In many positions.

“I’ll help you study.”

“Isn’t that cheating?!” Aaliyah replied.

“It’s called tutoring, baby girl.”

Baby girl? Oh fucking hell…

Aaliyah became acutely aware of her nipples hardening. So did Terry. His eyes were glued to her breasts sitting up and jutted out.

Terry reached down beside him and his seat reclined back. Aaliyah’s heart skipped a beat. He gave her a pointed look. Aliyah’s eyes fell to his inviting lap…and a rather mountainous bulge…

It was as if the blood coursing through his body carried downward and pooled into his…

The veins in his arms…she could see them clearer now. His large hands resting against his thighs…that man spread…she felt a buzzing in her ears. The silent dominance in his posture…

Aaliyah lifted from her seat in a frenzy, Terry scooped her up with one powerful arm around her waistline and Aaliyah climbed over his lap. She sat herself snugly over his thick bulge that protruded from the crotch of his navy blue slacks like an eruption was waiting to happen. Her fat pussy sat on that protrusion and her breath hitched.

“Professor…”

Terry’s large hands double–cuffed her thick ass and he forced his grip upward, arching her back. Those thick, long fingers sank into the plump flesh as he groped her. One hand above her, pressed against the roof of the car, Aaliyah allowed the feeling of him squeezing and jiggling her cakes to consume her.

His glasses had fogged up. Their mingled, uneven breaths along with the sound of the leather seats filled the space between them. Aaliyah felt his hands smooth around to the junction between her thighs and booty and he applied force, making her ass move on its own—left cheek, right cheek— peering down over her shoulder while she was pressed against him. Aaliyah had her feet folded over his knees.

“Ughhh….”

A deep grunt followed by his arms wrapping around her waist tight. Biceps cutting into her back. The new position had Aaliyah sitting over his print harder. They sat like that for a few minutes, Terry’s nose was pressed against her neck, inhaling cool air and exhaling heated air that caused goosebumps to spread.

His arms loosened and Aaliyah tilted her head down to meet his eyes. She removed Terry’s glasses, resting them inside of his cup holder. The interior of his car smelled like blackberry clove and leather. He smelled like sandalwood. Those eyes. She got lost in them before tearing her gaze away to stare at his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Terry asked softly.

Aaliyah closed the space between them and one of Terry’s hands tangled into her wet coils while his other hand sat above her ass. They gave each other an open–mouthed kiss filled with a feverish need for each other. Wet smacking noises sent signals of arousal. Eyes closed, heads swiveling, equally tasty and soft lips molding into each other’s. Aaliyah allowed her hands to run beneath his dress shirt and white better, coming into contact with warm skin stretched over an impressive physique.

“Unh…”

She found herself moaning.

A single finger of Terry’s traced the waistline of her leggings. The sensation caused her body to shiver. Aaliyah sat up, leaning back against his steering wheel. Terry locked eyes with her while his fingers brushed from her waist down to her pussy. The heat radiating from there could have added to the fog on the windows .

“You deserve so much…you’re so fuckin’ sexy…”

Aaliyah adjusted herself to tilt her body against his so that Terry could put his hand down her leggings.

“Damn…it’s like that, baby?”

“Uh-huh…”

Terry’s hand cupped her fat pussy through her thong. Aaliyah clung to his shoulders while holding his gaze. Terry’s tongue—thick and pink—poked out and Aaliyah accepted the invitation of touching tongues with him. His fingers moved her panties to the side. He grunted into Aaliyah’s mouth.

“Damn…damn…”

His fingers rubbed up and down. Aaliyah spread her thighs further.

“There you go…nasty girl… spreading your legs like that…want me to touch all over this pussy…I like that…”

His words. She whimpered when his fingers started doing that up and down motion between her swollen labia and over her stiff clit. Aaliyah couldn’t believe how wet her pussy is. Creamy viscous spread all over her.

“Unh…Terry…”

“This what you think about? You think about me expressing how much I want you with my fingers in your pussy?…”

Two fingers sank deep. Aaliyah’s mouth dropped open. Terry’s brows furrowed and his eyes would flicker from her face to his hand moving up and down in her leggings.

“Aaliyah…this lil’ pussy tight, girl…I can’t believe I’m fingering you right now…”

He looked like he couldn’t believe it. Jade eyes intense.

“It’s s–s–so, wet…”

His words stuttered out in disbelief.

“My pussy like you just as much as I do, Professor…”

Aaliyah chewed on her bottom lip and her head lulled back. She started bouncing on his fingers. Damn, she missed this. She missed being fingered the proper way. She ain’t have dick in almost a year. The last man to have her was a mistake and not even worth mentioning. All she could focus on was keeping her legs spread and that pussy open.

“Good girl…you follow directions well…I like that,” Terry dragged his teeth along his bottom lip, “Look at me, Aaliyah…”

She did as she was told.

“I played your little game. Now what?”

He was toying with her.

This man…this was another side to him she was more than excited to see.

“Now you make me cum…make me cum, Professor.”

Terry chuckled, “Make this pussy cum?”

His fingers were knuckle deep.

“Send me home in a puddle, Terry…”

“Mmm…that sweet, little voice gon’ get you in trouble…keep moaning…uh-huh…mhmmmm…”

Aaliyah clamped down on his fingers. She lowered her head over his headrest and rode out her orgasm. So intense. It hit her like a freight train. Terry pressed deeper, stroking a spot that had Aaliyah crying. Terry gently withdrew his fingers. Aaliyah’s breaths slowed down, but her body was still recovering from the after shocks.

His hand resurfaced just as the sun peered over the storm clouds. The aroma of her pussy and the cum clinging to his fingers flooded her nose in the best way. Terry held his manicured fingers up. Aaliyah locked her gaze on creamy–white goodness all over his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.

Terry played with it. Rubbing his fingertips together. Spreading his fingers to see how slimy it looked. Aaliyah watched him suck each finger while his eyes never left her face.

“I taste good?” Aaliyah asked with a smile.

“Fuckin’ amazing, baby…”

Terry licked his lips and Aaliyah leaned in to steal a kiss. They kissed for some time before Terry broke away. He released a growl of frustration.

“I gotta head back to campus…I have an exam for my next class…”

Aaliyah pecked his lips before climbing off his lap and into her seat. Terry had his lip pouted while fixing himself. Aaliyah giggled, her eyes dropping down to his neglected erection. He caught her watching, grabbing her wrist and sitting her hand over his bulge.

It…was…thick…

“It’s so big…”

Aaliyah explored, squeezing and stroking…Terry swiped his bottom lip with his tongue and closed his eyes for a second to gather himself. Aaliyah removed her hand and Terry looked over at her like he didn’t want her to stop. Ever. She didn’t want to go, but Terry needed to get back to Campus. The last thing she’d ever want to do is sabotage his career.

“I don’t want to leave, but it’s okay…I’ll see you Friday, right?” Terry questioned, grabbing Aaliyah’s hand and kissing the back of it over and over.

“Yes. I’ll be there…”

Terry made a come hither motion and Aaliyah obeyed, slipping him some final tongue before they parted ways. Terry put his glasses back on, giving Aaliyah one final look of longing. She knew she had to be the one to leave him behind because if she didn’t, he would have skipped the class and spent the rest of the day proving to her just how much he needed her.

“Bye, Professor.”

Aaliyah opened the car door. She hopped down from his truck, grabbing her jean jacket. She blew Terry a kiss before shutting his door and heading towards her Jeep.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of her pussy on his tongue and her scent on his fingers while he lectured.

——

Aaliyah 🌹: Studying for an exam tomorrow. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I had a really great time today 😏 just might touch myself thinking about it. Sweet Dreams, Professor. Xoxoxo 👄

Terry moved towards his living room, an NBA game on in the background. He was shirtless with black joggers on and a durag over his short curls. A single gold cross chain sat in the middle of his pecs. The heels of his socked feet sat into the throw rug beneath him. He had grilled salmon, broccoli, and dirty rice for dinner.

Aaliyah.

That woman awakened something primal in him. Although his eyes bounced back and forth across the screen, his mind wandered to the way his taste buds craved more pussy. He had such a good time getting to know her. The way her lips felt like the softest cushion against his lips. The soft, little whimpers she made drove him crazy. He dragged a hand down his face.

He studiously ignored the monster in his joggers.

Could’ve been full of something else if you had just taken what was in front of you.

The game did nothing to calm down his body. He flipped through the channels looking for something, anything to distract himself from the length of his dick pulsing against his thigh. Terry shifted his hips on the couch, the fight to ignore it impossible.

“Send me home in a puddle, Terry.”

Terry could still hardly believe that he had Aaliyah in his lap, lips against hers, fingers deep in her pussy, and in public. The morbid excitement from earlier returned to him in tenfold, echoing in the throb of his manhood. He stared forward at the movements on his television unseeingly, fighting his mind as it tried to conjure up an image of himself between Aaliyah’s legs. Her pretty pussy gleaming at him naughtily making his mouth water. He wanted to be the only one to taste her for as long as he lived. To bury his face in between her buttery–smooth thighs to kiss, lick and tongue fuck her until she was a whimpering, quivering mess. His name a constant chant on her lips as she feebly tried to push him away after her orgasm. He wouldn’t stop. Not until all she wanted was him.

“Terry…Terry…right there, Terry…”

“Shit,” he grunted as he lifted his hips off the couch slightly, pulling his joggers down to his thighs, his engorged dick springing free, curving up to look at him. The purpling head waved in the air at him in greeting and invitation. Terry scrubbed a hand over his face at the sight, exasperated at his excitement for a girl he’d never seen naked and his inability to turn this shit off. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily to him if he didn’t take care of big boy first.

Terry’s eyes tracked a drop of precum as it dribbled over his head and down his pulsating shaft, collecting at his heavy balls. His dick was quite literally demanding attention, the veins overly pronoucned along the sides beating in time with his heart, and he was hard pressed not to give in. He hadn’t touched himself in a few days, work had kept him busy and the thoughts of Aaliyah after the bachelor party had given him a reason to. He quickly contemplated walking back to his room and using his fleshlight to get the job done before he decided against it. He was too needy to move now.

Tentative fingers ran over the velvety tip, collecting the beads of moisture there and spreading them around slowly. He closed his blue–gray eyes and pushed his head back into the sofa cushion with a flex of his hips. A harsh ‘fuck’ escaped his clenched teeth at the sensitivity. This was going to be quick, rough and lacking any of the finesse he usually showcased in any moment of sexual gratification. Even if that moment was just with him.

Terry’s dominant hand wrapped lightly around himself, trying to mimic how his Aaliyah would touch him, his other dragging over his exposed abdomen. His hand pulled down roughly, electing a low groan from him, as a fantasy bloomed in his mind. He could see her behind his lids that had fallen closed. Kneeling in front of him, between his parted thighs, bright eyes glued to his expression as she bit her lip in concentration. Watching him with that sassy look she got any time she wanted things her way.

Terry spread his knees as far as his joggers would allow, his hand twisting and pulling himself, gaining momentum with every tight pass of the head. Thumb coming up to swiped over the moist slit. Half curses spewed out of him as his pace quickens, his free hand coming down to fondle his sack. Rolling it between his fingers. The sensation doing nothing to abate his impending release.

“Fuccccckkk…..” his voice hitched and raised, battling with the enthusiastic wet sounds of his hand pumping.

His fantasy girl looked between him and his twitching dick, her hand moving as fast as he was. She licked her parted lips and leaned towards his thick pipe. Her warm breath only heightened his pleasure as she whispered to him lowly.

“Cum for me, Professor…”

And he did just that. His heels dug into the plush rug beneath him, using it for leverage as he fucked up into his hand, the coil in his belly growing tighter until it snapped. A croak of Aaliyah’s name bouncing off his walls. Thick spurts of warm cum landing haphazardly across his upper body didn’t deter him as he continued to drag his fist over his oozing dick until the motion became too much for his overly sensitive body. Legs shuddering with each pass.

Terry let go with a deep sigh, taut body relaxing slowly until he was sitting naturally in his seat. Terry glanced down at the evidence of his ecstasy littered across his chest, stomach and hand.

He huffed an annoyed laugh at how quickly his orgasm had taken him. And how hard his dick still was as it bobbed in front of him, his stamina was working against him this time around. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he gripped the base, pulling his hand with a slow rotation of his wrist upwards. His release making the perfect slick for round two.

“F–fuuck, babyyy…” Terry hissed at the feeling. He let go, palming the head a few seconds to stave off the mounting pressure. He would not come that quickly again.

Terry took his time, languidly pulling at his dick, unrushed. Rubbing his free hand up and down his stomach, tweaking his nipple quickly before sliding back down. He repeated this process as his hand gradually picked up speed.

The short nails on Terry’s left hand bit deliciously into his skin as he raked them down his chest and stomach. The sharp pain was closely followed by a wave of hazy pleasure causing his hips to buck faster into his hand. He abandoned all notion of slow, the tightening in his balls and urge to reach completion pushing fast and hard to the forefront of his mind. The juxtaposition of two intense sensations never failed to throw him over the edge.

Terry threw his head back, neck straining as he clenched his jaw. A constant string of yes, fuck, yes screaming in his head as his abdominal muscles flexed and clenched. His hand is almost a blur with how quickly he’s moving.

Twist

Grip

Plunge

Slap

Squeeze

Fucking Aaliyah did this to him. Those eyes, that smile, her voice, that goddamn body…

Flashes of her twerking in a split, making that ass clap, looking back at it, licking her lips with that tongue ring, talking her shit, how sweet her pussy tasted, how snug her walls were around his fingers.

He wished it was her. Her delicate hand working him. Her brown eyes drooping with arousal. Her heavenly voice encouraging him to go ahead. Let go. He could almost smell her. Almost taste her.

Her pussy was so fucking sweet. He couldn’t wait to suck on her pussy. He wanted to bury his nose into it and draw in a deep breath that almost burned his lungs. He wanted to make her unravel beneath his tortuous tongue and lips. Over and over and over—

He erupted at the thought, breathing hard and keening through his messy release. The second nut even more than the first. Still, he continued to stroke, torturing himself, milking himself like he wanted her to.

Terry was out of breath by the end of it. Body spent and tingling.

So much for not cumming quickly.

He sat there for a long time, waiting for the hollow feeling to retreat from his bones, his cum cooling on his skin. He needed to take another shower.

But what he really needed was her.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @helloncrocs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter @dashhoney25

[l4ndonorizz]

painting stream gone wrong / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: fred again... - just stand there

summary: what starts as a simple paint job quickly turns into a paint war, a kiss, and a live-streamed moment neither of you expected… especially not in front of thousands of fans

wc: 1.1k

The plan was innocent enough. Lando had convinced you to help him paint an accent wall in his apartment, making it seem like a fun project for the night. But of course, being Lando, he had another idea in mind—he wanted to stream the whole thing for his fans. The chat had been buzzing since the moment the stream started, everyone excited to see what chaos might unfold.

You stood side by side in front of the blank, white wall, paint rollers in hand. Lando had the stream set up at the perfect angle, giving his fans a full view of the soon-to-be colorful masterpiece.

“Alright,” Lando said, dipping his roller into a tray of bright blue paint, his grin already too mischievous for your liking. “Let’s see if we can make something that won’t get us laughed off the internet.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you dipped your roller into a soft lavender paint. “I’m not making any promises. You’re the one who thought it’d be fun to do this on stream.”

Lando turned to the camera, addressing the chat with his signature grin. “What do you guys think? Masterpiece or disaster?”

The chat exploded with comments, half of them betting on disaster, while the others rooted for you to somehow pull off a miracle.

You both started out pretty strong. Lando made wide, sweeping strokes across the wall while you filled in smaller areas with pops of lavender and green. The banter between you was light, and the chat seemed to be enjoying the friendly competition as you worked side by side.

But you should’ve known it wouldn’t stay serious for long.

Out of nowhere, you felt a cold splatter of paint hit your arm. Your eyes widened as you looked down at the splotch of blue that now stained your shirt.

“Lando…” you said slowly, turning to face him.

He had the audacity to feign innocence, holding his roller up like a shield. “What? I thought your side needed some color.”

The chat erupted in laughter, emojis flooding the screen as you grabbed your brush and dipped it into the nearest paint tray. “Oh, you’re not getting away with that.”

Before he could dodge, you swiped a streak of green paint across his chest, leaving a long line over his shirt. His mouth dropped open, eyes wide in mock horror.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” Lando stepped closer, flicking his roller at you and sending splatters of blue all over your arm.

“Lando!” you shrieked, laughing despite yourself as you backed away. “I’m supposed to look semi-normal after this!”

“Too late,” he grinned, grabbing a paintbrush dripping with pink. “You’re in this now.”

Before you could react, he swiped the brush across your cheek, leaving a bright streak from your temple to your chin. The chat was going wild, the chaos unfolding exactly as they’d hoped.

“That’s it,” you muttered, grabbing your own brush and swiping it across his mouth without hesitation, leaving his lips covered in bright yellow paint. “How do you like that?”

Lando froze, his eyes going wide with surprise as he processed what had just happened. His lips, now covered in yellow, twitched as he fought to hold back laughter. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he stepped closer, closing the space between you.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble now,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You tried to back away, but your giggles made it impossible to move fast enough. Lando’s hands found your waist, and in one swift move, he swiped his paint-covered fingers across your other cheek, leaving bright streaks of color in their wake. You gasped, playfully shoving him back, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours.

“Lando, don’t—” you started, but before you could finish, he gently pressed his paint-covered lips to your cheek.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the playful energy between you suddenly shifted. You blinked, realizing how close you were, how his warm breath brushed against your skin. His eyes met yours, and for a second, everything else disappeared—the paint, the mess, even the stream.

Without thinking, you reached up and smeared more yellow paint across his cheek, then down to his lips. “How do you like that?”

But before you could pull away, Lando’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, you’re not getting away that easily.”

And then, in a move that caught you completely off guard, he leaned in and kissed you—right there, in the middle of his living room, paint smeared between your lips and his. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if this was really happening. But when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his hands sliding up to cup your face.

Your heart raced as you kissed him back, the world around you melting away as you got lost in the moment. You’d always had this playful back-and-forth with Lando, but you never imagined it would lead to this—kissing him, covered in paint, in the middle of a live stream.

The sudden realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.

“Lando,” you mumbled against his lips, trying to pull back. “The stream.”

He froze, pulling back just enough to glance at the camera. His face, still smudged with paint, went slack with realization. “Oh. Shit.”

You both turned to the screen, where the chat was exploding with comments, emojis, and what looked like a million laughing faces. The viewers had seen everything. Your face burned as you wiped a hand across your mouth, trying to clean off the paint (and maybe some of the embarrassment).

“Well,” Lando said, his grin returning as he faced the camera, “that escalated quickly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite the situation. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“Oh, I’m fully aware,” he chuckled, wiping paint from his chin. “But come on, you have to admit that was worth it.”

You shot him a playful glare, though you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “I guess the wall can wait.”

The chat had gone into overdrive, spamming everything from “FINALLY” to “THIS IS THE CONTENT WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR,” and while you were still flustered, you couldn’t deny that the moment had been… well, perfect.

Lando winked at you, still catching his breath. “So… do we keep painting the wall, or do we give the stream what they really want?”

You rolled your eyes, smudging more paint across his face. “We finish the wall, and maybe we’ll figure out what happens next.”

[targaryenluvs]

— HONEYMOON BLISS

pairings: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader, percy jackson x sister!reader

summary: your relationship with luke was pure joy, but it seems your happiness and love leads to the two of you slipping up.

warnings: none really, fluffy, giggly reader, suspicious percy, flirty luke and annoyed reader, clarisse and chris r detectives, bickering luke and y/n, percabeth crumbs

a/n: it’s coming close to the end, very scary i swear 😭😭 i thought it would take me ages to write this story but i’ve uploaded all chapters in one day and written them lmao

wordcount: 1.2k

taglist: @songofthesuns @gayforyelena @taloulalila @honeydanny @7s3ven @sssi-nr @percabethtears @gr1mes-cc @2hiigh2cry @10ava01 @ahh-chickens @fangirl-swagg @anotherblackreader @midmourn @lovelyforesst @urfavpogue @lilacspider @mysteris-things @whoreyzontal @lunalixya @dangelnleif @wordsarelife

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv - finale out now!!

iii. honeymoon bliss

the smile on your face was very wide. in your hand was a red lipstick you’d long forgotten. “what’s that?” luke hovered over you as you jumped back, “announce your comings and goings castellan, you scared the shit out of me.” luke grinned as he leaned against the wall, your eyes couldn’t help but trail over his arms.

his sleeves were rolled, specks of paint all over.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“kill yourself, my peace will last longer.”

“ouch, who hurt you?” luke came closer as you placed the cap on the lipstick, “everybody on earth, how do i look?” it wasn’t too bold, a nice color nonetheless , one of your favourites. “perfect, as always.” you smiled before pressing a kiss to his lips, than his cheek, than his jaw. “okay now run along, peeta.” luke’s face contorted, “hate to break it to you, but i’m luke.”

you slapped your palm against your forehead, “i know, i’m calling you peeta, like from hunger games? he paints and bakes?” luke crossed his arms as he stared at you wondering, “there’s a game for hunger? that’s horrible.” you smiled as you kissed him again, “ill explain later, now go before clarisse murders you for being late.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading out, a salute sent your way as he approached the door, “yes ma’am!”

it wasn’t until it was too late that you’d realised, his face was covered in lipstick. but clarisse and chris noticed straight away. “so, you wanna tell us what you’ve been up to?” chris asked as he continued directing the paint roller up and down. “what are you talking about?” clarisses laugh rung out through the air, “i’m talking about the fact that you’re face is covered in lipstick.”

shit. luke clamoured to the nearest window to view your work, he looked pretty nice, he thought. but the stares from chris and clarisse brought him back, “it’s nothing, get back to painting.” and as much as luke would love to wear the marks, he raised his sleeves to wipe them off.

clarisse would not stop staring at your lips, “yknow, if you wanna kiss me, you could’ve said so.” you said as she shoved your arm, “as gorgeous as you are, no.” you leaned against the palm of your hand, “got your eye on someone? starts with an a? b?” her foot collided with your shin before you could continue you any further.

as you rubbed it up and down you smiled, “duly noted.” clarisse picked at her food, “as much as i love having you here, why are you at our table?” you sighed, “percy takes forever apparently. usually at the idea of food he comes running.” you laughed as percy flicked your ear, “ow! where have you been?” you stood up and walked to your table, not without a wave towards the ares cabin.

“i barely got away from annabeth, she was working me to the bone.” percy’s eyes immediately flicked to the food infront of him. “oh please you’re as skinny as a twig kelpie.” percy tilted his head, “you’re my sister, which means you’re connected to the sea. yet you’re still calling me kelpie? what even is that?” the goblet in your hands currently held liquid gold, otherwise known as mountain dew, “i don’t know kelpie.” you took a sip from your goblet whilst percy inhaled his food.

“hey percy, y/n.” luke’s voice called out as he walked over to the two of you, you practically froze up. you hadn’t seen him all day since he was currently repainting the hermes cabin after someone, (kids from the ares cabin who’d then blamed their siblings for putting them up to it. which caused them to end up at the infirmary and clarisse painting as a punishment) took their masterful artistry from off their page and onto the walls.

“i hate to ask, but i need more people to help me out, percy?” his mouth was currently stuffed full and you couldn’t help but laugh, “the foods not going anywhere perce, and yes he will help, won’t you percy?” your tone wasn’t exactly asking him, but he didn’t want to paint. you could tell by his lack of response that he wasn’t exactly elated. “i’ll talk to him, he’ll come soon enough. you heading up?”

and so percy watched as the two of you walk away, laughing at you tripping over. “shit, you okay bab—,” your head snapped up at the slip, “i’m fine. it’s just my lace.” you interrupted as luke handed you his tray.

luke bent down as you clutched onto his plate and your own, he patted his knee as you rested your foot. he made quick work of your laces, double knotted and all. “what’s that? world record time?” you scoffed, “you wish.” luke feigned shock, “no faith jackson, no faith.” it was a running joke, your last name being jackson. even if it wasn’t, percy was your brother. and you didn’t really mind it, your parents weren’t exactly heartwarming.

“i have faith, in your failure.” he clutched his chest, “you’re killing me here.” you smiled, “good.” chris’s jaw was quite literally hung open, before clarisse shut it and chris mentally ran laps at the fact that she’d touched him. “they’re so together.”

“undeniably.”

“what’s undeniable?”

chris jumped back at percy’s sudden intrusion into the conversation, “cmon man.” percy shrugged, “what’re you guys talking about?” clarisse rolled her eyes, “none of your business, learn some manners and stop butting into conversations.” it was percy’s turn to roll his eyes, before they focused on the two of you.

“her laces are double knotted, they were untied two seconds ago, she never double knots.” chris rose his eyebrows at percy’s observant eyes, “luke tied them.” he turned back to the picnic table as clarisse turned to her siblings. leaving percy to sigh, “guess i’m painting after all.”

i mean, he had to keep an eye on you. right?

percy had been painting for a record time of ten minutes, before you’d managed to get annabeth to take him away so you could be with luke. she’d unsurprisingly caught on pretty quickly, especially when the two of you had accidentally worn eachothers shirts to the bonfire.

“what’re you doing here seaweed brain?”

percy visibly jumped at annabeths voice, to luke’s amusement. “you alright there?” percy’s thumbs up was a quick response as the boy turned to annabeth, his face was beat red. “hey, annabeth. what’s up?” his voice crack caused luke to laugh, and for percy to roll his eyes.

“i need someone to train with.”

“that’s nice.”

“i’m choosing you.”

“that’s not nice.”

annabeth crossed her arms, her foot tapping impatiently against the floor. she was waiting for him to give in, and her harsh stare was more than enough for him to run after her. you walked to luke with a smile, he was currently bent over as he dabbed his brush in the paint. “nice ass castellan.” luke grinned at your voice, “thanks, yours is… nice i guess.” you punched his arm.

“i think we should go swimming tomorrow.”

“you think?” your eyes flitted back up to his, before returning to painting.

“yes! thank you. i’ll pack everything don’t worry. we should bring the camera.”

“who said i agreed?”

“you didn’t say no, you didn’t shake your head, nothing indicating towards a no. you said, ‘you think?’ you’re asking me if i really want to go, and i do.”

you couldn’t help the smile that came over your face, dam, luke castellan knew you like the back of his hand. “if you feel like skinny dipping, i’m not against it.”

“castellan!” your voice was shrill as you chastised the man, accidentally flicking paint up at him as your hand waved around, his smirk was undeniably devious.

“oh it’s on.” he took his roller and ran it across your face as you shrieked, “i’m going to murder you!”

[daycourtofficial]

Now I’m in exile seeing you out

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 4k | warnings: none

Summary: a follow up to you’re losing me - You've reached your tipping point where you can't forgive Azriel's constant choice of work over you. Can he fix things? Or did things get wildly out of hand and it's too late?

Author’s note: you guys loved part one, hopefully this offers a satisfying conclusion 🥰

2k celebration masterlist

Your new apartment was quiet, not even your neighbors were making noise. You had grown accustomed to the silence the past few months - Azriel always being gone had left the house a certain way - too large, too quiet, too much without him. This silence felt different.

It wasn’t full of expectation - of wanting Azriel to come through the door or expecting him to treat you like he did in the before.

Now you’re in the after, your finger feeling light from the lack of the ring on it. Fae don’t usually wear rings - a human custom that Feyre had told you all about, one that Azriel found quite romantic.

“So that way when we are buried and our scents are gone, if anyone found our bodies, they would know what we were.”

His words were romantic, but now the tan line on your finger just made you feel hollow, as if this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Any sound you made just echoed through the too empty space - you had foolishly gotten rid of most of your previous furniture when you and Azriel bought a house - your new furniture not arriving for a few more days. Feyre had found you this apartment rather quickly when you showed up at the River House in the middle of the night, uncertain of where else to go. She and Rhysand had agreed to let you stay there until you found a place of your own and they also agreed to not tell Azriel where you were.

“We could start fresh,” you had said to him, mainly wanting a good enough reason to throw out the couch you’ve had for half a century. But now all the new furniture was left behind, in a house too big for one occupant, probably laughing at your past words.

A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts, and you look through the peephole to find Feyre standing outside with a large plant of some sort. You unlock the door, letting her in. She gives you a soft smile and hugs you, the absurdly large plant making it somewhat difficult to get your arms around her.

She chirps a greeting to you, rubbing your back gently as you pull back from her. She knew why you had done it - you spent several nights over the past year on her couch crying to her over Azriel and his lack of time for you.

Behind her came Rhys, carrying several buckets of paint, rollers, tins, tarps. Your eyebrows raised, “is this your new art studio, Feyre? Are you going to teach Rhys how to paint?”

She giggles and Rhys rolls his eyes at you, setting the things in his arms down before kissing you on the top of your head. You lean into his touch before he pulls away, softly telling you, “we’re helping you paint the place - white walls are boring.”

In the days to come over the next week, you had multiple visitors. They all made you feel better while they were here, but whenever they left you felt that Azriel shaped hole in your heart all over again. Cassian had been the first after Feyre to visit, barreling into your apartment, nearly squeezing the life out of you once he got in the door, upset he had to wait so long to see you.

“Cass, it’s been four days.”

“The house’s not the same without you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Cassian gave you a look that you didn’t like, and the two of you were teetering on the edge of the forbidden. You had asked Feyre to tell everyone they can come visit, but not to talk about Azriel in any way.

Unfortunately, much of Cassian’s life involves Azriel so he had a much harder time than everyone else. Any time he’d veer into Azriel territory, he’d quickly go, “oops” and cover his mouth very quickly, as if he had cursed in front of a child.

Elain had visited the next day, offering to help you prepare some potted window plants. The two of you walked through the Velaris markets, Elain prattling on about different kinds of plants. You knew she was trying to distract you, help you pick up the pieces of your broken life. So you picked out different plants for your windowsill, the weight of them in your arms much lighter than the weight of your emotions.

It was hard wandering the streets with Elain - this city felt so much like him, the streets littered with cafes the two of you frequented. Elain, whose presence you enjoyed greatly, felt like a stabbing reminder of what you lost.

You know Elain came in with you when you got back to your apartment, repotting the plants into the window planter she brought. Fresh dirt covered their roots, allowing them to grow in their new place. You can’t remember what Elain spoke about, just nodding along with her until you eventually found yourself alone again.

Each day brought a new member of Azriel’s family to visit, and you loved them, truly loved them, but it was hard to feel like they were coming for you as opposed to coming on behalf of him. You knew they loved you, despite whatever was happening between you and Azriel, but your interactions were always colored with him in the background.

You had been expecting Nesta to show up when you opened the door to find Azriel looking back at you.

You were a bit surprised at the restraint he maintained waiting so long, a whole week passing since you had left, but you said all you wanted to say in that note. You wanted him to feel awful, to finally see how you were feeling.

You just hated that it came to this to get him to see you.

He looked terrible. His shadows were pooled at his feet, darting towards you with affection, dancing around you. His wings were practically dragging on the floor, his shoulders sagged, his hair was a mess. His eyes looked lifeless, his jaw covered in stubble.

Good.

“Azriel,” you bit out, not an ounce of affection in your tone. “May I help you?”

“I want you to come home.” His words were clipped, agitation clear in his voice.

“This is my home, you may come in for a few minutes if you want to talk.”

You didn’t really want to invite him in, wanting him to stand outside your door, feeling as unwanted as you had for so many months. But you had new neighbors, and you weren’t sure you wanted to find out how nosy they were with this conversation.

The sight of him made you so angry, but a tiny part of you wanted to reach out to him, running your fingers through his hair, and coax him to come to bed so the two of you could actually sleep.

He shut the door behind him before turning back to you.

“Please, come back. I’ll be better.”

Your hands nestle onto your hips, your jaw rotating in annoyance. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He sighs, his feet moving of their own accord across your floor, pacing back and forth on the hardwood floor.

“Was I not enough for you?”

His words send you into a tailspin of rage, your vision going red. “Azriel,” you say, voice rising, “that’s a funny thing to ask, when you were never there! I gave you everything. Endless excuses, endless empathy. I spent so much time telling people that what you were doing was okay, that I forgot it wasn’t! You weren’t there!”

His hands run down his face, shaking his head in denial. His shadows swirled the room, and you could hear them whispering to him, but what they were saying you couldn’t make out.

“You’re the one who decided that everything I had wasn’t enough for you.”

Your words hit their mark, and the Illyrian before you halts and removes his hands from his face, looking nothing like the formidable soldier he was, but rather the boy he had been. You take a deep breath, opening your door once more behind him.

“I needed you to risk something, I needed you to choose me.”

You stop forward, pushing him through the threshold.

“Most of all, I needed you to choose yourself, too.”

You shut the door on him, leaning your forehead against the wood. The place was suffocating you with its silence. It was a new silence, compared to the one you’d wait in while Azriel was off.

This one felt full of hope and possibilities.

-

Three decades passed since that fateful night, but you could still see Azriel’s eyes in the shadows some nights. You hated burning candles - the way the shadows flickered and danced reminded you of the shadows that curled your fingers, the ones that kept you company whenever Azriel spent too long away.

You had dated here and there since Azriel - none of them lasting more than a few years. They were fine - all attractive, all nice, but they all ended for one reason or another. One moved to a different court, which you didn’t want to do. Another’s mother didn’t like you and it just didn’t work out after that. Several relationships fizzled out because there just wasn’t a spark between you two. You felt cursed, unlucky in love, destined to be alone.

Or perhaps destined to always be heartbroken.

It wasn’t all bad - you just weren’t lucky with romance. You had fallen back in love with Velaris a few years after leaving Azriel, the city lights coaxing you back. You had actually considered leaving entirely, the city feeling too much of him.

Until one day, about five years after you left, you had walked the Sidra one night, the reflections of the street lights giving the city and the river a new glow.

It enchanted you, waking you up from the stupor you had been in for so long.

After that, you spent a lot of your time around Velaris - running events for the city, making friends with several of the business owners. It felt good to find a new support system in the city - one not connected to your ex boyfriend.

You clutch your coat tighter around yourself as you weave through the streets of Velaris, heading back to your apartment. You walk by some apartments, a few men standing around outside, their boisterous laughs making you feel uneasy. One of them starts calling for you, but you ignore his words and walk faster.

You heard footsteps behind you, and you turned a corner hoping he’d stop following you.

“Leave her alone.”

You knew that voice - the deep timbre one you heard in occasional dreams, calling to you even after all these years. You stop your fast walking, turning just in time to make eye contact with those hazel eyes you’ve been dreaming of forever. You can’t run - he’s already stopped still at the sight of you, as if time was stopping for this unexpected reunion.

He stands behind the guy who was following you, his face peering over the male’s shoulder at you.

“She your bitch?”

Azriel’s growl shocks you, and the male turns, allowing his siphons to glow bright in the night. The male stops his chuckling, replaced with deep apologies, running off in the other direction as Azriel moves closer to you, and the two of you start walking in the direction towards your apartment.

The streets are quiet as Azriel follows your lead, his boots scuffing the cobblestone street. It felt strange to be next to him again, the wind rippling against the skin of his wings a sound you never thought you’d hear again.

He clears his throat, “sorry about them.” He gestures behind himself before adding, “I saw them yelling at some female and just wanted to keep anything from happening.”

You look up at him, drinking in his appearance. Thirty years had passed since he came to your apartment that day - since you yelled and screamed at him. You had wanted to yell more that day, but you were so drained from how things ended, you just wanted to move on. He looked much the same - his jawline sharp, his large nose littered with the freckles you loved so much. They were more prominent now, likely a result of the summer sun. His hair was a little lighter, cut a little shorter than you remembered it, the curls lightly dusting the top of his forehead.

You had hardly spoken to much of his family recently, your new job and not living in one of their properties making it quite difficult to schedule dinners and lunches. The last time you saw any of them was either when Elain visited you about six years ago or when you saw Cassian in a coffee shop, a tiny babe in his arms some odd years ago.

You had caught glimpses of the inner circle over the years - a wave to Feyre across a restaurant, the sight of Rhys’s smirk through a window, the bookshop clerk down the street mentioning Nesta. Glimpses of their lives, but you never allowed yourself to stop for too long to get caught back into their orbit.

You had once been so integrated into the family, but it was hard to continue when you pulled away from Azriel. They loved you, you knew that, but they were his family and it never felt quite right without him, every one of your conversations with them overshadowed by the lack of Azriel. So, you had pulled back. It’s not what they wanted, it’s not what you wanted, but it was what you needed.

So many things were the same, but he somehow looked lighter, as if the weight of the world weren’t on his shoulders anymore. It made him look so free and so beautiful.

Maybe he found someone who could finally help against his demons.

“It’s quite alright - I actually should thank you for that and for walking me home. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking home alone after that.”

You two continue on in silence, the only sound your shoes against the cobblestones and the fae moving about on the streets, heading off for their nights to start as yours ended on this strange note. The silence was lingering for too long, old emotions stirring beneath the surface. You had to break the tension.

“Is Cassian a dad now?”

Azriel’s eyes widened before throwing his head back laughing. You had almost forgotten just how beautiful that sound was. Almost. “Fuck no.”

His chuckles bounce off the streets of Velaris as he mutters, “but he and Nesta still fuck like they’re desperate for one.”

“But I swear I saw him out with a kid with wings a few years ago.”

Azriel stops to think for a moment before squinting his eyes a bit, “do you remember the issues we had with wing clipping?” You nod, remembering how just the details of some of the things Azriel’s seen at the hands of his people made you queasy. “We helped a few of the women escape the camps - we’ve been trying to make safe spaces for them to live in to prove to the males that they don’t need them. It’s slow, but we’ve got a few dozen living in and around Velaris.”

Wow, you thought. Your smile is genuine as you congratulate him, “that’s impressive, Az!” He shakes his head at your celebratory tone. “Really, I know progress is slow with them, but that’s great.” You beam up at him before scratching the back of your head, “but it still doesn’t explain the kid I saw.”

“A few of the females brought their kids with them, and Cassian likes to spend time with each of them one-on-one. He says it’s a good excuse to get ice cream, but I think he just likes seeing them have a present male in their lives.”

You two continue winding through the streets, a cool breeze lifting through your hair. It was so odd to be here with him, odder still for this to feel normal. Azriel clears his throat, his voice a bit uncertain, “I’ve been uh delegating more.”

You pause, feet stopping on the road. They’re just words, nothing more, but Azriel’s never delegated. A true perfectionist to his core, he never even considered delegating any task Rhys asks of him. You turn to look at him, his hazel eyes looking back to you full of regret and longing.

“I’ve been uh, using some of the spies under me more. I’ve been trusting them with more important work.”

The two of you reached your apartment door, the same one Feyre had painted silver all those years ago. You can hear his shaky breath as he continued. “I don’t deserve you. I never have. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I don’t-“ he sighs. “I don’t deserve you, but I do deserve love.”

His voice breaks at that and some piece of you shatters all over again at how poorly he was treated to never feel like he deserved anything good or kind.

“This is coming out all wrong,” he huffs, tugging lightly at some of his hair, “but Madja’s been helping me for a long time. I- it’s so hard to let me be deserving of love. I always felt I had to earn it. I felt I had to do the impossible things asked of me and that would finally make me worthy.”

He sighs, a slight thump from the door as he leans his forehead against it.

“I am worthy of being loved. And so are you.”

His hands are shaking, but his shadows wrapped around them, forming something similar to tight fitting gloves, offering some kind of security to him to continue.

“If the damage is too much, I understand. You can tell me to fuck off at any point. But if… if you would let me, I’d like to.. I’d like to show you that I’m trying. That I’ve been working on myself.”

You continue to look up at him, gobsmacked at this confessional from him.

“It’s hard. I couldn’t make progress overnight, hence my long absence. But I have made progress. I’ve uh actually been taking days off. I started going on trips to Day and Summer a few years back. I read three books at the beach a few months ago, actually.”

He laughs at the absurdity of his trip - a vacation. Something he’s never done. To spend days on his own, nothing but a book to keep him company is all you’ve ever wanted from him.

A pause. A breath. But he keeps going, needing to get his jumbled thoughts out of his head and into yours.

“It’s been a long time, but I think about you every day. I’ve probably made a fool of myself out here, but if there is any way you aren’t seeing anyone and if any part of you misses me at all…” He trails off, his fist lightly hitting the door. “I just wanted you to know that I’m trying. I’m bettering myself. I am better. I know it’s late, but..”

He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. Your silence was eerie, leading him to keep talking, his words unable to stop.

“I just- I never wanted things to get here. I was foolish, and I didn’t appreciate you. It took you leaving to realize I could not continue like I was… I can’t.. Let myself hurt the people I care about anymore.”

You stay rooted, pressed against the door, not moving.

They were just words, the same things that hurt you over the years of broken promises and missed dates. But they’re so thought out. He’s had thirty years to mull things over, and he feels so much lighter than before.

You’re conflicted, but the optimist in you wins out as your voice finally finds you.

“Show me.”

-

Every Sunday for several weeks at 8 AM Azriel would stand on your doorstep and knock gently. You would open the door and he would present you with a bouquet of flowers - varieties of colors and species made their home on your dining room table as the weeks go by.

The two of you stroll through the city. The city you loved so dearly and for so long, parts of it feeling impossible to look at without thinking of the male next to you.

He would usually open up with some story about Cassian or Rhysand to break the ice. Then he’d tell you about his week - where Rhysand had sent him off, what he did on his days off that weren’t Sunday, anything that stood out. The two of you wander the streets, only stopping for occasional treats to eat while continuing your walk.

As the weeks go by, he starts filling you in on the past thirty years. For a long time, he saw Madja almost daily. She began providing him with herbs that helped regulate his moods, helped him sleep better, and helped him feel better. She also began having him comb through the deepest parts of himself he tried to forget, the memories of that little boy abandoned in that dungeon. He’d also tell you about how the rest of the Inner Circle was doing - Feyre and Rhys were trying for a baby, Elain was traveling a lot, Nesta and Cassian were… Nesta and Cassian.

Now he only sees Madja every other week, and she seems quite impressed by his progress. She should be, you think, he’s a far cry from the male you kicked out of your apartment all those decades ago.

After a few weeks, you began opening up to him as well. How hard it was to leave, your relationships in your time apart, how empty everything had felt without him, how you’d developed some strong friendships in the years apart.

“I had to pick up the pieces of myself too, Az.”

His heart pangs with guilt, but you reach out for his elbow, eyes bright with beginnings.

“I always wondered what I’d do if you came back to me, but I never thought you’d be how you are now. You seem so… light?” Your voice comes out more like a question, and you chuckle. “You just seem so different, but in a good way.”

“I feel different. I feel like I’m not… like I’m not that little boy anymore. Like I don’t have to prove myself to be loved. If not by you, by someone.”

His words linger in the air and you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest at his words.

“I do want it to be you, though. If you’d have me, that is.”

Your heart wanted you to lean forward, wanted nothing more than for you to wrap yourself in his embrace. But before either of you could move forward, you had to know, one way or another.

“Why did you keep pushing the wedding back?”

Your voice was soft and shaky, but the question had been lingering on your mind for so long, it was on the tip of your tongue every time the two of you met up.

“I couldn’t tell you before because you would have been so nice about it, but I- I thought I was ruining you. I didn’t want you, so kind, so wonderful, to be tethered to me for all eternity. But I was too selfish to let you go. I still am, I suppose.”

He shrugs, his shoulders folding inward toward you, his wings drooping a bit. “I know now how ridiculous that sounds, but I.. wanted you but I also wanted better for you.”

He turned toward you, his skin shining like gold in the sun. He was radiant - a word hardly ever used for him before. He looked as Helion does, as if the sun was redirecting its rays through him.

“So I became better for you, for myself, for my family.”

And that was what you needed to hear. It was never about you (in many ways it was), but at the end of the day, you always wanted what was best for the both of you.

And he became that.

On a beautiful summer day, you stood on your tiptoes, your hands reaching upwards to pull his face into yours.

And by gods even his kisses felt lighter.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen

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Thanks for reading 💕

[daryltwdixon]

Live-In Bodyguard

A requested one shot:

hi!! i was wondering if you could write a little story where y/n and daryl were paired to live together when they first arrived at Alexandria and now have been living together for a while. They’re not necessarily friends, and actually don't really like each other and one day daryl is out hunting when y/n spills something on her clothes, leaving her with nothing but one of daryls old t shirts. 🤭🤭🤭🤭 he comes home and catches her in the kitchen where she pulls the tshirt down to cover her underwear and keeps apologizing. Tyyyyy @dixon555

I did take a little bit of creative liberty on the situation in which he catches you in buttttt what can I say :)

Fluffy, protective Daryl

When Rick comes out to meet you and the rest of the group, explaining the rooming situation at the compound you've arrived to, you can tell he seems hesitant before breaking the news to you. 

“Y/N…” he says carefully, his hand rubbing at his growing beard, “you and…” he looks over to Daryl, his eyes searching his chosen brother’s face. 

“No way,” you say, suddenly understanding, “No way, Rick. I can’t live with this guy,” your thumb points over your shoulder.

“Like you’re such a ray of sunshine,” Daryl snaps back at you, “think I wanna share a place with you either?” 

You and Daryl were…I mean, obviously you had lived together the past however long it had been since the group had found you. It had actually been Daryl who found you in an abandoned house, covered in walker guts and dirt after hearing you screaming when there was a whole group coming into the cabin. But since then, you'd been living in close quarters with everyone. As much as you had appreciated him coming after you, the rest of the time you’ve known him he’s always been on you–how you can’t be trusted on your own, always needing protection, never allowing you out of his sight. You had started going crazy that this man would barely speak to you, but insisted on always having eyes on you at all times. 

Rick sighs, looking at the ground, his forefinger and thumb at the bridge of his nose, “Look, y’all need to figure something out, this is just what I was told. The house has two rooms, you won’t be in each other’s way–”

“Great, great. Thanks a lot,” you groan, heading toward the row of houses, “my own live-in bodyguard,”

“Be nice,” you hear Rick saying under his breath to Daryl.

“Always am,” Daryl replies. 

This was going to suck.

—------------

You’re drinking coffee at the small kitchen table in your house at Alexandria, finally starting to feel settled in the place. Daryl was out in the beginning days of your time here, he finally understood that the walls were enough to keep you safely out of harm’s way. You had tried to sneak out a few times, only to find him waiting for you at the exit, ready to stop you. It’s like he could read your damn mind. So, you gave up trying to work around his helicopter protection. You decided to focus on your house, making it a home for you. If Daryl was going to be out hunting most days anyway, you figured you would make it how you wanted it. You found a way to decorate the place, even if it wasn’t the easiest task. The walls had been freshly painted a couple weeks ago when you saw they were a nasty mustard yellow when you had first walked in.

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

“Oh god,” you had moaned.

Daryl paused, suddenly rushing to you. He came up to your side quickly, scanning the room. You could tell he was on high alert.

“No, no, it’s nothing,” you assured him, “Just…the walls,” 

“The…walls?” he had grunted out

“They’re ugly,” you said to him, simply.

“And you were hoping for…?”

“Maybe a nice blue or something, anything but this awful mustard,” you said, and began walking around to discover the rest of the place. 

Two days later you had found a note stuck to a pail on the kitchen counter, with a large roller brush on top. When you approached it, a small, traitorous smile had crossed your lips.

“For making the walls less ugly” 

You hardly had to guess who the terrible handwriting was from. 

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

You took the whole day to paint, excited for a new project that felt like making the house a home. Setting your lukewarm coffee down on the wooden floor to dip the paintbrush in a fresh coat of paint, you begin your task. You’re lifting the paintbrush up to the wall, gliding it gently along the seams where the corners meet. When you step back to view your work, you trip over your half empty coffee mug you left on the ground, causing you to flail your arms out for support, the paint brush in your hand splattering all over your shirt.

“Ah, shit,” you thought out loud, touching the bits of paint that were wet on your shirt now. There were blue splatters all down the front of your shirt and your sleeves. You sighed, and looked around. You might as well finish before going up to change. 

When all four walls of the downstairs were done, you head up the stairs. 

Unfortunately, you hadn’t really had the chance to get out and scavenge for new clothes in Alexandria since you mostly stayed in the house, trying to acclimate the past couple of days. Daryl was out on a hunting trip today–surprise, surprise. He seemed so pent up since arriving. Every little thing pissed him off lately, his temper was so easily brought out of him. Not that he was very forthcoming on the reason he was so annoyed lately. But you would see him roll his eyes, scoff, and just overall pouting as soon as you arrived. You knew Daryl was most comfortable out in the woods–it was his happy place, oddly. As much as anyone else was terrified to be out in the woods alone, he cherished it. He barely talked to you in the past months you’ve known him but you were quietly getting to know him from afar. Or at least as far as he’d let you get from him. He was intriguing as much as he was annoying to you. 

So you’re up stairs, searching to see if any of your dresser drawers happen to have a fresh set of clothes, but it seems you’re out of luck. The drawers are barren, the dusty wooden bottoms seemed to be mocking you now. ‘Told you to get some clothes,’ they tell you as you open and clothes every single one to no avail. ‘Should've left the house for some when you had the chance–now look at you’. You shake your head– anthropomorphizing a dresser is weird. It’s a dresser. It doesn’t speak. But if this one could you know it would be chiding you for being such a recluse the past few days of arriving at the commune. A sudden thought occurs to you– you had seen Daryl walking in with a few things over his arm yesterday when he came in from being out in the woods again. He had grumbled something along the lines of getting called to the main house and being told off for looking like a forest creature with how ratty his clothes were looking. It had made you chuckle to see him embarrassed, holding a pile of crisp clothes that were such a stark contrast against him, but now you were suddenly grateful. Maybe you could take one of them and he wouldn’t even realize it was his, since he probably hadn’t worn any of them. Looking out into the hallway to make sure he hadn’t snuck in and was about to catch you, you quietly walk over to his room. You hold the doorknob in your palm for a long second, talking yourself into going in. It’ll be fine, it’s not weird–it's just Daryl. You close your eyes shut tight and open the door.

The room was pretty barren much like yours, you weren’t sure what you were expecting, really. As you look around you see signs of his presence though– his poncho hangs over the back of the chair at the desk, the keys to the motorcycle on the wooden chest at the bottom of his bed. 

You sneak over quietly to the chest of things, putting his keys to the side and opening it with delicacy. He could walk in here at any minute and find you snooping, and you’d be dead meat. But when you open the chest, none of the new clothes are there. It’s all his old stuff–the ratty sleeveless shirts, the angel wing vest he would wear, a big tee shirt with car or motorcycle oil stains… You stand and deliberate your best course of action. These options are still better than sitting in dry crusted paint all over you all day. They’re not necessarily dirty, since Carol had come over yesterday to take everyone’s things to be washed. Daryl had surprisingly neatly folded them up in the chest when he put them away–or maybe Carol had and he just left them like that. Gingerly, you pick up the large tee shirt with the faded oil stains, giving it a once over before deciding it was good enough. You take it and make your way to the shower, praying Daryl isn’t back til the evening when you could put it back before bed. 

You’re stepping out of the shower, wringing your hair out when you hear the door close out in the living room. Oh, shit. You were stupid enough to leave your paint splattered shirt in your bedroom along with your pants, only bringing in Daryl’s shirt and a pair of underwear to change into after your shower. You curse at yourself inwardly, figuring there was no way out but to face it. Hopefully Daryl would just stay downstairs while you made your way to your room to put your own clothes back on. You throw the tee shirt on, and it surprisingly makes its way past your butt, hiding everything just enough to be decent if he were to accidentally spot you running for it down the hallway. You collect yourself, wringing your hair out one more time before hanging your towel on the door and stepping out. Steam escapes the bathroom as the door swings open, and you’re looking around the door frame, making sure no one is there. You sigh in relief when you see no one on the landing–Daryl is still downstairs then. Or maybe he’s not even here and just had to grab something on his way out again. 

If only you were so lucky. 

You’re on the way to your room, padding over gently to your door, hand on the banister to keep yourself steady, when you catch in the corner of your eye coming up the stairs. You freeze on the top landing, directly in front of the staircase when he catches you trying to creep down the hall. 

His eyes linger on your face for a minute, and you watch his eyes suddenly scanning you from head to toe. You look down at yourself to assess how screwed your situation is– your wet hair is dripping on the shirt, making parts of it damp and see through. Of course where your hair meets your chest, the wetness is the worst, making the shirt cling to you like a second skin. Your eyes dart up to him as you take in your nearly drenched chest, your nipples hardening to the cold air now that they’re wet. His eyes are glued to you, still on your chest until they start to scan down to your bare legs, where the shirt just barely covers you decently. You squeeze your legs together, bringing the shirt past your underwear, a blush blazing across your face and neck. “Daryl, I'm sorry, I just--”

But suddenly he’s climbing up the stairs and grabbing you so quickly that the air escapes your lungs as he holds you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours.

[olive-treeeee]

Strings of the heart - The Toymaker x Reader

Hello Mein Lieblings! This fic was requested by Anon who asked: “hi, im kinda new to requesting so im not sure if im doing things correctly, but is it cool if the reader could be like the daughter of the toymake? (not sure how that will work, but please bear with me!) and is currently the companion with 15th doctor? i want the fic kinda centered around the mr. ring a ding ep bc it's currently my favorite. the rest is up to you!”

I’m so sorry that this took so long to post, but I hope it was worth the wait! I had a great time writing this one, I actually really like writing for the toymaker!

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Daddy issues, James Corden

As always Requests are open!!

“Where to next, babes?” The Doctor beamed at you, leaning lazily over the side of the console, his smile glowing slightly as he tilted his head. There was that spark again, in his eyes, in his voice. Mischief and genuine curiosity, hand in hand.

Where to next? With all of time and space sprawled before you like a buffet, your mind went completely blank. “You’ve put me on the spot!” You laughed, hands flying up to cover your face. “That’s cruel. I need options.”

The Doctor stood tall, dramatic as ever, tapping his chin with exaggerated thought. “Options?” he repeated, striding around the console. “Please. You don’t need options. You need flair. You need drama. You need… fashion!”

You raised a brow, grinning. “Fashion?”

He clicked his fingers. “Exactly! The absolute best fashion in the universe. A place where style is stitched into the very air. Silkier than a sonic thread, glitzier than a Gallifreyan gala, and darling, just wait until you see the shoes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, caught up in his infectious energy. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Why listen,” he said, turning sharply on his heel and offering you his hand with a wink, “when you can just trust me?”

You took his hand, and he was already off, pulling you up the ramp toward a large circular archway built into the TARDIS wall, a tunnel you hadn’t noticed before. “Wait, where are we going?”

“Not where, babes,” he called over his shoulder, “what are we wearing?”

The Doctor took you by the hand, and before you could utter any kind of sound of objection, off you both went, feet tripping over themselves as you ran up the steps and through a large circular doorway, leading to a tunnel?

The moment you stepped through the tunnel, something shifted. You felt a light breeze, a shimmer in the air, and then–just like that–you were back in the TARDIS. Same floor. Same lights. Same humming console. 

You turned around, confused. The tunnel you’d just lpassed through was still glowing behind you. “What just happened?”

“Look down,” the Doctor said, his voice like a secret.

You did, and gasped.

Gone were your T-shirt and jeans. In their place, a stunning 1950s-style dress in sunshine yellow flared out from your waist, cinched perfectly, every pleat and detail pristine. You gave a small spin and the skirt twirled with you, soft and light as air.

“How did—?”

The Doctor leaned against the console with a smug little shrug. “Don’t ask. The old girl has a flair for the theatrical when she’s in a good mood.” He tapped the console gently, and the TARDIS responded with a warm hum, like a cat purring in approval.

You turned back to him, still twirling. “Is this really necessary?”

He gave you a dazzling smile. “Oh, it’s absolutely unnecessary. That’s what makes it fabulous. Now, ready to strut through time?”

You held out your hand. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

With a grin that promised trouble, style, and maybe a little danger, he pulled a lever.

The TARDIS lurched, and the adventure began.

***

You emerged into an idyllic, sun-dappled, 1950s street, picture perfect and overflowing with charm. Pastel-painted shops crowded the thoroughfare  boutiques, diners, a record store  and smelled of fresh bread and motor oil. From the chrome diner, a jukebox hummed faintly, and the laughter of roller-skating kids rolled past. In the distance was the LUX Picture Palace, with its name emblazoned in lights like a down-the-line. All was glittering with nostalgic warmth too perfect, even, almost rehearsed. There was the soft breeze, and there were the smiles, too wide. And beneath the music and light, something in the air hummed strangely, slightly out of reach.

“Where are we?” You asked, your eyes wide as you turned in a slow circle, taking in the all the pastel storefronts and the gleaming chrome of the lights. You could faintly smell the soft scent of warm popcorn drifting in the breeze. The town looked like it was out of those glossy magazines. It was Sweet, it was surreal.

“Miami.” The Doctor said brightly. His hands shoved into the pockets of his perfectly tailored coat. “1952 to be precise. Sunshine, swing Music and scandalous Hemlines.” He tugged at your dress playfully at the last comment, making you giggle. “Fabulous!”

You Spun again, right towards the glowing marquee at the end of the street. Your eyes lit up like a kid at christmas. “Look! There’s a cinema! Can we go, Doctor? Oh, Please!” You tugged at his sleeve with barely contained excitement, practically bouncing on the spot.

He Glanced at the glowing lights then back down to you, and that smile bloomed again. “Of course we can, Sweetheart.” He said, his voice full of sparkle. 

The two of you strolled through the bustling street, your heels Click Clacking on the pavement, The LUX picturehouse Gleamed in the street lights at every step you took.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” 

You Whipped around to see an elderly woman, who had stopped beside you. She wore a floral hat and a woven handbag, her expression dark beneath her cat eye glasses. Her voice, soft but heavy.

“Sorry?” You asked, blinking.

She leaned in sideways, Her eyes never quite catching yours. “Fifteen people went missing in that cinema, all strange to me, very unnatural.”

You stared at her. There was something about her… she looked ‘eerily’ like your neighbour, Mrs Flood?

Before you could speak again, the Doctor stepped forward, Grinning from ear to ear. “Fifteen people you say? Oh ho, I love a good body count.” He rubbed his hands together, gleaming with curiosity. “Maybe cursed, haunted popcorn machine maybe? Who knows? Mystery Is afoot!”

You barely had time to respond before he grabbed your arm and tugged you gleefully towards the entrance. “Come on Babes, what's a little danger between friends?” and Just like that you were swept into the golden glow of the LUX, the door closing with a soft Click.

***

Stepping into the auditorium, you felt the temperature drop as you kept walking down the stairs. The air was surprisingly cool and still with that same faint smell of buttered popcorn and old Velvet. The cinema screen glowed softly, bathed in a silver light that seemed to hypnotise you. It was Magnificent and eerily…Alive? Then, It flickered once, and again, and again. 

Then suddenly, a blinding white flash.

It lasted only a second, but it made you and the doctor step back shielding your eyes. Then It was over.

What came after was a grainy background that flickered to life. It was sepia toned, with heavy static crackling at the edges. Music began to play: an upbeat, jazzy but somehow off tone, a little like an old record spinning too slow. A figure emerged from the noise.

Mr. Ring-A-Ding looked like he stepped straight out of a 1850’s cartoon (A cartoon that came straight from your nightmares). He was tall and slender with exaggerated proportions. Arms too long, smile too wide, eyes far too still. He wore a bright red pinstripe suit, it was impossibly crisp, with a bowtie that could spin like a wind up toy. His slicked back hair gleamed under the flicker of the screenlight, and his two toned shoes squeaked as he walked.

A walking sensory nightmare.

As he walked through the cartoon town, the houses rolled past as he marched down the street, big and overexaggerated. His voice crackled as if it has been filtered through a gramophone. Cheerfully hollow: “Well Howdy there Friend!” You’re just in time for the show!”

There was something performative about him, like a forgotten tv host endlessly stuck in rerun. Too Scripted, too chipper. It unravelled you.

“Doctor.” You asked, not taking your eyes off the screen, still hypnotised. “Why have I seen him before?”

“I really couldn’t tell you, babes.” The Doctor tore his eyes from the screen so that he was looking at you. “Where would you have possibly seen him before?”

You shook your head. “It’s scaring me.” Your voice was barely over a whisper.

The minute those thoughts hit your head, almost as if he was reading your mind. Mr. Ring-A-Ding stopped his usual song, mid tune, mid tune and turned slowly to look at the screen.

No. At you.

“It's you.” Mr. Ring-A-Ding Hissed. This time his voice was much lower now. His usual cheerful patter fell away to a grating growl. His head drew closer and closer to the glass of  screen until it was practically touching. It looked grotesquely distorted. “He has been looking for you.”

Your throat seized as you Stumbled back a step. “Doctor.” You Gasped. 

“On it babes.” He whipped his sonic screwdriver out of his breast pocket and aimed it at the screen. The very second it activated, the screen rippled like a surface of disturbed water. Mr. Ring-A-Ding’s face pushed forward, warping the image. His hands pressed against the glass and his fingers began to claw at it, as if it were wet clay. And then, with a wet Crack, his arm broke through. Then another arm, and then a leg and then, inch by inch, twisting unnaturally. His Torso contorted to fit through a space that shouldn’t be physically allowed, he emerged.

His Pinstripe suit, was smeared with static. His grin never faltered. He landes on the cinema floor with a distorted and cartoonish Boing which somehow only made it so much worse. Almost like reality was struggling to hold him in place.

You backed away, hands rising instinctively to shield yourself.

And then… the world exploded into white.

***

You felt something cold beneath your head, somewhere between damp and earthy. You ran a hand through the surface subconsciously, the gritty wood sending splinters through your fingers. Ouch. Your hands bunched reflexively in pain. The rotting floorboards clung to your skin like a creature as you stirred. The scent of dust and varnish filled your nose and then finally you felt the sharp pain that had been blooming at the side of your skull, Pulsing with each erratic beat of your heart.

Where in the world were you?

Your vision was completely washed in white, like the world was an overexposed polaroid photo. But as you slowly gained consciousness, shapes began to bleed through the haze: first, they were faint shadows then the shapes began to bleed through the haze. Then colours began to bloom. That's when you saw it.

It was a toyshop!

But not just any toyshop.

It was still. Too still. As you wobbled to stand, you noticed rows of dolls with wide glass eyes that stared down at you from great high wooden shelves, their painted smiles chipped and cracked, yet it didn’t feel like they looked like this from years of neglect, it looked like this…on purpose? 

Mechanical Clowns frozen in mid-laugh were sat upright but slumped in corners. The colours of their bright cheeks faded and peeled as if laughter had long since drained them. Tin soldiers stood in perfect lines with their little muskets raised in perfect salutes. The light overhead buzzed faintly, casting everything in a dull, yellowish hue that gave the air a sickly warmth.

There was something about the place. As you crept around the narrow aisles, you felt the toy’s gazes as they seemed to follow you around the palace. Their eyes, always never quite moving but Almost moving. A creak eased through your ears, a rocking horse slowly moved back and forth, despite the air being deathly still and somewhere, just behind the quiet, a wind up music box played a broken lullaby, familiar, slow, looping endlessly.

Someone was watching you.

There was something so painfully nostalgic about this place. It clung to your heart and threatened to never let go, like fingers curling around your heart. Tears pricked your vision, unexpected. Uninvited, yet you weren’t sure why? Was it loss? Loss for all the things you wished you had, a childhood that didn’t quite last as long as it promised, laughter that never stayed, magic that never quite came. It promised wonder and delivered nothing in return, merely fragments. This place made you feel it, like it knew.

It Knew.

“Ah Guten Tag, Guten tag, I am glad to see you’re now awake.” A voice tore through your thoughts, like shears. You whirled around to see, him.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked again, an exaggerated German accent, graced his lips.

You nodded, you stepped forward, tilting your head like a curious bird. He regarded you as your eyes trailed up and down him. Disbelief struck your face and he noticed it.

“Go on then.” His voice merely whispers. “Who am I?”

“Are you Neil Patrick-Harris?”

The gentleman blinked.

Once.

Twice.

His jaw dropped in horror, somehow, as if you had just slapped a custard pie across his face. The music box that was still playing in the background gave a pitiful wheeze, like if you were to run a needle across a record, then promptly stopped.

He clutched his chest like a pantomime actor in the throes of a melodramatic death. “Oh how very dare you!” He squawked. “I have been known as many things by many people.” He began listing them on his fingers. “Maestro of Madness, conjurer of chaos, The Toymaker.” 

The toymaker.

He spun around on the spot, arms flailing. “Do I look like I’ve done magic tricks on Ellen?!”

“Touched a nerve then?” You quipped. 

He took a step forward, His voice dropping, German accent Slipping, almost tauntingly. “Now. Shall we try again? Or would you like to guess if I’m James Corden next?”

“Now, I know you aren’t James Corden.” You stepped forward, matching his taunt. Hands on hips, looking down through your nose. “But the question is: who are you?”

He smiled, rising to the unspoken challenge. “Guess.” was all he said.

“Guess?”

“Yes. Where are we right now?” You opened your mouth to speak and he held a finger in front of him to shush you. “No, don’t say anything. Just think…Oh what Fun.” 

Your eyes shot throughout the shop. Catching glimpses at the dolls, the soldiers, the clowns, the games. Then you looked back to him. He grinned from ear to ear, mouth twisted like a sausage at the bottom of a plate. 

Maestro of Madness, conjurer of chaos…

Wait.

“You’re the toymaker.” you breathed. “I know exactly who you are.”

The Toymaker’s smile spread even further. “Ooh, give the girl a prize!” He leapt from behind the counter, vaulting over it, like there wasn’t an impossibly low ceiling, he could bash his head on. He brought himself mear inches from your face, so quick you could barely react. He grabbed your face with both hands. “And do you know who you are, Mein Liebling?”

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Of course I know who I am. My name is (Y/N) (L/N). I live at 44 Randell street, I work in publishing and I travel the universe with the Doctor. Of course I Know who I am.”

The toymaker’s expression Shifted, it was as subtle and sharp, as if he knew a secret, you didn’t. “Tell me about your parents.” He demanded, syrupy smooth, sickly sweet. It circled around the question like a trap.

“Why?” You asked, warily, instinctively stepping back, though he didn’t let you go far.

“Do you remember them?”

You Hesitated. “My mother’s Name is Helen and my father is-” You mind drew a blank, like a bottomless pit.

“You don’t remember him do you?” The toymaker delighted, he was still close, still touching, parental almost. His thumb ran over your cheek. Kind but mocking. “Think.” He murmured, wrapped in lullaby

“You aren’t-?”

“Maybe I am.” He purred, tilting his head in theatrical glee.

“How?”

“Play a game with me and find out.” He threw himself back, arms outstretched, propelling back to the countertop. His grin spread again, unable to contain his excitement. He clapped his hands once and the lights went out. Leaving you in the pitch black.

There was a whirl of gears and a gust of mechanical steam. Before you could react, a vintage style puppet theatre rose from the floor, equipped with crimson curtains that were drawn tight.

“Let's play a game, Zuckerpuppe. Its like guess who? But not the boring kind with the plastic faces. No no, this one is all about you.”

You.

Then, the curtains part.

Inside the theatre, the puppets begin to perform. Short, twisted tableaus. They were fragments of your memories, scenes from your childhood play out in an exaggerated pantomime: your mother singing happy birthday to you, candles lit, just you and her in your own little world. Tears falling in an empty corridor. Your first writing competition.

Yet something felt off.

The figures moved like broken clockwork toys. Your mother’s puppet was warm and familiar but your father’s was always obscured, masked, scratched out, obscured, sometimes not even there.

“Each round, one clue.” The Toymaker purred. “One guess. Win, and I’ll answer your questions. Lose, and well, who knows what you’ll forget next?”

A shiver ran down your spine.

As the game continued, your memories began to distort. The toymaker starts inserting himself into them, first in the background, then closer, then completely and unmistakingly present. Always watching… always there.

Then, in the final round, the puppet curtain falls only to rise again, revealing a full length mirror instead of the usual theatre.

You step forward, hesitantly. Catching yourself in the glass.

But you are not alone in the reflection.

He stood behind you.

“I have seen you before.” You whispered, voice breaking. 

“In your dreams, in the corner of old photographs. In the silence, when you asked, where your father had gone.”

Your breath quickened, then a pause.

“I did not leave you, (Y/N). I have been waiting, so, so, patiently for your return.”

Emotion overcame you. You sniffled. Sniffles turned to shaky breaths, turned to full sobs. You sobbed for the empty ache within your heart, for all the melancholic nostalgia. You sobbed for the empty parts of your life, the times where you felt oh so different from the rest of the world.

“Oh, please don’t cry mein Knuddelbar.” The toymaker cooed. “Daddy is here now.” He stretched his arms out wide, waiting for you to step in. To finally hold him. 

“No!” you snapped, sudden and sharp. The Toymaker Flinched but soon he straightened with the grin slowly slipping from his face, replaced by something… human. A line etched with worry across his lips “Why now? Why here?”

The Toymaker’s throat bobbed. For a moment, he didn’t answer. The bravado had melted away finally, just slightly and something softer flickered behind his eyes. Regret? Doubt? Underestimation? Was this merely another trick? 

The silence between the two of you widened, not just in sound but in presence, the physical space felt like a chasm, that only grew and grew every passing minute. It was an invisible rift that neither of you could bring yourselves to cross. The hush that settled over the room wasn’t empty; it was thick, humming the words unspoken. But beneath that, was there…regret in his eyes?

The Toymaker shrank beneath it, his shoulders hunching inwards, no longer the eternal trickster or cosmic tyrant. It was something else. Someone else. Like a child after being told off by a scolding parent.

“You must understand,” he said, muttering, voice cracking under the weight of it all. Brittle and tired. His eyes, which were once sharp with mischief, now looked cloudy with something dangerously close to sorrow. “Why, I couldn’t be with you.”

He didn’t look powerful any more. Just… human. Fragile in a way that frightened you more than any games of his could.

You swallowed hard, the lump that had been forming in your throat, threatening to choke you. Standing in front of you was the one person you had searched for, in the back of your mind. Across half-formed memories, years of crippling loneliness like a clock ticking in an empty house, a mother that could only care for as long as she could pretend to. And still, he wasn’t the man you had pictured. He wore a face that carried history but something essential was missing or perhaps broken?

It was you.

“What are you?” Was all you could say, waiting with baited breath.

“Some have called me a god,” the Toymaker said, slowly straightening from the place he had been hunched, as if pulling himself out of a long-forgotten memory. He stepped forward, leisurely, every movement deliberate, measured, as though he were walking through a game board only he could see.

“I’ve been called many things, in many tongues. Trickster, architect, illusionist. A whisper behind the veil. A shadow stitched into the fabric of time.” His eyes gleamed with something sharp and ancient. “Others can’t quite put me in a category: and that’s precisely how I like it. I am not bound by your little labels, your timelines, your cause-and-effect.”

He stopped just short of you, his presence folding in like a curtain drawing closed. “But you, my dear…” His voice softened, as though addressing something fragile, precious. “You are different. You are my perfect descendant. Oh yes, I have seen you. Moving through the cracks of existence, weaving colour into the grey, with that Doctor, mischief into the mundane. Creative. Restless. Just like me. You love it don’t you? Don’t you want more?”

He held out a pale, elegant hand, palm up like an invitation. “Do you know what that means? It means we don’t have to be lonely anymore. You and I… we’re echoes of the same story. Together, we could craft wonders. Rewrite rules. Build entire worlds from thread and thought alone.”

The air around him shimmered faintly, as if the very concept of reality was starting to bend in his wake.

“Come with me. Let the universe be our playroom.”

A mighty crash tore through the air, slamming through your eardrums, as the door of the toyshop flew open. You spun around just in time to see the frame engulfed in a blinding white light.

Silhouetted against it, stood the doctor. Arm outstretched, sonic screwdriver clenched tightly at his fist. His figure cut through the glare like a blade. Threatening.

“Oh, I might have guessed.” He Snarled, his voice low and dangerous, his face shrouded in darkness, but the fury in his posture said enough. “Snatching innocent people, turning them into your little amusements. Not this one.”

He reached for you, gripping your arm with a firm, protective urgency.

The Toymaker took a single step back, hands raised in mock surrender but his smug, knowing smile remained. He gave a theatrical sweep of his hand, inviting the Doctor to leave with you, as if granting a favor.

But even as you both moved toward the light, the Toymaker’s gaze stayed locked on yours unwavering, unreadable.

And then the world went white again.

***

In an instant, you were back inside the TARDIS, the familiar hum greeted you like a dream, but your chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, like you had just remembered how to breathe.

Silence settled in around you. Not the peaceful kind, but a heavy, uneasy stillness. The Doctor leaned against the console, his posture tired, almost slouched, like a frazzled teacher. You kept your eyes fixed on the floor, on the walls, anywhere that wasn’t him.

Then, finally, after what felt like hours of silence your voice broke the quiet, soft, hesitant. “Does the Toymaker… tend to tell the truth?”

The Doctor didn’t look at you right away. He exhaled slowly, a knowing sigh. “Why do you ask?”

You hesitated. The words were harder to shape than you expected. “He said something. While I was in there. I don’t know…it got under my skin, I guess.” You cleared your throat, trying to swallow the flicker of emotion before it showed. “It’s silly.”

The Doctor straightened slightly, and when he spoke, there was no humour in his voice. Only certainty.

“The Toymaker is bound by one rule: he can only tell the truth.”

A wave of emotion crashed over you, all-consuming and unstoppable. It surged before you could brace yourself, and all that escaped your lips was a single, breathless: “Oh.”

The Doctor turned at the sound—soft but broken—and his expression fell. Before he could say a word, the tears came again, spilling fast, helpless. You tried to speak through them, tripping over your apology as if it might hold everything together.

“I’m so sorry I don’t even know why I’m-”

“Sweetie,” the Doctor said gently, already crossing the space between you, “you have nothing to apologise for.”

He folded you into a hug before you could fall any further, arms strong and steady, wrapping you in something more solid than words. He smelled like soft fruit, peach, maybe, and something warmer beneath it, with a hint of Dolce & Gabbana clinging to the collar of his coat, subtle but grounding. Familiar.

You clung to him, trembling, the guilt still gnawing in your chest. “I nearly went with him, Doctor,” you whispered. “If you hadn’t come when you did, I might have-”

But he was already shaking his head, pulling back just enough to see your face. He brushed a few tears from your cheek with a gentleness that stopped the spiral in its tracks.

“No. I’m going to stop you right there.”

His voice was low, careful, but there was no judgement in it. Just something warm. Solid. Real.

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be wanted,” he said. “And there’s absolutely nothing dark or dangerous about craving love. Especially… that kind of love. The kind you should’ve had. The kind you deserved.”

He held your gaze, searching for the wound beneath your words, and softened as he went on.

“We don’t talk about it enough, do we? The way it twists and turns inside you, to grow up without that hand on your back, guiding you. Without the voice that tells you you’re doing alright, even when you feel like you’re falling apart. And then suddenly, that voice appears, and it’s coming from the last place you’d ever expect… and you’re so desperate to be seen, to be chosen, that you almost don’t care who it’s from.”

You sniffled, holding back another wave of tears. He gave a small, understanding smile.

“Of course you nearly went with him. Of course you listened. You’re human. Beautifully, heartbreakingly human. The Toymaker? He knows how to find that ache. He wraps it up in glitter and games, and he makes it feel like safety. But wanting love doesn’t make you weak. It makes you alive.”

He let that sit between you for a moment, and then added, softer:

“And if… if the time ever comes again, if you’re ever standing in front of him, or someone like him, with that same choice to make, I promise you, I will never make that decision for you. You deserve your own agency, your own answers. I won’t take that from you.”

His tone turned just a little lighter then, eyes warm with that familiar spark of his.

“But until then? I’m here. Maybe not the most responsible influence, bit too fond of danger, shiny buttons, and spontaneous musicals, but I’m here. For whatever you need. Always.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. He leaned in, pressing a soft, kind kiss to your forehead, and then pulled you into another hug, this one quieter, stiller. A kind of promise wrapped in arms.

In the far-off corridors of the TARDIS, just beneath the humming engines, you could hear it: a faint giggle, echoing like it had always belonged there. The Toymaker, keeping watch. Waiting.

He would return.

But so would the Doctor.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Phrogging. Or... Spider-ing?

A/N: Ignore the dumbass title I couldn't think of anything more captivating; Missed my love for driders-- I wish spiders were real 💔

Synopsis: You move into an old, but enticing fixer-upper of a house. While doing your general, you know, fixing-upping, you come face to face with the cause of the bumps in the night you’ve been plagued by. 

CW: Spiders, attempts at intimidation, fear, GN Reader

You know that skittering you hear while laying in bed sometimes? Little 'tic tic tics' behind your headboard as you try to sleep at night, or muffled bumps under the old hardwood floor creating flurries of dust as the thumping moves to another side of the room. Yeah, not always the most comforting feeling, especially when you're busy plastering white paint on old, cobwebbed walls at eleven at night, in a home built decades before you were born. 

Eggshell-colored sludge covered your elbows and cheeks, small speckles crusted over the dust on your ‘new’ floors and painting sheet. The bumps were a constant source of annoyance, especially tonight while you yourself, were making a bit of a ruckus. You didn't dare move while listening to the sound, a large roller still held rigidly in your dominant hand, dripping white onto the floor. Another thump resounded, creating small tornadoes of dust. And then another. They were farther away this time, to the south of your damp, italianate-style home. Ghosts and goblins weren't your forte-- even with the near century-old two-story you've been blessed to snatch off the market in time, you thought the cobwebs and oddly spacious basement were just remnants of the old owners, creaking with age and dim with use-- not the presence of the otherworldly. 

But these little tip-taps and deep grunts from below were by no means just a product of old wood and concrete-- they were... intentional. The roar of the incinerator was recognizable, separate from the sound of disturbing bangs from below.

The thump moved again, this time your paint roller falling into its wet bucket of a home as your legs shake, falling asleep from use; painting around the baseboards of your new suite (a dream bedroom-- even if it was caked in a layer of mouse droppings) was no easy feat, on you or your joints. 

Underneath a box of old sheets the thump went to disrupt the floor again, the box jumping a quarter inch off the ground. 

Your queasy legs rise to investigate. 

Down the hall and to the ground level, you avoid several caved-in steps as you leave the second floor. The shimmer of dust particles in the air makes you sniffle, rubbing your nose raw as you make it down. The basement door, only a few feet on the wall to your left, sat slightly ajar. 

The door bolt lays unused and slightly clanking against the rotting wood. A foul smell wafts from the open crack, a stench you have yet to get rid of even long after scrubbing the stairs with bleach from top to bottom. Perhaps the wood is starting to mold. 

They're damp when you rest on the first basement step with your socked foot, deadbolt still clinking as you watch the darkness. Nothing stirs, besides dust particles mixed with the smell of petrichor. 

Racing to the bottom of the staircase you rapidly search for the lightswitch, nearly tripping in the oncoming darkness.

Flipping one of them on and off again as the musty odor creeps closer, you can sense the movement of unseen creatures; blindly feeling for the second lightswitch, a dreary yellow from above finally bursts in the cavern of decade-old belongings, along with the sound of a whirring ceiling fan on the brink of falling out of the old cement.

Nothing seemed out of place, old dusted boxes lying against one another with wet stuff seeping from their rotten corners. A quiet ‘drip drip’ came from somewhere. 

A small sigh escaped from your dry mouth, corners of your lips sticking together from lack of use in anything other than swallowing your sandpapering tongue.

You scanned the room, all dawned in yellow except the deep corners of the basement. It read as usual, giving off the same historic, uncomfortably wet aura. But your eyes stopped, either out of a disruption in the moldy pattern, or an instinctual fear that was trying to warn you. 

Slender and black, it looked almost frozen, except for some wrongful twitching at its tip; you might’ve ignored it as a large crack in the wall, or perhaps dripping sewage from the upstairs bathroom if it had stayed still. But it curled, just slightly bent and sticking out like an appendage. It was aggregate with notches like a finger, jointed. It seemed to notice your staring, creating a creaking tap before it disappeared into the darkness of the ceiling beams and rotted corner to your right. 

Horror was slow to dawn on your face, exhaustion making your skin droop where wrinkles would show in only a matter of time. You had seen that, right? It wasn’t just your brain making things up because it was way past your self-mandated bed time?

The panic causing your heart to speed three times faster than the original lethargic beats was real, though. And that was enough for you to believe you were more than hallucinating. Blindly you search your back pockets for your phone, not daring to take your eyes away from the now empty, peeling corner. 

You hadn’t noticed the drumming that harassed you while painting had stopped-- until it started again. This time it came from above, dancing on the ceiling beams where you couldn’t see, sounding as if it was coming directly for you. When you were upstairs it was almost aimless, moving around like a cat with its head stuck in a box.

 You pressed a hand in front of your mouth, trying not to scream; it would do no good to wake the elderly neighbors, who already seemed prepared to destroy an outsider like you through the homeowners association. Well, what good would that be if you were dead!

Whatever the leg belonged to, it must have sensed your urgency as you tried to shuffle back up the stairs, your body pressed against the back wall to keep your eyes on the basement. The unclosable door upstairs had gently gone shut, the door bolt swinging against the splintered wood as if it too didn’t understand what had closed the door so simply. 

It had distracted you from your real fear, the thing you took your eyes away from. 

“Hello, there.” 

Wide-eyed and shaking, you drew yourself to look back at the dark corner, but the voice was far too close to come from so far away. 

“Up here, simpleton.”

Your paint-dried fingernails dug into the split wood from behind, begging for some stability besides the wet stairs beneath your soggy feet. 

Stuttering breaths ran throughout the groaning, mildew beast of the basement. You prepped for the worst, for some kind of phrogger or decaying corpse that found a way to haunt you. Burning tears tugged at the sides of your eyes, falling asbestos egging on your terror.

But what you found was a… young man; the kind of man you wouldn’t expect to be living in your basement, nonetheless hanging from the exposed beams of your basement. His eyes glowed with a round, edgeless face, oval and smooth like glass. His features were darkened by the shadows from above, the yellow lightbulb bathing him in a dark black and flaxen.

“What-- who are you,” You swallowed your fear, now that you knew for sure it was just some freak hiding out down here, rather than some supernatural entity. “Why are you in my house?”

Your voice grew stern, angry with the exhaustion this adventure had put you in. 

“Your house?” He scoffed, the thumping following him as a black mass from underneath his face carried him to another beam, this time closer to you and the railing of the stairs. 

You stomped down to the cold last step of the basement stairs, wondering if you should go as far as to find a broom and start pushing him out with it. 

“As far as I was aware, this was free territory, since.. Oh well, I don’t know. But it’s been over a decade since a beast like you had attempted to enter my home.” 

You nearly scoffed back, his home?

But the mockery was taken away from you as the long, slender appendage was made visible again. It slowly lowered itself from between the beams, the man from above moving with it. Another had shown itself, and then another. The man fell to the floor, black limbs and mass breaking his fall. 

The human upper half raised itself far above you, the long, obsidian spindles of his hair a tangled mess as his head nearly touched the beams from above. He barely fit in the ground floor of the basement, the ‘legs’ of his lower half grazing against damp boxes and an old piano shoved at the corner. The softness of his jaw was deceiving; humanly. However the darkness and creasing of his eyes showed his true nature, his antiquity. From the fullness of his flesh to small black freckles and his square nose, he displayed the range of features most humans would have; and yet, he was terrifyingly un-human. 

He towered in a menacing stance, hands to his side and shoulders slightly raised, as if he would come at you with his arms swinging if he sensed threat. 

You looked down to the part that confused your mind, dark legs taping inconsistently, and yet in a calculated pattern as each leg followed one another. Below its torso, where you prayed a pair of cargo pants or torn jeans would be, instead held the teardrop shaped abdomen you would see on one of the many spiders you’ve killed since you’ve been here. The legs were an extension of its beautifully horrific lower-half, black and sheening as a thin layer of shiny, spiked hairs were standing on end. 

You looked back up to see its face, horror engulfing in your own as you waited for the rest of the monster to turn into what it depicted. You almost jumped as the closed black lines you took for wrinkles or dust on its face opened up, a variety of blackened eyes glistening to stare at you. You didn’t have the sense to count, taken aback at what your mind had conjured in front of you. 

“You-- it--” Clutching at your heart you tried to stop the squeezing that held you frozen. “This isn’t real...”

“I suggest if you don’t want a roommate, or rather-- don’t want me to eat you, you abandon this residence, immediately.” 

You sucked in a raspy breath, again pushing yourself against the rotting wall to create distance from the towering, spider-like man.

“It’s my house..” You whispered, waiting for him to open his jaws like a snake and aim for your neck. He looked confused only for a moment, a clear tension of rage bubbling up in his pinched expression. “It’s my house.” You said louder, clearing your throat. 

At this, he just stared. What you took as anger was rather an inability to form a response on his end. 

“And what makes this yours? Your presence, your belongings?”

“My name is on the deed; I forked out thousands, there’s even a loan in my name, if you’d like to see that.” 

“Deed…” He repeated, unsure what to make of it. “I don’t know what the ‘deed’ is that you speak of, or the methods you have taken to try and gain ownership, but I assure you this land is claimed.”

You still clutched at your chest against the stairs, waiting for a move to be made. This was not something you had ever encountered before-- you didn’t even know who to contact, as you were certain the real-estate agent who handed you the keys wouldn’t be of any assistance. Any foreclosed homes’ problems were the new owner’s responsibility to handle, whether it be mold or a seven-foot creature residing in the basement. 

Do you call animal control? That can’t be right, he speaks, he’s even telling you to leave your own home. 

There had to be some kind of compromise to be made. You gather the courage to speak again, taking a deep breath to avoid stuttering.

“Well… no one needs to leave, just yet. Right? We can.. Figure this out somehow. We’re both reasonable here, there can be some arrangement to be made?”

It sounded as if you were asking him for permission, the farthest thing from the truth. All this hard work in renovating and you were going to give it up to some basement-dwelling beast? No way, you’d fight him off if you had to, even if you trembled while doing so. 

The creature was hesitant, bringing a hand up to grab onto the ceiling beam. His eyes cast down in thought, thin eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty. 

“Humans don’t do well for very long here, I assure you.” He gave a grimace, trying to avoid the obviousness of how he stared up, and down at your curled-in form, clearly frightened and trying to keep your distance like a cornered animal. “But I suppose it's the only option, if you don’t intend on leaving.” 

“So…” You swallowed the dryness of your mouth, close to heaving. “You’re not going to try eating me right now, or while I sleep or something?”

He tried to prevent an amused grin from pulling up the right side of his face, but a small dimple couldn’t hide it.

“No. I was bluffing, in the hopes that you’d run away. I’ve never tried human, and don’t plan on it; much too coarse.” He let go of the beam, seeming to shrink down as his attack stance became less of an assurance. “Doesn’t mean I’m unwilling if the opportunity arises, however.” 

“You almost instinctively relaxed as you watched him do so, trying to slow your sporadic heart that was still running at full speed. 

“But, aren’t you-- at least, part-human in some sort?” You wondered if this was the right time to be asking questions seeing as this creature-- who was certainly by no means harmless-- was only a few feet away from you and clearly distrusting.

“Getting into the family history before even knowing my name? That’s not particularly kind of an intruder.” He smiles outwardly this time, a creepy grin showing underneath the heavy hair curtaining around his face; it was starting to appear more gaunt the farther he stepped into the light. “But yes, arachnid’s have some human traits; I just appear less frightening to your eyes than my friends.”

As he speaks he lifts up a thin, lengthy arm, watching as something black crawls from behind him and across his wrist. Squinting your eyes and unconsciously lifting closer you see its a spider, a thick, long-legged creature that looked like the father of all the other spiders you had been killing since you moved in. 

You almost seemed to lower your shoulders at realizing he was part human. That you weren’t witnessing some kind of demon or underworld spawn that could rip you apart with just its mind; he had a fair set of weaknesses, too. 

“Don’t relax just yet, human,” He spat the word like it was derogatory, letting the spider walking across his arm reach the beam to his left as he was growing into something fearful. “Just because I won’t kill you doesn’t mean you are safe.”

Even with the hardened glaze of his eyes, the look of sheer disturbance deadened into his lips and expression-- it was a relief to know you would live to see another day. 

“Why should I be afraid if you’re just going to sit here like an unpaying roommate? I’d rather you not be here, but if you’re going to leave me alive than I can deal with boarding off the basement, Mr. Spider.”

You challenge his shadowed face, watching how he leans back in a reclusive manner and goes still, save for one of his left legs tapping. 

Like clockwork, that creepy, unnervingly toothy smile curls open again as his hands rise forward, claw-like. 

You had gotten the courage to stand straight, ignoring the pounding of your chest as you watched him. But with two steps he was across the stair railing, using his legs to entrap you against the peeling wallpaper. 

His narrow arms shot out to claw against the wall next to your head, digging into it with thick nails as his face got close. 

“It’s Seir; don’t insult me with such an absurd name,” Anger tinged the edge of his tone, looking down at you with the abundance of his eyes; you could see they had a reddish ring around them, a dark crimson you would have never noticed otherwise. “I have seen more history than you have read about in your lifetime, more death and destruction than you will ever witness.” 

He watched your face drain in color, eyes wide at seeing him close; what he saw as fear, was partly fascination that tightened your lips. Not to say you weren’t terrified, of course. 

“I like your fear-- I relish it. It means you aren’t going to be blind and stupid, that you will obey, and be frightened. And for as long as you stay here, you will not know peace.” The wallpaper crumbles as he brings a chalky hand to your jaw, placing a delicate thumb to the curve below your ear. “A night will not go by where I won’t attempt to destroy any sense of safety you have. I will be in every corner, a million eyes watching so that you are never, never left alone.” He grows closer, lowering his elongated neck to see eye to eye with you, close enough to touch your nose with his own if he dared. “Are you prepared for these consequences of staying in my territory, of being utterly feasted on by me in every way besides your vessel?” 

Seir’s finger traces down your jaw to your neck, trying to invoke the fearful goosebumps most humans would have by the touch of a creature by him. Rarely did he take measures to touch a human in order to cause fear, but it was clear you would need more than the occasional hissing and view of his presence to run away and leave him to his solitude.

You look away, almost blinded by the unconventional handsomeness he portrayed if one looked deep enough; with a bath, a sheet above his spidered body, and maybe a haircut-- he would be no different than one of the well-dressed guys in finance who sped-walk past the cafe that you people-watched at, pretending to look for a job on your laptop. Well, the eight eyes decorating his face kind of destroyed the illusion.

The intimidation tactic he carried out was less frightening than when he was standing ominously in the middle of the basement, leaving his attempt almost campy. You huff, a little irritated and tired now that you were no longer in fight or flight mode. 

 “…It was just a nickname, geez. I didn’t know spiders could be so sensitive.” 

[blondebrainpowered]

Artist Jonathan Harris and his painting titled “Critical Race Theory"

It’s a hauntingly effective image. A blonde figure stands, back to the viewer and paint roller in hand, covering up the images of Martin Luther King Jr., Harriet Tubman, and Malcolm X with strokes of white paint. Critical Race Theory (2021) has been embraced as a powerful reminder of the importance of teaching and preserving Black history.

The canvas is the work of Detroit artist Jonathan Harris, who, since taking up painting full time nearly four years ago, has dedicated himself to making work expressing his lived experience as a Black man in the U.S. Critical race theory, which examines the ways in which racism is embedded in our nation’s legal systems and policies, has been circulating in academic circles since the 1970s. But it began making headlines, especially in conservative media, in 2022 as some local lawmakers sought to proactively ban its teaching.

[redroomreflections]

Something With Sea Turtles

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

A Family Of Her Own AU

(Natasha has a secret family)

Summary: Pregnant R and Natasha loves on her.

Natasha is good at many things. Intimidating bad guys, disappearing without a trace, dismantling a firearm in seconds. Painting walls? Well, that’s a skill she’s still figuring out.

She had insisted on painting the nursery walls for the arrival of your little one in a few months. It was supposed to be a nice bonding experience. But, as with most things involving the two of you, it had quickly turned into a bit of a disaster.

"You said this would be easy," You teased from your spot on the floor, perched on a pile of cushions Natasha had painstakingly arranged for your comfort. Your hand rested on your growing belly as you watched her, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Natasha stood on a step stool, paint roller in hand, squinting at the wall. She was trying her best to create a soft, underwater gradient—blues and greens swirling together like an aquarium, the perfect theme for your baby’s nursery. But the brush strokes were uneven, and there was a smudge where she got a little overzealous with the darker blue.

"It is easy," she replied, her tone stubborn. "I’m just… experimenting with technique."

"Right," You muttered to yourself. "We could just hire someone."

"No!" She exclaimed, then, more gently: "No. I want to do this."

And, honestly, she did. The baby wasn't a shock by any means. Natasha had been dreaming about this day since the first time she fell in love with you. She had planned every detail down to the color of the paint, but when it came time to do the actual painting, she wanted nothing more than to do it herself.

"I know, but we don't even know if our baby will like water or animals..." You reached into your lap to open a bag of chips. "What if they hate all this ocean stuff?"

"If our baby hates all of this ocean stuff, then we'll just paint over it," Natasha lowered her paintbrush to glance back at you. "When did you become such a pessimist?"

"It's called being realistic."

Natasha huffed and dipped the roller in the pan, then continued her work.

"You're supposed to be relaxing."

"I can't relax when I have paint splattered all over my clothes," You gestured to the splotches of green and blue across your sweatshirt. "I'll never get these stains out."

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at you and smiled softly.

"Well, if you remove your clothes, I promise I'll be gentle."

"You're a dork," You chuckled. "And I'm not stripping in front of the baby."

"The baby's not even born yet."

"Still."

"Fine, then how about I strip for you," Natasha wiggled her hips and hummed playfully. "How's that for relaxation?"

"Tempting, but maybe you should finish the wall before we do anything else," You said. You looked down at the sweater to tug it over your belly. It seemed a bit tight these days. "Do you think I'm getting too big for this?"

"Your shirt?"

"Yeah, I mean... I feel like my stomach is stretching the fabric."

"Hmmm," Natasha mused. "Well, I'd say it looks pretty good."

"Good?"

"Perfect," She smiled to herself. "Absolutely perfect."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Of course."

"You're not lying to me right?" You tilted your head.

"When have I ever lied to you, Y/n?"

"A bunch of times actually," You raised a brow. "I was your superior."

"That doesn't count. Besides, it's my job."

"Your job is to tell me the truth," You sighed. "Do my boobs look too huge?"

"What? No!" She turned on the stool, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"But I've grown a size," You frowned, running a hand over your breasts. "You should be telling me to cover up."

"Are you crazy?" She asked, her eyes wide. "Y/n, you're carrying our child; I think you're allowed to dress comfortably. Also, I'm not complaining about your breast size."

"Yeah, but—"

"Listen," She set the paint roller down and stepped off the stool, "You're beautiful. Okay? And your tits are a part of that. You know, they're like an extra gift from the universe."

"Extra gift?"

"Like I'm already grateful for our baby," She said. "But then, your boobs get bigger, and, you know, I'm a very appreciative person."

"You won't be able to touch them for a while," You reminded her.

"I'm willing to wait."

"And I'm going to have stretch marks."

"So?"

"And my stomach will look weird and puffy," You sighed. "I mean, it's not going to go away."

"I don't care," she said. "Y/n, none of that matters. You're giving us a baby."

You were about to make a joke about how much it would probably hurt to push something the size of a melon out of your vagina, but when you saw the look in her eyes, your smile faded. She was so earnest, and suddenly, you felt guilty for not appreciating everything she was saying.

"Sorry," You said.

"For what?"

"Not listening to you," You shrugged.

"Don't apologize," Natasha walked toward you, then knelt beside your spot on the pillows. "I get it. There are days when I feel like I'm losing my mind. But, no matter what, you'll always be my favorite thing to look at."

"Nat," You grinned.

"Seriously," She smiled back. "And I'm gonna tell you that every single day until the end of time."

"Well, you'll be busy painting."

"Then, I'll paint it on the wall," She winked.

"God, I love you," You murmured, leaning forward to kiss her.

"Love you too," She replied, her breath warm against your lips. "Both of you."

"Now, go back to painting before you ruin it." You gestured. "I can kind of see the vision for the whale."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. I'm making art."

"Do you mind taking a breath to come rub this on my belly?" You gestured to the container of cocoa butter next to you.

"Of course," Natasha grabbed the tube, and unscrewed the cap. Then, she squeezed a generous amount onto her palm and set the bottle aside.

"You know," She began, "what you said earlier. I hope you don't believe that about yourself. That I won't find you attractive."

"No, I don't, not really," You shrugged. "It's just hard sometimes. My brain goes all crazy and my hormones are making me all weepy. But, I have you. And, you're not going anywhere, right?"

"Of course not."

"Good," You murmured. "'Cause I don't think I'd last long without you."

"Don't say that," She said, her voice quiet.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing," She scolded. "You'll be fine. I'll be fine. Everything will be fine. Now, can we focus on the positive? Like, for example, the fact that you're pregnant."

"I am pregnant."

"You are." She rested her hands on your belly. She began to rub the cocoa butter in circular motions against your skin. "You look so good like this."

"Really?"

"Yeah," She smiled, looking down at her hands pressing against the curve of your abdomen. She was so gentle with the bump. "This is exactly what I always imagined."

"What did you imagine?"

"A cute wife who was carrying my child," She smirked. "I guess I've always had a fantasy about having a family of my own."

"Well, you're living the dream." You grinned at her. For a second there wasn't much talking until you felt a slight movement inside of you. "She's awake."

"Really?" Natasha looked down.

"Yeah," You said. "Can you feel her?"

"Um, well," Natasha hesitated. "I mean, not really."

"Here," You reached down and took her hand, guiding it a bit further up your belly. "There. Do you feel that?"

"I—" Natasha paused, and then, she felt it, a faint movement against her hand. "Yeah?"

"Whenever you're near she gets to moving," You point out. "I think she recognizes your voice already."

A soft, surprised laugh escaped Natasha’s lips as she watched her hand rest against your belly, her expression melting into something softer than usual. She didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she let it linger, her thumb tracing circles on your skin.

"I think she’s already got me wrapped around her finger," she murmured, her voice full of affection and wonder. "Just like her mother."

"That's how it starts."

"Oh, is that a warning?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." She leaned forward to kiss your belly. Then, she rested her cheek against your skin. "I couldn't be any happier than in this moment."

"That's good," You brushed her hair from her forehead, stroking her scalp gently. "But, just so you know, when I'm back on my feet, I'm kicking your ass for making me paint a sea turtle."

"Hey," she said, her tone playful. "You're the one who agreed to help."

"I regret everything."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Tips for Critical Reading

You'll find many ways to read and understand a text, but keeping a journal as you read is one of the best ways of exploring a piece of writing. By integrating reading and writing, you can interact with the work more fully.

Begin each new novel, play or poem without predetermined bias. If you decide in advance that all good art uses realistic settings and promotes your personal moral values, you close out the possibility of new experiences. You do not have to, nor should you, enjoy every work of literature that you read, but you should be willing to recognize that the imagination is limitless.

Read slowly. This suggestion can't be stressed enough. If you roller-skate through an art museum you won't see the paintings.

Read with pen in hand. Underline key phrases, speeches by major figures, or important statements by the narrator. But don't limit yourself. Underline or highlight anything that seems important or striking. Take notes on ideas or questions (don't trust your memory). Write in the margins. Keep a list of the characters and/or major events on the inside of the front cover. Circle words used in special ways or repeated in significant patterns. Look up words that you don't know or words you think you know but seem to have a special weight or usage.

Look for those qualities that professional writers look for in real life: conflict, contrast, contradiction, and characterization.

Look for rhythm, repetition, and pattern. Successful works of literature incorporate such structural devices in the language, dialogue, plot, characterization, and elsewhere. Pattern is form, and form is the shaping the artist gives to his or her experience. If you can identify the pattern and relate it to the content, you'll be on your way to insight.

Ask silent questions of the material as you read. Don't read passively, waiting to be told the "meaning." Most authors will seldom pronounce a moral. Even if they do, a work of literature is always more than its theme. Use the questions devised by reporters: Who, What, When, Where. Why and How may take more study—such questions probe the inner levels of a text.

Keep a reading journal. Record your first impressions, explore relationships, ask questions, write down quotations, and copy whole passages that are difficult or aesthetically pleasing.

The Reading Journal

Christopher Thaiss in Write to the Limit (Chicago: Holt, 1991) notes that the word journal comes from the French word for day, which is jour.

The word indicates that a journal is kept daily.

Thaiss also suggests that journals are kept for many different reasons: to record events, to keep an ongoing public record, to record feelings, to make close observations for scientific purposes and, finally, to explore emotions, memories and images in order to think and learn about any subject.

Don't feel overwhelmed. Just relax; notice and feel things.

Associate ideas with other subjects, objects or feelings.

Try the following 3 steps:

First, write what you see in the text at the surface level.

Next, write what you feel about what you see.

Finally, write down what you think it means or why you think it is important.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[hellodaydream1111111111111111]

More HxH headcanons!

Leorio has had a mullet.

Hisoka shows up at illumi's window frequently.

Mike sheds his summer coat all at once but he still loses a lot of fluff, Illumi uses so many lint rollers it's insane.

Killua and the gang buy random phone numbers on Craigslist to bully Illumi and whenever he gets these texts, he kicks his feet like a little girl.

Silva told all the other Zoldycks not to buy Killua a birthday present so he could seem like the best dad ever and comfort his son when the rest of the family “forgot”

Kikyo is a flat earther.

Hisoka finds Illumi’s hair everywhere in his apartment.

Hisoka is actually a natural ginger but he covers up his freckles with texture surprise and dyes his hair.

Milluki hates Killua because in his eyes his brother took everything from Illumi (he did but it wasn't his fault) and he knows Illumi won't hate him so he feels like he has to do it for him.

Milluki is always worried about Illumi because well... He's Illumi.

Milluki and Illumi flip each other off if they pass by each other in the hallway.

Chrollo spams Illumi with texts equivalent to “Quit your job, join my emo band”

Whenever Illumi returns from an especially long mission, Kikyo picks him up when she hugs him.

Zeno gave up his role as head to Silva on the condition he got a say in what happened to Killua, he doesn't care about any of the other kids and won't do anything about Silva being a terrible human being as long as it doesn't affect Killua.

Illumi talks about his siblings so much (Especially Killua but that was implied) that sometimes Hisoka feels like he’s dating a single mom.

Illumi loves his mother but secretly feels that he would be a better fit as Killua’s mother despite being a man.

Zeno constantly makes fun of Silva for letting Kikyo dress their sons up as little girls and “Giving in to his woman”

Since the Zoldycks are immune to poisons, Kikyo wears dresses in authentic scheele’s green and to build up tolerance the Zoldycks would give their children toys painted with it.

When Killua was little, Illumi used to just sit on his bed and watch sleep all night; gently stroking his hair every now and then.

Kikyo is manic, she hurts her children and then cries about them being hurt while bandaging them up.

Kikyo’s mood changes rapidly, with Illumi she is jealous of him and berates him half the time and is the most supportive mother the other half.

Not really a headcanon but if Illumi can sharpen his nails like Killua, which I assume he can, I feel bad for Hisoka though he probably enjoys it.

Illumi can crack all his joints and it freaks Milluki out.

The Zoldyck siblings are mad creative with insults.

Kalluto has 3 dads and none of them are Silva (Chrollo, Phinks and Illumi)

Illumi is very nitpicky once he comes out of his shell.

Hisoka and Illumi have specialty weapons that are a lot higher quality for when they eventually fight each other.

One time Illumi was in a really good mood and got way too excited to see Mike, the giant beast had lipstick stains all over him.

Illumi tried to summon a demon because Hisoka told him he needed a hobby and he wasn’t sure what to do, Chrollo happily volunteered as the sacrifice.

Illumi enjoys embarrassing his siblings.

The phantom troupe members always ruffle Kalluto’s hair when they walk by him.

Hisoka blasts music while getting ready and Illumi smashes dishes to drown out the sound because he thinks Hisoka’s music is trashy.

Illumi has all of his siblings baby teeth in a jar on his nightstand.

One time Gon tried to make his own orange juice but he added salt instead of sugar to it and cried.

Kalluto knows fan language and uses it on Zushi who is absolutely oblivious.

Illumi organizes when he’s stressed but eventually he runs out of things to organize som he goes into Milluki’s room and cleans. Milluki used to get pissed but now he’s found out that he can pretend he did it an only gets slightly annoyed.

Kalluto and Illumi have a long standing game where Kalluto will try to land a hit on Illumi as he goes about his day to day, he’s only be successful four times and usually ends up getting held upside down by his feet.

Hisoka actually has a lot more aura than it seems, he just uses a lot of it on bungee gum to keep his ridiculous outfits in the right places.

Illumi throws pins around his room when he’s bored but it drives Milluki nuts because they share a wall.