#and make their skin color just paper white

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

acacia and grayson head canons

@never-enough-novels requested this so here it is! it might be short bc im so tired but we'll see. this is also my only hcs post today. i think that after im done with my current requests i'll take a break for a few days. i really apologize if these suck. hope you like them <3. @ariscats helped with this. i love her sm. I apologize for any spelling mistakes or things that dont make sense. im too lazy to proof read.

she insists on giving him a hug whenever they leave the other even though he tries to act tough (tries to act like he doesn't want one)

she'll buy him suits she thinks he'd like whenever she's out and either ships them or shows up at his house with them wrapped in gift paper.

they'll sit on the floor and look at old pictures of savannah and gigi in these picture books that acacia has.

acacia ends up creating a separate picture book for grayson (and also has one with the three (sav, gigi, and gray) of them all together - 3 picture books in total)

when acacia first met skye, she 'accidently' poured wine all over skye's white dress cause acacia knows she’s a horrible mother to gray.

acacia asks grayson for fashion advice whenever she doesn't know what to wear. she'll send him pics of options she has to wear and he'll reply with comments for each and everyone of them (like dress #1- this color doesn't match your skin tone as well as the others. dress #2 - this dress is not suitable for winter, etc)

she majored in art when she was in school, she didn't really do anything with her degree but, when grayson shows up, starts trying to teach him all of the things she knows. he already knows how to paint but doesn't say anything so that he can spend time with her.

acacia calls him under the pretense of having a favor to ask, but, in reality, she just wants to make sure he's ok and doesn't want to scare him away by just calling to ask about his feelings.

he spends some time at the graysons manor every year. he and acacia like to just stay quiet and observe the nature/read/paint together

acacia and grayson will go out on nature walks where he takes pictures with his camera and she paints those pictures (she's very talented and the paintings look very realistic)

acacia goes to his graduation (harvard. she helps him decide do go back)

nash calls acacia whenever gray gets sick so that she can come over to hawthorne house and take care of him (cause he can't take care of himself. he always ends up overworking himself and shit). she makes him soup, gets all of the medications he needs, etc  (i also hc that she's literally a miracle worker when someone is sick. she can literally make them better with her concoctions in a matter of hours)

when grayson sits down to play the piano, sometimes acacia will appear out of nowhere, sit down next to him, and sway to the music. gray got more confident over time and started singing sometimes too. she'd harmonize with him and shit. basically, its really beautiful.

they love watching historical romances together. they've watched so many that whenever they greet each other, gray will bow down and kiss her hand like all of those men in fictional historical tv shows.

grayson went out to buy acacia skincare at some point in time bc he once saw her bathroom (and thus the products she uses) and he was so horrified he gasped. he made her promise to never use that shit again.

acacia loves birkin bags so grayson gets her one every year for her birthday

when acacia goes on business trips (idk why though cause she has no money but she takes trips in my head), she always buys a pen from the country she's in to give to gray so he can add it to his collection.

speaking of her business trips, grayson stays at her house when she’s gone to water her plants (she loves them).

when they paint/read/take walks in silence, they either listen to laufey or taylor swift.

grayson is really big on labeling things. he labels his binders, notebooks, pens, clothes etc and sometimes acacia sits there with him creating labels for him. (20)

whenever they watch tv, grayson cuddles up in acacia’s arms. no one says a thing, and it stays between them

grayson secretly paints acacia sometimes when she isn’t watching (or so he thinks). 

I mentioned earlier that acacia loves plants and flowers. grayson would totally go out, buy tons of different kinds of flowers, and make her custom made bouquets.

although she’s not his mother, grayson still buys her a mother’s day gift (a bouquet of flowers, and smth else (that changes every year) like some new paint, perfume, etc)

they wanted to start learning smth together as a bonding activity of sorts so they got into pottery. they watched videos (cause they didn’t want to get a teacher/attend classes) and practiced as often as they could together. they would laugh at each other in the end cause clay would end up everywhere. they’re now quite good at it and make each other little things every now and then

they are huge fans of listening to music the ‘old’ way. whenever they listen to music, they listen to vinyls or cassettes.

whenever they see each other, they go out and buy themselves bubble tea.

speaking of bubble tea, sometimes acacia will take some of the remaining bubbles (she never eats/drinks all of them) and throws them at grayson to loosen him up a bit. he does the same sometimes and they have what they call ‘bubble tea fights’.

[fairyzar]

the older i get the more confused i become in regards to my identity.

[ms-demeanor]

Why reblog machine-generated art?

When I was ten years old I took a photography class where we developed black and white photos by projecting light on papers bathed in chemicals. If we wanted to change something in the image, we had to go through a gradual, arduous process called dodging and burning.

When I was fifteen years old I used photoshop for the first time, and I remember clicking on the clone tool or the blur tool and feeling like I was cheating.

When I was twenty eight I got my first smartphone. The phone could edit photos. A few taps with my thumb were enough to apply filters and change contrast and even spot correct. I was holding in my hand something more powerful than the huge light machines I'd first used to edit images.

When I was thirty six, just a few weeks ago, I took a photo class that used Lightroom Classic and again, it felt like cheating. It made me really understand how much the color profiles of popular web images I'd been seeing for years had been pumped and tweaked and layered with local edits to make something that, to my eyes, didn't much resemble photography. To me, photography is light on paper. It's what you capture in the lens. It's not automatic skin smoothing and a local filter to boost the sky. This reminded me a lot more of the photomanipulations my friend used to make on deviantart; layered things with unnatural colors that put wings on buildings or turned an eye into a swimming pool. It didn't remake the images to that extent, obviously, but it tipped into the uncanny valley. More real than real, more saturated more sharp and more present than the actual world my lens saw. And that was before I found the AI assisted filters and the tool that would identify the whole sky for you, picking pieces of it out from between leaves.

You know, it's funny, when people talk about artists who might lose their jobs to AI they don't talk about the people who have already had to move on from their photo editing work because of technology. You used to be able to get paid for basic photo manipulation, you know? If you were quick with a lasso or skilled with masks you could get a pretty decent chunk of change by pulling subjects out of backgrounds for family holiday cards or isolating the pies on the menu for a mom and pop. Not a lot, but enough to help. But, of course, you can just do that on your phone now. There's no need to pay a human for it, even if they might do a better job or be more considerate toward the aesthetic of an image.

And they certainly don't talk about all the development labs that went away, or the way that you could have trained to be a studio photographer if you wanted to take good photos of your family to hang on the walls and that digital photography allowed in a parade of amateurs who can make dozens of iterations of the same bad photo until they hit on a good one by sheer volume and luck; if you want to be a good photographer everyone can do that why didn't you train for it and spend a long time taking photos on film and being okay with bad photography don't you know that digital photography drove thousands of people out of their jobs.

My dad told me that he plays with AI the other day. He hosts a movie podcast and he puts up thumbnails for the downloads. In the past, he'd just take a screengrab from the film. Now he tells the Bing AI to make him little vignettes. A cowboy running away from a rhino, a dragon arm-wrestling a teddy bear. That kind of thing. Usually based on a joke that was made on the show, or about the subject of the film and an interest of the guest.

People talk about "well AI art doesn't allow people to create things, people were already able to create things, if they wanted to create things they should learn to create things." Not everyone wants to make good art that's creative. Even fewer people want to put the effort into making bad art for something that they aren't passionate about. Some people want filler to go on the cover of their youtube video. My dad isn't going to learn to draw, and as the person who he used to ask to photoshop him as Ant-Man because he certainly couldn't pay anyone for that kind of thing, I think this is a great use case for AI art. This senior citizen isn't going to start cartooning and at two recordings a week with a one-day editing turnaround he doesn't even really have the time for something like a Fiverr commission. This is a great use of AI art, actually.

I also know an artist who is going Hog Fucking Wild creating AI art of their blorbos. They're genuinely an incredibly talented artist who happens to want to see their niche interest represented visually without having to draw it all themself. They're posting the funny and good results to a small circle of mutuals on socials with clear information about the source of the images; they aren't trying to sell any of the images, they're basically using them as inserts for custom memes. Who is harmed by this person saying "i would like to see my blorbo lasciviously eating an ice cream cone in the is this a pigeon meme"?

The way I use machine-generated art, as an artist, is to proof things. Can I get an explosion to look like this. What would a wall of dead computer monitors look like. Would a ballerina leaping over the grand canyon look cool? Sometimes I use AI art to generate copyright free objects that I can snip for a collage. A lot of the time I use it to generate ideas. I start naming random things and seeing what it shows me and I start getting inspired. I can ask CrAIon for pose reference, I can ask it to show me the interior of spaces from a specific angle.

I profoundly dislike the antipathy that tumblr has for AI art. I understand if people don't want their art used in training pools. I understand if people don't want AI trained on their art to mimic their style. You should absolutely use those tools that poison datasets if you don't want your art included in AI training. I think that's an incredibly appropriate action to take as an artist who doesn't want AI learning from your work.

However I'm pretty fucking aggressively opposed to copyright and most of the "solid" arguments against AI art come down to "the AIs viewed and learned from people's copyrighted artwork and therefore AI is theft rather than fair use" and that's a losing argument for me. In. Like. A lot of ways. Primarily because it is saying that not only is copying someone's art theft, it is saying that looking at and learning from someone's art can be defined as theft rather than fair use.

Also because it's just patently untrue.

But that doesn't really answer your question. Why reblog machine-generated art? Because I liked that piece of art.

It was made by a machine that had looked at billions of images - some copyrighted, some not, some new, some old, some interesting, many boring - and guided by a human and I liked it. It was pretty. It communicated something to me. I looked at an image a machine made - an artificial picture, a total construct, something with no intrinsic meaning - and I felt a sense of quiet and loss and nostalgia. I looked at a collection of automatically arranged pixels and tasted salt and smelled the humidity in the air.

I liked it.

I don't think that all AI art is ugly. I don't think that AI art is all soulless (i actually think that 'having soul' is a bizarre descriptor for art and that lacking soul is an equally bizarre criticism). I don't think that AI art is bad for artists. I think the problem that people have with AI art is capitalism and I don't think that's a problem that can really be laid at the feet of people curating an aesthetic AI art blog on tumblr.

Machine learning isn't the fucking problem the problem is massive corporations have been trying hard not to pay artists for as long as massive corporations have existed (isn't that a b-plot in the shape of water? the neighbor who draws ads gets pushed out of his job by product photography? did you know that as recently as ten years ago NewEgg had in-house photographers who would take pictures of the products so users wouldn't have to rely on the manufacturer photos? I want you to guess what killed that job and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't AI)

Am I putting a human out of a job because I reblogged an AI-generated "photo" of curtains waving in the pale green waters of an imaginary beach? Who would have taken this photo of a place that doesn't exist? Who would have painted this hypersurrealistic image? What meaning would it have had if they had painted it or would it have just been for the aesthetic? Would someone have paid for it or would it be like so many of the things that artists on this site have spent dozens of hours on only to get no attention or value for their work?

My worst ratio of hours to notes is an 8-page hand-drawn detailed ink comic about getting assaulted at a concert and the complicated feelings that evoked that took me weeks of daily drawing after work with something like 54 notes after 8 years; should I be offended if something generated from a prompt has more notes than me? What does that actually get the blogger? Clout? I believe someone said that popularity on tumblr gets you one thing and that is yelled at.

What do you get out of this? Are you helping artists right now? You're helping me, and I'm an artist. I've wanted to unload this opinion for a while because I'm sick of the argument that all Real Artists think AI is bullshit. I'm a Real Artist. I've been paid for Real Art. I've been commissioned as an artist.

And I find a hell of a lot of AI art a lot more interesting than I find human-generated corporate art or Thomas Kincaid (but then, I repeat myself).

There are plenty of people who don't like AI art and don't want to interact with it. I am not one of those people. I thought the gay sex cats were funny and looked good and that shitposting is the ideal use of a machine image generation: to make uncopyrightable images to laugh at.

I think that tumblr has decided to take a principled stand against something that most people making the argument don't understand. I think tumblr's loathing for AI has, generally speaking, thrown weight behind a bunch of ideas that I think are going to be incredibly harmful *to artists specifically* in the long run.

Anyway. If you hate AI art and you don't want to interact with people who interact with it, block me.

[katiexpunk]

Fuck Me, Fill Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader | W/C: ~4K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. You spent years successfully avoiding one. Except things are different now, you're ready for more. Your husband Joel is more than happy to oblige.

Warnings: Joel has one mission in this one -- knock you the fuck up (if that's not your thing, kindly move on). Heavy on the breeding kink. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). So much dirty talk. Fingering. Dry humping/grinding. Praise kink. Size kink. Unprotected P in V. Rough sex. Semi-public sex. Sex in front of a mirror. Multiple creampies. No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I have no excuses for this one except that I have Joel brain rot and baby fever. Shoutout to the Capital One Lounge at IAD for the idea. Written on a plane.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. 

It’s inevitable, really. A known fact of life. Call it Murphy’s law, bad luck, or just plain stupidity… 

You’ve spent the majority of your teens and 20s successfully avoiding an accident. 

If it can happen, it will happen your superstitious aunt used to say, and you were a believer. 

Lord knows you've had more than enough evidence in your life to back up her words. From the tummy ache after eating way too many cherries, to the conspicuous brown stain that ruined your pristine white blouse. A blister on your heel from shoes that were supposed to be 'broken in' but never quite were, and the painful crack in your skin that followed. Proof was everywhere, and you learned to expect the unexpected.

You hold tight to that belief, while Joel does the same to your hips, fucking you within an inch of your life in the airport lounge bathroom.

But how you both ended up in this position was no accident. 

++++

It never seemed like the right time—you had so much more to explore, achieve, and experience. Becoming a mother would complicate everything; at least, that's what you convinced yourself. You were content to rely on that little orange pill each day, despite its own set of side effects, because it kept your options open. 

You weren't sure you'd make a good mom anyway. Your own mother certainly wasn't a shining example, and you had no reason to think you'd be any different. You couldn't even keep a cactus alive—how could you possibly care for a child?

But something changed not long after you and Joel got married. Maybe it was maturity slowly finding its way in, like warm honey filling the spaces you once closed off. It softened you to the idea of chubby cheeks and tiny fingers, gentle coos, and quiet lullabies sung in the deep southern drawl that had become so familiar.

Initially, you weren't sure how Joel would take the news, but when you told him you'd reconsidered, his reaction was beyond anything you'd expected. He was over the moon, filled with an urgency you'd never seen in him before. It was like you'd handed him the key to his deepest desires, and he was eager, almost desperate, to turn it and bring new life into your world, yours and his.

He made it clear just how eager he was when he took you in his arms and twirled you around the kitchen in joy. Then, without missing a beat, he bent you over the counter, yanked down your jeans, and made his intentions unmistakably clear. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you that night that you felt the warm dribble of him the next morning. 

++++ 

Good things come to those who wait.

The words seem almost lifeless as they peer back at you, the paper they're printed on showing signs of age and Scotch tape keeping it glued to the break room wall above the microwave. The optimism they once held has faded, leaving behind nothing but cynicism and wear.

Yeah. Right. 

The shrill beep of the microwave snaps you back to the present, your shoulders tensing. You shake off your irritation, clutching the warm coffee that’s been reheated three times, its heat barely reaching the chill of your underlying pessimism. It’s a small comfort, but enough to soften the ache of disappointment that nags at you every month when hope fizzles out.

Back at your desk, you bury yourself in work, flipping through emails and juggling various applications. Headphones in, you’re almost lost in your own world when a notification on your phone pulls you back. It's your cycle tracking app, reminding you that you're due to ovulate in a couple of days. But wait—

No, no, no. You quickly count the days in your head, then scramble to open your work calendar. The schedule's a blur until your eyes land on the words "Work Trip: Jackson, Wyoming." They jump off the screen, almost mocking you. Looks like timing won't be on your side this month. Unless —

Would it be too ridiculous to change an entire work trip just so you could make love to your ridiculously hot husband, and let him fill you again and again? You think not, but you know your boss might say otherwise. 

You spend the rest of your workday figuring out Plan B. The irony is not lost on you that you’re seeking out an entirely different kind than you used to. 

++++

As you settle into the couch, your legs draped across his lap, he begins to massage the soles of your feet in that soothing way that sends a ripple of warmth up your spine. You can't help but glance at his side profile—the elegant slope of his nose, the chiseled cut of his jaw, and the effortless curls of his salt-and-pepper hair that rest at the nape of his neck. He's undeniably handsome, a sight that never gets old.

His touch spreads a slow heat across your skin, your stomach fluttering in response. It's always been this way—the world could be crumbling outside, but with Joel, in your shared cocoon, you feel entirely at ease, wrapped in safety and affection.

“You're really gorgeous, you know,” you murmur, almost too quietly to be heard. You swirl the wine in your glass and meet his gaze as you take a sip.

“Nah, that's you, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink, his touch transitioning to featherlight kitten caresses as his fingers trace a path up your shin. He's not trying to seduce you, not really,  but his touch and the intent gaze he holds on you are enough to ignite a slow burn under your skin.

You relax into the cushions, your head sinking back into the pillow, reveling in this moment. When he pauses, even for a second, you squirm, and he chuckles softly. “Such a needy little thing, aren't cha?” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he resumes his gentle strokes. “Mhm, sure am,” you hum, your eyes closing as you melt into the sensation of his skin on yours.

He slowly journeys upward, callused palms gliding along the smooth skin of your thigh, alternating between soft strokes and firm squeezes. Each touch seems to awaken a deeper need within you, and you're all too aware of the growing bulge beneath your calves, a silent but potent reminder of the desire simmering between you. It's enough to make you ache for him, crave his closeness, the kind of closeness only he can provide.

You lift your head, and he's already adjusting, his broad frame looming over you. He locks eyes with you as he takes the wineglass from your hand, placing it on the coffee table with care, then shifts his full attention back to you. You push your hips upward, meeting his, and he presses down just enough to make it clear that he’s in control, his body holding you firmly but without discomfort. You know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt—this is happening. He props himself up on one forearm, his other hand tangling through your hair, his knuckles brushing against your cheek with a tender touch. He thrusts his hips into you with more urgency, his lips descending to capture yours, drawing out a soft moan from deep within you.

“Fuck sweetheart, feel what you do to me?” he groans, pressing his lips harder against yours. He tastes the wine on you, and your tongues intertwine, each movement slow but deliberate. You work your arms free from your sides and slide your hands into his hair, tugging gently, your nails grazing his scalp. The deep groan that escapes him tells you he's feeling everything—the pull, the scrape, the heat. It rumbles from his chest, reverberating through you, and it's intoxicating.

With your lips pressed firmly to his, he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a teasing bite as he thrusts against you. The rough denim scrapes against your inner thighs, and he slots himself perfectly between your legs. His mouth leaves yours, tracing a path of soft kisses down your jawline, lingering at that sensitive spot just behind your ear before he pulls the lobe into his mouth. You moan, fingers tangled in his hair, while your other hand explores the broad expanse of his back, craving the feel of him, unable to get enough.

“Joel,” you whimper, his name almost a question on your lips. 

He doesn't pause, thrusting with just the right pressure, almost ignoring your plea. You move your lips to his shoulder and whisper, “I’m ovulating.”

That makes him stop. He props himself up on one forearm, his free hand on your ribs, his intense gaze locking onto yours. His eyes darken, pupils eclipsing the rich brown you know so well, and he groans deeply. Fuck. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Mmm, big mistake telling me that, now I’m just going to pump you full of my cum all night, gonna fuck you again and again, keep you so full of me that it’ll have no choice but to stick this time.” 

You whimper at the thought, and his words go straight to your already wet core, your pussy fluttering around nothing, practically begging to be filled. 

You want him so bad, but right now, he wants you more — wants every part of you, wants to change you forever. His head dips back to your neck, and he's practically grinding into you, the pressure so intense it feels like he's already fucking you through your clothes. His beard rasps against your cheek, leaving a trail of red marks as he works his way down to your chest, hastily undoing buttons, uncovering your breasts, and teasing your nipples to hard, eager peaks.

It would almost be embarrassing how turned on you are right now if it were anyone but him, how easily he can fluster you, turn you into a babbling mess. 

“Well, not right now, but I am next —” you start to say, but quickly lose your train of thought as his whole hand comes down to cup your sex and the feel of his palm pressing against your dripping center. 

“Sorry darlin’, what was that?” He asks, doing little to hide the smug tone behind his voice, obviously pleased with the effect he has on you.

“I am next week, while I’m supposed to be in Jackson for work,” you manage to get out, the words coming out soft, a barely there thought, your attention mostly on the sensation of his thick finger that has now curled its way deep inside of you, your panties pushed to the side as they should never have been there in the first place, not with him in the room. 

“Come with me,” you ask, your words a tad breathless as he adds another finger to your dripping center, your slick coating them completely, and when he doesn’t answer, you’re not sure he heard you behind the haze of his arousal, the blood thrumming through his veins. Not that you can blame him, it’s so hard to fucking think, to breathe, to string together a rational thought that isn’t dirty when you’re together like this. 

“Gotta feel this pussy first,” he rasps, the words slightly muffled against the tenderness of your breast. His words sober you for a brief second, as you playfully push against him in protest. 

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," you laugh, and he can't suppress the goofy grin spreading across his face. He loves this—the playful banter, the way you bring out his lighter side, the perfect blend of passion and humor that flows between you. It's always been like this, effortlessly flirty, endlessly fun. You’re the perfect combination of sexy and cute, and better yet, you’re all his. 

“Alright baby, I’ll come with you, on one condition,” he says, adding a third finger, and the stench of him is intoxicatingly delicious, perfect, and intense in the best way. You already feel so fucked out, you’re not sure how he’s managing to find the will to set fucking conditions right now, but still, you humor him — 

“Conditions, huh?” You moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the pads of his fingers grazing at the soft spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, conditions,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and come all over my fingers, and then I’ll make sure that you’re full of me all week, whenever you want it baby, I’m all yours,” he rasps, his breath coming a bit more ragged now at the thought of your proposition and his. 

His fingers are still deep inside of you, he positions his wrist just right and brings the pad of his thumb to your clit. Your slick, combined with his filthy fucking mouth, and his thick cock pressed against you, creates the perfect conditions for the inevitable. He’s never not made you come, and you sure as hell know he’s not about to change that narrative now. 

If it can happen, it will happen. 

“Come on pretty girl, show me how pretty you come on your husband’s fingers,” he says, not really asking, but rather ordering in the tone that lights every nerve in your body on fire with arousal. 

The warmth in your lower belly spreads outward, wrapping you in a blanket of pleasure. Your limbs tingle, your vision blurs, and your toes curl as the intensity builds. For a split second, everything goes hazy, and you let go, surrendering to him completely. He takes control, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy, pulling you into a bliss that only he knows how to reach.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You are so perfect.” 

He makes you come once more soon after and then fucks you deep and slow. It’s all whispered praises in your ear, a firm grip on your hips, and his cock barely leaving your cunt before he’s slamming back into you, desperate to keep the tip of him as close to your cervix as possible. 

Come with me, you moan, and he knows exactly what you mean this time. 

“Shit, baby, I can feel you squeezing me, taking me so good —” his words break with a moan as you come for the third time, falling apart on his cock, before he adds “gripping me so goddamn tight.” 

His thrusts slow and he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, and paints your insides in thick ropes of cum, holding your gaze as he throbs inside, not daring to move and risk any of his spend coming out before he wants it to. 

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and tells you that you’re going to look even more gorgeous with his baby inside of you. 

++++

The delayed flight to Jackson was just another reminder of life's unpredictability.

What started as a simple 30-minute delay quickly turned into an hour, then two, and now you're both three hours past your original departure time. 

You find yourselves in one of the newer airport lounges, sitting in overly posh chairs. It's surprisingly uncrowded given the chaos that usually comes with airport delays. Your luggage is safely tucked away in the lockers, your bellies are full from the free snacks, and the irritation from earlier is fading thanks to the complimentary drinks. The ambiance is unexpectedly chic. Even the bathrooms feel upscale—private, enormous mirrors, fancy soap, and paper towels so luxurious they might as well be hand towels.

Joel is deep into a well-worn Western novel, its cover frayed and spine cracked from countless readings. You're scrolling through an article about the best positions for conceiving, smirking when you realize you and Joel have tried most of them, and then some. Just as you're in the middle of your read, your cycle tracking app sends a notification—you're at peak fertility, starting now. Have fun! ;) 

Shit. 

Who knows when you'll actually make it to your hotel room in Jackson tonight? You glance up from your phone, stealing a look at Joel. He's always handsome, but there's something about him in his glasses—the way the frames sit on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on the words in his book. It's endearing how he still reads with such intensity, even though you know he's revisited these same pages countless times.

Your pussy flutters and aches at the sight, giving you a cheeky idea. He did say you could have him whenever you wanted. 

You clear your throat, hoping to pull Joel's focus from his book, but he doesn't seem to notice. You try again, this time a bit louder, and all you get is a distracted, "You okay, sweetheart?" without him even glancing up.

You know you’ll need to be more direct to capture his attention.

"I'm going to use the restroom," you say, and he nods, eyes still on the page. Once inside, you leave the door unlocked and hike up your dress, exposing your bare breasts. You pinch your nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they harden, then push out your chest, angling your smartphone for the perfect shot. The result is a provocative selfie that you know will make him put that book down.

You attach it to a message for Joel and quickly type out your request — come knock me up in the bathroom, Cowboy. 

He’s joining you in the bathroom faster than you thought he would, careful to avoid any curious eyes or draw attention to the fact that he’s about to absolutely wreck his wife.

Once inside, he locks the door behind him and grabs your waist, guiding you back until your hips hit the counter's edge. His hands roam over your body, lifting the hem of your dress until it's bunched around your waist. He kisses you with a desperate hunger, as if he hasn't had you in years.

"You sure you want to do this here, sweetheart?" he groans against your lips, shifting between playful nips, gentle kisses on your cheeks, and heated sucks at your jawline. The anticipation in his touch is palpable, but he's still checking to make sure this is what you want.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life except for the day I married you. Please fuck me, Joel, need to feel you stretch me out” you say, your words crossed between a whimper and a plea. 

God, just when he thought you couldn’t get any more perfect. 

“Yeah? My girl wants me to fill up her tight little hole,” he teases, already knowing the answer. He moves his hand to your dripping core and lets out a deep groan when he discovers you’ve already removed the barrier of your underwear for him. 

“Fuck baby, I’d do anything to taste you right now, wanna hear all those pretty noises you make and the way my name sounds when you moan it for me,” and you soften more under the heat of his words, letting your mind drift to thoughts of how good it feels when his head is between your legs, gently wringing orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s his fucking job. 

“Gotta make this one quick, though. Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” He asks, and all you can do is nod. 

"Good girl—c'mere, turn around," he instructs, guiding you with his hands until you've spun around, your hips pressing into the sink. His hand travels down your spine, making you arch toward him slightly, and he bends you over even more. In the mirror, you see him behind you, his eyes locked on yours as he quickly unbuckles his belt and lowers his jeans to mid-thigh. The anticipation is electric as you watch him in the reflection, knowing exactly what's coming next.

He spits into his hand and jerks himself, all the while holding your gaze, admiring the way your breasts are pressed up against the counter, perky and perfect. His cock twitches at the thought of what they’ll look like all swollen and full of milk. 

He lines himself up against your wet and waiting hole, holds your hips steady with one hand, and gathers your hair in his fist with the other. He gently tugs it so your chin is angled up, eyes even straighter looking into the mirror. He loves watching you take it. 

“You’re gonna watch as I fuck you, sweetheart,” He rasps as he presses himself into you in one stroke. You’re so fucking wet, your greedy cunt accepts him easily, despite his size. Like it knows what it wants, and what it needs. There’s a dull delicious sting at the intrusion.

“Oh my god, Joel, you’re so bi—” You break off in a moan as he pulls out and then slams himself into you deep and hard. 

“God damn, look at you, my perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, like this cock was made for you, huh baby?” His voice is firm, but quiet, just above a whisper. He’s not wasting time, he sets a punishing pace, and all you can do is let him use you. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fill me, fill me” you cry out, and he brings his hand to cover your mouth. 

“What’d I say about being quiet, baby?” He holds you like that. You slip your hand between your thighs and rub your clit, a dangerous combination when he’s fucking you in this position. You come so fast that you think it might be a record. The tightening of your cunt has him on the precipice of his release.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growls, fucking his cum into you over and over, using every drop of him to give you what you want.

It might not stick this time, hell, it might not stick next time, but one thing is for certain — Joel will keep you full and fucked either way. 

Part 2

A/N Continued: Thank you so much for reading! On a side note, my engagement here has been really low lately. :( As much as I'd love to say I don't care about the notes, I won't lie and tell you I don't need them for validation. If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I'll love you forever.

Tagging some moots for visibility (lmk if you want to be removed if the subject matter isn't your thing. No hard feelings!) @endlessthxxghts @syd-djarin @auteurdelabre @morning-star-joy@theoasisofthings @chulopascal @morallyinept @sweetercalypso @xdaddysprincessxx @burntheedges @punkshort @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @morgaussy

[nyao-mi]

NOT MY ASTARION BRAIN ROT CONTINUING CUS LIKE i just got the scene where he literally says he misses seeing his face and that like he wishes he knew what he looked like and i??? WANTED SO BADLY FOR IT TO BE AN OPTION TO DRAW HIM

LIKE IMAGINE STARING AT HIM ACROSS THE BONFIRE, watching the way the light dances across his pale skin. youve been through hard times and one of the things you've learned to get through it was to draw

at first, you loathed the fact that you had to paint rich people for mere couple pieces of gold when you knew your art was worth more than that. you loathed even more that they'd upturn their posh noses at you and scoff when, truly, they knew what a treasure your art was.

now, seeing astarion, the way his white hair seemed to almost form a halo around his head, reflecting the moonbeams that graced his body, watching as he crossed his legs and meditated; you knew that you didn't regret a single second of the trials and tribulations that led you to this point.

you could finally put this agonizing skill to use. you could draw him.

and so you scrounged up some paper, an ink well, a quill; all things you'd pocketed during your adventures with the rather willful vampire.

you sat there, nib of the quill scratching against the parchment.

your art was nothing compared to the paintings you'd done before; these were mere lines and ink blots. you wished you could truly show him how beautiful he was through water color or pastels. instead, trapped in a land you barely knew, all you could do for him was this.

he had his eyes closed, of course, so you drew them from memory. strikingly red, like rubies, like blood. you didn't forget his crow's feet; you loved the way they wrinkled when he laughed. you shaped his lips, soft but rough from years of bite and chew, and formed it into his infamous mischievous grin.

his hair always seemed unruly but, drawing it now, it felt like drawing gorgeous chaos; there was an order to it, the way the bangs fell across his forehead, the way the sides feathered in front of his ears and curled behind them.

when you stopped, you realised you'd drawn him over and over, across several pieces of parchment.

the way he frowned and his fangs would glance across his lips. the way he'd look confused and his eyebrows would furrow. the way he'd look longingly at the stars, mind distant and eyes almost empty, like he'd made so many wishes that were never granted by the cosmos.

you never liked tooting your own horn but you felt like you truly captured him.

so, you took your pieces of paper, all drawings of him, dozens of them, small and sketchy; you took it all and you sat beside him and spread them out in front of you.

it took him a second to realise you were there. he'd been letting his guard down recently, especially when you were on watch duty, and it took you laying your head across his shoulder for his eyes to flutter open.

he opened his mouth, like there had almost been a retort slipping off his tongue, but the sight of your drawings stopped him.

he let out a ragged breath, eyes flickering across all of them. his clawed hands hovered in the air, trembling, as if taking a hold of the drawings would make them crumble under his touch.

and perhaps, in his head, he really believed they would.

'darling,' he'd call you, his voice wet with unshed tears 'what's all of this?'

of course he'd still joke. it was how he coped with things. he joked to hide how he truly felt and, of course, you were always there to understand.

'it's you,' you answered a matter-of-factly, as if you hadn't just turned this vampires world upside down 'its you the way i see you.'

and that's what makes him crack. because maybe, since you were the one that drew all of it, you hadn't noticed. but he noticed.

he noticed all the love and devotion you spilled across the page. every single detail, every single stroke, it was all from love.

and as someone who had never been on the receiving end of it, astarion cracked and he hid his face into your neck and he cried.

they were soft sobs, almost unnoticeable. but he cried nonetheless.

he cried for his past that he'd lost under his sadistic master, he cried for his difficult present that seemed impossible to escape, and he cried for this hopeful future you seemed to lay out in front of him.

he cried because he didn't realise that he had this much hope left inside of him. because he didn't know what else to do in the face of your devotion.

you just sat there, humming and rubbing his back, ignoring the way his arm wrapped around your waist, claws digging into your skin as if you'd disappear in front of him if he didn't hold on to you as tightly as possible.

[munsonsfairy]

I have an ideaaa

how about a Paige x fem!reader wedding/proposal fic or headcanon??

the idea of her draft fit as a wedding outfit omfg 🤭

🪞🏹🕯️🌿 MY PEACE • PAIGE BUECKERS

omg i love this idea!!! i did wedding headcanons if that’s okay!! <3

content: fem reader & no physical description of reader or their wedding outfit

౨ৎ the night before, you and paige spend it by cuddling into each other while sitting on the balcony that overlooks the city.

“my wife, my wife, mine,” she whispers against your neck after every kiss. “not for another day, babe,” you’ve been reminding her since she proposed.

౨ৎ it takes her 20 minutes to leave your townhouse that night. lots of goodbye kisses have already happened that it took kk & ice to drag her ass out.

“bye my beautiful gorgeous wife!” paige yells out the window as ice drives away. she doesn’t get into the car until you are out of her sight.

౨ৎ instead of reading your vows in front of your wedding guests, the both of you decided to do it before the ceremony. as you walked towards paige, you could see her wavy blonde hair with her front pieces in braids (as always). she was wearing an all white suit. you could tell she was nervous and excited by how much she was fidgeting.

“paige?” when she turned around her blue eyes already had tears in them. she looked at you in awe and almost fell to her knees. “we can’t cry we both have make up on,” you fan both of your both eyes trying to hold it all in.

she laid her head on yours and looked into your eyes. for a moment it felt like it was only the two of you in that garden. “we’re finally doing it. my wife,” you see a tear fall from her eye as she leans in to kiss you.

౨ৎ now the vows!!!!!! 🥹

paige reached into her pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. you could see her shaking, so you squeezed her hand to remind her it’s just you.

she smiled at you and took a deep breath, “ever since i could remember, i was always told, “you’ll know when they’re the one,” and i never understood that. i never felt complete until i saw you. when our eyes met, i knew after 3 seconds that you were the one. i’m blessed with the pleasure to know someone like you.” she looked up at you and saw you tearing up. “bro if you cry, i’ll cry,” she said laughing. “okay okay! no more crying.”

she took another shaky breath, “to be able to love and be loved by you. you are my sunrise and sunset filled with the most beautiful colors. you’re my peace with the world is too loud. your love is my turning page. you are the strongest person i know and i admire to be my best self everyday. i never doubted our love and will always consider myself lucky to love and learn from you. these past four years have been my favorite movie. i promise to love every single detail of you for the rest of my life.”

after you said your vows, paige was walking up to kiss you until you stopped her. “not until we say i do!” she looked at you with shock but kissed your knuckles on both hands. she leaned her forehead on yours once more. “see you at the alter,” then watched as you walked back to the venue’s house.

she didn’t want to take her eyes off of you. just wanted to stand there and admire you.

౨ৎ during the dance, you reserved chick-fil-a as a surprise for paige. she ran to you and grabbed your face to kiss you all over. her and kk were fighting over who was going to be the first to be served. spoiler alert: you got served first since they were too busy bickering. when you were eating your nuggets, paige noticed you had ranch on the corner of your mouth and kissed it off of you.

౨ৎ once your reception was over and almost all of your wedding guests have left, you and paige danced one last dance. your heels were long gone and paige was very tipsy. she held you so close to her chest that you could hear her heartbeat. you felt the breeze against your skin and closed

your eyes. paige was slowly guiding you in a circle while humming the song.

she kisses your head and said, “my wife.”

tagging: @urantisocialgay because i know you’ve been asking for this (:

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[4k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 1 "The Savior"

Since the day you were born, there was something horribly wrong with you.

You had no immune system, your skin was paper-thin, you couldn’t exercise without collapsing, and every nerve in your body was in constant pain. There was no use for you aside from being a measly archive keeper and book transcriber. Your father was a weak man, despite your disabilities and how costly it was for the rest of your Vault, he kept you alive, consumed by the idea of finally finding a cure for his little girl.

Every single moment since your birth, you had spent in this squeaky clean, insanity-inducing, paper-ridden medical room. Everything was plagued by the stench of medicine and spirit, disinfected down to the core. The floor and walls and even the ceiling were covered in a leather cushioned layer to prevent any injuries, sparkling white, of course. Who needed color when the stench of new paint might cause you a migraine?

In honesty, you’d give away half of your miserable life just to see color outside of the packaged book covers stacked neatly on the floor. You built a makeshift city out of them, following the pictures drawn in an old magazine you’d read ages ago and kept hidden under your pillow. With time, you learned how to make paper flowers out of some stray files that nobody would miss. You had to find some solace, something to keep you from crying your delicate heart out every night because this was no way for anyone to live.

You weren’t just isolated from the world above, but from everything, only getting glimpses of the bright metal vault corridor and bustling dwellers whenever your father would open that wretched vacuum-sealed door to give you medicine. You knew people’s names and faces, everyone in your vault was memorized to the letter, but you’d never met them and probably never would.

You were never given your own Pip-boy, never assigned as a potential marriage candidate, and you’d never have children or any family once your parents passed away. A small part of you knew that you wouldn’t even outlive them, frail and genetically inferior as you were. You’d die within the next few years and you’d take the burden of your existence off the shoulders of everyone who worked tirelessly to find a solution to your illness.

You waited for that day with hope, dreaming of the end of the torture and solitude.

You had pleaded with your father that night with angry tears in your eyes to at least bring you coloring pencils or crayons or a radio to chat with the rest of the residents and make friends. But, as usual, he had refused gently while rocking you in his arms, cooing at you with a regretful tone and pain carving deep wrinkles in his features. Then he’d smiled at you, melting away your worry and frustration and misery, and he’d kissed your forehead tenderly. He still treated you like a little girl and to him, you’d always be one. He wiped your tears away and hope shone in his eyes, they looked exactly like yours, that was the only thing you’d taken from him. Everything else was a gift from your mother and you often looked in the mirror just to remember what she resembled.

She’d stopped visiting a long time ago, months, maybe even years, you weren’t sure. The passing of time was a fickle matter when you were caged in a cushioned prison every single day.

Your father hummed softly, lulling you while he gently tucked you into the nursing bed and secured the oxygen mask over your mouth. He was your angel, your only salvation, your only source of conversation and comfort and interaction and love. He adjusted the catheter back into your vein before fluffing up your pillow.

“This might be it, Sweetheart.” he whispered while watching you doze off slowly, his gaze held such affection for you. He placed a new IV bag to drain into your arm, one you’d not seen before, but you trusted him. This was nothing new. He came up with a new medicine recipe every month, without fail. “This might just be the cure. You’ll tell me how you feel tomorrow.”

You can only sigh and give your best smile, unable to share his enthusiasm after so many failed attempts. He rubbed a thumb over your sickly-colored cheek, his skin like sandpaper against yours, worn and calloused from spending a lifetime in the vault’s field.

“Have some faith in your old man.”

“I do, dad…I’m just so tired of this…”you bite into your tongue to keep more tears from spilling, and your bottom lip trembles despite your best efforts to tame it. Watching his face falter breaks your heart and you suck it up, push your tantrum down and pout instead. “And you’re not old.”

He laughs at your whiney remark, the first laugh he’d had in a long time, and he slicks back your hair, taking note that he needed to trim it soon before it got too long. Maybe when he had the energy, he’d sit down for more than a few minutes and braid it like he used to when you were just a child.

“I know you are, Baby girl, I know.” he shushes you with the utmost care and stands. “Just a little longer and you’ll be strong enough to help your pop pick out the tatoes. Get your pretty hands all dirty and then have a big plate of spam for a job well done.” he gazed at you, masking his sorrow and bitterness at the cruelty life had forced upon you. His hand hovered over the lamp switch and he glanced one last time at the brand-new IV bag slowly emptying in your bloodstream. “Night, Sweetheart. Love you.”

Too stricken with grief over your miserable lifestyle, you didn’t return his tender words, hoping he understood and knew that you loved him just as much if not more. When the lights went out, your eyelids closed, squeezing out a few lonely tears in the darkness before you begrudgingly drifted off to sleep. A dreamless slumber when you were gently rocked through the foggy confines of your subconsciousness.

Your one wish was to see the world outside, uncaring if it were a wasteland or a paradise, ignorant of the dangers and naïve towards the people who potentially lived up there. You just wanted to be free, even if it would cost you your life, you wanted to see the sky just once, wanted to prove to yourself that no, it looked better than any picture your father had shown you. You wanted to swim in the ocean and see fishes and see a whale, a creature so big it was unfathomable to imagine, you wanted to taste the salty sea water and become sick and just be happy to be alive for once. You wanted to feel the grass beneath your feet, to touch snow and dance in the rain until you slipped and fell in a puddle only to splash in it because you’d never seen or felt any nature.

You just wanted to live…

The hours ticked by in a hazy blur as you lay lifelessly on your bed. Your room was partly sound-proof, you heard nothing of the ruckus slowly brewing beyond your medicinal prison. Sleepy soundly, you didn’t hear the slaughter, the begging and pleading voice on the brink of crying before the sickening cracks of broken bones. You didn’t hear the crazed ramblings of the raiders stalking your fellow vault dwellers like it was a game of cat and mouse. Your vault was slowly succumbing to chaos and rampage and it was only when the electricity went out and your door unlatched that you were startled awake.

You bolt up with wide eyes and in a panic, gaze averting to the door and heart skipping a beat when you realize it’s open. With a small grunt and a relieved inhale once the oxygen mask is ripped from your face and tossed on your pillow, you scramble to stand. The IV is disconnected from your arm with an expert touch, replaced by a cotton ball to obscure any heavy bleeding from the open puncture wound. Your bare feet shuffle over the soft floor, slippery against the white leather because you’d unknowingly started to sweat from anticipation.

Was this just another cruel dream?

You walked to the exit with timid footsteps before opening the door wide enough to stick your head out. An incessant voice kept repeating how disappointed your father would be if he saw you sticking your nose out and potentially catching an infection from the unsterile air. That voice was dismissed promptly, this was your first chance at seeing anything beyond the medical room and you’d rather die than miss it.

Had the power gone out? But that was impossible. The power never went out, there had always been a steady flow of electricity for as long as you could remember.

The lights flickered, most were broken, letting the eerie darkness overwhelm all corridors except for one.

“Hello?” you call out hesitantly, shaky voice hoarse with sleep and anxiety both. Looking around, you couldn’t see much, there wasn’t a soul in sight and the silence was deafening. “Dad?”

Nothing. Nothing and no one.

A hand clutched at the door to support your buckling knees and you breathed deeply, encouraging yourself to be brave, that this was your chance. After dutifully gnawing on the inside of your cheek you stepped forth into the crossroads of corridors, letting go of the door and leaving everything familiar and safe behind. Your head whirled so much your neck popped multiple times as you frantically looked around in the scarce light and as terrifying as all of this was, it was also heaven unknown. You had never seen so many things – plant pots, plants, all bright green and juicy, you’d stuck your nail in a particular one only to feel a strange gooey discharge on your finger. It was a succulent, you’d read about those somewhere, very sturdy indeed, very pretty, but had no smell. You liked them already.

The further you went, the more a nagging thought kept creeping up your spine like a chill.

Where was everybody?

You kept looking, following the corridor and under the guidance of blinking lamps. You knew the Vault like the back of your hand after spending countless hours studying its diagrams, having nothing better to do. Now you were experiencing it in person. No longer needing to strain your imagination to picture every nook and cranny, you could see it with your own eyes. The floor was so cold under your feet, but you didn’t care, too high on adrenaline and pure joy to notice such a small inconvenience. A hand glided absentmindedly against the wall, tracing over pipes and posters and glass windows until you prickled your finger on a jagged edge and winced away.

You stuck the winger in your mouth with a pained scowl and glared up, searching for the source of your misfortune.

You froze.

Blood, everywhere, oozing down the wide hole in the window and silently gushing out of the disemboweled corpse of a human being, still warm. And even through the liters of blood and the sickening feeling of nausea that had your eyes dart to the floor, you immediately noticed the dark blue suit they were wearing. A dead vault dweller tossed through the window so hard they’d broken through and gotten impaled on the glass.

A vault dweller.

Dead…

DEAD!!!

You stumbled back and wretched, stuffing your mouth in the crook of your elbow and sputtering saliva as your stomach churned with bile. You bumped into a metal cabinet in your stupor, scraping for purchase as your legs lost all function, knocking over a clock and a radio that came to life as soon as it hit the floor. The sound echoed through the Vault, like a haunting melody to the arrival of a new victim, lured out and ready for slaughter. You.

Horror. A massacre, as the light flickered your eyes feasted on more marred flesh and ripped skin and so much blood. Crimson splatter and trails of handprints were strewn over the walls, the echoes of an dire struggle which ended in vein, trails of violence were etched into the hallway. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, you threw up, clutching at your stomach as you let out the traumatizing sight the only way your body knew how. Doubled over and twitching as the shock was replaced by such a raw feeling that you nearly lost your mind.

Corpses littered the floor beyond, caked in their own entrails, skulls bashed in, unrecognizable and still and…

“Hi there, Princess.”

A chill went up your spine as you realized that the frilly white dress you wore wasn’t enough to keep you warm beyond your room. Your skin littered with goosebumps, thin hairs standing up in fear as you stiffly craned your neck and looked back to the other end of the corridor. What little color was left in your face dissipated at the sight.

A man, disfigured and disgusting, with wild hair and wilder eyes and a grin that shook you to the bone stood there. He was shirtless, showing off a large hairy belly and covered in stick-poke tattoos, one of his legs was replaced by what you made out was a metal stick of sorts. He was three times your size…and he looked at you with such perverse intent that you nearly screamed. A vile creature, not even human anymore.

“Don’t be scared, Pretty.” he leered, chapped lips and rotting teeth and a foul blackened tongue, and raised a large palm in front of him to halt you from moving. “It’s okay…Come here. Come to me.”

Instinct took over and you automatically stepped back, not daring to take your eyes off him.

“Ah, don’t do that now.” he warned sweetly and slowly began walking towards you, creeping closer every time the lights flickered off. “You’ll just make this harder for you, yeah? Come to Eddie, Sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Everything about him screamed evil. He looked deranged and capable of things you’d never even begin to imagine.

A surface dweller. A survivor. A killer. A monster.

The moment his boot sunk in a pool of blood and squeaked against the floor realization hit you like a speeding truck. The grim expression should have been his sign to catch you, but you were already leaping over corpses with a blood-curdling screech. Your mind raced as you tried to orientate yourself through the corridors, bolting over shattered glass and spoiled food and so many dead bodies.

You needed to get out. Leave. Escape.

OUT!

His hollars bellowed behind you, alerting the rest of his friends because of course there were more and now they were aware of you and hunting you down like a deer in the forest. You let the tears run down your cheeks, forced the questions of your parents’ whereabouts and health because you already knew the answers, but you let them sink you’d end up like them or worse.

A horde of footsteps nipped at your bare heels and you sprinted and begged your weak little legs to go faster. Sucking in air as adrenaline pumped through your veins like poison, you jumped and ducked and whirled and assured yourself that you had the upper hand here, you knew the vault better than them. You stood a chance, you’d survive.

When the elevator came into view after you rounded a corner you nearly cried out in delirium. A roar nearly deafened you and you flinched, but your pace only increased as you pleaded and struggled not to trip over your feet. They were desperate, clawing at the air to try and reach you before it was too late. Your lungs burned with strain, your muscles felt like they’d tear any moment, but you kept pushing, high on horror and anger and a newfound zest for self-preservation

Salvation. Your only chance to live.

Your shoulder screamed in pain when you slammed against the metal walls of the elevator and thrusted your fist against the button vigorously.

“Come on. Come on. COME ON!”

“Get back here you little whore!”

“Please!” you wailed, screaming and stumbling back when a rusty axe collided with the shutting doors and made sparks fly with an ear-piercing screech. A hand flew up to cover your squinted eyes, sneering and sobbing as the raiders banged on the outside of the elevator and shot conniving curses at your crumbling form. You were slammed down on your arse by gravity as the elevator finally moved, taking you away from certain death as a slew of grim promises were expelled at you from below.

They’d find you, rip you apart, and make you wish you’d just died like the rest of your pathetic vault dwellers. You balled your eyes out, choking on spit and tears and gulping down air as your body shook violently. Clutching at your face, you stared down at your bloody feet with wide, unblinking eyes.

What was this nightmare…

When the elevator came to a halt and the doors reopened you barely managed to stand, the numbness in your limbs proving too much to handle and your upset stomach only contributing. But you had to keep moving, you had to run.

“Daddy…”

With ugly sobs and meek noises of strain and discomfort and utter distaste for your cruel fate, you tumbled towards the ajar vault entrance. Pressing down the button timidly before taking the discarded Pip-boy from the severed hand, you lock your tormentors into their grave and hurriedly tread towards the slowly closing vault exit.

The sun nearly blinds you and the hot desert sun knocks you to your knees as your hands sink to the wrists in sand. You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking rapidly and shielding your sensitive pupils from the blaring light.

It’s…barren.

A desert, stretching as far as your sight could reach, heated enough for the air to wiggle and dance in the distance, a decrepit city can be seen nestled not too far. A plethora of buildings crumbled to their bases hide away the sealed entrance to your vault, bones are scattered through the coarse sand, human shapes frozen in time, hinting towards a previous era of life on Earth, an era you’d only read about. Again, there wasn’t a soul around no matter how many times you circled your vision.

A wasteland. Painted yellow and orange and contrasting so beautifully with the clear blue sky.

You wanted to marvel and swoon and you would have given any other circumstance, but now, after everything you’d seen, after your mind had been so brutally defiled with images of slaughter, you were incapable. You stood, resisting the harsh breeze and angry sun, clad in nothing but a Pip-boy and a thin summer dress that was everything but white.

You had to walk, seek help, do…something. Anything.

And so you did. Trudging through the sea of sand and stepping hastily as the heat beneath your delicate feet nipped uncomfortably at your skin. Sweat clung to you like a protective layer, washing away any trace of the sensitive lavender shampoo you had used the previous night. Strands of hair clung to your flushed face as you fought a silent and unfair battle against the burning sunrays, one step at a time, with the wind as your only companion. Your nostrils struggled to breathe in enough air, but you didn’t dare open your mouth despite the temptation, fearing dehydration and death as it loomed over you like a shadow.

You walked for what felt like miles, accompanied by your thoughts and nothing else, until the Vault was hidden behind the golden dunes and your feet felt raw. The city was so close now, yet you were so tired, sucked dry by a heat you’d never experienced before, if it hadn’t been for your Pip-boy crackling to life you would have collapsed, too burdened and weak to continue.

You raised your wrist and looked down and were met by a familiar meter.

Radiation.

Something around you was radioactive enough for the device to pick up easily, but there was nothing but waves of yellow hell and you doubted the ground itself was emitting it. Then you heard it. That strange, high-pitched chirping, an alien sound that made your skin crawl and scraped at the back of your head tauntingly.

A scream loud enough to shatter glass ripped through your throat as a sharp sting pierced your ankle. You hit the soft sand with a whimper and rushed to turn on your back before kicking blindly at your assaultant. An ambush from below. Blood trickled from the gash, painting your skin a deep ruby red and spilling over the ground, luring out your predators like moths to a flame.

Insects, roaches too big to be real and too much for your fickle mind to comprehend crawled out of the sand. You’d fallen right into their trap, an unsuspecting victim, a banquet they’d probably not seen since they’d hatched.

Your heart pounded frantically, pulse thumping in the side of your neck as you flailed and screeched, chucking sand at them as they circled you. You wanted to run, every cell in your body fought for you to stand, but you couldn’t, you had no fight left. You’d die here, alone in this decrepit desert and eaten by giant cockroaches and this was going to be the story of your life. You sobbed so pitifully, so angry and bitter and bratty that after everything, this was to be your end. The world spun painfully fast and you wanted to vomit, but your stomach was empty and you only gagged.

With one last scream, you curled in a ball, covering your head with your arms and your legs protecting your belly, as one of the insects lunged forward.

When the gunshot rang in your ears you froze in place and time stopped. The roach flew back, slimy green entrails covering your form like a canvas. The other two hissed and you revolted at the noise, but they were shot a second later, blown to bits, dainty skittish legs twitching as the last few beats of life escaped them. The shadow of your savior dwarfed you completely, giving you respite from the cruel sun.

You roll over and sit up on your knees within a blink only to be met with the barrel of a gun too ratchet and rusted to belong to anyone but a wastelander. You recoil and blink through tear-heavy lashes before roughly adjusting your dress to try and cover your bare thighs from what you presumed was another man. The tip of the gun slid under your chin and guided your eyes up to feast upon your hero. You gulped and whimpered.

He was grotesque, like a man skinned alive and somehow survived, melted skin deformed his features and you’d bet your dinner there wasn’t a strand of hair under that worn cowboy hat. He had no nose, no eyebrows or even lashes, not a spec of hair. He grinned something awful down at you, looking at you like you were a fresh piece of meat, a delicacy among a table covered with rotten food. His stance was wide, torn dark cloth swaying dangerously in the breeze, he seemed almost aetherial in his own twisted and rugged way. You mewled softly as he turned your head from side to side with his gun, gently, mockingly, drinking you in from every angle as if you’d disappear if he so much as blinked.

Your hands clutched at the edge of your dress when he finally spoke and his voice made you inhale sharply and clench your jaw in anticipation.

“Well…Aren’t you a pretty little thing…”

(Listen, it's 7AM and I need sleep, but this mother trucker didn't want to leave me alone so have a chapter from my hastily strewn-together upcoming story. I'll post it on AO3 and probably here if it even happens. I'll fix mistakes later, don't eat me please.)

Chapter 2 >>>

🌼 Masterlist 🌼

[martinsorbit]

Oh hey, it's that sun guy.

After two arduous weeks (Aug 1st - Aug 15th) the Sun cold porcelain figure is COMPLETE! DONE! FINISHED! HE IS HERE IN ALL HIS GLORY

Its been a long (and at times painful) process considering the time it took for all the stuff to dry and for me to have free time to finish this project, but now the silly little jester is in my hands and he looks SO CUTE AND COOL!! HE EVEN HAS A HOOK

Thanks everyone for hyping me up and keeping me motivated during this <3 It literally meant a ton and helped me keep working on this bonkus shit

under the read more, there will be some more details about the figure itself and some more pictures ( Like materials, how much time it took, the process stuff etc)

feel free to ask me questions! thanks everyone!

QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PROCESS!

Q: What materials did you use for this?

A: White Cold Porcelain, Hot Glue, super glue, pencils, pliers, paper clips, scissors, paint, all purpose varnish, paintbrushes, metalic pens

Q: How long did it take to make him?

A: Roughly two weeks

Q: Are you going to make moon too?

A: yes but it will take a while

Q: [X element of suns character design] is missing.

A: trust me, I know. Ive been staring at his model for roughly a whole week and mentally rotating him in my brain , so if something is missing its cuz i was either having a hard time making it or cuz I took creative liberties lmao

Q: How long did it take for the stuff to dry?

A: The cold porcelain abt 3 ish days; Paint took 1 day and the varnish also a day (as it states in the bottle)

FINAL NOTES:

Yes, you can use colored cold porcelain instead of painting it! It's just easier for me to paint it over

- For the love of god, be careful when applying the varnish, that shit is bad for your health! read the instructions, do it in a ventilated area, and NEVER put it too close to your face, or u might get some not so good side effects ( like yer eyes burning)

No, i dont intend on selling him anytime soon sorry ( this was asked before regarding some other cold porcelain thing I did, so I just thought i would add it here)

- If u dont wanna spend too much money on the colors u can just buy some Yellow, Cyan, Magenta, Black and White (CMYK) along with some skin tones; u can basically make any color from those

- I used two of Sun's main poses in the game as inspo for making this

- His faceplate is supposed to spin but since it keeps falling off I decided to glue it

[pearlcigs]

⋆ french girl

“have you ever seen titanic?” you asked, toying with the hem of ellie’s shirt. “yeah, why?” ellie’s eyes were closed, hand under her head, serving as a makeshift pillow even though she was laying on two already. “y’know that one scene? where jack draws rose.” you voice, inching your body closer to her. “the one where rose gets naked and asks jack to draw her like one of his french girls? yeah i’m familiar.” ellie chuckles, unsure of where you could be going with this. “watched that scene more times than i care to admit.” she continued, eyes opening to look down at you, your head laying on her chest. “draw me like one of your french girls, ellie.”

the off white colored sheets were now wrinkled under your nude body. the flesh of your skin plush against the cool fabric that was quickly warming up due to your body heat. nerves coursed through each one of your blood vessels, taking deep breaths and rubbing your thighs together. you hadn’t expected your fantasy to get this far. posed like a doll, afraid to move and ruin the whole image, though ellie wasn't too concerned. she had your body in this position memorized, each perfect imperfection on your body engraved in her mind. she didn't think she could forget, even if she tried.

the sharp sound of her pencil scratching the paper put you somewhat at ease. the melodic sound making you eager to see what your girlfriend's artistic abilities would bring this time. your chest heaving with each breath, though it felt like you couldn't get enough air. "you're doin' great, babe." ellie praised, tongue poking out her mouth just slightly as a form of concentration. her pencil drew every one of your curves. verbatim on the paper to what she was looking at with her own eyes.

“why don’t you spread your legs a lil’?” she asked, it was innocent, truthfully. she wanted to make sure this drawing was perfect, from each stroke down to the pose. your face heated up, bottom lip slotting between your teeth at her vulgar yet seemingly sweet request. “els,” you giggle, gently trying to inform her of what her words meant to you. ellie looked up at you upon hearing the serenade of your voice calling for her. “hm?” the scratching of the pencil slowing to a stop.

just looking at you and how flustered you suddenly looked, she realized just what she said. a light pink pigment blushing over her freckled cheeks. “i mean, ‘course only if you want to.” she tries to correct her mistake, though she’s not entirely sure if it was a mistake to correct— or even a mistake at all. “like this?” you mumble with bated breath, spreading your plush thighs apart just enough to let ellie see the start of your glistening cunt. she stares intently for a minute, trying to hold herself back from dropping her art supplies and crawling onto the bed to pleasure you the way you deserve.

“you look even prettier than rose.” she comments, offhandedly, as she returns her attention to the almost finished sketch. “can i see, els?” your voice is sweet, but full of eagerness. “you gotta wait till it’s done, babe. be patient.” she smiles with a cocky grin, liking the fact that even for just right now she’s the only one who’s ever seen this drawing. it prided her in more ways that one for reasons she couldn’t explain. “but ‘m not patient.” you complained, voice a borderline whine. “oh, trust me. i am well aware of that.” she shakes her head with a small laugh. “i’m almost done, alright? just hang on, baby.”

the few minutes it took her to finish the drawing of you that you were excited to see felt like hours. your body felt stiff, like you were turning into a statue to be a piece of art forever. ellie smudges a few of the harsh lines with her finger before putting her pencil down for the final time. she savors the feeling. of what? she’s not sure. “ready?” she asks, looking up at you and you’re already sitting up, enabling her to see more of your perfect body. she walks over to the bed, sitting next to you and somehow fighting back every erotic thought she had about you flipping the paper to finally show you.

you take in every sharp line that the pencil, that ellie claims is her lucky pencil, made. you looked at it so intensely that ellie thought maybe you didn’t like it, until you smiled. “you’re so talented, ellie.” you complimented, heart fluttering with adoration. ellie took the praise with a grain of salt, blush painting her bashful face. “couldn’t’ve made something this beautiful without the perfect muse.” she deflects, goofy grin on her face. ogling shamelessly at you body. she places the finished art piece on your night stand, hands caressing you body with a soft kiss to your lips. “come ‘ere, ‘french girl’.”

[dragonsareverycool]

The figure turned to look at Damian and seemed to freeze before its form shifted, rings of light covering it as it did. When the rings faded, there they floated with white hair that moved like it was uneffected by gravity and was moved by wind that wasn’t there. Freckles that looked like stars covered the beings skin, tanned but washed out and ashen, like a corpse. Wide, expressionless eyes that glowed a bright eeire green. Despite this, Damian recognized that face. He recognized that expression too. Despite looking like Tim’s dead eyed stare to most anyone else, Damian knew the expression as one of surprise, of shock. And that face was almost identical to the one in his nightmares of the worst day of his life. He knew that face every time he glanced in a mirror.

“Danyal” he said softly, his own face almost certainly in an identical expression. Despite the distance and chaos between them, Damian was certain Danyal heard him, as Danyal perked up a bit. Then, his form seemed to glitch, colors distorting as his body twitched and part of his body seemed to disappear for a moment. Then, he seemed to fade into nothing, leaving Damian to start panicking. He worried that he had just lost Danyal again.

Then he reappeared startlingly close, putting his hand on Damian’s chest “Here,” he said, the difference in how he spoke compared to Damian achingly familiar, “A drop of your blood and an offering of food if you’re feeling nice. Call my name, it may take a moment but I will appear” he removed his hand, and a piece of neon green glowing paper with strange symbols on it floated after Danyal’s hand before Damian caught it. Danyal’s form glitched again, harder, and his face set in a grimace before he faded into invisibility again.

Fun fact! Sometimes when the grief got bad enough, Damian would mimic how Danny talked and would recite stories about constellations like Danny did. He took many, many precautions to make sure that no one, not even Talia knows that he’s done this. Only Alfred the cat and maybe Alfred the Human knows, and neither will speak a word to anyone about it.

[sirfrogsworth]

When I got to this photo in Katrina's collection of vintage family imagery, I was pretty stumped as to how to approach it.

There is a major problem when you zoom in to 100%.

The paper it was developed on has little micro bumps. When it was scanned, the light from the scanner caused a highlight on one side of the bump and a shadow on the other. This causes a pattern which is nearly impossible to eliminate using traditional techniques.

The easiest way to fix this is actually quite clever. You scan it once, then turn it upside down and scan it again. The second pass reverses the side the highlight and shadow appear on, so you can combine the images in Photoshop and blend them together, essentially canceling out the bumps. It's weirdly analogous to noise canceling headphones.

But I don't have access to the physical copy of this image.

So... now what?

Enter Fast Fourier Transform or FFT.

This is a filter that uses extra fancy math to recognize patterns in the image and eliminate them. There is a pretty good filter for Photoshop, but it does not work easily with newer Macs with Apple Silicon. I really did not want to figure that out, and I also was too tired to go downstairs to my PC. However, I learned that a Photoshop competitor, Affinity Photo, has this filter built in. So, I downloaded a trial copy and started the process of trying to figure out how to fix this image.

It was amazingly simple. It brings up these star patterns and you just paint black circles over every one but the center. It literally felt like magic. (Full screen with sound recommended)

So once I did this process I ended up with this...

The paper still had a rough texture but it was much easier to work with using traditional techniques. I started with a black and white conversion and meticulously went through the photo zapping scratches and flaws and balancing tones and sharpening facial features. All of my photo restoration tricks were needed.

I eventually landed here...

I then thought maybe I should match the sepia tone of the original print, so I got to here...

I think the black and white looks nicer in this instance, but I always like having options and this is the most faithful representation of how the photo originally looked.

But there is something else I have been playing around with lately. Photoshop has these experimental neural filters that use cloud processing to do various tricky enhancements. Most of them are in beta and they can be very quirky. But they have a colorizer that tries to detect people and things and adds color to them. Not every black and white photo is a good candidate. I have found these professional portrait photos work decently, but the filter is very hit-and-miss. And there are tools within the filter to help you make a miss more of a hit, but often I have to accept the photo isn't going to work.

But I decided to give it a shot with this one and surprisingly, the colorizer got me most of the way there.

I can work with that.

The one thing it does well is skin. Manually painting color onto skin is tricky and requires more skill and knowledge of traditional painting techniques than I have. But if a filter can do that part for me, I can do the rest.

So after my touchups, I got the image to here.

All I have left to do is my standard color enhancements to make them a little less ghostly and a little more human.

And I present to you where I started and the finished product. I encourage you to flip back and forth.

I'm not sure how, but I was able to go from an image I thought was impossible to edit to a beautiful colorized memory for my best friend's mom. I cannot wait to show her.

[lovers-rck]

Ellie giving her gf flowers is so cuteee, how would Ellie react if it was the other way around and it was Ellie’s girl giving her flowers

sjqkxuwnsnxiyawjduw ed8 im in love with her its embarrassing

☆

"wait, wait, wait" you say as you grab ellie's arms, stopping her

"what?" she says, her voice muffled by your skin as she kiss your stomach "i don't care if you haven't shave"

ellie licks a portion of your skin, playing with the elastic of your shorts.

"it's not that" you replie, sitting in the bed and looking at the confused face that ellie makes. her eyes are looking just the way they look when she is horny; a bit sleepy, heavy and dark.

"i got you something" you say, getting up from the bed and heading for the door. ellie tries to stop you from getting up from her side by intertwining her fingers with yours, failing in the attempt.

"what?" she murmurs, the warmth still inhabiting her body, a sign you can easily recognize from her rosy cheeks "you can show me later"

you laugh and shake your head, leaning against the back of the door, "wait here"

so ellie listens to you. she takes the opportunity to adjust her shirt and comb her hair with her fingers, a couple of knots hinder the process but she manages it.

a few seconds later she hears your footsteps on the stairs. ellie makes a mental note to buy something for you too on her way home.

"can you close your eyes?" you say from the hallway, ellie hears you but doesn't see you.

"sure" ellie swallows, nervousness and excitement taking hold of her. she loves gifts "they're closed"

you enter the room to find ellie sitting on the edge of your bed, her eyes are closed and her fingers play between them. when she feels you close, her hands move to your waist, an almost involuntary movement that ellie's muscles memorized at your presence. you feel her thumb lightly caress the exposed patch of skin where your t-shirt was lifted.

"okay" you murmur "you can open them".

and she does. when she opens her eyes, she finds a small arrangement of flowers in your hands, a shiny paper wrapping around the flower bodies.

ellie loves them. they are pink, orange and white orchids, with vibrant, eye-catching colors. ellie doesn't consider herself an expert on flowers, or at least not the ones she can't smoke, but she can become one for you.

"do you like them?" you murmur.

her hands leave your waist to grasp the bouquet, her bruised fingers contrasting against the delicacy of the orchids. you watch as her cheeks redden even more and her body language goes from carefree to a more timid one.

you loved seeing that side of ellie. more shy, more intimate.

"come here" she says, and when you do she grabs your hand and pulls you close to place a kiss on your lips, the bouquet resting in her other hand "they're lovely, thank you" she murmurs against your lips.

you just smile and reciprocate the kiss, which ellie wastes no time in intensifying. she opens her mouth, inviting you to do the same, and when she does you feel her tongue caress your lips and her hand move to your neck. somehow, ellie manipulates your body so that you end up sitting on her lap and her kisses get wetter, the sound of saliva and shaky breaths echoing in the room.

in between kisses, ellie grabs one of the flowers from the bouquet and places it behind your ear, admiring you. you smile and act like those accessory models on TV, shaking your head and posing "how do i look?"

ellie pretends to analyze the look, her index finger tapping her lips in a thoughtful gesture "mmm" she murmurs "worthy of being eaten out"

"ellie!" you say, tapping her shoulder. ellie laughs and sets the bouquet down on the mattress.

"what?" she says, resuming her kisses but this time on your neck "i didn't lie"

and ellie takes your silence to resume what she was interrupted from a few minutes ago by laying your body on the sheets.

[miserable-sarah]

The Red Dust 18+

pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, choking, (f) Masturbation, unprotected sex (Be better), oral (F), rough sam, praising. (If I missed any lmk I will update it.) Summary: You and Sam go on a hunt, things go sideways and you need a release of some sort but you can't figure it out.

"I've seen this place before." Sam whispers barely audiable.

"What?" You whisper to him, you both slowly enter a building not sure if the witch is still inside.

"I've seen this building." He says to you, you look at him confused. Maybe in all the research he's been doing. After clearing the place and making sure no one was there you turned on the light to get a better look around the place.

"This is some dark magic." You mumble looking at all the jars filled with dead things, it makes your skin crawl. Sam nods and agrees with you.

"Come on, we need to find out where she's going next." Sam shuffles through books and papers on her desk, you continue looking around the room. Maybe there's a clue somewhere. You can't find anything. She covered her tracks well. You see a book case and one of the books is shiny and new, not like the rest. It's a deep red color, you walk over to it and pull it.

"Y/n! No!" You hear Sam yell. Before you can turn around the whole room is covered in a deep red dust. Your heart starts pounding, you start coughing. "Hold your breath!" Sam says covering your mouth, you run out of the building with him.

"What is that?" You continue to cough.

"Red dust." Sam coughs with you.

"No shit." You roll your eyes.

"No, I mean that's what they call it. Red Dust."

"Are we going to die?" The dust is literally blood red, it just reminds you of death.

"I-I" Sam stutters shaking his head. "I don't know, I need to call someone who knows more."

"Man, I always wanted a cool death. Not death from dust!"

"We're not going to die." Sam holds your shoulders "How are you feeling?"

"Um" You think about it "Fine." You shrug.

"See, we probably didn't inhale enough, we're going to be fine." Sam pulls out his phone to make a call. You go sit in the car because you just need to relax. Thinking you're going to die is scary and somehow exhausting. Soon Sam comes in and sits in the drivers seat.

"We're going to go to the motel, just hang out until they find out more about the dust." He starts the car and drives off.

"Okay." You mumble. You bite your lip to try to keep you calm, it's not really working. The drive back to the motel isn't long but for some reason it feels like it's taking forever. Your hands start to feel clammy and shaky. You're not sure what's happening. You start to feel a deep ache in your stomach, and you're getting hot by the second. You roll down your window trying to get some air.

"How are you feeling."

"Fine, I don't know." You shake your head. "I think I just need a shower."

"Ugh! Damnit!" Sam's voice changes, it's so low. "Missed my turn." He says his knuckles are turning white on the steering wheel.

"A-are you okay?" You can feel your lip quiver and butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes. Fine." He doesn't even look at you, he's like a different person. The rest of the car ride was quiet, you accidentally let out a few whimpers because your body feels like it's on fire and everything is so sensitive at this moment. Every time Sam heard you he would breathe loudly and tighten his grip. He finally turns into the motel parking lot, you practically run into the bathroom. You quickly get undressed and get into the shower.

The water cools your skin, but you're still so hot inside. Your core is aching, you need some kind of release like asap. You hate that you have to do this but it feels like you're going to melt from the inside if you don't. You run your hand down your body to your core. Your breathing is already hitched, you bite your lip trying to keep yourself from moaning. What is happening to you? You enter two fingers inside you slowly. You let a sigh of relief, your fingers pump inside you. You let your head hit the shower wall, you open your legs more. You place one on the side of the tub you try to get deeper but you can't.

You take your fingers out and let out a frustrated groan. You feel like you're going to cry, you're in so much pain and you need something, you need someone to take care of you. You finish your shower and wrap a towel around you.

"Okay tell me." You hear Sam say. You open the door a little to listen to the conversation. "Don't fuck with me!" He yells, his voice is still so low and sounds like he's in pain too.

"I'm not!" You hear Dean on the other line. "You guys need to, uh you know."

"Dean. You're lying."

"Sam, he's not." You hear another voice. “You need to uh, well get intimate.”

"How am I supposed to explain this to her?"

"Figure it out Sammy, you're a lucky boy." Dean says hanging up the phone. Sam stands up and sees you standing there.

"Did you hear-?"

"Yes." You nod your head still just wrapped in a towel. Sam looks you up and down and licks his lips.

"So you know what we have to do?"

"Yes." You try to hide the excitement.

"Y/n." He stands back from you not moving an inch "I'm going to be really rough."

"I can take it." You say shyly.

"I don't want to hurt you." His face is dead serious, his eyes are completely black. He is overtaken with lust just like you. Your core is throbbing. You want him so bad. You swallow hard then drop your towel never breaking eye contact with him. He never breaks eye contact either but gives you a smile, a smile that makes you shake. He walks towards you, your mouth gets dry and you feel yourself getting wetter, your body heating up more than it already was. Somehow that's possible.

Sam picks you up and throws you on the bed you let out a squeal not expecting him to do that, he gives you no time to catch up with actions. He's kissing you roughly, then kissing your neck then back to your lips, his hands massage your breasts. his fingers pull and twist your nipples. You arch your back needing more.

Sam stands up taking his shirt off, he pulls you by your ankles so you're down lower on the bed, he gets on his knees. Again he's moving so fast your brain can't keep up. Sam's fingers find their way inside you. You let out a moan and a sigh of relief. His fingers are perfect way better than your own. He pumps them in you back and forth, he curls his fingers every time he's knuckle deep. His tongue licks and sucks on your clit roughly but not too rough. It feels amazing.

"Oh my god" You moan out loud, your grinding on him without even realizing, everything is so sensitive from the red dust. "Fuck." Your breathing is hitched, your panting. You feel absolutely amazing.

"Already?" Sam chuckles darkly at you. You don't care though all you want to do is cum all over him. He moves his face away and with his other hand he rubs your clit fast, you clench yourself around his fingers. You whimper, and you squeal. Finally you see stars your eyes roll in the back of your head, and your whole body tenses up and squirms. Sam doesn't let go of you though and he doesn't stop. You scream and he doesn't care, you try hard to move away but he's so much stronger than you. All this makes it even better, you cum again already.

He finally lets you go. He stands up and removes his pants along with his boxers. Your mouth drops, Sam is huge. Your core is throbbing just at the sight you can't wait for him to fuck you. You move up on the bed, he's on his knees at the bottom, he pulls you by your legs so you're in the right position. He places one of your legs on his shoulders. His hands go right on either side of your head, you're panting again. Your heart is racing just thinking of how he is going to feel. He slowly enters just his tip, the stretch makes you moan and throw your head back. He feels even better than you thought.

"Look at me." You do as he says and look into his eyes, his eyes are still so dark, he doesn't even seem like Sam anymore. The red dust definitely has taken over him. You wonder if you look the same. He pushes the rest of him inside you, he grins at the face you make. He knows he has you feeling great. He lets out a groan when he bottoms out. He sighs in relief he was waiting for that you can tell.

Sam doesn't give you any adjustment time, his thrusts are hard and quick, his one hand moves to your head, he grabs a fist full of your hair and puts your head back making your arch your back. He smirks at you like he was testing a theory and he was right about it. He lets go over your hair and moves to your neck. Your eyes widened as he pushes harder and harder against your neck. He's so deep inside you, your legs are shaking. Sam doesn't stop though, instead of his regular thrusts he does small ones so he can stay buried inside you. You try to make noise but his hand is completely stopping from doing that. You give him a worried look but he just smirks. He moves his hand letting you breathe. He lifts your other leg on his shoulder going even deeper. You hiss at the feeling.

He stays like that for a while just slowly fucking you, you start to get annoyed, you want more. More of him. "Sam, please."

"Please?" He says still smirking, He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Harder. Go harder." You say looking into his eyes, they aren't as dark as they used to be. He nods his head and flips you over. He pulls you up so your back is against his chest. He lines himself up with you and he lets you drop on to him. You scream out in pleasure, he was filling you up in a different way. You try to move up and down but Sam holds you in place, he leans you back and little and brings his hand down to your clit.

"Fuck" You say breathless, he begins rubbing and thrusting into you. Your head rests on his shoulder so he can look at you. Sam bits and kisses your ear and your neck. You hold in your moans but can't help the few squeals and whimpers that escape your lips. Sam whispers dirty things in your ear, you can't take all the pleasure it's too much. "I can't" You say but it's barely audible.

"Yes you can baby." Sam whispers "Just one more time." He kisses your cheek. You close your eyes tight, your body shakes, your head is fuzzy. "That's a good girl." He prasies. "Look at you, cumming for me. Such a good girl." You open your mouth but you can't make a sound. You cum, hard. Sam helps you through it making it last longer. When you're done he places you on the bed nicely.

"Can you get on top?" You nod your head, he lays down on the bed and you get on top of him, your legs are still shaking so bad he has to help you. You slowly sink yourself down on him. You go to move but again Sam holds you in place, he puts his knees up and pushes you down on his chest. "I always knew you'd be submissive." He whispers in your ear before pounding you. He's thought of this before? I mean you have to so many times but you never knew Sam did.

"You feel so good, you fit me perfectly." he grunts. He's close, his thrusts are sloppy and his body is tense. He holds your body down, his arms are wrapped around your back holding you where you are.

"Sam." You moan breathlessly. Sam grunts and tightens his grip. His thrusts are getting harder and faster.

"Say my name." He says

"Sam" You moan

"Louder"

"Sam!" You moan loudly as you feel him fill you up his moans and groans fill the air, you let out a few yourself. Sam lays there for a few seconds without saying a word. He moves you off of him and you whimper at the empty feeling. Sam gets up without saying a word and he goes into the bathroom to clean up. A few minutes later he comes out with a wet cloth and helps you clean up. he gives you one of his clean shirts and a pair of your pajama shorts.

"Thank you" You smile at him.

"Of course." He smiles at you, he gets back into bed only wearing boxers. You're not sure what to do, it's not like you're a couple or anything. "Oh did you want me to sleep on the couch?" He asks getting up.

"No!" You say too fast. "Uh, no you don't have to. You can sleep with me." you bite your lip he smiles at you and wraps his arm around you pulling you closer to him.

~ The next day you look up more information about the red dust while Sam sleeps. Sam definitely has seen that room before because it's the room shown in every picture when you look up the witch. You also found out that red dust only subsides if you get intimate with a person you love. That one surprised you.

"Good morning" Sam says making you jump. You slam the computer shut like you were doing something wrong.

"Hey you're awake" You say trying to act like nothing happened. "How are you feeling? Are you still-?"

"Am I still under the spell?" He laughs "No, definitely not."

"Oh" You blush. "Good." You smile at him.

"And I'm guessing you're not" He asks

"No, I'm not."

"Good to know." He smirks at you. You can feel your heart racing and creeping on your face.

"We found a cure!" Dean busts in the room.

"Dean what the hell!" Sam says shaking his head. Dean looks at the two of you and stands there awkwardly.

"Oh." He chuckles "Awkward."

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #15 - FINALE

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: All things end.

Word count: 3,400

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous]

Traveling through Strange’s inter-dimensional portal is a different experience from going through one of Miguel’s. It’s less of a laser light show and more of a psychedelic drug trip.

Shapes and patterns warps in front of you, and the strength of gravity seems to press in against you from all sides as you fall upwards through an endless space.

You lose track of time. You don’t know how long you’ve been in here. It could be hours or seconds, but you can't tell the difference. Then it stops.

There is a gentle light ahead of you, and as you pass through it, the soft warmth of it trickles away. Then you find yourself standing in a familiar vast and empty space once again.

Staring into the far distance, the only thing you see is the blank whiteness ahead of you, just as jarring and endless as last time.

You clutch onto the pink-gemmed amulet hanging from your neck, gifted to you by Strange. A magical artifact that’s meant to help you keep your physical form in this space so you don’t fade away like you did last time.

Everything is static here, stale. There’s no air flow, no sense of temperature. The environment is neither hot nor cold against your skin, but somehow you feel an ever-present chill seeping into your bones.

Taking a deep breath, you start to walk forward.

You're shivering with each step you take. There's no sound under your step. No shadows cast under the soles of your feet.

"Boss lady,” Lyla pipes up, her hologram avatar hovering over your shoulders. “I really don't like this. Let's go back home, Beyoncé is holding a concert in Amsterdam! I got us front row seat tickets."

It's a valiant attempt, Miguel really did a great job coding her, but you’re not going back without him. Ignoring Lyla, you continue on your path.

There’s no sign of Miguel anywhere. It's all infinite whiteness as far as the eye can see, with no signs of an end.

The last two times you were here, you didn’t have a chance to gain an understanding of how big this space is. For all you know it could be as vast and endless as the universe itself. What if you’re stuck wandering in this place for an eternity and still never find Miguel?

You walk on, eyes roaming the space, and a dull ache starts to form behind them from staring at the glaring brightness.

There! Off to your left, you finally spot… something.

Your heart leaps in your chest as you clock a disruption in the blank whiteness. A tiny disruption. Or maybe it’s just far away? The emptiness of this place is hell on your depth perception. You veer in that direction, squinting as you approach, until you’re finally close enough to make out what it is.

In the middle of the vast nothingness, there is a tiny ball of crumpled up yellowish paper floating at knee height.

Huh?

Isn't this a complete void where nothing exists or can exist? Why is there trash here?

You squat down hunching over your knees until the little paper ball is eye level and inspect it closer.

The color and thickness of the paper is familiar. It looks like a post-it note that’s been folded in half, tiny, uneven triangles sticking out at each of the four corners.

How weird.

Crumpled as it is, you can see now that the crooked folds and creases aren't all random. Looking closely, there seems to have been a failed attempt of trying to fold them in a sequence but lacking the proper hand to eye dexterity to do it properly.

Wait, is this…? It must be.

You recognize it now. It’s one of your unfortunate attempts at an origami frog from when you were killing time with Miguel at your work. But what is it doing here of all places?

Tentatively reaching out, you poke at the piece of paper. To your surprise there’s resistance.

That's... odd.

There's nothing else here. Nothing holding it.

Just the failed paper frog suspended in thin air.

You try again, grabbing a corner of the paper this time, but the results are the same. It stubbornly refuses to move. When you tug, it jerks back, away from you.

Squinting your eyes, you lean closer and carefully observe the space in front of you.

Now when you’re paying close attention, you can just about make out a vague, almost invisible outline.

It’s barely there, and you can only tell because the blank whiteness in front of you seems to warp slightly with the smallest tremor of a movement.

Whatever this is, it really doesn’t want you to take your piece of trash back from it.

You frown in annoyance. This doesn't make sense. Why would your poor deformed paper frog even be here? The only people who even had anything to do with the stupid thing are you and–

"Miguel?"

The movement stills at your voice.

When you don't look away, it seems spooked by your gaze, shirking at the attention. The thing shifts in its shape, shrinking down like it's trying to make itself smaller.

You try to move closer, and the obscure translucent form moves away from you, gliding seamlessly into the empty space.

Without a shape it takes you a few moments before you register its movement and what it's trying to do. It's moving fast, as if it's trying to flee from you.

Because it is. Shit!

You run after it, guided by the vague hazy contour against the nothingness that surrounds you. Even without legs, this shapeless thing is moving fast.

"Stop!" you shout, "Stop, stop, please stop! It's me!"

You leap forward, grabbing at the empty outline in front of you, and to your surprise find purchase on the nothingness under your grip.

"Miguel, stop running!" you shout.

It does. He does.

There is something there now, a semi-invisible mass, slightly more opaque than it was a second ago.

You open your mouth to speak, but you don't know what to say. Don't even know for certain that this is Miguel or not.

But you hope it is. Have to believe it is. You’re too desperate to overthink it, and you spout the first thing that comes into your head.

"Come back, Miguel. Come back, and I'll take you back to that cheap Chinese diner you liked so much. We can get all the food you want, all of it deep fried! I'll even share the egg tarts this time."

You think you see something shift before you. It could just be your imagination, but the tiniest speck of color seems to emerge from within the translucent mass.

Somehow, whatever you’re doing must be working, and you quickly try to think of what else you can say that will tempt him to come back.

Food. Maybe more about food will work? It worked for you, after all.

"The Reese buttercups in our other apartment are all expired, but I think they'd still be okay to eat, and– and– And I'll make you cookies if you come back! Blue spiderman ones that match your suit."

The speck of color pops, fading into thin air, your fingers sinking further into the nothingness of his form, and a spike of panic stabs through your chest.

Why isn’t it working!? Was it not the food that made him react after all? You don’t know what else to try.

That first time you were here, Miguel was able to bring you back to yourself with the intimate details he knew from the other lifetime you two had shared. Maybe you can do the same.

"Your name is Miguel O'hara," you start, "and- and-" And then you have to stop, not sure of what else to say. "And your eyes are red... for some reason. And you have fangs! Fangs that can deliver some kind of fucking paralysis venom, which is completely ridiculous by the way!"

Nothing happens. There’s no change save for that the form underneath you squirms and tries to get away from your grip.

"And... and..."

Shit. This is getting you nowhere.

Unlike Miguel, you haven't had the front seat experience of living a lifetime together with him. There's only so much you know about him. Because that man is more secretive than a CIA agent.

You bite down on your lip in frustration.

"Goddamnit, Miguel! I barely know anything about you because you never tell me shit!"

The shape underneath you stops wiggling underneath you.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you gather yourself, then you reopen them again, staring up at the upper part of the half-invisible shape like he's standing in front of you.

There's no point in trying to beat Miguel at a game of knowledge. You will never win. You never got to learn or memorize every personal and intimate detail about the man and his life. But there's one thing that you know beyond any doubt.

"I miss you," you tell him.

Strokes of soft colors streaks through the translucent mass at your words. A gentle blossoming spreads and you can see the opaque material reform inch by inch, until it vaguely resembles the silhouette of a body.

"I can’t even eat without you around, which has never happened to me before. I’ve been able to eat through food poisoning. But now the cupcakes from Gladis remind me of you and how you're not here, and they taste like cardboard."

He feels firmer somehow, more solid, and there’s even the faintest trace of warmth under your fingertips. Hope flutters in your chest at the change, and you tighten your grip on him.

“I miss you. More than I ever thought it could be possible to miss someone."

You can faintly make out limbs and shoulders, and the outline of a head.

"I miss falling asleep next to you. It's too quiet without your snoring, and the bed is too big without you there."

The body grows taller, and you can see the familiar tan of his skin now, the line of his jaw and the sharp angle of his nose re-materializing before your eyes.

"I miss watching you eat three dozen tacos in one sitting, scaring the tables around us. I miss having you with me and getting to talk to you, or even just sitting next to you doing nothing.”

You lean up towards him, raised on the tip of your toes, until you're up against him. “I just want you to be here with me. Please come back," you whisper into him.

Then he's there. Right in front of you, large and firm and warm as he towers above you, forehead pressed against yours, in your arms.

He’s here. Miguel is here.

His hair is a soft tousled mess. Eyes warm and hazy as he slowly blinks them open like he's just woken up from a hibernation while he gazes down on your face in an intimate silence.

It doesn’t last for very long. His gaze sharpens, blinking in rapid succession as confusion bleeds into his face. You can see the exact moment that consciousness and awareness fully return to him. Because he steps back from you, red eyes burning with an angry determination.

"What are you doing here?" he snarls at you.

Because of course he does. Of course anger is his first reaction at seeing you here.

"You can't be here," he says.

You don't even get a word in before Miguel reaches for your wrist.

"Lyla!" he barks out, and there’s a ping on your arm in response.

"Lyla, stand down," you command, smacking your palm over the face of the dial before the hologram can pop up. You already know that the next words out of his mouth will be a command to whisk you away again if you let him speak.

His lips twist into a frustrated snarl. Eyes glowing with that red fury that you recognize by now as the beginnings of an anger tantrum.

“Why don't you get it? I need to do this," he seethes, gesturing at the void, "I have to disappear. For your sake! It's my fault. I'm the reason you keep dying. I’m killing you!”

“That’s not true! You saved me! You caught me when I fell off the Chrysler building—twice!—and–”

“That doesn’t matter!” he snarls, rounding on you, “Don’t you understand!? You’re still going to die! If I'm with you, you die.”

There’s a moment of resounding silence, and you watch as the anger bleeds away from Miguel’s face, leaving something else in its place.

Something like grief.

“I can’t– I can’t do that again,” he says quietly, and he looks so sad that it damn near breaks your heart.

“Miguel…”

You don’t know what to say in the face of such raw and obvious grief. Until… suddenly, you do.

“Whether you're here or not, I could still die, Miguel."

Your words seem to hit him like a blow, and he flinches back, his eyes going round and liquid, open mouth quivering for a moment before it pulls right into a hard downturned line.

"Even if you were gone, there still wouldn’t be any guarantees," you say.

You brush your hand alongside his, trying to hold his hand in yours but he draws it away.

"You could save me by erasing yourself from existence and tomorrow a bus driver that isn't paying attention might hit me and I'd die anyhow," you continue, and he flinches visibly. "You can't control these things, and I would rather be with you and take the chance and be happy until it happens."

His hand balls up in agitation at his side. "I– I just don't want you to die again," he says, helplessness bleeding through every syllable of his words.

Your heart aches at his obvious pain. All you want, all you've ever wanted is to make that pain a little bit smaller. You step forward closing the distance between you, and he doesn't back away or move from you this time.

“Everybody dies. Regardless of what happens here I will too someday. But you’ve given me extra time. You did that. You saved me, again and again. And I’m so happy that you did. That I got to have that time with you. To share donuts with you in bed, or fold post-its frogs in the office."

His eyes close tightly, and he gives a slight shake of his head, grief and denial warring in his features. “None of that matters if you don’t survive,” he says quietly.

“You say it doesn’t matter, but it does, Miguel. Those moments matter to me. And even if we die here in this stupid video game loading screen, or if we make it out of here, but something else gets me, it will still matter to me.”

There's no telling if your grand speech is actually getting through to him because he's still not looking at you or meeting your eyes. You grab at his shoulder for his attention. It's all you can do to not shake him and rattle him until he accepts what you are trying to tell him.

"I want to be with you, and even if you can’t save me in the end, that's okay. I just want to be with you for as long as I can. However long or short of a time that is, I won’t have any regrets as long as I get to spend it with you. I told you, didn’t I? Every me in every universe would say the same, given a choice."

He doesn’t respond this time and part of you feels like you’re talking to a besieged wall. Reaching up, you cup his cheeks in your hands and pull his face down to meet your eyes.

“How many other universes are out there where those versions of us never get to know each other at all? …Thousands? …Millions? We’re the lucky ones, Miguel. We got to meet, and we have a chance against all odds. So what if it means we have to jump through a few hoops and universes to be together?”

His eyes open fully at your words, and lock on your face. You think you can see the cracks in his defenses. His hands unfurl and twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting himself to reach for you.

"I love you,” you tell him, and his lips part with a slight tremble.

You’re running out of things to say that can convince him now. The only thing that’s left is for Miguel to make the choice.

Your hand slides down from his face, and he looks distraught at the loss of contact as you take one small step back and away from him.

"Let's try to be happy this time," you tell him.

Reaching out your hand towards him, you try your best to smile through your nervousness, hoping that he is going to say yes to you this time despite his trademark stubbornness that you’ve come to love and hate sometimes.

Miguel looks at your hand, hesitation carved into every shade of red in those eyes. His hand flexes by his side, but doesn’t move.

He’s still unsure, and hope falls flat in your chest at the thought that he might very well make the choice to stay and destroy himself despite how much you don’t want him to.

But then he nods, and your heart begins to sing.

Tentative as it may be, his arm still reaches out towards you, fingers seeking out yours and he takes your hand.

"Yeah," he answers quietly. “Let’s be happy.”

Your smile grows wider, eyes watery as your vision blur around the edges when you look up at him. Happiness blossoming in your chest until it feels so full you think your ribs might burst from it.

You squeeze down on his larger hands in yours, to reassure yourself that he is really here, with you. And he is.

"Lyla," you say, and your watch pings at your command, before Lyla’s face lights up the space above.

"Good to have you back with us, boss," she says with a salute in Miguel’s direction. “Where to now?” 

“Lyla,” he acknowledges with a faint smile and a nod, but he doesn’t look away from your face. "Do the thing. Take us home. Home-home."

Warm amber light rises up to surround you both, and Miguel pulls you into his chest. A kaleidoscope of colors explodes before your eyes, swirling around the two of you as he holds you in his arms.

You can't stop smiling at him, grinning like an idiot, as you tilt up to press your forehead to his.

Reality reforms around you, specks of navy-blue filling the large and vast sky. You're standing on the rooftop of a tall building surrounded by the skyline of brightly lit skyscrapers, a labyrinth of levitating bridges and streets laid out beneath. Floating vehicles buzz and soar through the sky like flamboyant dragonflies. Below your feet there is an ocean of dotted neon lights and colorful hologram billboards filling every inch and corner of the city below.

This must be Miguel's home dimension. What did he call it?  Earth-3000-something? Nueva York, he said, and it certainly looks new—bright and fantastical, like nothing you’ve ever known before—but you only have eyes for the man in front of you.

Miguel pulls back slightly, squeezing down on your hand.

"So what do we do now? As long as I exist, the universe will still be out to get you," he says.

Despite the bleakness of the picture he’s painting, his eyes are soft and there’s something that sounds like hope in his tone.

You smile at him, eyes narrowing against the bright neon lights of the tall towering buildings around you.

"We live,” you answer, “Together. As long as we can. I hear you're some kind of genius scientist or something. I'm sure we'll think of something fun to do in the infinite multiverse."

“What do you want to do first?” he asks.

“Sleep.”

He's smiling at you, the corners of his fangs peeking out against his lower lip, eyes squinting in a way that makes him look almost boyish.

The sight of it makes your cheeks warm pleasantly and affection blossoms endlessly in your chest for him.

This isn’t the end, but if it were, it feels like it's a good one this time. Miguel walks out towards the ledge of the building, turning back to reach out his hand to you.

"Let’s go, Cielito."

[Nueva York, Earth 928-C]

The end.

Credit and Dedication: One final time, this is dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss who is my muse, my partner-in-writing-&-brainstorming, who makes writing so much more fun everyday.

And then of course. To everyone of you. We are finally here. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I want to thank everyone who has followed along in this story this entire time. Writing Every You Every Me has been one of the most joyous writing experiences I've had. That is largely because of you guys! Thank you for every heartfelt feedback you guys have left here, thank you for coming into my asks, thank you for clicking that little heart on the bottom letting me know you've read it and for the lurkers who has followed along all the while, thank you for taking the time to read this story of mine! Having this audience has made me grow so much as a writer. Having your company while I wrote this has brought me so much joy. Reading everyone's reactions and theories has been a privilege that not a lot of writers get in the process of writing a multi-chaptered story. Thank you so so much.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ CRAWL ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise. Crawling for the Devil is the least of your problems.

PAIRING: devil!yjh x reader (afab)

GENRE: fantasy | smut, pwp

TAGS: featuring: sub!ksy, artist!xmh, housemate!jww | auditory voyeurism, pegging (m receiving), fingering, hickies, face sitting, oral + face fucking (m receiving), tail play, degradation, crawling, spanking, swallowing, toys, manhandling, pnv

WC: 5.2k

A/N: hello! currently working on my thesis so writing this was a way to blow off steam. I also wasn't going to write another devil!jeonghan fic so thank you to @whenyourenothere for convincing me! this can be read as a standalone fic or a part two of red horn. special s/o to @junkissed for helping me figure out the tags for this fic bc there's a lot <33 - nu ♡ | tagging: @jjeongddol

himbocoups's masterlist

It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward. 

Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds. 

The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color. 

On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him. 

You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.

“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all. 

He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.

This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment. 

“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.” 

“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him. 

Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil. 

However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress. 

The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress. 

“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action. 

You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube it’s coated with prepares the toy for insertion. 

Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”

But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.

“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”

You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past. 

You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.

Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and the apartment windows propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet. 

Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry. 

“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass cheek. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him. 

Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm. 

“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”

Before you can re-experience all of what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet. 

You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission. 

Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door. 

“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”

The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages. 

Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.

He slams the door behind him and takes long and fast paced strides toward the bed until his figure towers over you. And the Devil himself smirks as he purposely leans down until his bangs dangle in front of his forehead and your entire upper body is pressed against Wonwoo’s sheets. His right hand presses into the space next to your left shoulder as he looks down at you with a pitiful look on his face. 

“What?” He almost scoffs at you in his beautiful light and airy voice. “You didn’t once stop to think that maybe all of this was my doing? That you would relive your memories with who was it? Kwon Soonyoung and Xu Minghao? You’re more fucking stupid than I remembered. Were you fucked too hard by Seungcheol that you lost a few braincells? Or was it with Joshua when you accidentally hit your head too many times against the inside of his car door?”

He cocks his head to the side as he grabs your chin with his left hand. Cold to the touch, this miniscule action has you struggling to catch your breath. He tilts your head left and right as if to carefully inspect what is his. 

“My pet,” he coos while letting go of your chin. Where his cool fingertips touched your skin now pricks with burning heat. And he takes his time to kneel on the bed while still hovering over your body. “This is the bedroom of the guy you get off to? You don’t think I know about how often you touch yourself while he fucks the people he brings over to this bedroom? And now you’re horny again? You want to fuck on the bed of the guy you want so deep in your gut?”

As stupid as you are, you find yourself shell shocked and in awe at the Devil on top of you so much that you unconsciously nod in agreement to every single humiliatingly detailed sentence that comes out of his mouth. The topic isn’t about Jeonghan and you, but the sexual tension established between the two of you knocks on your pussy and makes your mouth go dry. Fuck, maybe he is right. Fucking other men over the span of time since you last saw Jeonghan could never amount to what you felt when you were fucked by the Devil. Lost in your delusions, you could only get off to what you couldn’t have. And when the world’s most untouchable creature is currently so close to you that the collar of his black tee hangs so low that you can peek through the hole to see the expanse of his lean body, the warning signals your brain is desperately trying to send you are unfortunately dispelled by the eagerness of wanting to take a second dip. 

“How much do you want me?” 

“Enough,” you reply while staring straight into his eyes.

He wastes no time by pulling out his cock from his sweats as you sit up from your previous position. Cold and hard are the two adjectives you can use to describe the feeling of him tracing his cock along your open lips. But he won’t let you touch him. He won’t let you kiss him. He lets you starve as your eyes flitter between his cock on your mouth and his deceivingly beautiful face as he pumps his cock. And he taps his member on your lips, telling you to open your mouth wider. And you can feel him slip himself through the hole you made, how the veins on the underside feel against the smooth and warm inner part of your lips. You’re hungry. Starving. Basically wishing that he’ll let you close your mouth around him and suck him to the point you’re reminded that he had no soul to begin with. 

So when he commands you to suck, you do as he says. You lick the tip, wetting and coating it with your saliva. Swirling your tongue around the length, you warm up the member in your mouth as more of his salty taste coats your tongue. Then you close your lips around him in a perfect “O” while shifting yourself on your knees so you can take him better. 

You suck, hollowing your cheeks while gliding your mouth along his length. God, how you bend so easily for him. Your eyelids flutter as you continue to take him along his curved length. And moan while your mouth is plugged, a muffled moan of ecstasy when you feel him twitch while sandwiched between your lips. To make matters worse, whenever you look up at him as you edge yourself to take him in further, you see that he looks perfectly composed. 

“Wider, slut,” he tells you while pumping what you can’t take. His hand is on your jaw again, and he squeezes your jaw between his long fingers so that it stays open. Your pool of saliva escapes the corners of your lips and trails along your chin before it drops on Wonwoo’s sheets. And he fucks himself in your mouth by manually moving your head along his length, barely giving you enough time to flatten your tongue against the whole of his length. He pushes his length into your mouth and groans when you gag. 

He fucks your mouth to find satisfaction and get off on your uncomfortableness, watching you moan while struggling to keep up with his pace. His hand leaves your jaw and attaches itself to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair as he uses it to swing your head back and forth like the ping pong ball attached to a paddle toy. The two of you know that the rate in which he fucks your mouth is too much for you, yet you find pleasure in being used by the higher being while he fucks your mouth to the sounds of you struggling against his cock and the wet smack of your lips when you spit him out after he comes. You swallow what you have and hurriedly wipe the liquid white off your chin and lips. You watch him tearfully as he finishes with his cock in his hand and his seed on the bedsheets and your thighs. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you stutter as his angry red length bounces in front of your teary eyes. You want to lean in again to put him between your lips before he can punish you. You want him to call you names and make you feel bad about yourself. You want him to pump himself while he looks at you attacking the slit on his tip like how you want him to eat you out. You want to swirl your tongue around the spongy smooth surface before using the tip of your tongue to dig into the area in which his precum emits. 

Your thighs rub together to ease the unsatisfied throb of your core. You need stimulation from him in any way. Just a kiss. A touch. Anything from Jeonghan would probably edge you to completion, but he doesn’t want to help you. And you don’t want to give up this opportunity with him.  

“I’m s-sorry Jeonghan. Jeonghan, I’m sorry. Please…,” you plead as you watch him look down on you with a face of disappointment. You want to physically reach out to him to tell him you’ll do better, to tell him to give you another chance. But you see him take a few steps backwards and you’re sent into a state of frenzied lust and panic. You’ve never been so desperate to please, to complete a request from a man. You’re so deluded by the Devil that it feels as if your entire world will end if you don't please him or hold yourself up to his standards. 

Gone is the man who called you his Angel the first time he met you. In front of you is the Devil who willfully draws you in, who has you stumbling off of your housemate’s bed just so that you can crawl your way over to him in your blissful haze. The more Yoon Jeonghan steps backwards, the more your vision tunnels on his body as you crawl across the bedroom floor, not caring about how uncomfortable the hardwood floor is underneath your palms and your knees. 

When you come to your senses, you realize that it’s a different kind of hardwood underneath your body. Your naked body is displayed on all fours on Jeonghan’s large mahogany office desk like an object on display. You don’t even remember if you had your clothes on in the first place. But it feels as if the Devil suddenly wanted to bring one of the several trinkets he has displayed along his office wall to play with at his desk. You were confident that you could show him how much you’ve changed since you last saw him. Yet he has a way of proving how wrong you are. You’re no match for the Devil, and he intends to keep it that way. And in a way, to be displayed in front of him, it makes you feel as if you’re one of his prized possessions. 

Your eyes watch him as he circles around his desk while he looks you up and down. He’s no longer in his t-shirt and sweats, but in a classic white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black tailored slacks. Golden and thin-wired circular glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Protruding from the top of his head are his red horns. And this time, the long and forked tail that he previously kept hidden swishes behind his back. He brings the length of his long tail up to his left hand before tightly coiling it around the palm of his right hand like a long red rope. And one look from him through his glasses, a satisfying smirk and an arched brow, you know that you’re done for.

He takes the tip of his tail and traces it along your naked body, causing your body to jolt and shudder in response. He uses it like a teacher’s pointing stick, the tip running smoothly along the curvature of your body. He’s purposely toying with you, watching you try not to squirm every time he traces his tail anywhere near your glistening cunt. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He jests while planting himself at the edge of his desk behind your ass. It hits you that you heard this question before, and only now do you realize that the Devil has been playing with you all along. You feel him trace his tail along your cunt, letting a prong trace along your folds as if it were his finger. 

“Fuck!” you gasp out loud. “That was you?”

You feel the stinging pain on your ass after you hear the crisp slap ring into the air. Your stomach tightens as your pussy clenches in response.

“Shut the fuck up Yn,” he grunts. “Cumsluts can’t talk.”

You moan when you feel his tail go underneath a fold, causing your thighs to go weak. But he pulls his tail away from your core to tap it against your outer thigh. Hold yourself up, the action seems to say. So you gather your strength to maintain your position, ignoring the soreness in your knees and the fact that he’s been with you ever since you stepped into “Craig’s” office. When you spread your thighs, your sensitive cunt opens up like a flower in bloom, warm and wet against the stale office air. Jeonghan doesn’t ravish its beauty like how Minghao often does. He doesn’t want to. 

Although your forearms are tired and your thighs burn from exhaustion, your pussy pulsates like it’s its own living entity — full of life and eager to be filled. Right now, only Jeonghan can grant these conditions. And you’re willing to wait even if your horniness drives you mad. 

He firmly grabs your ass, angling it so that your glistening pussy is in full view. 

“From this point on, I’m going to make you scream my name like a requiem made for angels.” He forcefully pulls your ass back so that it’s pressed against his stomach while he leans over your figure so that his mouth is near your left ear. “I’ll ruin you if you try to crawl away. But I’d like to see you try.”

You’re pretty sure you already soaked his shirt in the place where your core was pressed against the fabric. It amazes you how he easily flips your body so that you’re laying flat on his desk with your legs propped up against the wood. Any further back, you would be in a mating press. 

You wonder if he can read your mind, how much you want to ride him up and down his length and for him to coat you so much that you’re left with soft and silken skin. Even if he tied your hands behind your back, you would still go on your knees to unbuckle his belt with your teeth. 

He’s been sensing your urgency since you summoned him. Looking at your sopping cunt and dragging the tip of his tail along your clit, he decides to ease the heat in your stomach by slowly pushing his tail into your core. You moan in response as you slowly adjust to its size, feeling everything from the way it fills your walls to the way it is as smooth as a glass dildo. You shudder at the way he pulls it out of you for a mere second before pushing it back into you, causing your stomach to twitch and your thighs to close around his hand.

He leaves his tail in you while he pries your thigh apart. 

“What’s the use in thinking about mounting my cock if you can’t even keep your legs open? What’s an ego if you can’t even embody it correctly?” he mocks you before bringing down the hand that once held his tail against your heat. The impact feels as hot as the way your arousal burns. You cry out in elated pleasure; one convulsion is enough to push the tail halfway out of you. “Useless excuse of a human,” he laughs at you before grunting as he pushes his tail back inside, twisting it as he plunges it in and out of you. “You’re all talk, yet you bend at the thought of me.” 

Cock-deprived, you clench around his tail as you gasp for air. Your pussy sucks the tail in and refuses to let go, making you mewl for Jeonghan to fuck you hard while he thrusts his tail in and out of you. “Nn-nh. Jeonghan! Ah- Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Use me.” You squeal and moan out loud as your high builds at an incredible speed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back arches off the desk and you feel as if you’re levitating. “I’m gonna come.” 

“Come.”

You cream at his command, coating his instrument in a thick and white sheen. Your stomach folds inwards as you whimper from the pleasure. He pulls his tail out of you while coaxing more out of you by lightly tapping your nub as you convulse. Overstimulated, you come another time, babbling his name and telling him how good you feel as you squirt against his slender fingers. 

“Look at you,” he coos. “You made a mess on my table only from my tail. What’s going to happen when you take my cock? You’ve already folded yourself into a fucking fetal positon, Yn.” 

You can feel your liquid drip from your pussy to your ass before it pools on the table underneath you. You feel so relieved and relaxed from your high, but there is still this insatiable need for the Devil to fuck you.

When he does, his cock fills you and squeezes you dry. His head rubs against the top of your walls while his veins work like a ribbed toy — adding more pleasure than you have ever experienced. Fingers digging into your thighs, he pulls out and slams back into you, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You want to scream out his name as you clench around his length, sucking him in and never wanting to let go. But the image in front of you is a sight to behold, leaving you breathless as you watch it unfold.

You watch him through your half-lidded eyes, the scene of him as he throws his head back. You can see the way he swallows your cum that coats the tail he sucks in his mouth, how his Adam’s apple bobs when the liquid travels down his throat. You’re nothing but an instrument for his pleasure, and he sure knows how to show it. 

He bucks his length into you so that it kisses the deepest parts of you, causing you to gasp and quake in your stomach. And he keeps it there with his legs pressed against your ass and the underside of your thighs. Slowly grinding against you, he revels in how you choke from the size of him and how you clench and unclench as if you’re struggling to hold on. 

He pops the tail out of his mouth, a long string of saliva like a web between the tip of his prong and his tongue. He looks like a character from a lewd illustration, so beautiful yet so deadly. And you find yourself into another dimension as he thrusts further into you, grunting as he watches you scream for him.

“Fuck!,” you scream as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re going to tear me apart.”

“Gonna,” he grunts between every thrust, increasing his pace with every word. “Make. You. Feel. Everything.” 

Your entire body trembles with pleasure, your breathing erratic. He continues to thrust into you, talking with his sweet tongue about how your slick and puffy pussy drives him insane. 

“There’s nobody in this world who can fuck like I do,” he reminds you. “Now squeeze me hard as I cum in you. We’re going to be making a new type of liquid.”

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[gaypirate420]

Haircut //Jasper W. Hale.

Jasper Whitlock-Hale x gn! reader.

Summary: Jasper did a thing while he was in a mood.

Angst/Fluff. Jasper icon by @jasperhaleobsessed

The vampire steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. The water dripping down his yellow hair, his pale hand wipes the steam off the mirror above the sink.

Golden eyes stare at his reflection.

Paper white skin decorated with deep scars. His muscles tensed up. He leans over, his hands holding hard on the sink, cracking it slightly.

It hasn't been a great week.

No, it hasn't been a great month. Year. Decade(s).

Since Victoria and her wannabe army of newborn vampires showed up he's been spiraling each day.

Slowly, the glass have been a drops away from spilling.

The memories just flooded his mind everytime he closed his eyes.

They're always there, but they're more vivid this time, he doesn't like this, Jasper knows this cycle too well, he doesn't want to be part of it again.

He thought he was getting better.

Jasper's been pushing you away and he's an idiot for that because he needs you, he needs you so so so bad but Jasper just can't tell you he's struggling. And he doesn't know why that is. Maybe he feels ashamed for being so weak, so broken.

There's a reason why you and him have been together for almost fifty years. You just bring the best of him and make the pain go away. Always.

A smile creeps on his face but it goes away quickly, he sighs and looks at the mirror one more time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jasper? Sunshine, you in here?" You asked while stepping inside the Cullen's house. The ironey flavor of blood still in your mouth after a successful hunt.

"...yeah." He mumbled from upstairs there was a slight shake on his voice. No waiting for you at the door? No bouquet of flowers? No forehead kiss? No 'Darlin' I missed ya.'?

Something happened. Something bad.

You approached your shared bedroom opening the door slowly.

Your eyes try to process what their seeing.

Jasper was sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes unfocused starring at the locks of hair on the floor. His pale fingers holding a pair of scissors, shaking.

And of course his hair. Short. Cut at random lengths after a fit of raw emotion. Anger. Sadness. Desperation. That's what his aura is filled with.

"Sweetheart..." You called softly and closed the door behind you. The vampire doesn't react to your presence at all, he just looks straight ahead, deep in thought.

Jasper catches on the steps getting closer to him and a gentle hand tilt his chin up gently to make his eyes meet yours. His almost numb expression makes you want to cry. The golden color of his eyes holds no shine, they're dull and empty.

"Hey, sunshine." You whisper softly and cup his face, leaning on your touch and a small gasp leaving his lips, if he was human he'll be all tears right now.

"Oh—it's okay, sweetheart." You whisper reassuringly. The blonde wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close, burying his face on your chest, taking a deep breath and drowning on your comforting scent.

You stroke his now short hair.

"...sorry" He whimpers against your chest trying to find some peace with your touch.

"Why are you apologizing, cowboy?" You whisper softly and caress his face, he can't look at you right now, he feel so ashamed because you're seeing him like this.

"... because— I'm a mess." His voice breaks and he holds closer to you. You just stroke his hair and kiss his forehead.

"...and my hair is ugly now." He added, a bitter chuckle follows. You take the scissors from his shaking hands and brush his hair down.

"May I fix it?" You asked before cutting anything.

"Can you?" He asks hopeless as he closes his eyes, he feels defeated, tired, he just wants to sleep but he can't sleep because of his nature.

"Well... either way I think you'll look handsome bald." You try to lighten the mood and it surprisingly works because his frown turns into a smirk. He nods and allows you to fix his hair.

You lean down to kiss his lips, a tender, slow and gentle kiss. He holds the kiss for longer, the feeling of your lips against his are a great distraction from the memories that are haunting him.

Jasper closes his eyes as you work on his hair. He doesn't know if the silence is dreadful or comfortable.

"Do you want to talk about what happened? I'm very worried about you, don't think I don't notice how distant you've been." You whisper with a serious expression.

He shakes his head slowly, the idea of discussing his feelings and pain being something he is not ready to do just yet. Your touches help in distract him.

"...maybe later, darlin', I'm sorry." Jasper whispers as he keep my eyes closed, focusing on the sensation of your fingers through his hair to avoid a relapse of his previous train of thought. He takes a couple of deep breaths as the gentle movement of your fingers helps him calm down and have a clearer mindset.

"Done." You said softly and clean his sweater from the fallen hair. You take on his image, his new look.

"You look real pretty, Jazz." You smiled, Jasper returned the smile in a much weaker way. He doesn't check himself in the mirror, he trusts you and knows you did a much better work than he did.

"....thank you, sugar." He whispers, feeling a little tired from all this. He holds your hand and kisses your palm.

"Cuddles?" You whisper back, he nods and picks you up to throw you in the bed with him.

He nuzzles his face on your neck, holding you so close to him. He takes a deep deep breath and closes his eyes.

".... you're- stuck with me forever...I'm sorry. You deserve someone better. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He whispers against your skin.

"I'm happy to have you forever. I don't want anybody else." You whisper back and kiss the top of his head. He smiles weakly and hols you close, nuzzling to you like a needy kitten.

"...and I'm happy I got you too. I don't know who I'll be without you." Jasper closes his eyes and leaves gentle kisses on your neck.

"I love you so much." You whisper.

"I love you more." He answer with a gentle whisper.

"hmmm, I don't think so. I love you more than that." You speak teasingly, he chuckles softly and hugs you tightly.

"I love ya a hundred times that." He answers with a weak voice, like he's very sleepy.

"Well, I love you a thousand times that." You speak with a following giggle, Jasper chuckles and kisses your lips once more.

He's going to be okay. Here in your arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: heyyyy, here's an angsty fic because an idea came to my mind thinking about why did Jasper has such a radical haircut in between movies. And I was like "that's how you cut your hair after a breakdown." Y'know? So here's this, hope you like it, requests are open!