#codeine cups

[intoanotherworld23]

The End Of Us

Summary: You and Joel have made the difficult decision to go your own ways, and Joel just wants to spend one more blissful night with you before you leave

Warnings: explicit content, mature themes, smut, unprotected sex, smidge of spanking, dominant Joel, submissive reader, minor edging, sad ending, angst

A/N: Hello my lovelies this one is a little bit longer than what I’ve been writing lately so I hope that you guys enjoy this! Let me know what you think in the comments and reblog so that others can enjoy it as well. It would be greatly appreciated and encouraged. My Pedro pascal tag list is still open so if you wish to be tagged in future writings let me know and I’ll add ya! Thank you all so much! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

“Just one more night baby, please.” Joel had begged against your lips. “Please just let me have one more night of you.”

You and Joel wanted totally opposite things, and had different visions for the future. Constantly arguing to the point it was becoming toxic to stay with each other. That’s when you both made the difficult decision to go different directions.

You cup his face in your hands as you stare deeply into his eyes. Showing no signs of manipulation or deceit only seeing pure desire and love. Feeling your cold fingers pressed against his heated skin. Holding his breath waiting for your answer. “One more night.”

Watching as Joel stoops, and without hesitating you jump into his arms so he can pick you up. Wrapped around him so tightly almost afraid to let him go. Fearing he would disappear suddenly, and this would all be a dream. Carefully walking up to the bedroom, a somewhat somber feeling in the air.

Joel laying you down softly on the bed as he sucks on your plump lower lip. Dragging it out with his teeth only to let it bob back. Lips then caressing your jawline as his hands massaged your outer thighs. Feeling him press his erection against you causing you to moan.

“I bet you’re just dripping.” His voice low and deep already knowing the truth without even having to look or feel.

Without skipping a beat he lifts your arms up sliding your shirt off and to the side. Looking down to see your erect nipples just waiting to be touched. He was eating you alive with just his gaze alone.

“God I need you so bad.” Mumbling before leaning his head forward to nip at your bud. Dripping onto his hair as he flicked his tongue back and forth.

“Joel please just take my pants off.” He was fully teasing you at this point. Taking in more of you than ever knowing this was going to be the last night.

Emitting a noise in response at the desperation in your voice. Lifting your hips up as he pulled them down your legs leaving you completely exposed. The air hitting the wetness between your legs causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

“See I knew you would be dripping.” He smirked knowing he was right, and all you could do was just roll your eyes at him.

“Just shut up and fuck me Joel.” Groaning wrapping your legs around him to help ease the ache. Joel knew what he was doing with you he wasn’t a fool. He wanted this last night with you to be explosive and utterly euphoric.

“I would watch how you talk to me baby girl.” He warned you his tone stern and dominant. His arms on either side of your head as he kissed your collarbone tracing his lips up your neck breathing you in. “I’m the best cock that’s ever gonna fuck you.”

Not even waiting for your response he stood up for a brief moment to strip himself of his clothes leaving him naked. Leaning on your elbows as you looked him up and down. Eyes drinking him in as you memorized every detail on his figure.

“Tell me how badly you need me.” Speaking as he grabbed your ankles opening you up to him. He wanted to hear you say it out loud.

“I need you so desperately Joel. You’re all I want. All I ever want.” Your words holding truth and meaning. It wasn’t a lie to just get what you want. “I love you.”

It was the three little words that held a much bigger meaning. He was shocked to hear you say it, and that was all he needed as he hovered over you pushing his cock inside of you feeling as he stretched you around him. Gasping your mouth wide open as he just watched your face.

“Fuck you’re so big.” Your hands gripping onto his waist holding him there feeling him deeply already clenching your cunt around him. Joel just leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours just loving the feeling of you, and not wanting to move.

“Keep your eyes on me baby girl.” He directed you wanting your entire focus on him. Joel was never shy when it came to intimacy. “Keep them on me or I stop.”

“Mhm.” Wiggling your hips wanting nothing more than him to move.

Joel pulling his hips back his cock slipping very easily just enough before he pushed forward again. Snapping his hips back and forth creating a steady rhythm. Hands gripping his arms as whimpers left your mouth. Wanting to just close your eyes so badly, but knowing Joel would stop, and this feeling would be gone so quickly.

“That’s a good girl. Taking me so good.” He praised as he briefly looked down as your walls swallowed him whole. It was a sight to see.

The sounds of your wetness were echoing in the room it was overwhelming your senses. Your entire being was just a mass of tingles, heat, and want. Just wanting to look down and watch as his cock abused your hole. Keeping your eyes on him as you noticed his face turning redder by the minute, and sweat dripping down his forehead.

“You feel so good, you feel so fucking good.” Groaning as he gritted his teeth trying to hold on for as long as he could.

Senseless sounds were tumbling out of you, the pleasure coursing through your veins. Whenever you and Joel would fuck it felt like you were floating in the clouds. Never wanting to come back down. Nothing compares to the way he makes you feel when he’s inside of you, and caressing your skin. Nothing else.

“I wanna cum in you.” There’s a desperation that instills within him, wanting to get to the finish. “Please I wanna cum in you so badly.”

“Yes, please, yes.” With no hesitation as you tightly wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in even closer.

A hand slithering down your lower stomach between your bodies so he can rub your clit in harsh circles. Crying out at the overwhelming sensitivity as your nails dug into his skin. Your eyes tearing up your body felt like it was going to explode.

“I’m close.” Warning him and he responded by flipping your bodies so smoothly so you were now on top, his cock never slipping out.

“Ride me baby girl.” Hands gripping your hips as you moved your body back and forth your hands pressed against his chest using him as leverage. “Fuck just like that.”

Rocking the entire bed the headboard knocking against the wall with your aggressive motions. Joel loved watching as you took control so desperate to chasing your own high. Hands coming down on your ass as a form of motivation to keep going. Your thighs burning already from this position.

“Look at me when you cum.” He tells you your brows upturn, whining in frustration. His thumb returning to your puffy clit rubbing fast circles.

“Oh god I’m cumming.” Feeling the dam break as your walls flutter around him from the stimulation. Throwing your head back as you felt your entire body trembling from the mind blowing orgasm, feeling the heat around your body overflowing with pleasure.

“Fuck.” Joel holding you in place as your cunt instinctually clenched around him. His cock twitching inside of you his own release just right there. Euphoria finally conquering him, and it makes effective work, hot spurts of him warm seed coating your insides.

Fighting to keep your eyes open as fatigue rushed through your body. Arms and legs feeling like noodles thankful Joel was holding you up otherwise you would have collapsed on top of him. Rubbing soothing circles on your thighs in comfort as he eased you through the last of your orgasm.

“Come here.” Patting his chest signaling to lay down. Slowly placing your head on his sweaty chest placing your ear over his heart listening to his rapid heart beat. Keeping his cock inside of you not wanting him to leave.

There was a sudden shift in the air. Feeling melancholy that this was the last time you and Joel were ever going to see each other. Joel pressing his lips on the top of your head it had you smiling.

“God I hate this.” Mumbling against his skin breaking the deafening silence. Your body frozen not wanting to move because then it would become real.

“I wish there was a different way, but we’ve already been lying to ourselves long enough.” Joel was being stronger for you knowing if he wasn’t you both would keep running in circles, and having the same conversations over and over.

If only you and Joel had met at a different time in your lives this discussion wouldn’t be happening. It was just both your luck you had to meet when the virus already broke out. You could see a beautiful life with Joel.

“I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.” His voice cracking as he tried to hold back the tears. It broke your heart to see him vulnerable like this.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Kissing his chest a hand reaching up to rub the back of your head. A tear rolling down your cheek. This was going to be so much harder than what you thought.

“Who knows,” looking up at him your bottom lip trembling. “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

Closing your eyes as the tears were starting fully stream down your face. You and him both knew better than that. Neither one of you were likely to see each other again. Of course, Joel wanted to make you feel better about the situation. Embracing you as he held you in his arms so tightly it actually started to hurt.

“Yeah, who knows.” Sniffling as you pathetically attempted to sound optimistic, but Joel saw right through you.

“I love you so much.” Staring deep into your eyes as he placed a kiss on your lips knowing it was the last time you were ever going to feel those soft lips on yours.

[notjustjavierpena]

Te Quiero, a Husband!Javier Valentine’s Special

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This is for all my readers who have wanted to get an insight into Hubby and Wife’s dynamic, backstory and family life. I hope you enjoy it because I put my heart into this mess of a fic. Thank you @strang3lov3 for always inspiring me, thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for always being a great beta-reader and here’s to @morallyinept who told me to tag her in any V-Day fic I post!l

Summary: Your husband has made big plans for Valentine's Day, beginning with breakfast in bed, but not everything goes as smoothly as expected, and suddenly you are faced with a big surprise. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18, hubby!Javier, tooth-rotting domestic bliss, breastfeeding, playful banter, Chucho makes an appearance!!, siblings being siblings, Javi loving you and his kids, negative feelings about your mom-body, insecurity/comfort, spontaneous sex, pussy eating, (Spanish) dirty talk, fingering, unprotected piv sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, silly people in love, LOTS of kisses, lots of i love yous, mention of pregnancy and its symptoms    

Word count: 11.7k (i am so sorry)

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53757202

Te Quiero

You open your eyes, reaching to rub them as the door to the bedroom opens by Javier using his shoulder and backing into it. There’s a crease on his forehead, between his furrowed brows, from looking extremely concentrated because he is carrying a wooden tray in his hands. 

Most days you are a heavy sleeper. It is a result of having two children without an understanding of the concept of privacy when it comes to their parents. However, what truly wakes you up is the concerning rustle of utensils, plates, and mugs that your husband is balancing as he nears your shared bed. 

Because Javier has his back to you, you close your eyes again and pretend to be asleep, not wanting to ruin the surprise. The tray is placed on the foot of the bed, and you fight a smile as you hear his footsteps coming around the end of the bed and closer to your side. 

“Buenos días (good morning),” he whispers to you, and you roll onto your back and sit up. Javier stands by the side of the bed and waits. 

Like in a movie, you blink awake slowly and lift your arms up over your head to stretch and yawn. Javier looks at you expectantly, and you catch a glimpse of why your son resembles him so much. They both have that boyish charm, the ability to look excited in the exact same way when waiting for a reaction from you. 

“What’s all this?” You ask with a grin. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, mi vida (my life),” he says and leans down to initiate a kiss.

“I have bad breath,” you point out.

“I have coffee,” he replies and kisses you anyway, “And today’s crossword puzzle.”

“I knew I married you for a reason,” you scoot to sit back against the headboard. Javier moves to get into bed with you, pulling the covers aside to get under them while you reach for the tray. You place it between the two of you as if you are about to have a picnic in bed. 

“Did you check on Seb?” You ask as you marvel at the breakfast that Javier has put together for the two of you. There are heart-shaped chocolate chip pancakes, an abundance of fresh fruit (including blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and banana), whipped cream, syrup, and coffee the way you both like it; black without anything more which Javier claims - to this day - is still one of the reasons that he fell for you. 

“Still asleep for now but I suspect he’ll want one of us soon because he can hear us,” he tells you and reaches for his mug after handing you yours. 

“I’ll enjoy this while it lasts then,” you take a sip of coffee, humming at the taste. Then, after putting down your mug, you pop a blueberry into your mouth. 

“I think Lucas has a crush,” Javier tells you in a heartbeat later, smirking into his own cup of coffee. 

You raise a brow in suspicion and surprise, looking at him without turning your head. You swallow down the blueberry and go for the pancakes next, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, he got shy when I asked him if they were making Valentine cards at school today. So I figured something was up because he usually doesn’t get quiet about all those things, you know, he’s touchy-feely,” Javier explains. As he talks, you pour syrup onto the stack of pancakes on your plate, “Inés nearly fell off her chair as she talked about what the school has planned. So yeah, whatever, he’ll tell us if he wants to.”

“Well, perhaps, and hopefully I might add, he’s inherited his dad’s charm as well as his good looks,” you tease, tapping your chin as if you are trying to remember something, “What was it Connie called you? Think it was serial romancer.”

“Hold on, you’ve never told me this,” he pretends to look offended, “When was this?”

“At the bar… just after I laid eyes on you,” you sprinkle fruit on top of your breakfast and wipe your hand on your tank top, “She told me not even to think about it but I knew that I was done for.”

“That damn woman,” he lets out a genuine laugh, “Better tell Steve to keep his lady under control.”

“Connie’s definitely the one keeping her man under control. Just like me,” you smirk, taking a bite that is way too big because your eyes can’t get enough. You groan at the taste. Everything is delicious, so you stuff your mouth and thus don’t have to reply to your husband’s outrage.

“Hey,” he says but you just grin at him, showing off each piece of pancake between your teeth. He sighs but there’s a hint of adoration in his eyes and you know he is fighting a smile, “Charming.”

When you finally swallow, he has dug into his own meal. You eat in silence for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s company as it is undisturbed by children. 

“Don’t you have work today?” You ask eventually. 

“I told them I was coming in later,” he replies, stabbing a strawberry with his fork, “They can survive without me until 10-ish. They’re gonna have to.”

You glance over at the clock on your nightstand. It is 8:16. There’s still time to enjoy each other’s company, maybe even have a cuddle or something more if you aren’t too full from breakfast. 

Javier has opened the paper now but he hasn’t gotten out a pen yet which means that he isn’t starting the puzzle yet. You continue eating, and meanwhile, conversation flows naturally around subjects like work, kids, and sweet memories. 

Suddenly, in the midst of reminiscing about your first trip out of town together, the light on the baby monitor comes on and Sebastian’s distraught, unhappy cries sound through the speaker. Javier puts down the paper and gets up before you. 

“Do you think he’s hungry?” You ask, already moving to pull your top’s straps down to reveal your breasts. 

“I know he is, that’s how he cries when he is,” he moves towards the door, already talking to his son throughout the house, “I’m coming, mijo (my son).”

“You’re so much better at the parent thing than me,” you try to remember which of your breasts you nursed from last night but you cannot, and therefore resort to feeling for the fuller one. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he leans down to kiss your lips before heading down the hall. You listen and wait, hearing Javier coo at his newborn and causing the cries to turn into hiccups instead. 

After a moment, he returns with Sebastian in his arms. You hold out your own and he carefully hands him over to you. With a grin, you settle your baby into your arms, “Hi, sweetheart. Hi there, baby boy, ooo, you’re hungry, aren’t you? Look at that big mouth you’ve got — Honey, can you get me a cloth?”

You don’t look up but hear Javier leave the room again but only briefly. He comes back and gives you a muslin cloth which you throw over your shoulder, a thing that always makes Javier joke about you looking like - and kind of being - a bartender if that bartender only served milk. 

Sebastian quickly latches on. He closes his eyes as he nurses, and you look longingly at your breakfast as he eats his own. You frown, “It’s getting cold. My coffee too.”

“Just sit back,” your husband reassures, shifting on the bed without making the tray tip over. He cuts a piece of pancake and stabs it with his fork, “Open up.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you smile happily but oblige. 

“You’re literally keeping my kid alive, mi amor (my love). The least I can do is keep you alive as well, fuel you up,” he feeds you with his own mouth slightly agape. It makes you laugh. 

“What?” Javier chuckles in his confusion.

“You look like a fish,” you tease as you giggle, letting Sebastian grab at your index finger, “I’ve never noticed if you look like this too when feeding the kids.”

“Cállate (shut up),” he laughs, consciously avoiding making himself look foolish again as he feeds you another bite. He purposely pokes your nose with the back of your fork to smear the tip with whipped cream, and you respond by looking shocked while laughing. 

“That’s so unfair, I have an actual baby in my arms,” you argue, looking down at Sebastian to give him the run-down on his father’s behavior, “You know, Seb, it’s a good thing I love him so much. Look at this. Absolutely ridiculous.”

“I think you might have deserved that one, baby,” he reasons, “Don’t think I feel bad. Seb agrees.”

“You don’t know that,” you use the muslin cloth to wipe a little milk off of your child’s cheek and then wipe whipped cream off your nose too, “Now, please, feed your starving wife. I feel weaker by the second.” 

“Always the dramatic,” he replies but follows through. 

The teasing dies down after that. You eat whatever Javier gives you whilst you are breastfeeding and Javier eventually finds the crossword in the paper to do it during your quiet morning. 

When Sebastian is done eating, cooing happily, you bend your knees and place him against your thighs. You hold both of his hands, doing a little dance with him whilst your husband reads clues aloud. 

“Another word for radiance, four letters and beginning with g,” he says. 

“Glow,” you reply instantly.

“You’re so much better at the crossword thing than me,” he winks and writes down the remaining letters. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you smile at him and he smiles back. The morning is perfect. 

*

After a cozy morning, Javier has to leave for work. He kisses you and Sebastian goodbye and takes the breakfast tray down into the kitchen with him so you can sleep more if you want to. 

You protest at first - it really hadn’t been your intention - but seeing your baby yawn and coo in your arms makes you sleepy, and you end up on your side with Sebastian on Javier’s side of the bed. He has his arms above his head, face turned towards you and you rest an arm over him whilst you snore lightly. The few hours of sleep you get like this without any interruption are fantastic, boosting your productivity for the rest of the early afternoon. 

You dress casually and wrap Sebastian in a sling, so he can sleep against your chest while you clean up from breakfast, fill and start the dishwasher, and do a round of laundry before having to pick up Lucas and Inés from school. 

However, when you start to get the car keys from their place in the hallway, you hear the door open and the familiar sound of children’s voices filling the house. You can hear the enthusiasm in their voices as they talk to who you assume is your husband but when you turn the corner, you see that it is, in fact, your father-in-law.

“Hello, mija (my daughter),” Chucho says and takes off his hat. He hangs it by all the coats and scarves, “Javier told me to pick up the kiddos.”

You look a little dumbstruck, having been taken completely by surprise but still, you walk over to give him a hug and receive a kiss on the cheek, “Did he say why?”

Chucho kisses Sebastian’s head too, who only coos quietly against your chest. From below, Inés is trying to get your attention. You run a hand over her hair without looking at her, trying to get her to tone down her enthusiasm as you search for answers. Chucho just smiles. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day, sweetie,” he reasons with a gentle smile, “I think he has his reasons. All I know is that I’m not supposed to bring them back here before tomorrow afternoon after school.”

“Abuelo promised that we could get pizza for dinner,” Inés interrupts again. You smile down at her whilst trying to process having a whole twenty-four hours off from being parents. 

“Ain’t you lucky,” you say with a grin. 

Chucho beckons Lucas over who brings his school bag with him, “But first, I think these two have some things to show you. Lucas, c’mere.”

“We made presents!” Inés says and Lucas glares. He frowns at his little sister, placing his backpack by his feet and throwing daggers in her direction.

“Inés, you’re ruining the surprise,” he grumbles despite still digging into the bag. Inés seems unbothered about his irritation, simply joining him to stick her hands into the bag as well. Lucas continues, “Don’t tell Mom what it is.”

You and Chucho watch them, hiding a chuckle as Inés eventually still states that she wants to show her drawing first and Lucas starts groaning. 

“Mom!” He says with exasperation. 

“Ay, Inés, por favor (please),” you say, “Let Lucas share his surprise. It’ll be your turn soon.”

“Mine is for Papá,” she states proudly. 

“She’s just excited, hijito (little son),” you hear your father-in-law say. He puts a calloused hand on Lucas’ shoulder, whispering quietly, “Show your mom your present. Inés’ll be too busy talking to notice.”

It is true. Inés gets a hold of her drawing and spends her time admiring her work, and Chucho is sweet enough to indulge her to give you and your son a moment alone. 

In his very own gentle nature, Lucas finds the card that he has made for you just next to where Chucho had told him to store Inés’ drawing as well. He blushes as he hands it to you, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom.”

You inspect it before opening it; it is a blank card that Lucas has decorated with colorful stickers and glitter, having drawn shapes and patterns along the sides and a big heart in the middle where it says To Mom in his wonky handwriting. 

You open it to reveal a little letter addressed to you. It is framed by another border of glitter:

Dear Mom,

Happy Valentine’s Day! I love you a million billion times around the Earth. You take care of me and Inés and Sebastian. And you always make me happy when you give me a hug. 

Love, Lucas

You find yourself speechless for a moment and out of the corner of your eye, you see the familiar expectant face that Javier sported earlier too. It takes your breath away. 

Carefully, you crouch down with Sebastian still in his sling. It gives you the opportunity to embrace Lucas from the side, hugging him close and kissing his hair repeatedly. You whisper endearments to him, tell him you love him and he gets shy as he reciprocates, using the time to caress Sebastian’s fine hair on top of his head. 

“I love you so much, my Valentine boy,” you say with a soft voice as you pull away, stretching again and running your hand through his dark hair repeatedly. You can feel a few more tears escape your eyes, your heart pinching in your chest from how much love you feel. Could the day become more perfect? You doubt it. 

“Dad asked me about it at breakfast but I was scared of him telling you so it wouldn’t be a surprise because he always does. But then Inés did it anyway…” he grumbles and looks up to see your tears. His eyes widen, “Mom, are you crying?”

“It’s just happy tears, mijo (my son),” you reassure, “Sometimes having babies makes you cry a little more often.”

Lucas seems a little confused by this. You tell him that he’ll understand when he gets older. After all, he only has so many years until hormones will start to rage through his own body. 

Suddenly, the front door opens and closes in the next moment, and Inés giggles loudly as she recognizes the sound of her father’s footsteps. When he enters the kitchen doorway - his steps are way bigger even if Inés is running - he crouches down and opens his arms, “There she is! Mi diablilla (my little devil), how are you?”

Inés throws her arms around her father’s neck, drawing still clutched in her grip to the point where the paper crinkles. You feel like it was a waste of time to try and wipe away your happy tears because the sight makes them well up in your eyes once more. 

“I made you a drawing. Abuelo told me I could give it to you before we go to his house. Did you know we are having pizza tonight? I can have a whole pizza to myself and I want the pizza to have pepperoni,” Inés announces, squealing with delight as Javier wraps his arms around her before stretching to his full height again and picking her up with a dad-groan. He places her on his hip, bumping his nose into her cheek.

“Christ, you get bigger by the second. Pizza? I don’t remember you liking pizza,” Javier teases, walking across the room to the rest of his family. He smiles at his son, reaching out to rub his shoulder with his free hand and winking at him before talking further with babbling Inés, “Hold on, I thought you liked broccoli and spinach the most. Do you really want pepperoni? I think you should get broccoli on your pizza.”

Inés loves it when her father teases her. He’ll act dumb and silly on purpose - her favorite thing a year ago had been whenever he made himself purposely bad at puzzles, and he’d try to piece two corners together -  much to his daughter’s delight. 

“Nooo, ew!” She says with a grin, clinging onto him. 

“She only wants it because I want it,” Lucas says matter-of-factly, still a little frustrated with his little sister. He bounces back and forth on his heels. 

“Then you can have her leftovers, mijo (my son), she never eats a whole pizza anyway” Javier reasons and mouths the last bit of the sentence, moving the hand on his son’s shoulder to put it on the back of his neck. He gently tugs him into his side. Eventually, your son gives in and hugs him around his middle.

“Hi Dad,” he says softly, hugging him tightly even if it’s briefly. 

“Hola,” he smiles. 

“We should get going,” Chucho interrupts gently and reaches for his hat again, “We’ve got a lot of things planned this afternoon. The animals won’t take care of themselves.” 

“My drawing!” Inés yells, squirming in her father’s arms from eagerness and rushing, so much that she nearly smacks the picture into his face. She holds it too close to his eyes so that he has to take it and hold it for her. 

You find yourself tiptoeing up behind them to look at the picture yourself, trying not to distract anyone from what they’re doing. 

It’s a picture of your house. There’s a fire in the chimney but its smoke blows the opposite way of the way that a cloud is raining. She has just started drawing butterflies but they’re as big as the trees in the garden and with multicolored wings. 

In the bottom right corner, she has written I love Daddy but replaced the word love with a heart instead. Underneath is her signature. The S in her name is turning the wrong way but it’s her name nevertheless. 

“This is so good,” Javier says enthusiastically, “Tell me about it. What is it?”

“It’s my house! I drew a lot of butterflies in the garden,” she explains proudly. In the background, you notice that Chucho is carrying bags, which you had no idea were packed, out of the front door. 

“I can see that. You really know how to color. The green one is my favorite,” Javier continues, “Do you want me to put it on the fridge for when you come home tomorrow?” 

Inés nods eagerly. She beams and then turns serious, “Yes! If— if you want to take the rabbit one down that’s okay.”

“Oh, I am gonna miss you, mi vida (my life),” Javier pecks her cheek and she giggles, “So much.”

“It’s only till tomorrow,” you point out with a giggle. 

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss these rascals,” Javier puts Inés down on the floor again, still holding her drawing and making sure not to crumple it. He ruffles Lucas’ hair, “You too, hijo (son).”

“I love you, Dad,” he says with a shy smile. 

“I love you too, Daddy!” Inés joins in. 

You mimic a wave with Sebastian’s little hand, “I love you too, Papá.”

“Now, now. As much as I love you, say bye to Mom,” he protests, nodding towards his infant son, “Want me to take him?”

“Yes, please,” you say and carefully unwrap Sebastian from his sling. It’s not a difficult transfer, something you have done a million times in the past many years. Sebastian only complains a little, Javier tuts and bounces him and the paper in his hand flaps. 

You hug both of your kids at the same time, kissing them repeatedly on their heads, “I love you very much, my babies. I hope you have a fun time.”

“That’s the car packed,” Chucho announces as he comes back inside, “Come on, kids.”

“Right, I’ll put Seb in his car seat,” Javier replies as Inés and Lucas run to their grandfather’s car. Chucho goes with them to put on their seatbelts. 

“Sebastian is going too?” You tense up. This hasn’t even crossed your mind. 

“It’s just supposed to be us tonight,” Javier says, having put Inés’ drawing on the kitchen counter and already moving towards the front door where the car seat is on top of a cabinet. You hear shuffling around as your husband clicks the safety belt on, and you instinctively follow. 

“We haven’t done that since the summer,” you argue. 

“All the more reason to do it again if it’s been that long,” he responds with a little smile.

“Well, does he have enough milk?” You ask, moving your weight from side to side. 

“More than enough, I packed extra.”

“O-okay.”

Javier leaves the car seat on the floor, steps close to you and cups your face, “He’ll be fine. Just like Inés and Lucas have been in the past. Relax, mi amor, no pasa nada  (my love, it’s okay).” 

“Okay,” you take a deep breath and nod, holding onto one of Javier’s wrists for a moment as you steady yourself. He looks like someone ready to catch you, “Está todo bien (it’s okay).” 

“Now, let’s say goodbye so I can have you to myself, vale?” He smirks, leaning in to kiss you just barely. 

“You have to tell me what you have planned tonight too,” you say and he nods. 

“Claro (of course).”

It takes five minutes to get Sebastian in the car, secure him properly, and wave goodbye to your kids from the driveway. When you cannot see the car anymore, you walk inside and the house gets incredibly quiet after you close the door. The both of you let out a sigh. 

“What now?” You look at Javier questioningly. After all, he is the one who has planned the next 24 hours.

“Honestly? I just want to take a nap,” he finds your hips and steers you closer, linking his arms around your waist. You reach up to rest your palms on his chest, scratching slightly against his shirt. He chuckles, “Do you want to take a nap with me?”

“Just a nap?” You raise a brow. 

“Yes, just a nap,” he confirms with a boyish twinkle in his eyes.

“I’d kill for a nap but only if you tell me what’s happening later. I don’t like surprises,” you remind him when he already starts dragging you by your hand toward the stairs.

Javier waits until the both of you have ascended the stairs before telling you. You don’t say it but there’s a bit of relief following as you thought that he had forgotten what today was, especially because you usually at least get a present from him. He smiles brightly as he speaks, seeming proud that he has managed to keep it a secret from you, “Well, first you are going to wear something nice, a dress, and get all gorgeous for me.”

He continues as you reach the bedroom, toeing off his shoes, “Then at eight, I’m taking you out to dinner at that new place downtown where the portions are fucking tiny and ridiculous.”

“Wait, the gourmet restaurant?” You have let go of his hand to undo the baby wrap, folding it afterward and placing it on your shared dresser, “They’ve been fully booked for months.” 

“Well yeah, and guess whose name is on one of the bookings,” he smirks, crawling onto the bed and waiting for you to follow. 

“You spoil me,” you lay down on your respective sides and turn to face each other. You rest both hands underneath your cheek, grinning at the way that Javier looks so mischievous but suddenly, something in his eyes darkens. 

“What?” You ask.

He reaches out for your waist, “And then when we get home, when you are all giggly from champagne, I am putting a baby in you.”

Your heart skips a beat. All blood in your body goes south. Without thinking, you sling a leg over his body and move closer, “Is that so?”

“Indeed, mi vida (my life),” the hand on your waist goes to rest on top of your thigh. He rubs it once and then twice but doesn’t do anything further, “But not now. Have a nap, wake up, and get pretty for me. You won’t get dick before tonight, lo siento (I’m sorry).”

“Unfair,” you mumble with already closed eyes. 

*

It turns out to be just a nap. You wake a good while longer before Javier, knowing that you need more time than he does to get ready if you want to feel good about going to a fancy restaurant. 

Besides you, your husband continues sleeping soundly. He doesn’t even sense it when the mattress shifts, bed springs creaking a little, as you leave the bed, and you make a mental note to ask him about his day to figure out what on Earth has made him this tired. 

You have a checklist in your head with steps for getting ready to go out. It changes with the details of the event, so you pull out the one that includes what you like to do to look pretty for your husband. However, all the lists always start with a shower. 

The spray is hot and soothing against your skin. You wash your hair and leave in your conditioner while you scrub your body, giving it extra time to work as you top your normal shower routine by shaving your legs. After struggling with balancing your leg against the wall for what has seemed like forever, the last five minutes of your shower are just spent standing underneath the shower head to feel the water cascading down your clean, smooth, and soft skin. 

It takes you twenty-five minutes more to put on lotion, brush your teeth, blow dry your hair, and choose an outfit. When you leave the bathroom to put on your dress, Javier kisses you in the doorway before popping into the shower himself. 

Now the hard part, you think to yourself. The dress you have chosen is from your anniversary a few years ago, consisting of tight red fabric. A part of you knows that it’s a bad idea as soon as you take it off its hanger and start putting it on, stepping into it, and pulling it up over your hips. 

When it hugs your body in a way that feels unfamiliar to you, you step towards the full-body mirror on the bedroom wall with the intention of seeing if it needs any adjustments around your chest and waist. What greets you is not something that you wish to continue looking at but staring into the mirror, you find yourself unable to look away.

A reflection of your post-baby body stares back. You aren’t anymore who you were when you had Lucas, and thus getting back into your usual shape after giving birth to Sebastian has not become a reality despite the pressure from people around you being there. 

There’s not much to say about it except your hips are wider and your stomach protrudes more than it did before. Usually, you haven’t worn a dress before getting down to your pre-pregnancy weight but Javier had made it sound so easy and now, it is so difficult; insecurities whisper in your ear as you try to flatten the fabric in hopes of looking prettier.

However, the scrutiny you put yourself under only intensifies and self-doubt becomes the uninvited guest that insecurity brings to the party. Should you ditch the idea of a dress altogether? You think yes and start to undress again because it’s way too tight around your middle and torso.

When Javier comes back into the bedroom, his hair is still damp and he has put on black underwear. You cannot help feeling the tiniest bit bitter at how well his extra pounds suit him and simply leaves him with a so-called dad-bod. He finds you stepping out of the dress as it has pooled around your feet. You look on the verge of tears at this point, knowing that you are not the woman that he chose to marry ten years ago. 

“¿Que pasó (What happened)?” He is just about to head for the dresser when he stops in his tracks and turns on his heel to face you, noticing immediately the way your shoulders slump when you feel defeated.

You smile at him in the mirror, slightly unsure, when he catches your eyes, and you shift a little on the spot when he goes to stand right behind you.

“What?” You ask.

“What’s wrong?” He inquires once again. 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and Javier raises a brow. 

“Is this a trick question?” He continues with a smile, “Baby, you are pretty, so pretty. You look incredible. As in, it is actually illegal or should be.”

Your attempt at a smile falters and Javier seems to realize that he has overdone it. You don’t believe him when he goes too head-on with the compliments. 

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you say in frustration and reach up to rub your face, finally turning around to avoid the mirror completely, “My boobs are too big, my thighs and waist too. Nothing looks good on me, especially not a dress.”

“Ay, slow down,” he looks down at your half-naked body and smirks a little. It mostly just makes you want to cover up again, “First of all, your boobs are great.”

You try to laugh but it just sounds painful. Then he finds your eyes again, watches the pout on your face, and tuts when a tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek. 

“I’m not beautiful anymore,” you say as if it’s a fact, “I look so different from when you met me.”. 

He wipes the tear away with his thumb, saying your name gently and you find your eyes prickling with more frustrated tears. 

He lets out a soft aww, baby, and steps closer to pull you into his arms, holding you as he lets you whimper quietly and then cry softly into his shoulder. His hands rub up and down your back. He is so warm.

“How about I choose something?” He suggests after a long silence filled with a bunch of silent tears. He pulls back to look you in the face, “You know I have a favorite, and then it won’t be as much pressure if you worry that I won’t like it. Even if that’s bullshit.”

“O-okay,” you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Okay, baby,” he smiles genuinely and pecks your hair.

He goes to browse through your clothes and you stay by the mirror, still not turning around to look at yourself but instead looking at your feet like a child feeling guilty. It takes a moment for him to find the dress that he refers to as his favorite but when he returns to you, you look up again and are surprised by the one he apparently likes more than all the others.

It’s a navy blue satin dress that you bought last year when you were pregnant with Sebastian, and it quickly became your favorite dress for the summer because it had to be tied just below your breasts and therefore didn’t sit tight around your belly. It has butterfly sleeves and a flowy skirt that is slightly longer in the back and stops right at your knees in the front. It’s a wrap-around too, which means that it shows enough cleavage to make you feel sexy for him and to top it off, holds your breasts in place so you can avoid the annoyance of a bra. 

You don’t know why it didn’t come to mind but you suspect that given how much you wore it last summer, it didn’t feel special enough. However, the fact that Javier likes it so much seems to transform it into the most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen. 

Javier pulls the dress off its hanger and walks around you. He puts it on you like a coat and then stands in front of you to tie a knot on the front, undoing it and redoing it when he isn’t satisfied with his creation the first time. None of you say anything. None of you feel the need to.

His hands smooth out the fabric in a careful manner, and you suddenly find that Javier making you feel loved is so interchangeable with you feeling beautiful that you don’t have a clue why you had been in tears five minutes earlier.

He helps you into your heels too, lifting your feet one at a time by holding your ankle. The action is so gentle that you forget to breathe, even more so when he stretches to his full height once more and cups your face. 

“Listen to me,” he says and there’s a certain sternness in his voice. Despite this, he doesn’t sound mean or angry, “I don’t ever want you saying these things about yourself again, okay?”

You nod your head as much as you are able to. A whimper wants to escape your lips but you hold it back. 

“You are my wife, mi vida (my life),” he begins, letting his hands smooth over your shoulders and then down your arms until he can hold both of your hands, “I don’t give a shit about what you used to look like, it’s past, it’s not important. Eres tan hermosa (you are so beautiful). Look at the love you pour into our family. You’re the best Momma in the world, patient and kind, and I am in awe of you every day to the point where I can’t stop falling for you in new ways. You make me happy, make it worthwhile to power through at work so I can come home to you and the kids.”

“And you have never looked sexier,” he continues, eyes going down your body to see for himself that he is undoubtedly right. He grabs your hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs, “Your hips, your thighs… You’ve carried my children, for fuck’s sake. Without you, I’m nothing.”

“I mean look at you…” He trails off for a moment, looking down at where his hand is resting on your hip. You cannot help thinking about how warm his strong hand is, radiating comfort throughout your body. He looks lost in his thoughts and licks his lips without thinking. 

“Javi,” you say quietly. 

“Do you understand?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say almost nervously.

But then suddenly, his arms are around your waist and he is pulling you in for a kiss that makes you forget about the dinner reservation, the insecurities, and the time management altogether. You sling your arms around his neck and give in to his lips on yours, following him wherever he goes as he tugs you away from the mirror and towards the bed. 

Before he instructs you to lie down, his hands find the knot on the front of your dress. He undoes it slowly, letting the dress fall open like a satin robe and groaning at the sight of your lack of a bra. He lets his hands go inside the dress, skimming his palms around your waist to pull you close and your head swims from the feeling of his skin on yours. 

“Hermosa (beautiful),” he says, hands going up and cupping the underside of your breasts, You smile shyly, looking down to where he is touching you. Warmth has started to burn low in your belly just like before you fell asleep. 

With newfound bravery, you reach up to peel the dress off of your shoulders. It falls down to your elbows, exposing your chest and tickling your back, until you let it slip off onto the ground in a pool around your feet. Javier looks like he might need someone to tell him to breathe. 

He wraps one arm around your body and reaches behind your thigh with the other to pull your leg up slightly. Allowing him to slip you off your feet, he moves you onto the bed in a swift motion. 

You kick off your heels as soon as you can, crawling back towards the headboard and Javier follows you without having to get undressed. After all, he never got any further because he saw you. You feel like you want to giggle with glee at the fact that you still have this effect on him years later. 

Instinctively, you bend your legs and plant your feet flat on the mattress and without hesitation, Javier crawls between them to look down at you and marvel at the sight. He looks like a child on Christmas Day, hands reaching out to run up your shins, over your knees, and to grope at your thighs. 

“Qué fuerte (unbelievable), are you really my wife?” He muses while rubbing your thighs absentmindedly. You reach for his hands and tug him down to you. 

“Sí, mi amor (yes, my love),” you sound drunk on him already, using his own words against him. He is so close to you as he lies on top of you, crushing you so heavenly with his weight.

He kisses you longingly and gently scoops you into his strong arms whilst he does it, holding you flush against himself so you can feel your nipples harden against his chest. When you inhale through your nose to keep the kiss going, his scent fills your nostrils and God, he smells like soap and home.

It takes a minute to move on. You can see how he wants to descend on your body but each time he tries, you want another kiss and he happily indulges you. Like a couple of teenagers, you only stop when both of you have slightly swollen lips and he has a hard-on poking into your thigh. 

“Let’s get these off,” Javier crawls back on the bed with elevated breath, fingers slipping underneath the waistband of your panties. He tugs them down your thighs and you help by lifting your ass off the mattress for a moment. His eyes are glued to your soft, fresh-out-of-the-shower and glowing skin, kissing your ankle as he slips your underwear off your feet and throws it to the side. 

“You are so fucking hot,” he sounds in awe, “Look at you.”

You cannot stop grinning. Even when he lowers himself down on the bed again and gets comfortable between your thighs. 

When he settles, he takes the sight of you in. You can feel your heartbeat in your untouched clit, and it only gets more powerful when Javier looks between your legs as if he is starved. He noses along your knee and then bites your inner thigh, growling under his breath. He moves inwards towards your quivering cunt then finds your eyes just before he dives in, indulges, “Do you know how fucking wet you are for me?”

You do know. It has steadily gotten to the point where you know that when you are going out later, you need to wear a new pair of underwear since the white cotton has probably become see-through and shiny. 

And then his mouth is on you and you throw your head back, nearly breaking your neck and letting out a hah-sound as you stare up at the ceiling.

“You’re so good at that,” you moan, letting your eyes fall shut so nothing can distract you from the way his velvety tongue feels between your legs. It is intense to focus on nothing but the way he can guide it over your clit until your toes start to curl, “Oh my God, baby!”

When he kisses your clit and then sucks on it afterward, you lose your mind. Both of your hands come down to rest on the top of his head and when you feel the first flutters of pleasure that tell you that you are getting closer, you cannot keep your hips still. You move underneath his mouth, pushing your pelvis upward occasionally to let him devour you even further.

He eats you until you are seeping arousal into the bedsheets, pussy aching to be filled and stretched in only the way that his cock can. You twitch, clit pulsing, when his mouth leaves you briefly but you know what is to come - other than you, obviously - so you don’t complain. He does it to concentrate on slipping two fingers inside of you, pressing them upwards toward your g-spot before curling them over and over again. 

His mouth finds your clit again and he is beyond his usual enthusiasm. The hands on his head stop simply resting there. Instead, you thread your fingers through his hair to channel the way you want to scream into something else because oh, mmhm, oh… oh! 

You come on his tongue, shaking like a leaf and with a high-pitched moan that bounces off the walls. Your whole lower body spasms, walls clamping down on Javier’s fingers which still press towards your front wall and make you delirious with pleasure. 

“Fuck!” You cry, “Fuckfuckfuck!”

Javier has pushed himself to his knees to watch you. He replaces his tongue on your clit with his thumb, teasing out the very last twitches of your high by going in circles until you need to yank his wrist away from the overstimulation. 

After a moment, you begin to giggle. Your hand skims over your forehead, holding it there afterward in an almost soothing manner. Javier is looking at you, having wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and is now trying to decipher whether he can move on to something more or if you need a break. 

At no point do either of you think about checking the time. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” you say when you finally get your breath under control. You still feel giggly but instead, it comes out as a soft chuckle as you speak. 

“You make it sound like I don’t do this often,” he crawls closer to you again, and you tell him to come here as he enters your arms. He kisses your neck a few times and then looks up at you, “I go down there quite a lot and often, you know.”

“Yes, yes, like a good boy, I know,” you tease him, reaching for his chin to pull him into a soft and lazy kiss. He tastes like you, and you lose yourselves in each other once more until Javier pulls off his briefs with one hand. He discards them without leaving you for too long, throwing them to whatever spot he had aimed your own underwear at. 

“Need to have you close,” you voice what you long for, having grown needy from seeing him undress completely. The sight of his beautiful cock is enough to get you fired up again, clenching around nothing, “Please.”

You spread your legs even further and Javier lies between them, reaching down to ease his cock inside of you. He enters you slowly and with a shaky breath, the both of you staring down to watch as he disappears inside of your cunt. 

You hold onto his arms, breathing hard and trying to relax as it stings slightly due to his generous girth. The second he bottoms out, you whine feebly as if you have been holding it back and it’s now safe to do so. 

“Lo sé (I know),” he soothes.

“You feel so good,” you babble, “I love you.”

“Y yo a ti (I love you too),” he bumps your noses together, looking into your eyes as he moves once and then twice. Your mouth falls open in a gasp and he uses the opportunity to lick into your mouth and kiss you deeply. 

You slide your hands underneath his arms to hug him close, letting them go up along his broad back and each ripple of muscle that flexes as he fucks you until you can clutch onto his shoulders. You rock with him, relishing in the smooth motion of his hips moving back and forth to stretch your cunt open again and again. 

Your fingers dig into his shoulders until your knuckles start to ache. No matter how many times he is with you like this, it will never be enough. It will never be enough because you need him to be this close and connected to you every goddamn day. It’s like a hardcore drug that clouds your brain, like the oxygen that you breathe in daily, like the food and drink necessary to survive. 

Without interrupting him, you move to dig your heels into the back of his legs. With each stroke of his cock inside of you, each roll of his gorgeous hips and pelvis, you can feel the muscles of his calves tightening and relaxing. Your limbs tangling around him allows you to angle him how you want it most, so you mumble something and dig your heels in further. 

Suddenly, his pelvic bone crashes against your clit, and it continues doing so until you know that this is how you are going to come a second time. 

“Oh, just like that,” you let your head fall back into the mattress, “You’re gonna make me— Javi! You’re gonna make me come, baby.”

“Is this pussy mine? Esta cosita linda (This pretty little thing)?” He asks with a growl, sounding so sexy that you know he is determined to make your orgasm approach even faster because his thrusts speed up.

“Para toda la vida (for life),” you say breathlessly, panting as you near your crescendo. It only takes a few more strokes against your clit and then you are done for, coming a second time with a sharp intake of breath and then a cry that could disturb the neighbors from whatever they are doing.

He kisses each whimper from your mouth and slows down a little to give you space for you to return to him. However, you know that this isn’t the end. His stamina today is mind-boggling but you don’t complain, instead take what he can give you even if it leaves you sore until the next day.

“You okay?” He asks when you have calmed down. 

You let your arms and legs fall down to your sides with a blissful expression on your face. You nod, reaching up to rub your eyes as you feel deeply sated, “Just give me a moment.” 

“Think you can take anymore?” He pulls out of you to get back onto his knees. You make a noise. On his shoulders, you spot the little crescent marks that your nails have left. 

“We’re making babies, right?” You note.

“Claro (of course),” he snorts. 

“Then you better screw me silly, Mr. Peña,” you shift slightly on the bed to present your spent cunt for him once more but more obscenely this time by reaching down and spreading your lips open. He groans at the sight, especially when you visibly clench around nothing and silently promise him what’s to come.

“Anything for you, Mrs. Peña,” he almost sounds in pain from the desperation to get back inside of you.

The sweet tenderness and romance are put on hold for something dirtier to take their place, Javier moving forward until the front of his thighs touches the back of yours. He pushes inside of you again with a gasp of your name and places his hands on your hips, holding on tightly so he can pound you into the mattress. 

The sound of his skin slamming against yours fills the room along with your moans, and each thrust sends ripples of intense pleasure through your body now that you are so sensitive. You allow yourself the relief of crying out towards the ceiling because, for the next twenty-four hours, you are completely child-free so who cares?

Javier’s eyes burn with desire at your noises. He is so beautiful, mouth hanging slightly open as he pants and his shoulders looking even broader when he hovers above you. And his noises, he is louder than normal too, you realize, with no intention of quieting his moans down either. 

A particular snap of his hips sends you reeling as he nudges your g-spot just right and makes you grip at the sheets. Javier is on you like a hawk and notices immediately the way that his cock has severed connection to your brain for a moment. 

“You like that? You like my cock?” He digs his thumbs into your hip bones, indulging himself by staring down at where his cock pistons in and out of you. His length is sticky with your arousal, “I can tell you like my cock, God, your come is all over me, baby.”

You bite your lower lip, furrow your brows, and nod repeatedly, “Yes… yesyesyes!”

“You’re on fire today, mi amor (my love), makes me wanna come inside of you like I’m meant to,” he spits filthy words as he goes harder, “Think you can give me one more? Make those gorgeous legs shake?”

The comment about your legs makes you bend them to your chest so you can link your arms under your knees. The position makes Javier swear under his breath, and when you squeeze around your calves, he becomes a tighter fit inside of you and a sob escapes you. 

He is the one to look drunk now, fighting the urge to let his eyes roll back into his skull in case he misses anything you do while he drives into your pussy in this new position. He moves his hands to place them on the back of your thighs and contort your body slightly. He digs his fingers into the extra pounds there and then fucks you with your shared pleasure in mind. 

The squelch of your cunt is obscene and you almost sound like you’re crying from how he pounds your g-spot. A third high, which started building slowly, approaches so quickly that you squeeze your eyes shut and nearly choke as you scream for him, “Yes, oh my God, yes! I’m—“

“That’s my girl,” he sounds close too, “Get it all over my cock, baby.”

The bliss you feel as you come a third time turns your demeanor from pathetic and whimpering into smiling and giggling instead. You look up at him with hazy eyes while you are grinning, moaning, and coming so hard that Javier cannot stop himself from laughing slightly even if it’s interrupted by his own moans.

“Fuck, you are gorgeous coming for me,” he praises with a shit-eating grin, gasping sharply at reaching his own peak a second later because he just cannot hold back any longer. He pulses inside of you, breeds you until you are filled to the brim, and you can feel some of it spilling out onto the bed sheets. 

Exhausted is not the right word. Your whole body slumps when post-orgasmic bliss hits you and you groan as Javier topples down on top of you as well. You melt together and breathe hard, one big tangle of limbs turning you into an octopus. 

“Definitely didn’t have time for that,” you say eventually.

“Stop being so hot then,” he jokes. He lifts his head to kiss you longingly and you allow yourself to lose yourself in it, again forgetting about the time that’s ticking by. 

As Javier reluctantly tears himself away from you, he casually looks at the clock on the nightstand and gets up so quickly that he needs to find his balance. He seems to realize that you are not just fashionably late but actually really late, “Mierda (shit).”

You check the time too and swear as well. It is twenty minutes to eight, and it takes at least fifteen minutes to drive to the inner city. There’s no way that the two of you are going to make the reservation, and you will just have to hope that they are kind enough to hold onto your table the minutes you are going to be late. 

It seems like you turn into the stars of your own romantic comedy, the only thing missing being the laughing track in the background because you move through the house so quickly that you almost forget to put on underwear after getting cleaned up in the bathroom. The rush doesn’t even give you time to ponder your shape in the mirror again.

By the time you actually leave the house, you are laughing at the ridiculousness of it all and looking disheveled. In fact, you have to stop Javier from getting into your car because his buttons are buttoned unevenly and his collar looks like he’s been out in a storm. 

“Right, fuck, what’s the time?” Javier asks when he slams the car door on his side. 

You look at the car radio’s clock, making a concerned noise, “Hmm… Ten to eight. If you speed a little?”

“I’m law enforcement,” he deadpans. 

“You’re also late for a booking you have had for months,” you argue. 

Javier pulls out of the driveway but despite it all, he still doesn’t speed with the mother of his children in the car. 

However, he does use his badge in the window to get a parking spot close to the restaurant. He pulls it from the glove box and you raise an eyebrow at him, to which he simply tells you to shut up with a tiny glint in his eye. 

Your heels click on the sidewalk as you speedwalk towards the restaurant’s main entrance. Javier holds the door open for you, and for a moment, you actually look like a couple who has it all together and is on a date. 

Despite this, it seems that impromptu sex is apparently not good for new restaurant businesses, even if it starts out innocently with an intention of comforting one’s partner, because your table has already been given to someone else. You can see Javier’s fist tightening into a ball at his side as he is told this. 

The man at the front desk looks unimpressed with your husband’s attempt to make him show you to a table anyway, and you even hear Javier saying that he cannot, in good conscience, let you starve. 

You stand a little behind your husband who quietly fumes because nothing seems to work, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we’re fully booked tonight and many nights ahead. It is Valentine’s Day after all.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he replies with gritted teeth. 

“Honey,” you reach out to put a hand on his arm and he whirls around, only to look a lot more calm the second he finds your gaze, “It’s fine. Come on, we’ll find someplace else.”

“But you’re starving,” he says helplessly. 

“Then let’s not keep this up. I know a place around the corner,” you smile at him, holding out your hand until he gives in and takes it, “Besides, they can keep their tiny portions to themselves.”

It may just be the last remains of what you did half an hour ago but Javier starts snickering while you guide him through the door and out into the evening air. He only manages to walk down the street with you for a few yards before he presses you against a brick wall and kisses you. 

“No,” you scold him playfully and place your palms on his chest, “I don’t care if you’re Laredo’s local hero. You couldn’t get a table so we’re not wasting time by making out in public. Like you said, I am starving.”

“Descarada (cheeky devil),” he pecks your lips but lets go of you, “Fine, lead the way.”

The two of you start walking. The place you have in mind is only a short walk away and it’s a nice night, so you don’t mind. Especially not when you can walk hand-in-hand with Javier the whole way and not have to say a thing.

You end up in front of a food truck that sells tacos. It is the perfect spot for something low-key which makes your whole night seem even funnier now that you are so overdressed. The two of you snicker together as you wait in line, mostly resembling a couple who have escaped a tedious wedding to get junk food. 

“My treat,” he says.

“You better. It’s your fault we’re here,” you tease.

“I think we have different versions of what happened back home,” he winks, “But fine, order whatever you want. Like always.”

You order your food, telling the owner of the food truck to go heavy on the pico de gallo and Javier follows behind with his own order. After paying, you take a step back to let other people buy their food. 

“This is where we had our first date,” he notices, an arm around your waist as you wait for your food. He tightens his grip around you as he speaks, “Where I knew I wanted to marry you, have kids with you.”

“This is not where we had our first date,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, looking at him long enough for him to give you a kiss. 

“Yes it was,” he replies. 

“No, you were drunk and we were heading home from the bar a few blocks from here,” you remind him, “We’d only just met. Connie told me not to follow you.”

“Fuckin’ Connie,” he shakes his head, “No, that was definitely our first date. I don’t care what you say. I just don’t wanna think about the disaster that followed even if you want to call that the first date.”

“You were late and we missed our reservation,” you reminisce, “Just like today.”

“Which is why I am not calling it the first,” he lets go of you as the woman in the truck places your orders on the counter. He hands you yours and then takes his own, “We had food, talked for hours and you were wearing that dress with the bows.”

“No more talk about dresses,” you groan as you walk to find a spot, “You’re making me depressed.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs with a grin, “I knew then.”

“Well, I knew when Connie told me you were forbidden fruit,” you smile back at him, and there’s something strangely comforting about knowing that he follows right behind. 

The food truck's sitting area is right behind it in a cozy nook between two buildings. As disappointed as you were at not getting to try out the new restaurant in town, the picnic tables, and colorful plastic chairs more than make up for it. It is a lot more romantic than what you assume the gourmet restaurant would have been, and you choose a spot right underneath a blanket of string lights that seem to imitate stars. 

There are a few guests aside from you, and you feel warm at hearing their voices filled with laughter and joy. 

You sit down on the bench and tuck your skirt between your knees, getting comfortable and looking excitedly down at your soon-to-be-devoured food. There’s something uniquely satisfying about a greasy meal after sex, and even more so when your husband indulges you to have whatever you want. 

You pick up your taco and bite into it, doing a happy dance as you chew whilst Javier watches you with a grin on his face. However, the happiness is short-lived because something in the taco triggers a wave of nausea and you soon realize that it is the pico de gallo. 

“What is it?” Javier has caught on because you cannot help but grimace. 

“This tastes funny,” you say. Puzzled, you take another bite but quickly stop yourself before you are stupid enough to go for a third. Your stomach growls but there’s no way you are eating the rest without at least scraping it off. 

Carefully, you place the taco back down on its paper tray and take a few napkins from the dispenser on the end of the picnic table. You spit your latest bite out into one of them because your body does not agree with the idea of swallowing the acidity again. Then you take a long sip of your water and wish you had something to neutralize the taste in your mouth.

Without thinking much of it, you start to rid your food of the salsa fresca. You use your index finger to scrape it out onto the napkin and pick any remaining pieces off too, avoiding the natural instinct to suck your finger clean and wipe it on a new napkin instead. In front of you, Javier has stopped eating and simply watches you. 

You feel slightly judged by him, narrowing your eyes from annoyance, “What?”

“Are you pregnant?” He asks with a furrowed brow.

“What? No way,” you let out a chuckle of disbelief, “That’s not funny.”

“Honey,” he continues, nodding down at the napkin, “You love pico de gallo.” 

“So? The only times I haven’t eaten it has been when I’m pregna—“ your eyes widen, looking down at your taco for a moment before staring at Javier again. He looks just as alarmed by your food which is only two bites down, “There’s no way.”

Around you, people have started to notice a shift in your voice. It probably sounds like you are upset, like Javier is using Valentine’s Day to break up with you. 

“Baby, there’s no way,” you say again and your voice has become a little higher pitched, “I’d only be five weeks along.”

To the opposite of you, Javier is speechless. He has stopped eating his own dinner, sitting with his own taco but is unable to figure out how to react. 

“We can’t have been lucky the first time around. My period is due in a few days. This is ridiculous. Sebastian is only just about five months old,” you are starting to sound frantic, “Javi. Baby, I am freaking out.”

Javier blinks a few times almost as if he is mentally shaking himself out of his trance. He reaches across the table and takes hold of your wrist, “Calm down. Let’s just finish eating and then we can go get one of those early detection tests, yeah? Te prometo que todo va a salir bien (I promise you that everything is going to be okay).” 

“Yes, alright, you’re right,” you feel instantly calmed by his touch, turning your palm upward so he can hold your hand instead. Then you frown, “But I can’t eat this. It’s probably still going to taste like it.”

“Hold on,” he says, letting go of you to switch plates with you without hesitation, “There, now you can eat.”

“Te quiero (I love you),” you sigh happily, smiling at him from across the table. 

“Love you too, now eat, so you can feed my kid,” he starts to load the taco with pico de gallo again. 

*

The late-night pharmacy, just opening, exudes a subtle but steady hum of activity, bathing in the fluorescent glow of overhead lights. Shelves are neatly lined with pharmaceuticals, and you scrunch up your nose at the faint scent of antiseptic. Javier keeps a hand on the small of your back the whole time, steering you gently toward the counter as if this new piece of information has made him instantly more protective.

There’s only a single pharmacist behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with her glasses around her neck in a chain, but she doesn’t blink when you explain your sudden emergency. She beckons you down along the aisles and grabs a few different pregnancy tests for you to choose from. 

“This one is more certain but it does cost a little extra,” she explains and holds up a Clearblue digital test. Javier quickly exchanges a look with you. 

“We’ll take that one, actually make it two,” you say, tapping your feet nervously on the floor, “Can I use the bathroom here?” 

“We’re that eager?” She smiles, “Sure, dear. Let me just get the key.”

Javier pays at the counter, a twinkle in his eyes as he makes a joke, “My treat again.”

“You better; you’re the one who got us into this mess - again,” you giggle and it even earns you a chuckle from the pharmacist. 

“I hope you get the result you are hoping for,” she says when unlocking the door to the staff toilet. She ushers you both inside the door and then closes it behind you.

Silence at last, you think to yourself and even find that the water you drank with your meal earlier has run right through you. You pull up your skirt, twisting it and tying a knot to keep it from falling down again. You go for your underwear next, bending over to pull them down your legs to your ankles. You feel Javier’s palm steadying you without thinking.

Besides you, Javier starts tearing open the Clearblue boxes. He hands them to you one by one, and you finally sit down to pee, angling your wrist awkwardly to make sure you use the sticks correctly. The both of you stay silent through the whole ordeal.

You wrap both pregnancy tests in toilet paper and hand them to Javier who places them on the edge of the sink so you can finish up and get dressed again. He takes a step to the side to let you wash your hands, having crossed his arms over his chest and started tapping his fingers nervously.

While you listen to the sound of the water running, the air in the tiny, poorly lit bathroom seems to hang thick with anticipation. You want to say something but there is nothing you can say that’ll ease your shared, anxious heartbeat. Eventually, Javier beats you to it.

“Don’t be disappointed if it’s negative,” he gives you an uncertain smile. Mostly, it sounds as if he is talking to himself. 

“You know I will be,” you sigh, stepping close to link your arms around his neck. He nods in understanding, cupping your waist and rubbing soothingly with his thumbs.

“Me too,” he lets out a shaky breath.

“I know,” you automatically tighten your grip on him as the minutes go by, knowing that he needs it as much as you. On the sink, the white plastic sticks seem to mock you with their silence. 

Come on… 

A few minutes more and suddenly, you know there is no way back. It seems ridiculous that a stick with your pee on it has the ability to predict your future but here you are. You shake your head after untangling yourself from your husband, “I can’t look.”

Javier bravely takes them from their place on the sink. Your stomach does somersaults as he unwraps them, twisting them so their displays face upward. A slow, relieved smile spreads across his face and he looks up immediately, “You’re four to five weeks pregnant.”

“What?” You grab his wrist to take a look for yourself, “There’s no way!”

Sure enough, both displays show a positive result and an approximate number of weeks. Calculating in your head, you know it has to be that one time in the middle of the night in January. The thought of getting it right without even really having begun is crazy because it’s so unbelievable. 

“That’s so surreal,” you walk straight into his arms. He hugs you tightly, resting his lips on your forehead and you can feel his elevated breathing because you are so close to him. 

“Pop is going to have a heart attack,” he mumbles with slight amusement, although you can hear the tremor in his voice. You look into his eyes, reaching up to cup his cheek and smiling softly.

“We can’t tell anyone yet, it’s not been three months,” you say, lost in just staring at him. He is so beautiful when he is happy. 

“God, I know, I'm just so excited,” he chuckles, a little embarrassed. 

“I’m sure you’ve already figured out that it’s going to be a Halloween baby,” you grin. 

“Oh fuck, forget about Pop; Inés is gonna get so pissed if she has to share Halloween with a birthday child,” he starts to laugh after he has said it. You join in, high on the happiness you feel.

“I love you so much,” you say when the laughter dies down. 

“I love you too,” he kisses you after saying it. 

“And happy Valentine’s Day to us,” you continue, letting Javier pull away to throw the pregnancy tests out and wash his hands. 

“See? Now you’re using it right,” he teases after drying his hands. 

Then he opens the door and waits for you to step outside. Everything seems possible tonight.

.

.

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

[usagiarchive]

angel of the codeine scene — [06] who i am, who am i?

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sypnosis. [ 1.3k words. no warnings. ] — as the dream gets more vivid, so does your will to discover who you truly are to Xiao.

usagi's note: i didn't attend my class today, so here i edited this early just because hehe, also wdyt aby my new theme (ily clorinde)

You dream of him once again.

Xiao.

And you know it really is him because you hear what he says this time. He talks to you the same way he did when he told you not to leave him again.

It's unfamiliar to you, the tone he speaks in, you don't know it's name, you don't know what to make of it, but you can feel it in the dreams.

And this time, when you wake, you remember bits and pieces of the dream. Some still slip from the net of your mind, but you remember those that linger.

This time it was in a field.

(Xiao was walking beside you, it felt like you were watching a show. You couldn't hear what he was talking about, but the place you're in was familiar.

And you know you've seen this while on patrol with him.

You can see his mouth moving but you can't hear what he's saying.

When he turns to look at you and smiles…

You wake.)

It leaves you more frustrated, being so close to finding out who Xiao really is to you- or rather who you are to him, but the dream remnants keep slipping and you're forced to leave the dream memories.

You have to find answers.

…

Verr sees you at dawn, fully dressed and carrying a satchel of your books and papers.

“Oh, where are you going, sweetheart?”

You halt in place, “The harbor, Miss Verr, I’m going to meet Baizhu-yisheng,”

Her eyebrow raises, “This early?”

“It's an emergency,”

“Wouldn't it be faster with your Adeptus?” she asks, but before she could finish with her question, you were already out of the room.

“Bye, Miss Verr!”

…

See, lying to the woman who took care of you constantly when Xiao wasn't around did make you feel very guilty. But you weren't exactly sure if Xiao would allow you to talk to Ganyu alone.

The past few weeks he has been more present, he eats with you now, asks how your lessons with Baizhu have gone, he keeps you closer during patrols.

After that… kiss (as you've learned from Baizhu, who was very surprised to have learned that Xiao was the one who initiated), he has been somewhat closer to you. More allowing of touch and help.

But he still does not talk much and the dreams get more and more vivid as the time passes.

At the bridge of the harbor, you felt the restrictions Morax had told you about, it was a miracle you even made it this far.

You could see the gold threads in your veins pulsing with light under your sleeves as you fought to walk all the way to Ganyu’s workplace.

Your body and mind keeps telling you you should turn back, return to Xiao, be by his side. But you know you have to get answers.

The dreams are dreams, and as you've told Morax, it has to mean something.

The man of course did not answer your inquiries, only telling you that he'll tell you in due time, sometime soon, he says.

The moment you make it, Madame Ping is there. She urges you to sit as she sees your barely conscious form, as she retrieves Ganyu for you.

The headache feels like you're about to split your head.

…

Ganyu is more than happy to tell you what she knows, but it also leaves you at a dead end.

“We were in different encampments during the war,” she explains, “I stayed with Madam Guizhong, while he stayed with Rex Lapis,”

She puts a finger to her chin as she thinks, “Though I did hear from Indarias that he had a human with him most of time, he became um… what's the term, a bodyguard! Yes, he became a bodyguard for them,”

“Did… did you know anything else about them?”

Ganyu shakes her head, “No, sadly, after that news, the Great War descended rapidly, and I lost contact with Xiao and the other Adepti for a while,”

“The next time we met was when Rex Lapis was hailed as the Geo Archon and we were rebuilding Liyue,”

You stared down at the cup of tea at defeat. The headache was even worse and Ganyu noticed it.

“Hey, are you sure you don't want to take this back to Wangshu Inn?” she asks.

“No, he'll know I'm here if we return,”

“Can't he sense you?”

You shake your head, “No, I learned how to conceal adeptal energy from Morax-shen,”

Her face goes into surprise, “That's… very impressive, wow, not even a millenia old and you've already mastered it?”

She smiles at you, “You're learning well,”

“Thank you,” you smile, then sigh, “I still haven't found out who that human was to him…”

It's Madame Ping that speaks now, “The human was a healer,” she began.

She pours another cup of tea for her and Ganyu as she continues, “The reason he was assigned to them was because healers were the first to be killed off.”

“In a war, it makes sense to do such a thing to ensure brute force and violence would hail victory,”

She places the teapot down, “The Conqueror of Demons fell in love with that human.”

Ganyu shows surprise as everything clicks for you. But it doesn't make sense, if they fell in love with that human, why am I having dreams about their time together?

“She died during the war,” Madame Ping tells you gravely.

“Oh.”

“How cruel,” Ganyu whispers.

A new voice joins the discussion, “After the war, he was assigned to Wangshu Inn as his base of operations,”

“Morax-shen!”

He smiles, “I wasn't informed there was a tea party,” he says as he takes a seat.

You say nothing as you watch him sip on the cup.

“Will you tell me now?”

His eyes flit to you, “I suppose it is time,”

…

He feels the pull of the life bond the moment you're out of the radius.

Why? he keeps asking his mind, Why would you leave? Where would you go? Did you leave on your own or were you taken? Why would you leave him again?

He can't find you, he can't sense you, and he's going insane. Xiao warps to the highest point of Wangshu Inn and desperately tries to find you.

He can feel your anguish, the pulsing of your veins, but he can't sense where you are.

Just come back. Please, just come back.

He can hear his heart thrumming in his chest, his throat tightens, and he- he realises this is exactly how he felt when he couldn't find you.

When he couldn't save you.

“Xiao…” the wind carries your voice to him.

Just like last time.

“...Find me where we last departed…”

What?

…

Morax has told you the truth.

What exactly is wrong with Xiao, but that he has no idea how to treat it, only to temper the symptoms.

Who exactly you are to Xiao, how you were that human from half a century ago, how you died during a camp invasion as they were busy fighting off in the North.

How you were made specifically for Xiao. Not only so that you can heal him, but also because you were his lover.

It made sense. A god wanting his warrior a chance to rest. To live the life he was unable to when he wasin the war.

Rex Lapis was a merciful god.

He tells you where you died.

…

Xiao find you in the same river where you died in his arms.

He stares, not knowing what to do.

Was this punishment? Did he really piss his god off that he was given you and you were to be killed again in front off him? In the same place you were taken from him all those years ago?

Instead he hears you hum a song he has not heard of in a long time.

A song he taught to the past you.

Lover's Oath.

He takes one step forward and the water beneath his feet makes a splash.

You turn.

The breath in his lungs disappates.

“Xiao,” you smile, “I'm back,”

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usagi's note: im so happy i might finish editing the last three parts of this later or sometime over the weekend anyway pls tell me what u thought abt it, and as always take care!! o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠���⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o PLEASE NOTICE HOW I WROTE THAT U CALLED HIM XIAO INSTEAD OF XIANSHENG.

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@usagiarchive 2024. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

[starry-eyedblog]

pain meds

ghost/soap/female reader

wordcount: 3,591

warning/tags: 18+ smut, non con, sexual assault dark themes, taking advantage, medications, lying, manipulation, gaslighting, pussy eating, grinding/humping

authors note: first long fic here, woohoo! pls do not read this if it's nae yer cup of tea. i'm trying to write darker themes and nae feel guilty, and here was the first thing my brain made so pls enjoy! also am i projecting a bit? aye, but it's fine!

─── ☆ ─── ☆ ─── ☆ ─── ☆ ───

it’s been a rough, tiring day and your body just cannot handle it anymore. you’re currently sat in the lounge, curled up on the worn out couch. you’ve been wanting to go to your bedroom for twenty minutes now but every time you move to get up, pain spikes through you. seems you’ll have to bite the bullet soon though.

“ye awright hen? yer lookin’ a bit peely-wally.” soap comments as he walks into the lounge with ghost behind him. you don’t bother to move your head up to stare into their eyes, keeping your face pressed into one of the flat cushions.

soap sits across from you, while ghost takes the space next to you on the couch, your knees pressing together due to him man spreading. “am fine soap, just sore.” you shrug him off, desperate to just get into your bedroom where your meds are. “c’mon, tell us what’s up.” ghost responds, his voice gruff and slightly muffled from his balaclava.

you want to shrug him off too, but now that both men are staring down at you with concern, theres no point trying to lie or ignore them. “it’s just my chronic pain. been really bad all day.” you say quietly. both men let out soft exhales at your answer, but soap is first to speak up. “need anythin’?” he asks, not taking his eyes off of you.

a light groan leaves you as you move slightly on the couch and pull your face out of the pillow, looking over at soap. “my pain meds, been wanting to get off the couch for ages now to lay down and take them.” you chuckle weakly and ghost is fast to answer. “want me to grab them and bring them through?” he asks, looking down at you with beady brown eyes.

“no no it’s alright, need to take them in my room.” you say weakly, pushing the blanket off of your body as you try stretch your legs out which sends a sharp pain through you. “why can’t you take them through here?” ghost questions, his eyebrow raising slightly. “long story short, they get me high off my face and i only feel comfortable taking them in my room.” you answer truthfully, looking at ghost.

“fit are ye on?” soap asks innocently, smiling kindly at you which makes you feel warm inside. “codeine, strongest dose.” you tell him, to which soap makes a low whistle. “yer on the proper strong stuff.” he chuckles, glancing at ghost who returns the eye contact. “assuming that you don’t take it often then.” ghost chimes in, looking down at you as you try stretch your limbs out.

“god no, wouldn’t be able to function. only take them when it’s real bad, can barely think let alone focus on them. it’s like my brain goes fuzzy.” you explain, all your words sinking into both mens minds and being stored away. “and you’re all alone when you take them?” ghost asks curiously. “yeah? i mean, the meds make me drowsy and tired so i wouldn’t be good company.” you chuckle before you’re pushing yourself off the couch and stretching with a low whine.

a few of your joints crack loudly as you stretch out a little, the pain spiking and ebbing away a few times. “well, i’m gonna go take them now. i’ll see you in a few hours.” you say softly, waving at both men who watch you. “dinnae be silly hen, we’re nae leavin’ ye alone in that state.” soap responds, standing up and stepping towards you as ghost gets off the couch.

“what are you on about?” you ask with a raised eyebrow and confused expression. “just like soap said, we’re gonna take care of you. would be pretty awful of us to let you suffer alone like that.” ghost answers, his voice stern to let you know theres no way of changing his mind. “that’s very kind of you guys but i can deal with it myself, like i have been for the past year.” you answer with an amused chuckle, but both men don’t laugh or smile which causes you to stop.

neither man speaks, and for a moment there is this uncomfortable tension that has you desperate to scurry away. “we’re teammates, gotta look out for one another.” ghost responds, and you feel your heart flutter slightly. they just want to help, look after you for a bit. and god, does that sound good. even though you can handle it usually, it’s still a whole ordeal to go through, and to have not one, but two of your close teammates help just a bit. it sounds really good.

“you sure?” you ask, wanting to know for definite. “aye hen, we’re sure.” soap responds, taking another step forward to wrap a strong arm around your waist and guiding you back to your room. well, no turning back now you think. ghost follows behind, watching soap support you back to your bedroom. once you make it, you feel soap’s arm pull away and you sit down on your neatly made bed, a sigh leaving you as you fall back and lay down on the clean duvet.

“just tell us what you need, we’ll get it for you.” ghost mumbles, looking around your room and spotting the packets of pills on your bedside table, as well as the full boxes of the codeine that has several warnings in red on it. “you really weren’t kiddin’ when you said they were strong, huh?” ghost comments, looking back at you as you lay on your bed.

a soft chuckle leaves you as you shake your head slightly, not saying anything as you push yourself up and rearrange your blankets and pillows to get comfy. “if you could make a hot water bottle and grab me a bottle of water, that would be perfect.” you say, looking up at both men that tower over your bed. ghost nods, grabbing the empty hot water bottle from your bed and leaving, making his way to the kitchen.

“so chronic pain eh? first time a’ve heard of that from ye.” soap says as he sits down on your bed, next to you but with his legs hanging off the side, feet firmly placed on the floor. you look over at him and shrug your shoulders sheepishly. “just never felt the need to tell anyone aside from price. it only gets really bad when i’ve pushed myself way too far.” you explain and soap nods in response. “were ye born with it?” he asks, head tilting to the side slightly and all you can see is a puppy when you look at him, his big blue eyes staring into yours with curiousness.

“yeah, so not much i can do about it.” you smile, a bit of sadness behind your words that soap notices but doesn’t say anything on. he doesn’t reply, unsure of what to say and instead sits a little closer to you. “well at least we can take care of ye, eh? deserve a break.” he says comfortingly, placing his hand on your thigh to give it a light pat which sends a soft blush across your face.

soon enough, ghost is making his way back into your bedroom with a hot water bottle and a fresh water plastic bottle. he doesn’t say anything, placing the plastic bottle on your bedside table and the hot water bottle next to you on the bed. you thank him softly, sliding the hot water bottle behind your back and pressing it into your lower back as you sit propped up with your pillows.

without a word, ghost is grabbing one of the half empty packets of your codeine tablets and handing it to you, where you pop too white pills out and swallow them down with the water. “so, how long till they kick in?” ghost asks, sitting down on the comfortable chair at your desk you use frequently. “uhm, around fifteen to thirty minutes. and when they hit, they hit strong.” you explain with a chuckle.

“we’ll keep ye company, pet.” soap says with a smile, still sat on the bed near you, his hand no longer touching your thigh. you’ve known these two men for about a year now, worked several missions together and trained together. you’ve gone for drinks, attended parties and events but somehow, never spent time in the others bedroom for more than five minutes. even though you’re nervous, to be around others on your meds, you have an underlining trust with them. after all you’ve gone through in your line of work, you kind of have to.

during the twenty minutes from when you swallowed down your pills, the three of you engage in casual conversation, talking about work and family life. it’s mostly soap talking but ghost chimes in enough for it to feel like a three way conversation that has you relaxing. once it hits around half an hour, you can feel the codeine take affect, your eyes unfocusing slightly and your brain feeling fuzzy around the edges. your body goes limp against the covers, shoulders untensing.

both men notice the change, how your sentences start to become more simpler and how it takes you longer to respond to the conversation. “that codeine kicked in then, hen?” soap asks with a chuckle and you groan, curling into your self a little as the drug starts to dig it’s claws in deeper and make you feel disorientated. “yeah,” you mumble, grabbing for your water to chug the cool beverage that feels like heaven sliding down your throat.

ghost and soap exchange a look that you miss as you chug the water bottle, soon putting it back on your bedside table as you feel weight on your bed beside you. was someone in your bed? when did that happen?

you look over, ghost now beside you while soap stays sat on the edge of your bed. “huh?” you ask, confused as to why they’ve moved closer. “grounding, will help keep you calm.” ghost murmurs as he wraps his strong arms around your frame and pulls you back so his chest is flush with your back, legs entangled on the duvet. a soft whine leaves you, not understanding what’s really happening and why ghost is holding you.

but it feels really nice, god it feels better than that. to have this shred of comfort while you’re in this state, it’s soothing and you’re grateful for it. you don’t answer, instead sinking into his touch as you lay there and let the codeine suck the pain away. soap watches on silently, taking in the sight before one warm hand is being rested on your calf, not moving.

“yer oot of it, aren’t ye?” soap asks as your eyes flutter shut and you press your face into the pillow for the cool relief it provides. “huh? no m’not.” you grumble after the words finally sink into your fuzzy brain, taking longer than normal. both men laugh at this, knowing it’s a lie.

“sure love,” ghost mutters into your shoulder, his balaclava brushing against your skin and causing you to flinch, your sense of touch heightened from the drugs which makes soap grin. “sensitive wee lass.” he says as his hand now moves up your calf and to your thigh slowly, rubbing at the warm skin which makes your thighs twitch and subconsciously try to shut, but soap’s strong hand stops them.

“eager, aren’t you mactavish?” ghost teases, looking at soap from over your shoulder, his eyes showing smugness. “fuck off ye bawbag, ah ken you are too.” he mutters, glaring at ghost as his hand grips at your thigh a little tighter which pushes a confused whine out of you. “shh, you’re okay.” ghost whispers, his voice gravely and sending a pulse straight down to your core.

“wh-what are you guys doing?” you groan, your eyesight slightly blurry around the edges as you slowly open your eyes and push yourself up a little to look over at soap who sends you a cheeky grin. “takin’ care of ye pet, lay back doon.” soap commands in a sickly sweet voice, and who are you to deny him?

ghost presses a flat palm to your chest and pushes you back down into the bed, his arm then coiling around your waist giving you no room to move or wiggle. “just needed someone to look after you, eh?” ghost rumbles quietly, watching the way soap’s hand teases at your thighs, dipping into your inner thigh for a moment or two before pulling back. “go on then, touch her.” ghost orders with stern eyes, which makes soap’s head perk up.

“you heard what i said, touch her.” ghost repeated, his voice a little lower as he watches the words compute in soap’s brain. soap isn’t one to disobey orders, and soon his hand is ghosting over your crotch, lightly pressing on your clit. you gasp and whine, face pressing into the pillow. your meds have always made you sensitive, made you feel like an exposed, raw wire.

soap’s pressure soon becomes harsher, pressing harder and harder onto your clit as you gasp and whine pathetically, trying to writhe in ghosts hold. “want more hen? huh?” soap chuckles, looking up at you as he cups your crotch. the codeine starts to sink in even further, meddling with your brain and for a moment you stay silent, trying to convey a sentence or even a couple words.

“words, love.” ghost whispers into your ear, his balaclava pressing against your flushed ear. “wh-why do i feel..” you trail off, trying to find the word somewhere in your drug induced state. “good?” you finish after a moment, and both men chuckle condescendingly at your words. “wonder why.” ghost comments as soap begins to pull your pyjama shorts off.

it doesn’t take long for soap to get them down and off your legs, thrown to the side without care as he leans down between your thighs and brushes his thumb slowly down your clothed cunt. all that lies between the two of you is your simple black underwear, making the touch even stronger. you gasp out as he pressed down on your clit, his other arm wrapping around your thigh to get closer.

“put that tongue to good use, yeah?” ghost says smugly, looking at soap who growls quietly before he’s ripping your underwear off and delving into your cunt like a starved man. you cry out, back trying to arch as your fingers frantically grab at your duvet. soap runs his wet tongue over your slit, making his way up to your clit while ghost combs one of his big hands through your hair. “feels good huh? you like johnny between your legs, isn’t that right?” he whispers into your ear, his hand thats wrapped around your wait tightening ever so slightly.

you let out a high whine, groaning as you turn your head to the side quickly which causes you to feel dizzy and fazed, panting softly into the pillow. is… is johnny eating you out right now? god you can’t even wrap your brain around that right now, your drugged mind too fried by the pleasure to think much. short, pathetic whimpers leave you as johnny continues to eat you out with no remorse, your wetness dripping down his chin and soaking his face.

your hips buck up several times without you realising, your eyes rolling back as you drool onto your pillow. soap is groaning into your slick cunt, his fingers digging painfully into your thighs so you can’t escape even if you wanted to. his tongue is thrusting into your soaking hole, paying no attention to your clit as he enjoys your whines and gasps. he isn’t doing this for you, he’s doing it for himself.

ghost watches the scene before him, his trousers growing tighter and tighter around his crotch. (he was already hard at the idea of you powerless against him and soap). he slowly runs his big hand up to your chest, sneaking under your t-shirt and bra to reach your puffy nipple that he meanly tugs on. a soft cry leaves you, the touch too rough causing you try squirm away but it’s useless. he chuckles softly at your reaction, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hips roll up and grind against your arse.

a quiet sigh of relief leaves ghost as he grind his hips up, finally getting some touch to his neglected cock as he continues to toy with your nipples. your entire body is boneless between the two soldiers as you take all they are giving you. it’s too much, your mind unable to fully comprehend if this is real or some wet dream you’re currently having after being knocked out by your pain meds.

you’re not sure if it feels like five minutes or five hours, soaking in the pleasure and mean touches while your mind fizzles away from the codeine. soon enough it grows too strong and you’re falling asleep with soap’s tongue inside you and ghost’s bulge against your backside. they watch as the meds lull you into a deep sleep, head pressed into the pillow and mouth agape. this doesn’t stop soap though, he stays between your thighs for several more minutes, his hips soon grinding down into the mattress and humping like a dog in heat until both men are coming in their boxers.

the two of them tidy you up and tuck you into bed with your underwear and shorts back on, not leaving a single trace of themselves as they exit your room and go off to do their own separate stuff. it’s not until a few hours later that you wake up groggy and alone, your room now dark. you squint your eyes, looking to your left and making out the half drunk bottle. you waste no time in snatching it and gulping down the water before clumsily climbing out of bed.

you try to recall what happened before you were knocked out, vague memories of soap between your legs and ghost behind you. they sexually assaulted you… right? or was it all just a twisted wet dream? you’re sure you really felt them touching you but you’ve woken up all alone without a single bit of evidence to back up your accusation.

you saunter out of your room, not looking too good as you try track down both men which doesn’t take long as you find them in the lounge, quietly talking between themselves. “oh, there ye are hen. were ye takin’ a nap like?” soap asks, seeing you walk into the room with a confused expression. they take in how disoriented you are and do their best not to laugh. in their eyes, you look just like a lost puppy.

“what? you knew i was asleep. the both of you took me through to my room and.. and you touched me after i was all drugged up.” you frown, accusing them while you stand in the doorway. ghost chuckles quietly, staring up at you. “bad dream?” he asks, causing soap to laugh.

“fit de ye mean drugged up? did ye take somethin’? is that why yer accusing us of being perverts?” soap asks, a questioning expression on his face as your face contorts to confusion. “huh? i told you guys, how i take codeine sometimes for my chronic pain?” you say, not sounding totally convinced as you slowly sit down on the couch across from them. “codeine? chronic pain? first time a’ve heard of that love.” ghost replies, leaning forward a little to look at you a bit more intently which has goosebumps rising over your skin.

“i told you guys this already, and then yo-you took advantage of me. i remember it.” you mumble, feeling more and more defeated as the conversation continues. “think those meds have scrambled yer brain a tad pet, that never happened. codeine is pretty strong, sure it’s nae just them messin’ wit ye?” soap responds, concerned as he looks at you and it makes you feel even worse, the guilt starting to eat up at you as you see how sincere they are. did you truly just make all this up in a dream? it’s common for your meds to blur the lines between dream and reality, you’ve fallen victim to it many a time.

you feel absolutely mortified now, rushing out of your room to accuse two of your close friends of sexual assault, thank god no one else was around to hear your accusations.“…i gu-guess so. i’m really sorry guys, my meds they always play with me. make things feel real and make other things feel like dreams. im-im so sorry for accusing you of that.” you usher out, the embarrassment washing over you. both of them shake their heads, “it’s okay darlin’. we forgive you, ain’t that right johnny?” ghost says, glancing over at soap who smiles. “course, nae hard feelings hen.” he responds and looks over at you.

you let out a sigh, your hands running through your hair as you close your eyes. “can’t believe i thought that was real.” you chuckle weakly, leaning back into the couch and soap laughs softly. “so you gonna tell us fit happened in that wee dream of yers then?” he teases playfully and you flush pink, shaking your head frantically. “god no,” you utter and soap laughs again at your embarrassment, ghost joining in.

@alwaysshallow

@juvenillia

[lensman-arms-race]

Period comfort headcanons

It's that time of the month for me, so all I want is to stay in bed and be plied with treats and heating pads. Under a cut because thinking about ovarygravy isn't everyone's cup of tea.

Plunk: Offers to plunge the cuntgunk out of you to get it all over with. He's very confused but he's got the spirit.

Assassin Speakerman: Doesn't know what periods are, is horrified when you try to explain. Thinks you're having a medical emergency and calls for help. You have to explain to paramedics that you're fine, really.

Sabre: "That's none of my business." Your condition does nothing to change his belief that humans are poorly-designed, but he's polite enough to not say that to your face. ('Polite' in the sense that it would be strategic to not antagonise you, not in the sense that he particularly cares about sparing your feelings.)

Camera Matriarch: Doesn't really understand what's happening to you, but understands that you're in pain and offers you a hug.

Speaker Matriarch: The sweetest of the Matriarchs about it. Brings you a heating pad.

Scientist Toilet: "I think I've got some codeine in here, help yourself. I think it's codeine, anyway... Hey, do you want a hysterectomy? I'll do it for free if I can keep the eggs." If you accept, prepare to see swarms of parasites with your face.

TV Matriarch: Offers some screen hypnosis to distract you from the pain.

Titans: If the Titans are in their hangars and not needed for missions any time soon, TCam will let you hide and rest in his pocket where it's warm and dark and cosy. TSpeaker will offer the same, and also to let you rest on one of his speakers and enjoy some soothing vibrations. TTv will let you lie in his core chamber, so that if you ooze you can hose it clean.

Lady Mutant Toilet: "Here, you might as well have my stash of twat hammocks. I don't need them now I have a robo-pussy." Will give you some chocolate from her stash if she likes you enough.

DJ Skibidi: Is the sweetest. Gives you all the blankets, chocolate, heating pads, etc.

Buzzsaw Mutant Toilet: Gives you some pineapple, because he knows there's some connection between pineapple and pussy juice. Offers you paracetamol (instead of ibuprofen) - he's trying to be helpful but doesn't know much.

Swat Mutant Toilet: Just like DJ Skibidi. Is terrific about it.

Rambo Mutant Toilet: Pretends to be uncaring but actually does feel sorry for you.

G-Toilet: Is sympathetic to your suffering but has no idea why you would expect him to do anything about it.

[thisstableground]

phases of migraine: 1. prodome

2. aura

3. attack

4. denial (no i DONT need to close the blinds and turn out the lights and put away my computer im FINE and definitely NOT having a migraine)

5. casually drafting plans to leave job and friends and loved ones and start a new life under an assumed identity. the identity i assume will be one of a person who does not have migraines

6. is it carbon monoxide? maybe it's carbon monoxide. sure, i've had migraines for years across a variety of households including ones with no gas at all but maybe i should get the carbon monoxide detector and walk all around the house with it until i find the carbon monoxide. maybe i should buy a second carbon monoxide detector in case the first one is malfunctioning. maybe i should buy a third carbon monoxide detector in case

7. codeine nap

8. maybe it isn't carbon monoxide. maybe someone has been secretly living in the attic and spying on us since we moved in. how this has led to me having a migraine is admittedly unclear but it feels like its related and everyone knows that vibes based on headache and opiates are the source of all solid theories

9. hands cold. no, hands too warm. face too warm. it's cold. i have no circulation in my feet. i have too much circulation in my feet. all the blood from my feet and hands is now in my eyeballs and it is far too warm, or possibly cold

10. lil cup of green tea. everything is fine during the exact moments that the green tea is being consumed, and only during those moments. spend the next two hours thinking about how i'd like another lil cup of green tea but would have to stand up to get it

11. maybe the carbon monoxide has been secretly living in the attic and spying on us this whole time. look up how to apply for a deed poll to legally change my name to 100% Pure Oxygen Therapy in the hopes that the carbon monoxide will read it on my mail and go "oh, that's bad news for me, i'd better leave"

12. fuckin set up an analytics dashboard or something because i decided not to take work off today (see stage 4) and it feels too late to change my mind by this point. regret

13. lil cup of green tea

[rottingfern]

sweetened breath, tongue so mean || a Bad Omens fanfic

Pairing: Noah x nonbinary OC

Summary: They're screaming at each other. They're throwing hands. They're half a second away from a violent hatefuck. And at the end of the day, they'll still call each other friends.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: ANGST, toxic relationship, language, heavy consumption of alcohol, degradation kink if you squint, brief discussion of body image, OC gets deadnamed, depiction of a panic attack, choking, cunnilingus, penetration, hair pulling, slightly dubious consent, spitting.

A/N: Wow do I love angst. But be warned going into this: THESE BITCHES IS TOXIC. Noah is not a very nice person in this, and neither is OC. This fic does not depict a healthy relationship. This is a work of fiction depicting a fictionalized version of Noah and does not represent him in real life.

A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO @signs-of-ill-portent AND @the-way-of-words FOR BETA-ING THIS FIC AND SCREAMING ABOUT IT WITH ME, for getting on my characters' levels with me and for egging me on to delve as deep and dark as I needed for this fic, for not allowing me to mince words and for listening to me catastrophize about the story beats as I figured out how to convey all the nuance this fic needed. Y'all really did the most when you didn't have to, and I AM EXTREMELY GRATEFUL TO YOU FOR THAT! My heart eyes are laser focused on you.

Brainrot Club: @meekahy @foliosriot @badhedonist Theme song is Hatef--k by The Bravery. I actually made a whole playlist! Click here to listen. Masterlist here.

Title taken from Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier; banner made by me; dividers by @saradika

Lee’s just about done with this show (though it hasn’t even begun) when their shoulders hit the poorly finished wall of the back hallway of the venue. 

His lips are searing, supple and wet and clingy as they suck to their own. They clench their teeth shut at the insistent push of his tongue past their lips, demanding entry into their mouth. Maybe this whole moment - the hands on their shoulders, the thigh between their knees, pinned between drywall and a solid mass of body heat and want - would be hot, desirable even, had it all not belonged to the one shithead they’d been hoping to avoid tonight. 

Of course, Lee would have more luck surviving a plane crash into the ocean than avoiding a shithead when said shithead is Noah Sebastian Davis. This whole situation is vomit-inducing. Embarrassing, honestly. They push on his chest, hard, like their life depends on it. 

“God, knew you’d want it,” Noah pants when Lee finally manages to separate his suction cup of a mouth from theirs, his shit-eating grin planted firmly like he’d done something - whether he meant to be sexy or purposely disgusting, they’re not sure - and it doesn’t help he hasn’t learned to be less cryptic since they’d seen him last. “What, no ‘hello’, no ‘how are you’?” Lee shoots back. They’d backpedaled out that green room as soon as the members of their entourage were occupied by conversation, though they really should’ve expected this. Noah following them down dimly lit hallways with dishonorable purpose is par for the course. “Didn’t think I’d need one. Once a slut, always a slut.” His chuckle is like shattering ice, each shard aimed at Lee. “Isn’t that right, Leanne?” 

Noah hasn’t changed in the ten years since they’d met, and Lee isn’t about to let the persistent press of his thick, hard cock against their stomach through layers of denim and terry cloth (or the way an engine downstairs springs to life when they feel it) change their opinion of him: that he’s a shithead through and through, cocky in the worst kind of way, hell-sent the day he was born when the universe decided not only to make him a bigheaded fool but also to let him win the genetic lottery in one fell swoop. 

Doesn’t stop the clench of their cunt that they struggle to suppress. Doesn’t prevent the mental scolding they’re forced to give themself: the chaos monster that is Noah Davis’s entire being isn’t worth dealing with for even a hookup. It’s pathetic, tacky even. 

Something primal, old and hungry flashes in the glassy gel of Noah’s eyes when he forces Lee’s gaze to his, fingers hooked firmly round their jaw; something uncontrollably soft in the way his jaw trembles to mirror Lee’s own when he grazes their hip with his free hand, when he presses his thumb firmly to their clit through the denim of their shorts. 

There are a million things Lee could’ve picked from the Rolodex of elaborate insults soaked in a decade of contentious acquaintanceship they’ve stored specifically to knock Noah off his self-appointed pedestal, if only the butterflies insistently bubbling below their gut would just shut the fuck up for a single second. Could’ve, had Noah’s propensity to always control every situation so it goes his way not also applied to their own bodily function, apparently. Instead, they lower their chin, defiantly forcing his grip on their throat to tighten. 

Dangerous mistake. Stupid fucking mistake, because their hips buck forward along his thigh at the pressure, just an inch, and Noah’s smile widens dangerously, and oh. Oh no. They know this look, and the words that are bound to slip from his mouth in three, two -

Like a miracle from God or whatever the fuck other omnipotent being lives in the sky, a shout of their name echoes through the corridors. Noah’s hands find Lee’s shoulders again, head dipping once more as their own hands push desperately against his chest in a mad scramble for dominance and escape. They will not be caught - will not be seen - kissing Noah fucking Davis in front of their coworkers. No fucking way. Gag. Although… 

It does feel nice to be wanted, and it’s been so, so long since they’ve allowed themself this - no strings, mindless, just a quick way to get theirs. How long has it been? Since before they got sick, since before they put on the weight, surely. And Noah throws them around so effortlessly, they didn’t even feel that hot sting of insecurity as his hands ran down their body just minutes ago. And it’s not like they aren’t attracted to him, as long as he doesn’t speak. He’s always been hot - even Lee’s freshly-eighteen mind had been excited by the idea of snapping his scrawny little bones with their bare hands back then. And he’s only gotten hotter, with that fucking haircut and the way his once-concave pecs now ripple with muscle under their palms. 

So, what’s the holdup? It’s not like the two of them haven’t done this before. It would be so easy: they give Noah what he wants, they get theirs, then they never have to see each other again (at least not for another three years or four years, likely). Why shouldn’t they just let him kiss them again?

“Lee!” comes another shout, snapping Lee from their reverie. It’s closer, the sound of footsteps to match echoing just around the corner now. 

Their wandering mind had loosened their push on Noah’s chest to a caress, but now they use his momentary distraction to force him from them with all their might once again, schooling their stance into a casual side-lean against the wall just seconds before their friends round the corner. 

“There you are,” Mike sighs. “C’mon, bitch, we don’t wanna miss the openers!” As Lee follows Mike and Noor out to the floor, they toss a playful smirk over their shoulder, but Noah’s already replaced his mask of impassiveness, arms crossed sternly with clenched fists. His loss.

Noor’s laserlike gaze scans Lee as they collect their drinks from the bar. “Have a sweet reunion?” she asks.  

Lee huffs. They get enough of this shit from her at home, at work, basically everywhere. They love Noor, truly, but she’s impossible to fool and Lee really doesn’t need her picking around their brain when they themself don’t have a full understanding of what’s brewing in there.

“Sweet as fucking vinegar,” they instead reply, eyes rolling demonstratively. Noor’s lips purse in suspicion, so they turn away before she can do that fucking clairvoyant inspection of details thing she does, leading them back through the crowd to their coworkers. 

It’s not that Lee is stupid enough to truly believe they’d manage to avoid Noah at a Bad Omens show - rather that they’d have elected to straight up Not Attend were the outing not made mandatory by their boss. 

Mercury Hall is the largest venue in Burlington - a mid-size club with two balconies, standing thirty years with a stellar reputation to boot - but behind the scenes, despite a revolving door of staff, Mercury regularly employs a group of college kids who collectively have the common sense of a single person. Not that it’s surprising, really, considering Burlington houses two universities and both offer a “music business” major. Lee thinks Mercury should be hiring communications majors instead - maybe that’d fix their massive communication problem. 

Ouroboros - Lee’s place of gainful employment - is a smaller club on the other side of Downtown, and has absolutely no affiliation with Mercury… except that the owners of the two clubs go way back, oldheads who’ve been buddies since school and all that, and Lee’s boss regularly makes any problems down at Mercury his problem. 

Or, the problem of his long-suffering staff, to be precise. 

Just like last week, for example, when Lee was just trying to sort out next month’s scheduling while jamming to some ABBA, and was interrupted by their boss Roy roping them into solving the issue with Mercury’s scheduling instead, on only a week’s notice.

Really, the solution was a no brainer. One band was not local and on a tightly-scheduled tour; the other - from just three hours south in Boston, were playing just a one-off gig. Ask the Boston guys to move to the following night - they’d get a Friday spot anyway, way better deal. Enlist Mike and Noor to assist with rescheduling the hired crew to Friday. It helped immensely that the Boston guys only recently graduated to playing Mercury, that Lee knew them from their years of traveling up to play Ouroboros. The other band was Bad Omens. So, really, Noah should be thanking Lee.

Thanks only came in the form of Hank, Mercury’s owner, interrupting their pre-show planning meeting two days ago to inform Ouroboros staff they’d been guest-listed for the Bad Omens gig. Lee thought better thanks would’ve come in the form of Hank hiring staff capable of doing their jobs, and stands by that opinion. 

Excited chatter had erupted the minute Hank shut the door behind him - it’s a rare occasion that a decent metalcore act rolls through Burlington - but Lee could only focus on the cold pit that opened in their stomach at the thought of seeing Noah again. Later that night, they’d get disastrously wine-drunk with Noor on their ratty porch couch and lament on the absolute asshole that was Noah Sebastian Davis, but in that moment they only sat blank, nodding along obediently, as Roy instructed them to attend Hank’s “extremely generous offering”.

The issue isn’t going to the Bad Omens gig, because if there’s one positive thing they can say about Noah it’s that he really hit his stride with this project and Lee respects the grind. Nor is it the idea of being in the same room as him; it’s not like they haven’t been around him plenty and willingly over the past decade between touring through RVA with their college band, and in the multiple shared friend groups they’d amassed over the years. 

Noah’s annoying as all hell: the kind of person who says and does whatever, whenever the hell he wants, who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up, who will unapologetically push forward if it pleases him. And, apparently and unfortunately for Lee, his biggest pleasure is making them absolutely fucking miserable whenever they’re in proximity of one another. And especially unfortunately, he knows exactly how to push Lee’s buttons, which ones to push, and how to drive them to absolute breaking point. 

And, his greatest pleasure is knowing Lee will just hatefuck him when they get too fed up. Lee would bet their life savings (spoiler: not much) that he was one of those kids who pulled all the girls’ pigtails on the playground. 

Going into the evening, Lee’s biggest issue was just that: that they’d snap at him in front of their coworkers, that Roy or Hank would clock the familiarity and fire them or something, that they’d get overwhelmed and just fucking cry. Dealing with Noah’s antics was even a knife’s edge in the past, in casual environments where their friends would laugh it off as “Noah and Leanne bullshit”, when they’d had security in their identity and image. 

In the now times however, with their confidence dropped to near-zero, with meds that make them burst to tears at any strong enough emotion, with a fragile half-decades acceptance of their queer identity (and Noah’s inability to fucking catch on and stop misgendering them), Lee wasn’t certain they’d be able to handle the pressure of the battle of wills Noah insisted on having each time they met. 

Now, as the giant party of the Ouroboros staff, the touring party, and those of the Mercury staff who are legal to drink head to the Archives for after-hours drinks, Lee’s issue is that they’re actually enjoying themself because Resident Shithead Noah Sebastian Davis is being actually fucking pleasant. And they’re really not sure how to deal with that. It’s new territory. A no-person’s land, if you will. 

He’d slowed down to where Lee trailed behind the rest of the group, likely sick of tripping over Church Street’s uneven cobblestones trying to keep up with Joakim’s (they refuse to call him Jolly. What the fuck kind of grown man calls himself Jolly?) speed racer pace. “Hey,” he says quietly. 

Lee releases a long-suffering sigh. “Hi, Noah.”

They walk silently beside each other for a few minutes. From the corner of their eye as they tilt their head back to admire this year’s lighted arches, Lee sees Noah fidget uncomfortably. They’re seconds from spitting out an out with it, already when he finally asks, “So, archaeology was a bust, huh?”

Here we fucking go. They’ve decided their Rolodex of insults is useless and resort to just tossing him a nasty look, a roll of the eyes, and to speed up to walk with Mike, Noor and Folio when he hurriedly follows up with, “Only you seemed so excited about your degree.” He sports an unfamiliar expression Lee has never seen him wear (is it sheepishness? abashedness?), head dipped low. “Y’know. Back then.”

Lee’s brain is short circuiting. That’s the only explanation for the wall of static and dial-up tones smashcut with thirty different trains of thought that occupies it and allows them to respond only with a blank look and a dumb-sounding “oh” because, did Noah actually just ask them about their life????? 

Since when did he give a flying fuck about anything but making their night hell? All Noah Sebastian Davis cares about is his boys, his music, and getting his. But, it makes sense, right, since the last time they saw each other was at a holiday party and barely spoke at all - maybe he is just curious. He’s being pleasant, but to what end? When does the other shoe drop?

Or, a small part of their brain whispers, maybe he’s finally grown up. He does look awfully sincere, chocolate eyes wide with concern. “Just didn’t work out,” Lee shrugs, electing to open up. “For a lot of reasons. Mostly because, I guess I didn’t love it enough to work up to the fun stuff once I started getting hired.” A bitter, self-deprecating chuckle escapes their throat way too loudly for comfort. 

The group has reached the Archives now, and Lee sends a short nod in response to Noor’s concerned glance as she hesitates behind Mike at the bar door. They light a cigarette and lean against the wall, shuffling their foot along the pavement awkwardly. Lee tosses their gaze back up when Noah’s shoes stop before them. He’s open, inquisitive, and they can’t help but relax into it, dumping the rest out: “It’s a lot of travel. And my aunt was sick…”

They choke on the rest, and are suddenly enveloped in possibly the most comforting, needed hug they’ve received since she died. 

“My mom, too, recently,” Noah eventually lets out, voice matching Lee’s choke. He presses them harder to his chest, holding them, clinging, letting Lee soak his shirt as they rock back and forth. 

They break away from each other after a few minutes, Noah turning to let Lee try to wipe their tears without ruining their eyeliner as he swipes his own away with the heels of his palms. They turn back to each other with tight, abashed closed-mouth half-smiles, letting out matching embarrassed chuckles. 

He slumps against the wall and they stand, shoulders grazing, gazing at the night sky. “Y’know, it’s strange to see you here, because I associate Philly with you first, Leanne,” Noah ponders lazily, “But Vermont strangely suits you.”

There’s that bitter feeling again. Lee lights another smoke (having lost their previous to the hug) and follows the smoke trail as it draws circles around the distant stars above, shining bright as though they’re watching from somewhere far, far from civilization. 

There’s something you don’t get in Philly - that feeling of awe, of being just a molecule amidst the inconceivable mass of this universe, of every worry and problem being an ant to a continent, and you’re just trying to live your life to survive to the next and the most you can do is just live and love it. There’s something they’d missed for years being away from the far Northeast, something they take for granted until quiet, gentle moments like this. They don’t share any of that with Noah. Instead, they reply: “Noor’s rich parents bought her a house here, and she took me with her.”

“How long?” Noah sighs. He sounds dreamy, on the verge of sleep, eyes closed, body leaning firmly against theirs. 

“Nearly five years, now.”

Noah’s eyes snap open, a smirk spreading his face like wildfire, words flowing faster than Lee can even brace for the hit. “Five years of Vermont Cheddar’s done wonders for that ass,” he snarks. 

There it fucking is, the other fucking shoe. Leave it to him to open his stupid fucking mouth at a moment like this. Here they are, opening up about shit they’d barely even told their best friend, crying about their dead family together, and he’s making caveman-brain comments about their body. 

Lee kicks off the wall, dislodging Noah’s resting body, flicking their unfinished cigarette at the ground. If there’s a God, he’ll make the ash ruin Noah’s squeaky-clean white Vans. 

They feel an absolute idiot for trusting this idiot, for choosing these feelings to entrust to him. Should’ve known better. “With as much disrespect as possible: fuck you, Noah,” Lee spits at Noah’s stumbling form before jerking open the bar door, slamming it shut behind them. 

Note to future self (which will inevitably be forgotten and ignored): beware the Archives after hours - it’s completely shot and always devolves to the same bullshit. Yes, every time. Do not be fooled by the arcade machines - they are half broken and will not save you.

Hank and Roy left after chugging their first and only beers in under a minute the way Frank and Charlie shovel down cat food before bed on Always Sunny. Mike’s sniffed out that one gruff DL crew guy that’s seemingly copy-pasted onto each tour that comes through town and is working on enticing him to go back to his place above Ouroboros with that fucking slick grin of his (“It’s only around the corner, they’ll be none the wiser”). Nobody’s behind the bar, because it’s easier for Donny to just let people serve themselves - not like afterhours is official or legal here, anyway - so why would he bother serving? 

Everyone’s broken off into small groups or pairs, and Lee? Lee’s nursing their fourth whiskey, stuck finishing the shitty fries Noor always orders after she’s had her first drink, the same shitty ones she eats like, five of before pushing them away in disgust. 

The floor is sticky, left to be cleaned by the opening staff, and more than half the bar’s got their wax pens out, making the whole place smell like wet dog. Like the top note of a sick perfume resting above the heart note of the sweat of thirty slightly-too-warm people. Eau de metalhead. They really oughta turn off the heat in this place already - it’s fucking June.

It’s not the heat that’s got Lee absolutely boiling, though, no, that would be too simple. It’s that among this absolute hellscape, Noah is ten feet away, laughing like all that shit outside just didn’t happen. He’s fucking with the glitchy Ms. Pac-Man machine with Nicholas. He’s shotgunning beers with Mike and Mike’s newest conquest. He’s not looking at Lee. 

“- and after all that, like we had a moment, and after all that -” Lee laments to Noor, “For fuck’s sake, bitch, will you quit making eyes at Folio for one second?” 

Greta Van Fleet’s “Heat Above” is playing over the tinny speaker, and Noor’s distracted “uh huh” as she bops along is tell enough for Lee. The bitch is gone. 

“Fuck’s sake, Noor, you really gotta fuck the drummer every time?” Lee hisses, reaching blindly behind the bar for the whiskey they’d set in arm’s reach. Noor doesn’t hear them. Noor is too busy being her beautiful self, flicking a chunk of perfect raven curls behind her shoulder. Lee watches in horror as Folio presents the other tell that Noor’s one-hundred-percent gone for the night, something Lee has only seen happen genuinely, unironically in two situations - one in movies, and the other when Noor flirts with men: Folio fucking wiggles his eyebrows at her. 

There’s the whiskey. Goddamn, do they need another drink. Somewhere behind them, Noah cackles. Nails on a fucking chalkboard. 

Can you hear that dreadful sound? Fire still burning on the ground, Josh Kiszka screeches. You, or the other one, Josh? thinks Lee as they pour themselves another drink.

They turn, ready to shoot Noah a dirty look, and the fucker winks at them. They down their three fingers in one go and push off their stool towards the toilets. 

Their vision swims, not from the five whiskeys, not from getting up too quickly, but from the pins and needles of bitter fury tearing at their chest. 

It’s not that Noah’s enjoying himself. Good for him. It’s not that he’d been a vulgar dick, either, because they’re pretty sure that wasn’t the first time they’d gotten the “wonders for your ass” dig from him before. 

It’s that they’d allowed him a single moment of benignant sincerity for probably the first time ever, let him in, showed their tender belly, and then he’d gone and stabbed them where they’re most vulnerable. That he’d pissed on any genuine connection they’d been building up to then. 

It’s not that Noah was an asshole tonight, that will never change. That’s the sky blue. It’s that this time, Noah actually hurt their feelings. 

Lee shuts the bathroom door with their back, melds themself against the metal, digging the heels of their palms into their eyes as they let out a dry, heavy, tear-less sob. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale -

The second sob drags up with it hot spittle, sending them coughing and gagging into the sink. It’s that it’s all their own fault for letting him in, for getting comfortable in the first place. That’s what you get when you let Noah in. 

How fucking shot in the head do they have to be to expect anything less than this bullshit? Because this isn’t how someone with an ounce of sensibility would handle this, right? RIGHT?! Hey, let’s go trauma dump on this dude who’s never had a kind thing to say to you. Let’s go talk about our feeeeeeelings with the guy who still deadnames you FOUR years after you changed it everywhere. Oh, he gave you a hug? Oh, he shared his little emo feels with you too? Awwww. Ohhhh. Cute. Fucking. Idiot. 

Their eyeliner is smeared, their skin blotchy and red, and their hair absolutely refuses to lay well despite all their efforts to make it behave. Under the overly-bright fluorescent lighting, they can see the blue of the vein bulging in their forehead. They look like they’ve been beaten, or fucked, or both at once. Lee swears their reflection grins at them then.

They need to clean themself up and get another drink, and then they need to punch Noah in his stupid, smug, sexy face. Another dry heave works up their throat. No, no, this isn’t right. This is neither healthy nor productive. They can’t keep going on like this, can’t keep allowing themself in situations where the rage literally makes them sick.

Lee sighs, rubbing a hand over their tired face, presentability be damned. They need to go home; just crawl into bed and sleep it off and avoid any gatherings Noah might be at forever. They should probably cut off their mutual friends, too and never step foot in Richmond again, or L.A. for that matter, though they’d never willingly end up in that helltown, anyway. 

Home. Bed. Sleep. Never see Noah again. 

But when they swing open the bathroom door, he’s on the other side.

There’s a beat as he takes them in, and a small part of Lee thinks, hopes, prays he’ll grant mercy this time. Just this once. Look at me. Please. Mercy.

But prayer’s so unreliable, and Noah is so, so consistent. “Lookin’ good, doll,” mocks the physical manifestation of No Sense Of Time And Place. “Whoa -”

This is it. Their chest is exploding, they can’t breathe, they’ve lost their eyesight. This is how they die. 

Noah catches their wrist inches from his face before Lee even realizes they’ve swung.

They let out a hysterical laugh, ripping their arm from his like it’s a third-degree burn, backpedaling so fast from his advance they nearly trip over their own legs. 

He’s all, “hey, whoa,” he’s all, “hey, Leanne,” but they’re too busy contending with the fact that each breath feels like a leaf blower full of nails tearing their windpipe. “Leanne, what -” he says, but they knew this wasn’t normal the moment Noah started grabbing at their shoulders, at their face, the moment they couldn’t hear him pleading for them to get themself together. “Leanne, c’mon, Leanne, please,” he’s begging somewhere, but they can’t stop fucking laughing.

God, but doesn’t he sound so tender, so pretty when he pleads?

This isn’t normal, right? Like, what’s that saying about doing the same thing over and over? Right?????? And now there’s godforsaken tears pricking at their eyes and they can’t stop and - 

They need him to stop. They need him to shut up, and they need him out of their field of vision. But he keeps getting in front of them, putting his hands on them and Lee wants them off but they can’t feel their hands - 

Someone’s released an anguished, animalistic scream somewhere. Everything’s too tight. There’s arms caging them in, they need out, they need escape why are there arms fucking everywhere - 

“Fucking, ow!” Noah’s left hand flies up to nurse his jaw where they’d managed to catch him, but the right finds purchase in their hair immediately, like it’s an instinct, like it belongs there. He yanks, hard, forcing their face to his as he crowds them against the sink. 

There’s something grounding, calming in the pain at the back of their head, something reassuring in the way he’d tear their hair out at a moment’s notice. He’s so close they can smell the spearmint of the gum he’d been chewing under the liquor and smoke, nose nearly pressed to theirs. His hair tickles their cheekbones like a balm, like a promise.

He’s a vision of fury, all tightly clenched jaw and steely eyes, scrunched nose and furrowed brows. “What the fuck is your problem?” he sternly asks, voice quiet, chillingly flat.

An involuntary, scornful bark of a laugh escapes Lee’s throat. “You wanna know my problem? YOU’RE my fucking problem! I haven’t known a moment of peace since I met you!” they shout through their sob-torn throat. The dam bursts, there’s no stopping this train now, whichever metaphor you prefer. “You’re absolutely insufferable! No regard for anyone but yourself! You wanna know why people leave you in the dust and never look back? Because you’re the fucking worst! You’re a fucking mistake!”

Noah’s mouth twists that smirk again, the one Lee has been on the receiving end of too many times tonight, but there’s no joy behind it; his eyes are empty and cold and tinged red, omnipotent in the weight of his gaze. He doesn’t even need to say it. That cruel twist of his mouth is enough. Takes one to know one.

His lips are on Lee’s in an instant, barely connected for a second before he forces his tongue past their teeth, his free hand wandering anywhere he can reach. His hips push them into the porcelain, fingers brushing up the exposed skin of their belly, hand sliding overtop their binder. A harsh breath huffs out his nose as he passes a thumb over their hard nipple through the thick fabric, pulling a tiny, pathetic whine from Lee’s throat. 

There’s a beat when he pulls their head an inch back, hovering by their ear once more, hips giving a miniscule, barely there roll. Then, in a movement so quick Lee can barely acknowledge it happened, he rips their arm round their back, flipping them so fast they’d faceplant into the mirror were it not for the grip he keeps steady on their head, fingers tangled in their hair, nails digging at their scalp. Hips press them into the edge of the sink, fingers pull their head to his shoulder, the arch lighting a tight burn in their spine. 

Mirror Lee looks like roadkill, and Mirror Noah looks like the vulture circling round their corpse, towering over them voraciously.

He rolls his hard, clothed cock into the small of their back. “Look at what you do to me,” he croons. A hand trailing fingers dangerously slow up their bare leg. “Look at what a mess you are.” His hand trails lazily from their hair to their throat, nestling there like a puzzle piece fit into place, forcing their gaze on the mirror. “Look at you.” He trails kisses behind Lee’s ear, down their neck, the trail of saliva he leaves behind chilling in the stale air. “Look at you.” His fingers brush their belly. “Look at you.” A kiss on their pulse point. Lee lets out an anxious shudder at the fingers dipping below the waistband of their shorts.

His eyes snap to meet theirs in the mirror, and Lee’s screwed because Noah’s just caught them soaking wet. They can’t force themself to blink, to look away from Noah’s piercing gaze as he slowly, predatorily brings his mouth to their ear. Punctuated by a single flick of their clit, through barely-parted kiss-bruised lips, he whispers: “Slut.”

It’s then their mind catches up to their body, and as their face hits the cold, wet porcelain of the sink bowl, they realize they hadn’t fully caught their breath. They heave as the stoneware digs into the bottom of their ribs, muscles spasming over their whole body as they consciously force them to relax. 

The heel of his palm pushes at the base of their skull, his fingers tangling tight in their hair once more, and a single, foreboding finger whispers assurance as it runs down their spine. Cold air on their bare ass as he unceremoniously tears down their shorts and underwear in one fell swoop. His cock prods at their hole and they, body before mind, back against him. 

For the warmth, of course.

Nothing more. 

That’s definitely not their whine when he slides home with a single snap of his hips, when he pulls out nearly completely, when he snaps back home again with twice the force. 

Mercy. What a silly thought to entertain, what a silly plea to beg when you’re begging Noah. Noah doesn’t do mercy. That’s not his modus operandi. Noah winds you up, then puts you down. Like Lee is now. Down. Face down in the sink bowl. Like the stupid, stupid slut they are, in Noah’s own words. 

They’ll never get used to the stretch, they think, no matter how many times they fuck Noah. It might be the size of him (though they’ll never admit it to his face, lest it make him grow a second head for sheer lack of space from his already overly-inflated ego), or maybe it’s that he’s just there to get his, and no matter how he fucks - slow, fast, hard, gentle - he’s never thinking about them. And despite that, despite that he’s just jackhammering, shoving their face into the porcelain with force which will surely leave a bruise, the roll of his hips tells them someone cooked here.

There’s no tenderness in the dig of his short, blunt nails into the flesh of their inner thigh, woefully close to where they need him, nor in sticky snap of his hips against their ass, and certainly not in the merciless drag of his heavy cock against that rough patch in them which serves to topple them like a Jenga tower, slowly, shakily, then all at once. They’re so full. So empty. They’re a coin-operated doll, helpless to be broken down and sold for parts on the whim of a single man. 

They’re a wet mess, clit so swollen they think it might burst, hands a mess of numb pins and needles. They’re gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow, they’re gonna be so fucking sore when they pee, and for what it’s worth, this shouldn’t feel good at all, but Lee is so fucking close.

Embarrassing. 

When Noah’s hips stutter, when his grip releases their head just enough for them to turn their head, he’s got his bottom lip in his teeth and his eyes are squeezed shut and he looks so, so gone (or maybe it’s Lee who’s gone) in the flush of pink running from his cheeks down into his shirt. 

That’s not Lee moaning. They’re just trying to catch a breath. But, god, they’re right there, they just need something, they just need more - 

Noah freezes, collapsing on them with a short, quiet groan, burying his face in their neck. 

His breath is hot, wet, the weight of his heaving chest pressing their ribcage into the porcelain. There's barely a moment of peace before the fingers in their hair tighten once more, pulling their face up to meet his eyes in the mirror. 

All it takes is a miniscule shake of Lee’s head for his blissed out gaze to turn stormy once more, for him to drop to his knees.

It’s a race to the finish line the second Noah’s tongue touches Lee’s neglected clit. Quite possibly all their synapses fire at once, all their focus single-mindedly on the way he sucks them, on the calluses on his fingertips as he pads at their hole, on the vibration of a moan they can’t hear. 

Lee is jelly. They don’t need to be held down any longer, compliantly staying slumped in the sink, but the soothing scrape of Noah’s nails on their scalp as he presses two fingers in grounds them, turning any distracting thoughts to a static hum tuned to the note of fuck, Noah. 

All it takes is a single curl of his fingers, like the press of a button before they’re falling, trembling on an overdose of oxytocin into oblivion. 

With a final suck, Noah rises to his feet, bringing a deer-legged Lee with him. They’re dizzy, vision blurred as he turns them gently in his arms. Arousal-coated fingers pry their jaw open, and Noah comes into focus when his hand settles at their throat in an inky-fingered necklace. He forces Lee’s jaw open wider and spits, using the same hand to then cover their mouth. His eyes are wide and wild, rapt as he soothes the saltybitter spend down Lee’s throat. “Look at you, look at that dirty mouth,” he’s mumbling feverishly, voice still deep with arousal. “Look at you swallow that cum. Who else does it for you like this, hm? That’s right. Nobody. Only me.”

Lee chokes out a heaving breath, willing the tears that prick their eyes to not fucking fall, and he deflates, collapsing into their shoulder, arms dropping to circle their waist. “God damn, Leanne,” he sighs after a beat, dulcet and spent.

They glance down uncomfortably. His face is calm, unmarred by the everpresent lines and tension it usually carries, nose buried in their neck. “It’s Lee,” they say. 

At least he has the sense to look embarrassed. “Right. Lee.”  

They don’t clean themself up, they haven’t the energy. They let Noah pull up their shorts, shuffle them out the bathroom and out the back door, and walk them home. 

The streets are quiet, streetlights haloing the street corners in gold, everyone with any sense of decency long-retired to their homes. Lee wonders what they look like from a bird’s eye view, or from outer space, alone together in a grid of light. What do the stars think - would they shame Lee? Would they judge them? 

They stroll lazily, Noah’s arm draped round Lee’s shoulder. He looks so at peace, between the half-smile playing at his lips and the way the streetlights illuminate the lashes of his half-closed eyes. Something acrid bubbles in Lee’s chest. At least they get him like this, blissed out and pleasant before they never speak to him again. Before they never - 

No. They won’t think about that. Just remember this. 

Lee is halfway up the porch stairs before Noah yanks them back by the wrist, catching them from their awkward tumble into his chest. “Give me a call sometime, alright?” he mumbles, grazing the exposed skin between their shorts and shirt. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

Their heart stutters. It’s too sweet. It’s too nice. This isn’t right. “Whatever, asshole,” they say. Weakly. Unconvincingly. With the weakest push they’ve got, with no resistance from Noah, they start again on the stairs. 

He doesn’t pursue. 

“Call me whatever you like,” he laughs. “‘Long as you call me.” 

In the morning, through a blinding headache and a metric fuckton of hangxiety, Lee rushes to check their phone the second they pull their face from the pillow. 

Among the sea of texts from Noor and Mike, work emails, and bullshit app notifications, there it is: Stupid Silly Man: hey, asshole. My number is still the same, btw.

[longingforspace]

Top Surgery Update

I had my top surgery on Friday (24/1) and I'm doing fine.

As is standard here, I had to stay the night at the hospital, but at ~11, the nurse removed my drain and before 14:00, I was discharged. They wanted me to stay for lunch since I had lost my appetite and wanted to make sure I ate something before my long trip home (~3h car ride). No nausea, thankfully, just hard to eat.

My pain levels are fine. Even in the morning when the painkillers have left my system, it's just soreness, rather than pain. Despite this, I've taken codeine four times a day as they recommended, but tomorrow I will start just taking paracetamol since a.) not really any pain, even when the drugs have left my system and b.) the codeine makes me dizzy and fuzzy-headed and I don't like it.

The codeine brain and having to sleep raised up and on my back are my only complains. I can do most things myself: getting dressed, eat, drink and so on. Only thing I can't do is lifting anything heavier or reach over my head, but no one should do that after a top surgery.

I'm honestly really surprised with how well I'm doing. All stories I've read have been about how they've struggled to even hold their cups, not wanting to get out of bed and so on, but thankfully, that has not been an issue for me. I don't know if I'm just lucky, the surgeon did a good job or if I have high pain tolerance. I just know I feel remarkably a lot like my usual self (besides the codeine brain) and I'm very grateful about that.

I don't even feel as gross as I thought I would, since I can't shower. But I've been wiping myself off with baby wipes and changed clothes daily, so I guess that helps.

As for what type of top surgery, it's T-anchor one. And yes, I'm wearing a post-op binder.

On Friday, it's back to the hospital to remove the dressing and see how the healing is going. Hopefully, it's going well.

Anyway, that's my update and of course, this is just how things have been for me. Everyone experiences surgery and the healing differently.

(Btw this is the first time in my life I've taken antibiotics or prescribed painkillers, which surprised the nurse.)

[bog-father]

An analysis of love in From Eden/ Self titled by Hozier

Something so interesting about the love in From Eden is that, to me, the best way you can describe how the narrator sings about love is pathetic. Or in some cases even genuinely toxic.

Songs such as “take me to chruch” and “Cherry Wine” are about toxic love.

“Take me to Church” (while having a lot of religious imagery) has a theme of an unbalanced love. This theme, of course, can refer to a genuine romantic relationship but also the relationship of religious followers to their church.

“Cherry Wine” is about domestic violence. The narrator is aware of the domestic abuse they’re going through yet still revers their lover, exploring how domestic violence victims and survivors cope with abuse.

Other songs in From Eden the narrator is kinda pathetic in their love (I say this jokingly. I just think saying pathetic is funny). Think of songs such as “Angel of Small Death and Codeine Scene”, “Jackie and Wilson”, “Someone New”, “To be Alone”, “From Eden”, “It Will Come Back”. All of these songs are, in some way, showing the yearning of the narrator. The narrator has a love unreciprocated and he’s going to lengths to even feel their love for a second.

There are very few genuine love songs in From Eden. Out of the 15 tracks only 3 can be called genuine love songs (in my opinion) these songs being “Work Song”, “In a week”, and ���Like real people do”.

My interpretation of how love works in From Eden is that the narrator is a victim of love. He grasps at something he just can’t reach. It’s as if the narrator is stuck in the desert, using their hands as a water cup yet the water slips out, he only ever gets enough to wet his lips.

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Wednesday

I haven’t been working on much. 👀 So I think I have three previews? One would say that’s not nothing Nerdie and they are correct. It’s just my brain has been…flipped upside down, shaken and stirred and jostled a little just for funsies. 😑 Bah.

Anyway! Good news is that I am heavy in the fluff camp! Smut was lost between being shaken and stirred I think. 🤔

I was tagged by @secretelephanttattoo @604to647 @djarins-cyare and @inept-the-magnificent 💕💕💕 Thank you for thinking of me. ❤️

Previews under the cut:

The first is for “Our Journey Across the Star Ocean.”

His hand touched face one time with his bare hand next to Grogu’s little green one on your cheek, his thumb brushed against your lips. He held it there a moment before dropping his hand. You wonder if he was embarrassed or sorry that he did so. But his hand is once again in yours as he charts the course to the next bounty.

It’s not only the small touches. Din always remembers enough cleaning supplies for your tools and the ship in addition to the small little caf cakes you like after a bounty goes well. Din might have started eating one as he would buy three instead of just two. The small parchment paper in the refuse was the evidence he’d had one.

It’s very cute I think. 💕 we’re at part four, may end at part five because…reasons. 👀

The second preview is for a random Dieter Bravo series I wanna write just because:

“I’ll text Mindy. It will be fine. Anything happens she’ll blame me anyway. You can just be licking ice cream off your lips.” Scooting closer to Tamia, Dieter purposely lowers his head to look up at her, using his deep brown eyes to his advantage. If you’ve got it, use it right?

Huffing, Tamia reluctantly agrees to Dieter’s proposal for ice cream. A car is summoned and they’re off within ten minutes. A flurry of texts from Mindy stating that he needs to take Tamia home now go ignored other than Dieter’s one reply: Okay mom. We’ll be back in plenty of time. It’s just ice cream.

Who doesn’t want ice cream, especially with Dieter? 🥰

Lastly, I’m working on Only Pieces of you Mr. Morales finale it’s longer than a Drabble (my bad) but I gotta wrap it up properly:

There stands Francisco, a messy mop of dark curls bouncing on the back of his neck, his gray t-shirt struggling to contain his biceps and shoulders. He was wearing tan cargo shorts that cupped the curve of his ass just right. He’s finishing up the eggs, the bacon is to the side, pancakes are keeping warm in a metal baking pan covered with foil. The table is set with orange juice and syrup already out. If she wasn’t apprehensive about what conversation they were going to have, she’d tell him to cover all the food and head back to the bedroom. This is by far one of the sexiest and sweetest things he does for her: letting her not worry about anything. She’s waiting for his usual line of “breakfast is served mi amor (my love).” That’s not what he turns and says.

And a last sentence because @djarins-cyare did one:

Javi and Abigail watched the cerulean blue waves roll against the rocks as they finished up their meal.

I made progress on my Javi G series Two Hearts by the Ocean finally! 🌊

NPT: @rhoorl @maggiemayhemnj @laurfilijames @grogusmum @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@goodwithcheese @djarinmuse @connectioneverywhere @morallyinept @megamindsecretlair

@soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @spacecowboyhotch @avastrasposts @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@magpiepills @pedroshotwifey @julesonrecord @alltheglitterandtheroar @pamasaur

@saturn-rings-writes

PS: I might have made notes to two Moon Knight fics. 👀 Again for reasons…maybe found while being flipped. Who knows these things really?

[notjustjavierpena]

Five Minutes

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: As promised, y’all. Thanks to @strang3lov3 and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for always helping me improve my work ❤️💖 Just to put it out there: The translations aren’t always literal but paraphrased to maintain context.

Summary: Lucien kisses you outside during your house party and puts his hand under your dress.

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Teasing/banter, pet names, passionate kisses, groping, dirty talk, over panty clit stim, degradation, slight verbal humiliation, overstimulation, bit of exhibitionism

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54514960

Five Minutes

Your head is swimming with how close Lucien is. His breath tickles your skin when he talks, ghosts over your ear as he noses along the side of your head. In the smoke-filled room where the floor shakes from the music playing, you can smell his cologne on him. He is velvety soft when he speaks, enchanting you, “Let’s get out of here, just for a second.”

“We can’t,” you turn your head a little and look up at him through your lashes, “It’s my party, baby.”

“I don’t care,” he nods towards the open screen door in your living room, “When everyone is distracted, we could slip out. Nobody will notice.”

“That their host is gone?” You tut in disbelief, “Luce…”

“Corazón (honey),” he mimics your tone of voice, “They’re too busy to notice us leaving for a few minutes.”

“Oh, it’s a few minutes now? It was getting out of here a second ago,” you tease him playfully. In reality, you have already decided to give in and all he has to do is drag you away from the crowds. You won’t protest.

“I feel like we’re throwing out a lot of terms about time on the table here,” he grins against your forehead, having moved slightly to hold you close. His arms rest along the small of your back.

“I’ll give you, hmm,” you pretend to think, “Five minutes. Is that satisfactory?”

“I’ll give you satisfactory,” he unwraps himself from you to grab your wrist. You giggle as he drags you through the loud house, slipping the both of you out of the half-open door to your backyard.

The air inside was oppressive; smoke-filled, hot, and with a distinct smell of alcohol. The air outside however is filled with mischief and adventure, your garden smelling of freshly-cut grass and blooming lilacs. Lucien’s hand slips down your wrist so he can entwine your fingers, his hand sure in its grip when he guides you past a group of people who are talking loudly. He hadn’t been wrong; no one seems to notice you passing by as they are all too invested in their conversations. Lucien would probably phrase it that they have their heads too far up their asses.

He leads you to the wall of your house that is enshrouded in darkness now that the sun is no longer shining. The chatter from your guests fades into background noise, replaced by the cicadas singing in the night breeze and a gentle rustling of the leaves on the trees.

As soon as you become your only witnesses, Lucien backs you up against the rough exterior of your house. He cups your face with gentle, calloused hands, and then suddenly, he kisses you deeply and forces you to do a sharp intake of air through your nose. It is like he tries to be soft and sweet but there’s something more behind the way his lips meet yours, and he easily slides his tongue into your mouth because you cannot help but moan at the taste of him.

His thumb goes down your cheek, settles on your chin to pull your mouth open so he can lick hotly into it. You place your hands on his shoulders to dig your fingers into the muscles there, then tilt your head to meet him even more while desire pools in your belly.

The hand that isn’t holding your mouth open for him slides down to rest on your shoulder. However, it moves quickly to grope obscenely at your chest over the fabric of your dress and you let him as his thumb brushes over a nipple. It stiffens immediately despite the indirect touch.

The moan you let out turns into a snicker that interrupts you. Lucien’s fingers have slipped under the dress strap on your shoulder and he tries pulling it off. You shake your head while laughing quietly, “No, Luce, c’mon.”

“But you have such pretty tits,” he argues with almost a raspy whine whilst you pull the strap back in place, “Necesito sentirte (I need to feel you).”

“That’s very nice and all but I don’t need the whole party to see my breasts,” you bump your head slightly against the wall when Lucien’s head descends to kiss your neck, “You’re gonna have to get creative, I’m not going to strip in my garden like I’m in my teens.”

As he noses along your pulse point, both his palms skim down your sides and eventually cup your ass with lewd hands. You think that might be it, but suddenly his fingers bunch up the fabric of your skirt only to pull it upwards so he can slide his hand underneath it. You gasp as he drapes his palm over your whole mound on top of your underwear.

“You’re certainly determined,” you say breathlessly as he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit. More blood goes south. You reach for his hair to pull his mouth to yours again, moaning as he guides two digits over your clothed slit.

“You’ve put me on the clock here,” he replies between kisses, voice a mere growl, “I don’t think I need much time though, do you? You’re sticky through your pretty panties already.”

He moves his hand to run his knuckle over the damp patch on the fabric, pulling away from the kiss to show off the shiny knuckle between your faces whilst he holds the skirt of your dress in his free hand to keep it from falling down again. He smirks in a self-satisfied manner and your mouth falls open in aroused surprise when he sucks the slick off his digit, “Tienes un coño precioso, mi amor, sabes tan dulce (You’ve got a pretty pussy, my love, you taste so sweet).”

“Lucien,” you breathe.

“That made you say my whole name, huh?” He grins boyishly but he is more filthy than anyone knows.

“Touch me,” you look down between the two of you briefly and then find his gaze again, your eyes becoming heavy as the anticipation settles in the evening air. Without a word, his hand finds its way down between your legs again. You widen your stance slightly, open your legs for him.

Your eyebrows scrunch together when he skims his palm over the soft skin right below your belly button. He teases you for a moment, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear before letting them remain on top once again. He finds your clit easily despite it being covered - it’s so hard that he cannot miss it - and presses his index- and middle finger on it. He rubs your cunt in torturous circles and suddenly, the whole world seems to close in on you.

You spread your legs as wide as this position will allow you. Lucien chuckles quietly at your desperation, covers your mouth with his own as you pant with each little pulse of pleasure that he beckons from you.

His fingers shift between featherlight touches to just the right amount of pressure, sending you through a rollercoaster of arousal. You know the white cotton underneath his ministrations is see-through by now, messy and wet from the way your whole cunt flutters and clenches in the absence of anything he is willing to give you. You gush every now and then, and he groans into your mouth each time he feels his palm soak.

“Put your fingers in me,” you beg when it becomes especially unbearable but he doesn’t.

“I don’t think you need the whole party to see this pretty pussy, it’s mine,” he mocks your argument from earlier and pecks your lips impossibly soft compared to how he is treating your clit, “You’ll have to make do with what I give you, mi flor (my flower). I don’t care if you start begging me like a wanton little whore.”

“That’s so unfair,” you whimper as the first tells of your orgasm approaches. Lucien notices immediately and pulls his head back a little to watch your blissed-out expression. He circles in on your clit even further to make you cry softly, biting down on your bottom lip so you won’t alert anyone nearby.

“Shut up and come for me,” he is too pleased with himself. He can probably feel your cunt throbbing against his fingers when you finally do, doing a sharp intake of air as pleasure starts flowing through your lower body. You let it wash over yourself, clenching walls pushing more slick out to wet the thin fabric. If you had time, you would have told him to have a peek.

“You are so fucking cheap and easy,” he reminds you with a sleazy grin but you are too lost to coming from his fingers that you fumble for the right retort and decide to say nothing. Instead, you try not to lose your balance as he keeps stroking your oversensitive pussy until you have to grab at his wrist.

He bites at your jaw, stronger than you ever will be, and keeps up his torture over your panties. You are forced to come again less than thirty seconds later, and now, you start to actually cry out to the point where he has to kiss you quiet again.

You cling to him when he finally stops. He is your anchor in this state of mind-altering dopamine rush.

“You don’t even know how hard you make me,” he whispers against your lips, “Should drag you to the bathroom and fuck you stu—“

In the aftermath, two guests, much younger than him, round the corner. They are deep in drunken conversation, all giggly and eager, and appear to be searching for a quiet spot to do the same thing as you have just done. With a rush of adrenaline that clears your mind, you push Lucien away and yank your dress back down, smoothing out the fabric to remove any evidence that it has been crumpled by desperate hands, something that Lucien points out is only visible to your eyes before the intruders are within earshot.

“Oh, sorry,” one of them says as the other kisses their neck. They try to bat the other away with an embarrassed smile, “We didn’t know you were out here.”

Lucien wraps his arm around your waist and leads you away with his cock shamelessly straining against the front of his slacks. He smiles at the couple and they offer their bottle of wine to him as an apology. He takes a swig from it but doesn’t give it back.

“That’s okay, how could you have known?” He begins the lie, “We’ve only been gone for five minutes.”

.

.

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

[usagiarchive]

angel of the codeine scene — [03] i know you

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sypnosis. [ xiao x adeptus!reader. 1.5k words. angst. ]  — a patient who does not want treatment, cannot be treated.

You can feel it in your bones.

It's the constant buzzing behind your eyes, the chilling feeling on the back of your head, and the thrumming of your heart.

You know Xiao.

But you can't remember how exactly.

It's like a memory right in front of you hidden in a façade and just out of your reach.

On the times you do remember, the times when you wake up from a dream you know Xiao was in, it slips from the grasp of your mind just as quickly.

As you look at him now, washing blood off of his weapon in the river, you can't help but feel a sense of déja vu…

“If you have something to say, say it,” he says, eyes still focused on washing the blood out, “I can feel your eyes on me,”

You shake your head.

Not today, you think, I can't ask yet, I don't know how to approach him about this.

He leaves it alone, too.

He knows something, you know it.

It's in the way he told you mortals are fragile beings despite knowing he can sense the adepti blood running in your veins.

It's in the way he leaves you at places where you're in his view, but away from danger while on patrol.

It's in the way he makes sure you're fed and sleeping a normal amount all the time, constantly asking how you're feeling, how you are.

But being cold and distant, still… He doesn't tell you what you're supposed to help him with, he doesn't tell you what hurts, where his wounds are.

Instead, he braves it and always tells you he's fine, nothing hurts, it's just a scratch, and all the like.

How are you supposed to help someone who doesn't seem interested in helping himself?

He was a paradox to you.

…

You were a paradox to him.

He doesn't understand how to… how to deal with you. You seem to be the same, hardworking and persistent.

You come with him to patrol and he keeps you safe but you don't say anything.

This… version… of you is… quiet.

There was no more nagging at him to clean his wounds, to take care of himself better, to dodge the attacks instead of using his body to parry the blows.

You only watch and observe now.

You place cups of tea, medicine, and meals in front of him without so much as a word.

He doesn't know what to do.

Baizhu wasn't like this, he advises Xiao on what to do, tells him how to do it.

Baizhu talks, you don't.

And it concerns him because he knows how you were, you were- you were his lover.

It confuses him to see you alive but not the same. To have the same features from over half a thousand years ago, to hear your voice once more, but not to have… you.

He knows you're different now.

That it's a different you.

You're not the same one he fell in love with, the same one who patched all his wounds (even though you know he regenerates himself), the one he knew a long, long time ago.

But it does not stop him from hoping you would somehow remember.

It still confuses him how he was given you, he does not know why Morax decided to give him a healer in the likeness of his past lover.

As a punishment or a reward, he will never know.

Weapons do not question their wielders.

Servants do not question their masters.

Demons do not question their gods.

…

“How have you been faring with Adeptus Xiao, little healer?” Verr asks you one afternoon as Xiao leaves for a meeting with Ganyu.

The two of you had figured out that the contract only works if Xiao fights, any other situation is alright for the two of you to be separated, but it still shouldn't be for longer than a day, not that he's tried to leave your side for more than half of it anyway.

(“I'll be fine, I just need to talk to her about something, I'll be quick and I will be sure to get you before I go on patrol,” he tells you and waits for a response.

You nod.

A beat, another, and then he's gone.

You think he was waiting for you to say something else.)

“Xiansheng is fine, he treats me well, makes sure I am well-fed,” you tell her, “Not sure if he's the patient or am I,” you joke.

Verr laughs, “You got that right, I've never seen him so… attentive!”

You ponder at that.

“Say, Ms. Verr… what exactly do you know about Xiansheng?”

The woman puts a hand on her chin, then proceeds to tell you all she knows. There you find out that Wangshu Inn houses him and it's not a base, Xiao is a natural recluse, prefers to stay away from humans-

“Why?”

“Oh, it's his karmic debt, it affects humans,”

“It affects humans…” you repeat absentmindedly as Verr continues to tell you information about him.

“Ms. Verr, you don't happen to have any books about karmic debt, do you?”

“I think we do, actually, I'll get my husband to find them later and give them to you,”

“I am eternally grateful,” you tell her.

If he won't tell you what's wrong with him, you won't be able to help him, you'll find out yourself.

…

Xiao lands at Yuehai Pavillion and finds Ganyu already waiting for him with a pot of tea.

They don't say much, they sit in silence as she pours them both a cup of tea and he just stares at the table.

“So, how's the girl?”

“I have no idea how to feel about the whole situation.”

“In what way?”

Xiao sighs, “Ganyu, I love her- I mean the past her, not who she is now… I'm not even sure if she's the same person, I don't know if Morax brought her back to life or if he made an adeptus in the likeness of her.”

“I don't even know if the reason he gave me a healer is because he knows about the karmic debt and is giving me a reprieve, or if this is punishment.”

Ganyu pats his shoulder and pushes the cup of tea towards him but he shakes his head.

She sighs, “Have you tried asking her? Maybe she knows more than she lets on,”

The other adepti shakes his head, “I don't even know how to not look at her and not feel my heart clenching, I know it's not her anymore, Ganyu,”

“And I can't even ask her if she remembers, so I try in a different way, I try to make sure she sleeps well, that- that's she's never hungry- like before- I-”

He sobs.

Ganyu snaps her head in shock. In five hundred years, Xiao has never weeped. Not even because of the pain from his karmic debt.

Xiao has always braved the pain and put on a front in front of everyone. Weakness is not a word in his dictionary and neither is vulnerability.

“But I can't,” he heaves, “Every time I look at her, my throat locks up and I want to cry and tell her so much, tell her I'm sorry- that- that I didn't make it in- in time,”

Ganyu doesn't know what to say, she's in shock that Xiao is even crying in front of him, and she's in deeper shock that he's actually communicating his feelings.

“I loved her, but I know that isn't her anymore, and there's so much going in here,” he clutches his chest, just right above his heart, “That I haven't the slightest idea what to do,”

Ganyu gathers him up in her arms as he sobs on her shoulder, and she thinks- no, she knows, that you are exactly what Xiao needs for his karmic debt.

Call it a sixth sense, but first…

Who exactly were you to him?

…

Xiao returns in late afternoon, he finds you asleep on the desk with books scattered around, brush in hand as your ink was left open, the writing on the paper trailing off.

He still doesn't know how to feel or what to do as his chest constricts.

Xiao reaches out to your shoulder to wake you, but decides against it, instead he lifts you towards the bed, sits beside you, and tucks you in.

“You said you'd be quick,” you rasp, blinking the sleepiness away, but failing.

“Our… conversation ran longer than I intended,” he murmurs, pulling the sheets over your shoulders.

It's then when you notice his eyes rimmed with red.

“Are you… alright, xiansheng?”

It takes him a while to answer.

“I'm fine,” he stands, “Get more sleep,”

Xiao exits through the window, he'll be on the balcony and will get you when it's time for patrol, you know this, but you can't help the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Who exactly was he to you?

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usagi's note: GIRL I AM LOVING THE WAY I WRITE RN. it seems so cohesive these days and im so happy abt it. anyway i was playing earlier, and i was so shocked to have a world quest in hadramaveth desert. like i thought i finished everything since natlan is the only nation i dont have 100%'d and IT WAS ABOUT JEHT. ILY JEHT. UEUEUEUEUEUEU 😭😭😭😭😭. i love her sm. it was her last quest so im like rlly bittersweet abt it since i wont ever get to see her again (pls make a quest hoyo pls)

taglist (open!! send an ask/comment to be tagged!): @irenedoesthings @cherrysnows @makuzume @smoochi-modest @bvtterflyyy @original-person

@usagiarchive 2024. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

[silvershewolf247]

The Morning After

Kent Academy students had a tradition on the night of their graduation. Before they were off to whatever shitty apartment, broken family, or military career awaited them. All the freshly adult students would get together, and get royally plastered. On Andy’s last day, he swallowed a handful of codeine stolen from the nurses' office and washed it down with several cups of whatever shit an 18-year-old thought to mix from the faculty's liquor cabinet. The next morning he donned some sunglasses, swallowed a handful of Tylenol, and took a long bus ride to the first of a few military bases.

All this to say, Andy’s had his fair share of bad hangovers. So to call this his worst hangover, says a lot. Andy tried to position himself. He was clearly in a bedroom, there was an empty bottle of liquor in the trash. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was in his twenties again. He used his hands to comb his hair out of his face. It was a cruel reminder of exactly where he was. No longer matted, but still too fucking long. 

Andy tried to retrace how he got here. He remembered stabbing Chucky and decking Mixter. He almost smiled at that. He remembered running through the woods, jumping in front of the car, the nice lady, the hospital, the douchebag cop, and then… Andy stopped breathing. He sat up slowly. Then he noticed a woman’s coat on the floor. He stood up, and the floorboards creaked. And he heard something halfway between a hiss and a breath and followed the noise. 

On the floor, on the opposite side of the bed, was the body. A young woman, probably no older than thirty. She let out an airy groan. For anyone else, this might have given them hope. But Andy knew better. Her eyes were open and her pupils dilated. Her skin was pale, but her palms and fingers were blue. He knew what had happened. He nearly collapsed, as he shambled out of the bedroom.

There was a burning weight in his chest and acid in his throat. Andy didn’t have to look around for long, because the bathroom door had been left open. He walked over, fell to his knees, and expelled all the food he didn’t remember eating. 

When he finished emptying out all the food and acid in his stomach, he fell back, collapsing against the tub. He rested his head against the cold porcelain and took slow, deep, burning breaths. They didn’t help at all. Then he heard the door open, and heels on the wood. 

“Charlie!” Mixter shouted into the house. “I wasn’t sure how big the mess would be, so I brought garbage bags, paper towels, baking soda, vinegar, peroxide, and oregano!” she finished. She walked towards the bedroom but stopped in her tracks when she saw the bathroom door open and the light on. She stood in the bathroom doorway, looming over Andy’s collapsed form. 

“Charlie,” she sighed, walking over to him. She sat down on the tub next to him, combed his hair out of his face, and pulled it back with her fingers

“I did try to warn you that all your binge eating and drinking would make you sick. Your new body has limits, and you’ll have to respect that,” she continued, Andy realized she was talking to him. If he hadn’t emptied his stomach, he would have thrown up again. Instead, it was all he could do to pull away from her, jerk away, readjust himself against the sink, and glare.

“How long?” Andy asked.

“You’ll have to be more specific, how long is it going to take to clean this up or how long until you stop feeling like shit?” Mixter responded before taking in Andy’s expression. 

“You’re not talking about that are you, Charlie?” she asked. Andy was silent but the revulsion was clear on his face. 

“You’re not Charlie at all are you?” she continued, Andy kept staring at her. She was quiet for a minute, she looked away from him and tapped her fingers against the tub. 

“You woke up quicker than expected, Mr. Barclay,” she finished, glancing back at him. 

Not quick enough, Andy realized when he looked at her. The dark bruise on her cheek from where he hit her was almost entirely gone. Mixter was an old lady; he couldn’t imagine it would have healed quickly. 

“How long?” he repeated. 

“Again, you need to be more specific. It’s been a couple of months since you drove off the cliff, and about six weeks since the hospital,” she responded. 

Horror washed over Andy. Six weeks. There was so much Chucky could have done in six weeks. Too much.  

“How many?” Andy choked out.

“Would it kill you to ask the entire question?” Mixter responded. Andy took a deep breath and braced himself. 

“How many people has he killed?” Andy asked, a frustrated defeat in his voice. 

“Oh,” she responded with mocking clarity. She shrugged, “I have no idea; I only know about the ones I helped him with.” When she finished, she turned around and moved to the tub's edge to lean against the wall. Her back cracked and she let out a sigh of relief. 

Andy struggled to his feet, using the sink to pull himself up. He looked down at her, glaring. He took a deep breath and tried to muster all the confidence and rage he could, 

“And how many was that?” he asked. Mixter rolled her eyes. 

“Eh, three or four, one of them might have just been a hookup,” she responded. Andy nearly collapsed to the floor hearing that. Leaning heavily on the sink, he repositioned himself in front of it. With shaking hands, he turned on the faucet. And frantically cleaned his face and hands. 

He dried off and found himself staring into the sink, trying to avoid looking in the mirror. He gripped the sides so tightly Mixter thought it might chip under his fingers. 

The room was silent for a minute. Then another. Andy couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. But he felt a familiar weight on his hip. And he did what he always did when he was terrified. Mixter hardly reacted to the gun pointed at her,

“Someone’s eager to add another body to the count,” she said. Andy pulled the gun back. 

“You should give yourself a refractory period, I’ve heard it helps keep the murders fresh,” she continued

Andy looked down at the gun in his hand for a minute. Then before he had a chance to second-guess himself. He pushed it to his temple and fired. 

“Fuck!”  Chucky exclaimed, pulling the gun away from his head. The shot went into the ceiling.

“Didn’t think he’d go that dark so quickly,” he said, as he put the gun back into its holster.

[felicityvanbrunt]

hair of the dog

who: @huntedarte when: morning after the worst time of the month

Sometimes, you're just a girl. Other, you're just a girl wandering naked out of a vault under your home, picking bits of dead livestock out of your teeth while the one person you've ever trusted more than yourself is putting a blanket around your shoulders and giving you a morning power shake and hefty dose of codeine to shake the rigor of swapping species for the evening out of your bones. Today, Flick's the other girl. The drugs might kill a person at that dosage, but to her, it's aspirin, and she forgoes her usual day-long nap, trading it for an ice bath followed by a hot shower and trip to this cute little juice shop where she likes to make the morning shift manager's cheeks turn red. She picks up two coffees today though. Arte is the alpha of their own pack, which was a surprising first-learn, and while, yeah, sure, Varcolac and all that - but it was them who'd banished her to the other side of the country anyways - so she's decided now to learn more of what that's all about, and it's found her here outside Arte's building, kicking her feet and waiting for them to show, either coming or going, sipping on her own drink as if she doesn't feel like her skeleton's been overstretched for most of the last twelve hours.

When they do, Flick lifts an arm and waves, making no attempt at discretion, lifting the other cup in offering it to Arte. "Hope you like Dragonfruit!" She says, putting her own drink down after a sip screws her face up in a sour pucker. "Because that barista sure did, h'whew!"

[callsign-owl]

Reckless Curiosity

Trigger Warning: Drugs & Alcohol

Switzerland - 2005

In the muted glow of his laptop screen, Owl sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by the spartan luxury of his dorm room at the boarding school. Books and papers lay scattered around, but none pertained to the coursework expected of a student at such a prestigious institution. Instead, Owl’s focus was intensely fixed on a variety of browser tabs, each filled with dense medical text or shadowy forum threads.

His curiosity once more had led him down the rabbit hole of recreational drug use. Owl’s fascination wasn’t new; for a while already he had been intrigued by the way substances could alter the human mind and body, how they altered perceptions, and eased discomforts both physical and mental. It was a secret obsession that provided him both an escape and a whisper of control over his often uncontrollable feelings.

Today, however, was a little different. Today, Owl had managed to get his hands on some cough syrup. Not just any cough syrup, this particular one contained codeine. It was a minor triumph, but a triumph nonetheless, Owl had phantasized about this moment for a while. With a bottle sitting innocuously among his school supplies, Owl now poured over articles and forum posts, calculating the precise amount he needed to achieve the effect he desired and get as much out of this opportunity as he could. His research was meticulous, driven by both necessity and a deep-seated desire to feel at peace, even just for a short while.

As he sifted through the information, Owl's expression was one of clinical detachment, as if he were preparing for a surgical procedure rather than planning his first experience with a potentially dangerous drug. He scribbled notes into a worn notebook, his handwriting indecipherable to anyone but himself. He was aware of the risks and the slippery slope he teetered on. But more pressing than the risk was the promise of escape, of a few hours where the world felt right, where he could feel what he imagined everyone else felt naturally.

“Small doses... gradual increase... monitor response...,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning through the experiences of others, gathering as much data as he could. Owl knew his behavior was reckless, but it was a calculated recklessness. In his mind, understanding the mechanism, the reaction, the precise effects meant he had control. And control was something he felt he lacked in every other part of his life.

With a final click, he closed his laptop and reached for the bottle. He held it up to the light, watching the syrupy liquid slosh gently. He carefully measured the calculated dose, mixed it with some lemon soda and without hesitating for even a fraction of a second, Owl chugged down the fizzy concotion. The promise of a few hours of peace and potentially bliss were simply too enticing to turn down.

Settling back against his pillows, Owl waited for the effects to take hold. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as he stared at the ceiling, his mind relentlessly circling back to the meticulous calculations and research that should have guaranteed results. But nothing happened. No wave of relaxation, no softening of the sharp edges of reality—just the persistent, nagging feeling of his usual misery.

He checked his notes again, scanning the scribbled lines and annotations in his notebook. Everything was correct; the dosages, the expectations, yet the promised relief remained elusive. Frustration bubbled up inside him, a mix of disappointment and desperation pushing him to reconsider his plan. With a deep sigh, Owl reached for the bottle again, pouring a slightly larger dose into his cup, adding a dash more of the lemon soda to mask the bitterness.

He sipped tentatively, waiting, watching the clock as minutes ticked by and still, only a ghost of the expected effects teased at his senses. This time, his patience snapped. The bottle of vodka on his desk, a remnant of a past weekend's attempt at socializing, now seemed like a reasonable addition to his concoction. It was reckless—dangerously so—but his desperation made it seem like the only viable option.

Mixing the vodka with the remaining syrup, Owl didn't bother with the soda this time. He swallowed the mixture in one long gulp, the sharp burn of the alcohol making him grimace. Settling back once more, he closed his eyes, a part of him berating his impulsiveness, while another part was just tired of feeling trapped in his own skin.

Time lost meaning as he lay there, his breath slowing, the room's edges beginning to blur into softer lines. The weight that perpetually pressed on his chest began to lift, and a warmth spread through his limbs. The sensation was subtle at first, like the slow rising sun gently coaxing the darkness away. Then, all at once, it washed over him—a feeling of profound relief and euphoria. It was as though he was floating, detached from the troubles that so often clouded his mind.

In that moment, everything was perfect. There was no disappointment from his father, no alienation from those around him, no internal battle waging within his own thoughts. Just peace. And it was all-encompassing, filling every corner of his existence with a blissful calm he had never known but always longed for.

A laugh bubbled up from his throat, light and unburdened. Owl rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket around him as he nestled deeper into the pillows. The world outside, with all its demands and rigid expectations, faded into a distant hum. Here, in this softened reality, Owl found what he had been seeking—a respite from being perpetually himself. He had found bliss.

As he eventually drifted into a gentle sleep, the dangers of what he had done lingered in the shadows, but for now, they were just whispers overpowered by the best feeling he had ever known.

[junkcatshouse]

In withdrawal bc i didn’t bring enough dope for the weekend and found some codeine cough syrup. so now I’ve got lean made with sparkling water in the funniest cup I could find