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ur-mousey · 9 months

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Time Moves ~

Yandere! God! True Form! Sukuna x Disciple! F!Reader! Prt 1.

Part two

summary Sukuna demands attention from his out of breath disciple for leaving him alone. 2.2k warning mature, smut, possessive themes, mentions of bondage/imprisonment, pussy-eating, dub-con.

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

A god lies and waits, practically neglected. His legs are spread, his head rested on his hand, and that elbow dug into his thigh. These trips of hers get longer and longer, he thought to himself. He fought the urge to resist stroking his red-tipped hard-on. His other three arms found purchase somewhere on his hips. With other disciples, he didn't care for their comings and goings. He could easily find solace buried in another cunt.

His little pet, however, he needed to hold her down by a leash. Maybe it's because she's the only one at his side.

Sukuna, the God of Curses, was the first to cultivate spite, revenge, and war against the human race. But, he was needed more whenever your hands were held in a prayer nowadays. He was aware that the town below held wavering faith in his powers. Their earlier malice for other tribes settled throughout the centuries. And it is true that as a God, he has been weakened due to this time of peace.

It disgusted him to no end.

The smoke below was no longer a symbol of families' homes ravished by flames or hunkered-down soldiers. But, of baked goods warming in the oven.

You had begged for months to see the village below. The ghost of Sukuna's name from your lips weighted his balls with cum for you to drink. You gave kitten licks to his head, coaxing his pre-cum to splash the tip of your tongue. You earned your right to venture and partake in the new year markets below. Obedient to his demands despite how absurd.

Once a year, he had promised. And a god can lie.

The first year, you had left and came with a bounty of sweets. Most of which you had forgotten existed: sweet red bean buns, daifuku, green tea cookies. And a plethora more that Sukuna had cared less for. He scolded you for the lack of satiating meat in your haul. "Then you go," you whispered into his ear with a sharpness that bit.

"If only I could go without lifting a leg," Sukuna waved off.

That time, you sank to your knees, looking up at him. "My God! What is it that you want to try first? A sweet bun?"

So he took his favorite dessert. Your first year out of his sight bared its weight on your thighs. He discarded the bought goods across the floor. You had been gone merely three hours. However, Sukuna could not lift his head from your heat. Your saltiness kept his tongue pushed deep into her sopping hole.

Your feeble arms pushed against Sukuna, who has strapped you down at your waist. He knew that you were crying profusely. He wanted you to break down more upon his tongue.

Your nails drew blood from his shoulder blades as he held your legs wide. You had struggled to kick out at his thighs. Now, they twitched at the bite of his teeth on your clit. Sukuna would have chuckled at the pleas you made to unlock your neck. But, the collar that secured you to the floor fit you so snug. You were his perfect pet.

He sucked in between your flesh, tasting you over and over again to never forget that you were perfectly made for his sinful desires.

He overreacted. Ten days were spent in his personal heaven. And Sukuna couldn't tell if she enjoyed it herself.

>>>

Your salvation is at the top of the mountain where your God resides. At least, that's what you had told yourself at the base of those stone steps.

When you were staring up into the endless sky. When you could feel the trees wave and the birds sing blessings upon your journey. Now, all within your heart was the sound of ringing, the pumping of blood which aided in the spasm of your muscles. How much longer?

You thought you hated making the trip down in fear of toppling over, but it was the climb up that made you appreciate the respite of the poor village. It felt more humane talking to the workers below than doing endless cardio.

But days like these were rare. The villagers do not recognize you anymore, nor do you recognize them. Every day spent in the village are new faces and you are just a humble stranger. You doubt that whatever family you had left out there would know it is you.

Time moves differently on the mountain.

Your body felt like it would fall apart at the seams. Your bag was filled to the brim with food: savory meats, dried jerky, and sweets galore. You looked at the upcoming archway that marked the journey as being a third over with. The pillars hold familiarity fore this was as far as your God allowed you to step off of the immediate property. You can see the works of your crafted talisman plastered on every vertical surface. It’s maddening. Black ink smeared upon crimson parchment. Sukuna had glared at your work but he shrugged and let you be. That was long ago when humans gathered for his harem. You were the only left.

You knew that your God lied to you. Yearly visits to the mortal world easily showed you that more time has gone by. Today, a girl named Yumi worked at your favorite stall selling pastry goods. But the year before, it was the newly wedded Hiragashi couple. You remembered the young wife brimming with light, belly round and ready to pop. And you remembered how the husband begged his wife to sit while he handled the bustling night market. When you asked about the two, Yumi sighed, "They are my parents."

Hiragashi Yumi was that baby yet to be born, now she stood before you in her twenties. Her parents are significantly older when you're not.

Time moves differently on the mountain.

What were you to do? Your God wouldn't want to hear any of your plight. You doubt that this is a matter he would allow you to fight for.

He'd taunt you. He'd ask if it even matters when at the end of the day, you got to take the excursion. But, it terrifies you that you cannot tell the difference between a year and twenty.

You had to let it go.

You had taken the moment to set down your bag. The pillar felt like stone against your forehead. It was obviously made out of stone and the realization slammed into your pounding head. It's hard and grainy like time. You realized there were no memories before you laid eyes on your God. You try to calm your breath. Did you even have a family or a childhood? When did life begin for you? Will your life ever end or will it be determined by your God?

Vines coiled up the stone pillar, its leaves brushed against your flushed cheeks. You watched them grow each day. Water droplets slid from them to you, on you cheek. A cause from the earlier drizzle, you presume. It made you wonder if it was safe to cry. After speaking to Yumi, you admitted that you wanted nothing more than the comfort of home. Despite knowing better, there is nothing for you outside of the arms of your God.

"Pet, why the long face." Your body went rigid and you shot your head up the path. The moon shows half its face to the world. And like the moon, your God sat encased primarily in shadows. His eyes showed bright vermillion.

"My God, why have you come this far from the shrine?" You panted through the coils in your chest. You quickly gathered yourself to the best of your abilities. First, you start by kicking off your hard-to-walk-in sandals. Then you shimmed your hair from its tight bun, allowing the terraces to flow. The black rose pin that held the style together, you placed behind your ear. Lastly, you make work of the kimono. You had pestered your God to help tuck and tie to perfection. Now, it’s folded fabric that you set on top of your traveling pack.

You stood straight to be beheld. "Here, I bare myself to you." You do not own undergarments, you don't remember a time in which you would have. You bowed till you were sure that your whole body felt flatted into the mountain's steps. "My God."

"Come," Your God beckoned. "Drop the God."

"Yes Sukuna," You huffed out. "Shall I bring you any food or dessert? The night market was more lively than the last! I could hardly handle the long lines. And I thought we would have more fun watching the fireworks from within the courtyard."

"Quit yapping and come. I couldn't care less for mortal foods."

You make your ascent up the remaining steps separating you two. "Aw, I guess that I'm the only mortal food you'll eat." You let out a giggle through the racing questions. "I hope that you know that you are getting my stuff from below, it has been quite tedious for this mortal to make it this far."

Sukuna looked up into your eyes. You have made it in between his parted legs. You swayed there for a little bit before assuming your kneeling position. Your finger grazed Sukuna's hair before using his shoulder to brace your knees when hitting the slab below. Back straight. Bum placed directly over heel. And, your hands cling to each elbow behind your back in a straight line. "Bold to order me around."

"It was a suggestion."

"A hell of one." Sukuna placed his finger under your lips "Your chin should be lifted. Do you need a reminder? And where should your eyes be?"

"Retraining won’t be necessary." You lifted your chest higher to prove the point as you focused on Sukuna's manhood. His white robe left little to the imagination especially since he never ties it properly. His tattoos frame his sculpted abs and draw the eyes to his glorious v-line. And it's only if you don't do a double take of the smirking mouth protruding from the middle of his stomach. You are used to it and you have been more than aquatinted to how perverted it makes you feel.

"The long face, pet?" Your nickname was held off long enough to feel somewhat like an afterthought or an attack on your ego.

You sighed, "At the market... This girl I met was twenty, but when I met her last year, she wasn't born yet. I had talked to her parents."

You dared look up into Sukuna's four eyes, searching from one to the other which all stared back at you. "Oh pet, are you mad?"

"Should I be?"

"Why no, pet," Sukuna whispered. He bowed his head to rest his forehead against yours, coated in a film of sweat. "I could make you forget the thoughts running in your dumb head. You are a pet that only needs to know of her master." He scraped a finger behind your ear, taking the black rose pin and with his other hand, he swept your hair back to his liking. "But, if you are mad, I will allow you to pierce me with this. Hold out your hand."

You did as told. Now the metallic warmth of the pin weighed heavy on your conscious. "I don't wish to hurt you. And if I do this, you'll punish me."

"I lied. Pierce me for all I care. You are mad like me.” His blazed eyes hunger for the fear in yours “Your punishment will be a light one."

You shook your head, "No! No no no. I want to let this go! Let's enjoy the food and the fireworks. Please!" Before you could yank your arm away, your God gripped tight enough to bruise. With full awareness, you watched as Sukuna used your hand to shove the pin repeatedly into his chest.

At first, the skin doesn't break. Your hand throbbed from the forced handle you had to take. Your arms ached all over as you tried pulling away from the slashing. Screaming felt foreign but not unheard of coming from your throat. Moments like theses caused your mind to wonder. Were those cries even yours or someone else's? A spectator could be in the woods regarding the nakedness of your skin.

They could be the one screaming. The spectator has front-row seats to view the enormous stomach mouth gulp down blood. Or they were the one fighting, not you, to get away from Your God.

"Su-uuh kuna! Wh- why, why! Why are you doing this!?" You bellowed through gritted teeth, smacking against his chest.

"What did I even do wrong?" You felt the crash of your lungs. You felt the heaviness of your knees losing balance on the pavement which caused you to smack into Sukuna's right thigh. Your face felt hot. "I can't be mad! I don't have the right!" You shook your head, whipping hair everywhere. Snot ran down to your lips as you kept screaming. "I don't care if you lied! Why should I! I'm nothing more than a pet who would be nothing without their god!"

Sukuna squeezed your hand as he pushed the sharp pin in one last time before ripping your arms away. You fell backwards. catching yourself on the step below you. Your main find at last year's market, the black rose pin, looked dimmed when coated in blood. It stuck out of your God's chest where it rises and falls to the normal beat of his lungs. Whatever compelled you to buy the article of jewelry made you gag into your hands.

"Pet, I hate these excursions of yours. You know that."

.............................. Thank you for reading! This is my first attempt on making a smut! There will be a part two because I wanted to get this out on new years day! Please leave ideas in the comments! Request rules are here! I have an idea of where I want part two to go, but there is always room to stir the pot. HAPPY NEW YEARS!!! (technically a day late)

>>>

NEXT JJK POST: Yandere! Landlord! Geto Suguru x F!Reader

#sukuna smut #yandere sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #sukuna x reader #male yandere x reader #smut #smut fic #dom/pet #female reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen

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yearningandstillnotlearning · 1 month

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A r t .

- B.E.

Blurb :p | no use of any names for the characters, just “she” and “you”

a/n: first fanfic posted ever im so nervous | this was my yearning from some months ago i decided to make it into something more | please comment on your opinion on this im nervy

Not fluffy nor sexual but a secret third thing (sensual)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Have you got colour in your cheeks?

Leftover snack packets and crumbs of cookies and sugar littering the couch of the living room, clock read 12:38AM, its past midnight, yet for two girls with a sleep schedule as theirs, the night is still young, too young.

Family and friends long gone, others went home others went on dates, and another stayed behind to cherish this very moment.

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you’re in deep?

Laughs had hit the walls hours ago when they were once gathered up to 7, and even now at 2 laughs are still bouncing back and forth. Sneaky giggles and stupid jokes, unexplainable videos that just seem so funny when its late and for once youre not alone.

Energy drinks on the floor next to the bed and an annoyingly bright light hitting at the side to make up for the lack of sun, yet thats the last thing to bother you right now. Theres nothing that could actually bother you right now, not when you finally have her in front of you.

Ive dreamt about you nearly every night this week

Sketchbook in your lap, pencil in your hand and coloured pencils scattered along your side on the bed, criss crossed bodies mirroring each other face to face.

Even if your face wasn’t able to stay in one place. Even if your face couldn’t handle the urge to heat and melt your makeup off in the process, even if you couldn’t handle looking at her, as much as you couldn’t handle her looking at you.

How many secrets can you keep?

Your heart thumping in your chest the same way it does when you’re at a club next to the speaker, body shook with the beat of the speakers and the bass, and you couldn’t tell if its from the amount of energy drinks you’ve consumed this evening or her presence.

But this is better, oh this is way better, theres no eardrum-breaking noise, or people squished up together, stomach-stirring drinks, uncomfortable heels. None of that.

This is simply adrenaline in itself, it was the excitement pumping in your veins.

Cause theres this tune i found that makes me think of you somehow and i play it on repeat..

Emotions thumping at your heart and in your veins causing your blood to rush to your face, cheeks burning red, but the colour showed at your ears, palms so sweaty you hold your sketchbook carefully to not wet and bend the paper. Neck and collarbone stained with red rash spots, just how into her are you?

Shes not stupid now, you tell that to yourself to sleep better at night. She has noticed everything, a simple blood rush is nothing. The way you look at her when everyone is talking laughing and you’re quiet? When your choice of “recharging” your social battery is looking at and through her? When you’re alone and suddenly your voice drops to just above a whisper, sweeter than any sugarcoated candy? When you doodle her and her only out of so many people, there are 5 other people with you two, yet who do you draw the most? You spend all your effort and time on her, enjoyably so.

Until i fall asleep,

A hand picking up your own has a wave of goosebumps sent across your body, a wave of heat while doing so. An amused laugh breaks your gaze, from the mixed hands, up to her own stare.

Shes staring at you, and you’re wishing she would stare nowhere near you. The fear in your brain banging like a migraine, wordlessly telling you she sees it all, and the very same fear in your body, giving her all the confirmation she needs. Her eyes softening as her one-sided laughter dies down, and you’ve yet to actually see her. So far you have been too caught up in your own thoughts to see in front of you until now.

A hand holding your burning one to her also heated cheek, and a twinkle in her eye right between that blown out pupil and icy blue cloud that dances like the stars do on the dark night sky right outside the window.

“I knew you felt it too, Im not crazy to like you”

spillin’ drinks on my settee.

#my writing #FIRST TIME IM SCARED #⚢#Xandra’s work⭑.ᐟ #billie eilish #forgot to mention #loser reader #lol #blurb #oneshot maybe #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish blurb #wlw post #wlw yearning #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader

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w-wolfhard · 10 months

Note

hi would u write for rodrick heffley? i’m living off of crumbs lmaoooo

paring : rodrick heffley x f!reader.

warning(s) : none.

a/n : yall oh em gee i havent been on tumblr in so long holy shit😭 missed y'all😪 also i'm writing f!reader cus thats what im used to but if ya need me to write it differently i could try and do so 🫡🫡

in which y/n & rodrick try to bake cookies for a thanksgiving party but fail horribly.

it was thanksgiving weekend and rodrick's family next door was throwing a party. everyone had to bring a dish if they wanted to enter, so there you were; in your house next door, trying to bake a batch of last minute cookies with rodrick.

he pulled out the cookie dough from the fridge, slapping the package on the counter, "soooo.." he sighed. "do you know how to do this?" rodrick questioned, looking at the package of cookie dough as if it were a question from his previous math test.

"sure i do!" you said hesitantly. "you just have to– i dunno." you sighed as well.

"well okay.. that's fine. that's alright! neither of us know how to bake fucking cookies but that's decent!" he tried to be enthusiastic but he just sounded stupid.

"rodrick no, we're being fucking dumb. we don't even have to make the cookie dough. how are we gonna fuck this up if the cookie dough is already made?!" you rambled, slapping the cookie dough.

"i don't know man! it's you and i, and we could never cook!"

"we've never even tried cooking, dumbass!" you slapped your forehead. "y'know what, directions exist for a reason; let's read the directions." you told him, taking a deep breath.

"nuh-uh! directions are for babies, y/n. we're highschoolers, we can do this without that dumb shit." he scoffed.

"yeah, we're highschoolers that don't know how to bake cookies," you bit the inside of your cheek. "if you don't wanna read the directions then be the director! go on, i'll follow."

"fine! then i will," he folded his arms. "why dont we just roll up the cookie dough into a ball, place it on a paper plate then pop it in the oven?" he said proudly. "ya ever thought of that smartass?"

"i'm glad i haven't, 'cause what in the world kind of plan was that. you sound like a kindergartener rodrick." you narrowed your eyes at him and he looked at you offended. "seriously?! a big ball of cookie dough, on a paper plate, in the oven? we'll blow up or something!"

"will not!" he argued.

"gosh, i'm dating someone insane," you muttered.

"well do you got a better plan? 'cause if you do, i'd like to hear it." rodrick scoffed.

"how 'bout we, i dunno, read the directions?"

he groaned, giving in. "fine. just so we can get this over with so we could finally feast back at my house."

you chuckled and picked up the package, reading what it says; step #1 – get a trey. step #2 – put small pieces of dough onto the trey. step #3 – bake the cookies in the oven at 350° for 10-12 minutes. step #4 – take them out let them sit for a bit & feast on your cookies!

"that's basically what i said—"

"that's the complete opposite of what you said." you cut him off, shaking your head. you both did as the directions said; rodrick handed you the trey and you covered it with parchment paper while rodrick was preheating the oven. you and rodrick made small balls of dough together and placed them on the trey, spaced out good enough.

once they finished doing all that, rodrick popped the trey of cookies into the oven and closed it. once they finished, they pumped their fists in the air, celebrating. "woohoo! we so just did that!" you gave him a high five.

"definitely! i can't wait for them to be done!"

"yup, then we can finally go to your place and feast on the funnel cake your mom made." you licked your lips.

you both cheered and went over to the couch in your living room and watched tv. you guys were so indulged in the movie that was playing that you forgot about the cookies. except the smell reminded the both of you. "rodrick! the cookies!" it's definitely been over 10-12 minutes since you guys last popped those in the oven.

"fuckfuckfuck" rodrick hurriedly took out the cookies which looked burnt but still looked edible. you both sighed, "well we tried?"

"did we rodrick, did we?"

"yes we did." he nodded slowly. " atleast that's what we'll tell them," he chortled, grabbing two paper plates and stacking the cookies on it neatly, he made his way to the front door while you followed. he handed you one of the plates, as he unlocked the front door, "after you m'lady."

"never call me that again," you both laughed and he shut the door behind him locking it. he picked a cookie from the top of the stack, "cheers to shitty cookies on thanksgiving?"

you chuckled and grabbed the cookie on the top of your stack, "cheers to shitty cookies on thanksgiving." you clinged your cookies together and then took a bite.

god were they burnt.

you both forced yourselves to choke it down. "i'll stick to your mom's funnel cake." you sighed as rodrick unlocked his front door.

"yeah same."

susan answered with a grin, "hello y/n! come in, come in!" she stared down at your cookies and her grin morphed into a different look, "are those edible?" she motioned to the cookies in your guys' hands.

"well yeah, but i advise that you don't eat them. leave it to the little ones to chow it down." you snorted and rodrick nodded in agreement.

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley x you #rodrick heffley x y/n #diary of a wimpy kid #doawk #doawk rodrick #✿┊𝐬𝐞𝐛'𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬!

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kaiso-woo · 10 months

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Cookie Dough

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> Masterlist

BONUS #4 - Connections to ‘Stay Series’! This occurs on Christmas Day - right after the Skz Family has finally left your house in PART 14 - Merry Chris-mas (Felix Never Bad)

WC: 1.1k

Synopsis: So does anyone remember this from PART 14?

“You think we aren’t married?” You ask, sliding the bowl away from Chris for the umpteenth time, “Christopher get your paws out of Felix’s baking.” “He doesn’t mind.” “I mind,” you finish, turning away for a second to turn the oven on, only to have to lunge back for the bowl because Chris has nicked it again.

“Okay, here’s the deal baby, you either let me eat some of this or I eat you out later,” Chris wolfishly demands…

Notes: SMUT, PussyDrunk!Chan, Overstimulation, Oral (F Receiving), Traffic Light System (Used), Fluff?, Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, Idol!Chan, Fem!Reader

Here for a reading marathon? Head right back to the start!

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BONUS #4

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

You were on your phone. You were on your phone, lying on your bed on your god damn stomach, completely at ease with the world.

"Yeobo~" You had just showered, literally just showered, changed into pyjamas and were ready for bed. "Can I have my dessert please, honey?" You frown and roll over just enough so you can stare at Chris, standing at the bottom of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. "There's ice cream in the fridge... and Felix's cookies that we made today... why're you asking me for dessert?"

Chris tilts his head slightly, his eyes scanning you from head to toe mischievously, "Not what I meant..." he whispers.

How hungry for dessert was he, exactly? Because Jesus Chri-

“Please…” he whines, grabbing your hips and dragging you back down to him, “Please baby. I need more.”

You groan and try to wriggle out of his grip, thrashing against his strength.

“Baby- baby c’mon. Please. I need more. You taste so fucking- god- so fucking good,” he breathes, the warmth against your heat making you shudder. Before you can argue with him, he hoists your legs over his shoulders again, tongue immediately lapping at the slick of your folds.

You release a drawn out whine and shovel your fist into your mouth, struggling to cope with the relentless pace of his tongue. In no time you’re quivering underneath him, his expert tongue swiping the places he knows will make you lose all sense of reality.

“Chris-” you moan, hand flying to lock into his curly hair and tug desperately, writhing, “Too sensitive- s’too much fuck Chris- Christopher-” He hums and sucks particularly hard at your clit, sending rockets of pleasure and pain shooting up your spine.

“Honey I know you can handle this. I know you can. You can do this for me, yeah? Please baby?” He begs, eyes drilling into your teary own, as two of his fingers sneakily slip into your aching hole. He groans at the sound of you whimpering, his other hand tightening on your thigh.

“Oh baby that’s it, moan for me. Let me hear you. I need more baby. I want more,” he continues, mouth falling open in loud pants as he pumps, his third finger sliding in with ease. You squirm and buck against him, trying desperately to muffle your moans instinctively, the precise opposite of what he’s asked.

He notices your attempts to silence yourself and growls, bringing his face down to suck in annoyance at your clit, “I said moan for me sweetheart," he demands against your heat and a pathetic groan escapes you. “There we go. 'Atta girl~”

The combination of his fingers and his tongue is splitting every last remaining brain cell you possess into eighths, his praise and sounds of pure desire at your own pleasure making your heartbeat intensify, your legs shake intensely, incomprehensible words falling out of your mouth.

Eventually, he removes his face from your core so he can watch your expression again, his eyes wide with rapt attention, his mouth parted in awe. If even possible, his fingers speed up, and he licks the juices around his mouth attentively.

“I could listen to you moan like this all day darling. 24/7. Fuck you with my fingers all the time. Yeah? You like the sound of that, don’t you?”

This is not good. His dirty talk. This is not good for you.

“You’re so tight and it’s just my fingers baby. How many times have you cum already, hm?” You’re struggling to think, let alone answer him, and when you don’t, his eyes darken. In a slow, taunting gesture, he leans down to lick an excruciatingly teasing line up the folds of your pussy.

“How many?” “Three three threehee-” you slur out, repeating the words over and over, in a daze.

“And why’s that?” “Ughh- fuck- fuck Chris- fuck it’s cause you- you feel so good- s'good- so good-” your voice dies in your throat pathetically as he curls his fingers and pumps harder, leaning over slightly for a better angle.

“Hm? What was that?” He asks innocently, juxtaposed against his devilish grin. “Your fucckahh fingers. Chris- I can’t- wait, please- sensitive-”

He ignores your last comments and places a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, “I’ll spell it out for you love, since you can't seem to function like a normal human being."

If he wasn't currently digging you into your own grave, you might have found the willpower to glare at him for his snarky attitude. Unfortunately he seems to love exploring what he's long since discovered, and you could do nothing but squirm.

"You’ve cum twice because of my fingers. And you’ve cum on my tongue because you taste so fucking delicious. I can’t get enough of you, isn’t that right? This meal? It’s mine. All for me. Whenever I'm fucking hungry.”

Your breath intensifying and your walls clenching around his fingers in a spasm lets Chris know you’re about to snap - so what does he do? Pulls his fingers out, briefly edging you. (A/N: I wanna throttle this man - non-sexually - for real sometimes, and I wrote him :|

You whine in desperation and open your mouth to complain when his fingers are replaced with his tongue flicking rapidly at your hole, diving in as deep as he could reach, hitting that soft spot straight away.

“Fuck Chris! Chris- oh shit-” you scream, that white-hot pressure picking up right where it was left off, washing over you with such force that you swear you dip into darkness for a second. When it dies down and the world slams into you heavily, you realise Chris is still lapping at your juices, eagerly sucking and licking, slurping away at the liquid between your legs.

He’s like a vampire. For your cum. His groans are sinful, pleased at having made you cum for the 4th time using only his mouth and fingers. But the overstimulation is too much. You can already feel that pressure building in your lower abdomen, and you’re worried that you’re seriously going to break something if you let him continue.

So amidst your whining and gasps, you manage to stutter out, “Red- red- Chris- red.”

You didn’t have to repeat the word at all. As soon as it fell from your lips the first time Chris stops his actions, breathing heavily. He wipes the excess from his chin and crawls to lay on top of you, placing a tender kiss to your lips - and you can taste yourself slightly.

He snuggles into your neck, trying to control his breathing and simultaneously stroking the side of your face, taking the time to brush any stray strands of hair away and tuck it behind your ear.

“Thank you love. You did so well for me. I'm so proud of you, thank you. Are you okay?” He mumbles, placing adoring kiss after adoring kiss on your neck, “Does it hurt too much? I’ll go get you a drink, yeah? Pineapple juice? Water?”

He makes to roll off you and leave, but you grab his shirt and pull him back, “It’s fine Chris. I’m okay… just… just stay with me please?” “I’m sorry,” he sighs, wrapping himself securely around you again, “I kind of lost myself there, you know what I'm like...” “You don’t say…” you laugh, stroking the curls at the back of his head affectionately.

“Not my fault you taste better than that cookie dough,” he grumbles, and you sigh in defeat. “You’re a man of your word, aren’t you?” “I gave you the option. Let me eat the cookie dough or-” “Okay okay- shush. Point taken.”

Point taken, indeed...

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> Masterlist

And you've reached the complete end of 'Stay Series'! I hope it's been enjoyable :D

Until we meet again! - Kaisowoo

#bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #stray kids #bang chan fanfic #skz #bang chan #christopher chan bang #bang chan fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic

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candyredmusings · 2 months

Text

Harvester (1996) Sentence Starts

A whole mix bag, but mostly NSFT and/or crack Change pronouns/gendered terms as needed!

"You killed your family?"

"You always were a kidder, [NAME]!"

"You can't live without a spinal cord, son. Nothing unnatural about that."

" You'll rot your mind playing games like that..."

"Is God a jar of strawberry preserves, a size 12 sneaker, a footlong Hogie, an all-expense paid trip to Brazil, or a NEWWW CARRRRR?"

"Pot roast isn't for backstabbers. For persecutors! I won't share my meat with him!"

"Hello, [NAME]. Care to stay for some pot roast?"

"My meat! MY MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!"

"Ah, shit! Ah, shit on a stickaroo!"

"What are you talking about, this TV is brand new! There are no TVs with color on them."

"When a bee stings, it rips itself apart and dies for its audacity. This appeals to those worshipping a God that demands sacrifice and atonement. But the wasp is promiscuous. They are not as sympathetic to the masses because they don't die when they sting. They live to sting another day... and they take pleasure from that."

"Cut the crap. We both know you set that fire."

" I'm not threatening you...I just want to help."

"You can't shoot me... I'm an American! I have rights!"

"Ahhh... art's for Commies, anyway."

" You're a little vain, huh?"

"Uh, you're not that hot... get over it, toots."

"Yeah, I offed him all right."

"Nah, a nice fairy left it under my pillow."

"You're welcome to have this evidence, with my compliments."

"But what about civic responsibility?"

"You're a little brat."

"But you're a woman."

"Sure, I'd love to get it on with the ladies!"

"What's communism got to do with anything?"

"How can you SAY something so horrible?"

"[NAME]'s a swell name! My dog's name is [NAME]!"

"Nothing like an exploding head to get the blood pumping. . . . Literally, that is."

"The hell it is! You always were a kidder, [NAME]. Any real news to tell me?"

"I mean I don't know anyone! I don't remember anything! How many times do I have to say it?!"

"I need to feel something again."

"Yeah, I know what that crazy little bitch said, but it's not true!

"What makes you so sure she needs a penis?"

"I'd rather die than become as twisted as you."

"Would I kid about something like that? Why won't you believe me?"

"Screwing in the school broom closet. What will people think?"

"I did not speak, but my mind touched yours."

"I expect nothing. What must unfold will."

"Sure would be nice to have one'a them girly pi'cher books..."

"I don't know what it is about marriage that turns even the bravest man into a coward!"

"[NAME] has a... a liking for me. I'd call it a crush, but that's too innocent a word."

"That child needs a father. . . and [NAME], well she needs a good, hard penis."

"Money isn't everything for a woman. Can money keep you warm at night? Can you wrap your thighs around it, or rake bloody gashes in its back with your painted, harlot fingernails?

"There's things you don't know about the family business... but you'll learn."

"I am glad to see you taking an interest in the business in your dad's absence."

"Safeguards? There ARE NO SAFEGUARDS ... This is the fifties."

"Sometimes I hide in there beforehand, and daddy-o, I seen some stuff that's real nasty!"

"You were always a smiley bear."

"I know it's a mystery to you... The sacred things husbands and wives do behind closed doors."

"I could use a little relaxation ... But since [NAME] isn't here, I guess I'll talk to you."

"I'd rather die than become as twisted as you."

"You insult my beauty?"

"Well that didn't work."

"Shocked? This is the mystery of motherly love."

"Everyone says motherhood is fulfilling, when in reality it's draining."

"Violence is as American as apple pie and low SAT scores!"

"From the start, children are parasites. That's what you've got to understand."

"How about some cookies? There's some rejects in the trash!"

"I'm not a person, [NAME], I'm an object."

"Young man/woman/one, we really have nothing to say to each other."

"Say, can you spare a dime for a buckaroo who's down on his luck?"

"Things'll never be the same now. Guess I'll be watching TV tonight..."

"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself ... Killing my clientele."

"Excuse me, you can't come in right now, I just mopped the floor."

"I don't remember you."

"Land's sakes! Stop your joshing, wont you?"

"You look just like my mom ... Except for the hair."

"There's nothing bizarre about baking cookies."

"Only those who seek enlighten warrant my attention."

"I've never believed in the old adage, 'spare the rod and spoil the child' ... A rod is too thin. But baseball bat, that works quite nicely."

"My stars that was exciting!"

"Good women can be awfully hard on a man's needs, don't'cha know."

"That man gives me the willies ... Speaking of willies, how's your father?"

"That's right, I am the law ... And I'm on my lunch hour."

"Sometimes, I hide in there beforehand and daddy-o! I've seen some stuff that's really nasty!"

"Are you blackmailing us, you little shit?"

"Why are you covering up for him [NAME?]"

"Obviously, [NAME] is a lesbian."

"Lack of respect for authority ... A fine trait!"

#roleplay memes #inbox memes #ask prompts #inbox prompts #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #source: harvester (1996)

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r3leee · 9 months

Text

winter wonderland

wanted to pump out a little gift for y'all before christmas 🫡 also i DESPERATELY needed to write for my girl gwen ugh love her 🫶🏻 (i’m legally married to her in case you’re wondering)

pairing: gwen stacy x fem!reader

summary: headcanons for being gwen's girlfriend during winter <3

warnings: established relationship, cursing, implied-girly/femme!reader, reader is shorter than gwen, tooth-rotting fluff, reader celebrates christmas

word count: 687, should take about five and a half minutes to read

listen to: winter wonderland by beabadoobe

i don’t imagine gwen being a cold weather girl

she would much rather prefer walking in the park with you over trudging through piles upon piles of snow

she definitely has soft hands (calloused from her drumsticks, but soft), so she hates winter because her hands get all dry and cracked

her cuticles also get really bad, girl’s hands look like this:

but no need to worry, because her pretty girlfriend’s to the rescue!!

every day you SLATHER this girl’s hands in lotion and pluck her cuticles

you also paint her nails in her current favorite color and she does yours <3

even with hating winter, she has so many poofy jackets

they surprisingly look so good on her

whenever you see her in one, you always HAVE to go and give her a big bear hug because what else are you supposed to do?? she looks like a fucking marshmallow!!

when you say you’re cold, she always insists on giving you her jacket. of course you protest every time, but it never works

she of course wants her girl to be warm, but she always wants to see how dumb you look in the jacket (girl’s 5’8 and has muscles [you can’t convince me otherwise], of course you’re gonna look like an idiot in it)

she’ll take a picture and post it on her story and you’ll be like “ gwen noooo :((” and she’s all “oh, I’m sorry. can’t help that you’re smaller than me” 😭🫶🏻

sometimes you convince her to go out in the snow with you

it takes a while, but once she’s out there, she won’t go back inside

she is absolutely a BEAST at snowball fights

you’ll be hiding behind a tree holding your snowball, and she’ll come out of nowhere and hit you right in the face

you have to yell at her to stop at some point because it’s just snowball after snowball and you’re starting to get cold

you guys also make snowmen, i don’t make the rules

hers always look kind of demented tho

shit’s looking like this:

“gwen, what the fuck is that 😭”

“that’s harold. what do you have against him?”

“he looks like he got thrown in a blender…”

“your face looks like it got thrown in a blender.”

“you’re so rude!! ☹️ you know what, at least mine looks better.”

christmas is the absolute best with her

you guys would have a tradition of giving each other the most ass gifts ever, like cat socks or shrek earrings

one year she legit gives you coal

the next you get her an empty pringles can, you get the process

sometimes she actually turns up and gets you something good that reminded her of you

one year she literally gave you this amazing dress

satin in your favorite color that came down to your knees with lace on the edges

“where’d you get the money for this?!”

“i have my ways.”

“i swear to god, if you spent all your money on this…” (she did)

needless to say, it’s your new favorite dress

she also loves baking with you, even though she‘s ass at it

you’re trying to make snowflake cookies and they end up looking like a fucking whale

also the dough’s super inconsistent because she poured almost the whole bag of flour in 😭

poor girl cannot follow instructions for the life of her (I don’t believe in consistency LMAOLMAO)

the cookies are so bad you almost gag trying to eat them but at least you spent quality time with your girlfriend!!

if there’s one thing she does know how to make tho, it’s hot chocolate

she has a killer recipe, but she refuses to give it to you

says it’s a family recipe that can absolutely NOT be shared

after a day of her kicking your ass with the snowballs, her hot chocolate’s the best thing to perk you up

your cold hands will graze each other’s as she hands you your mug <3

you’ll cuddle while the snow falls outside, her arm gently around your waist, tons of blankets over you two

#spotify #gwen stacy #gwen stacy x y/n #gwen stacy x you #spider-verse #spider-man: into the spider-verse #itsv #spider-man: across the spider-verse #atsv #reader insert #fluff #tooth-rotting fluff #Spotify

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duckdotcom · 2 years

Text

i'm sending your grandma a delicious recipe for chocolate chip cookies that are better than the ones she usually makes and when she tries it and realizes this she will be faced with a choice. she can admit that the delicious new cookies are my recipe, not hers, which is the pure and right thing to do. or she can take credit for them and finger me as a liar when i try to contest her claims. after all... who would believe a scoundrel like me over a poor sweet innocent grandmother? but now she's in deep. these are her cookies and she's paid for them with the blood on her conscience. and for a while it's great. the delighted praise from her children, the consequence-free joy of pumping sweet sugary treats into their children. but then the pressure starts to get to her. "what's next for you?" people ask. they want another culinary miracle, but she has nothing. she comes to me, begging, pleading for me to share something, anything. a prize-winning strudel, or maybe a matchless fudge brownie. but why should i help her? what has she ever done for me except drag my name through the mud? so she takes to the streets, meeting in unsavory places with even less savory people. people who push baked goods the world isn't ready for yet. and maybe she learns a thing or two. maybe she makes a few deals that she knows will leave her looking at the wrong side of an early grave someday. and she rises like a star through bake sales and competitions and live demonstrations with talk show hosts, always looking over her shoulder. and one day someone comes knocking, looking to collect on promises made in the dark, what feels like so long ago it might have been a dream. and they knock. and knock. and finally, when the door seems beat within inches of falling off its hinges, she answers. and the debtors that she braces herself for are not there. only i am there. only i remain. and i say nothing, for nothing needs to be said. and she understands. and she accepts it graciously and without protest. our business is concluded and i abscond into the night. she absently tries to remember her favorite family cookie recipe... and fails.

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wreckmetoji · 6 months

Text

Pastries and Peaches

A fic in which your local priest convinces you to help with the Easter bake sale

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/M!Reader

content warning. amab reader, profanity, so much religion, smoking, oral sex, anal sex, daddy kink, creampie, fluff, soft wolfwood STILL makes me weak in the knees

this fic only exists because i was showed the most godawful peach hawaiian shirt at academy sports and my immediate thought was "wolfwood would absolutely wear that". happy easter!

minors DNI

A continuation of Angel Eyes, Cold Heart.

8.3k words

Easter bakesales; the heart of any good God-fearing suburban family. Only they can get you to feel too guilty to say no to their blue-eyed, blonde-haired cookie cutter children trying to sell you Betty Crocker instant brownies made half-assed by trophy stay-at-home wine moms.

You never bothered attending in previous years. You were always the volunteer (read: coerced) kitchen slave working behind the scenes, pumping out ridiculous amounts of chocolate toffee cookies and lemon lavender blondies– something most everyone insisted was far too much of an acquired taste to do well at a church bake sale, but always seemed to sell out first three consecutive years in a row. Eat it, Susan.

This would be your first year actually showing up to the function; Father Wolfwood having managed to convince you quite thoroughly when he had you folded under him begging for more a couple weeks prior. You couldn't find yourself staying mad about it, even if you did initially give him a huff and the cold shoulder over the fact he took advantage of your... somewhat submissive nature in such a vulnerable position. But to be honest; you probably would have done it even if he'd asked you without incentive. Which, in itself, was a bit of a head scratcher for you– after all, why would you willingly surround yourself with the people you so vehemently loathed on the average Sunday? Why would you want to see them both of your free weekend days?

Regardless of how or why, it brought you here; rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you yawned away the last vestiges of blissful unawake, slouched over in a creaky old dining chair. Waking up at six in the morning wasn't new to you working full-time, but somehow it was so much harder on weekends when you knew you could still be curled up under the blankets warmed by another body.

Taking a deep breath, you eased yourself to sit up properly, tired eyes looking across the wooden table and locking onto your beloved priest as he flipped through some papers attached to a clip board– no doubt the preparations list for set-up and who was bringing what and when.

In his tired state, softer around the edges, you always found yourself taking an extra long moment to soak in the strange sense of domesticity that settled around you like rays of golden sun peaking through parts in tree leaves and branches. The lazy grin he would give you upon seeing your usually much more disheveled morning state first thing, the soft kiss he would place to your temple without fail on his way to the coffee maker, paired with the gentle warm of a hand on your hip.

Small things like that made your heart squeeze whenever you managed to experience it. It wasn't often you could stay over with him, but after being there a day or two a week over the course of several months you'd managed to get a good idea of the routine.

"Oh, Jesús, a través del Inmaculado Corazón de María, te ofrezco mis oraciones, trabajo, alegrías, sufrimientos de este día, en unión al Santo Sacrificio de la Misa para el mundo–"

It was the longest standing relationship you've had– let alone the longest standing healthy relationship– and you often found yourself staring at him with perplexed intrigue when things were quiet and intimate between you, when you would simply exist in the same space together. More than a few times had he met your gaze mid contemplation, always tipping his head quizzically at your furrowed brows and pouted lower lip.

And yes, you found yourself even more befuddled by it in moments like these, sat at his shitty little two-seat dining table in the lofted living space of a church, clad in only your boxers and an oversized t-shirt that certainly wasn't your own. Befuddled by exactly what you found so endearing, what made this feel like two pieces of a puzzle locking together as Wolfwood murmured his morning prayers with his forehead in his hand, elbow propped up on the table.

The longest standing healthy relationship you've had also happened to be one kept secret from friends and family– and the entire general public, really. Sensibly. It was something that made you think every now and then, but you knew better than to look a gift in the mouth like that. Maybe not having other people constantly sticking their noses in your business allowed for a healthier personal dynamic, allowed you to look inwards for more introspection instead of having every other person giving you their shit opinion and clouding your judgement. Not like you were ever one to listen to advice you were given by your peers anyways.

"Hey, space cadet," His gruff morning voice catches your ears, not realizing you had temporarily gapped out in place observing the surprising softness that was Wolfwood. You blinked in return, shaking your head and inhaling deep.

"Sorry, still waking up. What did you say?"

"You okay to start setting up the tables outside while I get ready?" He asked, most likely a little slower this time.

Again, you were met with the glaringly obvious truth that despite you not being a motivated person, nor necessarily inclined to help out with anything that had to do with churches that contributed to your lifelong religious trauma; you would do anything for Wolfwood. You didn't even give it a second thought before shrugging, nodding your head while gazing at the disgustingly dark liquid in the mug before you. Wolfwood always said I don't have creamer, you don't need creamer, and you always tried to argue that you don't hate yourself quite enough to drink black coffee on a regular basis. He'd just laugh.

As if sensing the disdain simmering just under the surface, you heard Wolfwood snort, immediately followed by him standing from place and pacing over to the ancient fridge. You quirked a brow, watching him reach down to the lower section of the door, before stepping back over to the table.

The vanilla sweetened creamer thunked down in front of you normally wouldn't be such a big deal, not if you hadn't known the only reason he had it was for you specifically. That blanket of domesticity washed over you once again, heart squeezing and chest feeling tight. It wasn't like you to settle into something so comfortable and be fine with it, not run from the possibility of something steady or stable.

Perhaps that's why he didn't say anything or expect anything, simply sitting back down in his seat with one leg crossed over the other, arm slung over the back of the chair as he continued reading through his list.

"Y'know, the toffee one is better," You murmured teasingly as you cracked the seal and poured a generous amount into your mug. He only scoffed, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

The longest standing, healthiest, most comfortable relationship you've had... and it was with your local small town priest. If God was real, at least he had a sense of humor.

Everything went by much quicker once you'd managed to wake yourself up– blissfully sweetened coffee being a large contributor– so you found yourself slightly less grumpy as you pulled out plastic tables and chairs from the storage room and walked them all the way around the side of the building to set up near the gazebo.

Rolling your sleeves up to your elbows, you turn your wrist to check the time, noting the influx of newest edition mom vans pulling into the gravel church parking lot. Most likely the keener I'm better than you families– grandmas definitely not excluded. The anxiety began to rise in your chest as you glanced towards the church, no sign of Wolfwood in sight.

Setting up the chairs and tables for the bake sale, you didn't mind doing. Having to be the personal greeter, you did mind, since you knew from the bottom of your heart you'd get some kind of out of pocket, backhanded comments from the more... devout personalities.

Deciding to choose your battles this early in the morning wasn't exactly on your agenda, but it's not like you had a choice as a couple of old women your mother surrounded herself with walked up the concrete stairs, immediately greeting you with quizzical looks. You force a tight smile, give a slight wave as you pull the metal legs out on a table and set it down to stand.

"What are you doing here? Where's Father Wolfwood?"

"I'm doing good this morning, thanks for asking, Deborah," You reply, setting up a few chairs behind the table before evening the vinyl tablecloth over the top. It was tacky; a white base covered in peaches with verdant leaves behind them.

Upon glancing up, you could see your snide reply went completely over their heads, only receiving the blank lead-poisoning stare as they awaited expectantly for you to answer their initial questions. With a sigh, you straightened your back, hearing the adjoining cracks in return.

"He's just getting things ready inside, should be out in a bit," You decidedly answer only one of the two questions, considering the other would be much more incriminating and you weren't ready to deal with that amicably.

They nodded, pleased with the answer, before chatting amongst themselves and setting their containers of baked goods down on the tables you had already set up.

At some point the sun started to rise up a little too high, beat down a little too warm, and the growing crowd of nosey church-goers was doing nothing but grating your nerves down to the bone. Arguments of where things would look better, demanding more chairs to be set up, and of course since you were the designated helper assigned by the beloved priest himself, you were to comply with any requests or suggestions. It certainly didn't help when your mother showed up either, commenting on how you could have worn a more formal shirt, or that you were scuffing up your good Sunday shoes. It was ironic, considering you were finally here after years of her harrassing you to attend. You couldn't ever please the woman.

With clenched teeth, you pinch bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, heaving out a slow, even breath as another shrill voice joins the choir of opinions on what they think would be best, only to inevitably result in bickering and disagreements.

"Hey, looks good out here!" A voice you can only recognize as salvation calls out, and your eyes shoot open at the sliver of reprive Wolfwood's presence might give you–

But once your eyes catch the shirt he's wearing, you instantly run a blank.

It's ugly. Hideous, even; the pattern matching the tacky table cloths– a short sleeved button up no doubt meant to be a direct affront on any decent Hawaiian patterned shirt. Too many questions ran through your mind, wondering what in God's name possessed him to wear something so undeniably atrocious in the general public when he could have– no, should have– just worn a black shirt. As any priest should, one would assume.

Then again, Wolfwood wasn't ever one to fit in the mold.

It takes him a bit to make his way over to you, doing his due diligence of addressing the people that came more specifically to win brownie (ha) points with him than to assist in the actual bakesale in a helpful manner.

"Thanks for holdin' down the fort," He says to you, hand coming down to tug at one side of the table cloth you had just laid out to even the coverage.

"These table cloths are hideous. That shirt is hideous."

"Deborah said I look charming."

"Deborah is a fucking liar," You scoff in return, though can't help the amused smirk daring to curl at the corners of your lips as you take in the shirt more closely. It's unbuttoned maybe a bit too low to not be considered scandalous. Even your eyes managed to wander for a moment too long, taking in the barely visible curve of muscle underneath the loose fitting shirt, though it did hug his biceps nicely. "And she's been trying to hop on your dick for months now."

"Ohh, has she?" Wolfwood inquired, eyes wide and brows raised as if he was genuinely surprised by your statement, as if he genuinely hadn't been privy to the many subtle arm touches and playful invitations to join her for a private dinner.

You were going to laugh at his obliviousness, going to mock him, but before you could he was leaning in just a little bit closer, words whispered. "Care for a threesome?"

Asshole. Your nose scrunched, and that shit-eating, mocking grin on his face told you he wasn't as clueless as you had been made to believe.

Lifting an arm, your fingers curl inwards, holding back your usual playful slaps that were reserved for when it was just the two of you. If you'd had just a shred less self awareness you would have ended up throttling him directly in the shoulder, but both you and him knew you were pinned in a position where you were simply left to flounder, cheeks warm and brows furrowed.

"Fuck off, freak," You mutter to him, rolling your eyes and refocusing your attention on setting up clear plastic display cases for the baked goods.His laugh was boisterous, a sound that never failed to make your stomach twist in knots even now months later. The fact he had no fear in expressing how much he enjoyed your presence even to the public was always surprising, and it was something you wish you had the luxury of being able to return.

You didn't miss the subtle lean in, the bump of his shoulder against yours, before he was off to join with the masses in discussion of how everything would be set up, leaving you to your dirty work and heavy lifting.

Not too long after, everyone managed to get settled. You would have been a little more pissed off about the constant back and forth and carrying chairs from the church storage closet to outside when more and more people started showing up, but every time your frustration would bubble up and make your throat tight, you would catch eye of Wolfwood in that fucking disgusting shirt, and it would quickly fizzle away to be replaced with something else. Perhaps fondness wasn't quite the right word, because you're certain fondness wouldn't result in a grimace or a scrunched nose, but maybe something close to that.

Also, you couldn't deny that, as horrible as it was, you wanted nothing more than to tear it off of him. There was at least six hours left to this goddamn bake sale, so you quickly tucked that thought into the back of your mind.

Several hours passed, and since you were such a doting... church-goer, you had also taken the liberty of manning the cash box with your beloved priest. It's not that you would ever mind sitting next to Wolfwood for several hours on end, it was more the fact you were irate, and it was hot, and even though you were fanning yourself with your clipboard it didn't do a damn thing to protect you from the sun beating down directly on your pretty little head.

You were rocked back in your chair, head tossed back behind the back-rest, idly fanning yourself with the otherwise pointless clipboard. Most of the other patrons had taken refuge in the gazebo, seeming content to be shielded from the unforgiving April sun. The thought popped in your mind that nothing was stopping you from joining, but you'd far rather burn the shit out of your face and forearms sitting next to Wolfwood than sit in comfort with a gaggle of passive-aggressive church women.

Peeking an eye open, you peer up at Wolfwood through the corner of your eye only to find he was looking back at you with a self satisfied smirk. You'd like to say you've grown accustomed to his frequent stares and glances, but the attention still made you flush.

"Have I told you how gross that shirt is?" You grumble, trying to get the attention off of your quickly warming face.

"About six times today, yeah," Wolfwood mused in return.

"It makes you looks like a fishing dad."

"Guess I'm in luck, considering your type is older."

You clam up, jaw clenched tight at the observation. He wasn't wrong. He most certainly wasn't wrong. That didn't mean he needed to point it out so shamelessly.

Another scoff, and another muttered comment about ugly fucking shirt had him sitting upright in his chair, reaching for the cash box and idly counting the bills you have collected thus far.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you take it off me?"

Oh, now wasn't that a tempting offer. Surely Wolfwood had little to no idea that your sanity was holding on by a thread anyways, and his comment did nothing but egg you on further. All you did was hum, close your eyes, furrowed brows and tight-lipped scowl adorning your face as you continued to fan yourself.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) for you, your religious companion didn't have the luxury of a clipboard to fan himself. He seemed to be bearing the heat just fine, comparatively, though you did make note of the way he sighed, the free hand that reached up to pop another button on his shirt, the droplet of sweat dripping down his temple.

Jesus fucking Christ, for being a priest he certainly was sin incarnate.

"Put those away before Deborah sees," You grumble, eyes locked onto the peek of sculpted muscle and smattering of tasteful chest hair.

Wolfwood barked a laugh, placing stacked bills back in the cash box and flicking the lock closed. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of smokes. Unbecoming of a priest, but it wasn't exactly a sin. "Why, are you worried she's going to steal me? Whisk me away in her two-thousand 'n eight Grand Caravan?"

Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was because you used up a perfectly good Saturday to sit in said broiling heat just because you were head over heels for your local priest, but you didn't respond in your usual snarky tone. Your tone was even, sharp, no-nonsense and matter-of-fact as you spoke, "No. I don't want people getting an eyeful of what's mine."

Wolfwood choked on his inhale, coughing a few times on a pull that was a little too sharp, the statement catching him by surprise. Your gazes lock, and you can see the bewildered expression, the disbelief brimming behind wide eyes.

There had never been a discussion whether or not the two of you were exclusive, never a discussion on exactly what the two of you were doing. It never seemed like the right time, and the answer was more complicated than both of you cared to explore. There had been simple passive implications, each of you going out of your way to show you care in the small ways you could. This was neither simple nor passive, it was a statement.

Never once had he looked like a deer in the headlights, not in the time you've known him, and it only fuelled your disgruntled desire further.

He huffed an amused exhale, shaking his head and smirking after he got his bearings. "Maybe you should go sit under the gazebo, I think this heat is gettin' to you." A dismissive statement that didn't go unnoticed by you, considering you yourself were the master of dismissing his playful remarks and harmless teasing.

You didn't take his advice, staying right where you were despite your growing agitation the longer the day went on. The crowd began to disperse, thankfully deciding that they should help after sitting around all day being the textbook definition of useless.

Every emotion swirling inside of you came to a header as you were folding up the tables and chairs, preparing to lug them back inside to the storage closet so you can go home and take a long cold shower. A few of the chair clips didn't click, a table leg got stuck in the grass, and an insurmountable heap of other tiny inconveniences had you huffing in poorly concealed anger as you leaned over a table, fingertips ghosting over the clip on the other side but unable to reach it. A growl of frustration passed your throat, but before you could yell an obscenity, a body that was far too warm pressed in close behind you, reaching a longer tanned arm out and flicking the plastic latch for you.

"There ya go, short stuff."

Normally, you'd be muttering a quiet thanks, accepting the condescending help with relieved frustration– but you felt the sweat dripping down your back stick to your shirt when he came in close, could feel the heat of Wolfwood's damn near bare chest pressing into your back making it more unbearably hot, and the press of his pelvis into your hip had your mind finally breaking.

When he backed off, you were quick to stand, and judging by the reaction on the priest's face you were probably scowling up a storm. "Help me bring this shit to the storage closet. Now."

The demand was clipped, fingers tugging at the metal supports of a few chairs leaned up against the outer wall of the church and storming off towards the front entrance. You didn't hear Wolfwood following behind, but you were sure he was aware enough of your foul mood to follow through with what was requested of him.

Using a little more force than necessary, you pushed the front door open with your shoulder, stomped your way over to the storage closet, and dumped the handful of chairs onto the hardwood floor with a lack of grace. It was significantly cooler in here, at least, and you hadn't bothered turning the lights on in your rush.

The door opened up behind you, light peeking in before fading away again when it closed. "Hey, are you– where's the damn light switch," Wolfwood sighed, leaning the table he was carrying up against the door to the storage room in favor of palming at the wall, searching for the light.

The sound of Wolfwood's voice added to your irritation, his half voiced question, the fact that he's run this church for over a year and he didn't know where the fucking storage room light switch was–

You didn't think before you turned on your heel, reaching out to grab a fistful of the priest's shirt and giving him a tug. He audibly protested for the briefest of moments before you were pushing your lips up into his with bruising force. He took a half step back, but your grip on his shirt only wound tighter, tugging him back.

It didn't take him long to hum, for a hand to find your waist, for a slow, deliberate pressure pressed in on his end. The way he kissed was surprisingly sweet, tender, and that frustration that had been simmering in the pit of your gut all day finally boiled over. You didn't want sweet, you didn't want tender.

With a low growl of disapproval, you pushed forwards, foregoing any sweetness in favor of parting to clamp your teeth down on the exposed skin of his collarbone in a manner just shy of aggressive. Certainly, you weren't strong nor imposing enough to be able to walk the priest backwards as easily as you did, especially since he had an aversion to not being in control at any given time of intimacy. He was giving you this, allowing you to walk him back into the wall, which was significantly closer than either of you had initially thought. A winded noise came from the depths of his chest when broad shoulders collided with poorly insulated drywall, the resounding thump falling on deaf ears as Wolfwood reeled, elbow hitting the lightswitch.

"Ah– there it is," He breathed, umber brown eyes flitting down to meet your sharp gaze, to watch as your deft fingers impatiently tugged at whatever remaining buttons were still holding his ugly ass slutty fucking shirt together.

"Shit, Jesus," Wolfwood grunted, brows furrowed as he cupped your hands in his own, trying and failing to halt you in your tracks long enough for him to ask exactly what had gotten into you.

Truthfully, you didn't think you could give him a reasonable and coherent answer. Remnants of your epiphany from earlier that morning rang bells in the back of your mind, you were agitated by the heat, by the amount of bullshit and idiots you had dealt with today, and if you had to spend one more second looking at this stupid peach patterned shirt instead of tanned broad muscle you were going to have an aneurysm.

He seemed to get the idea that there was no stopping you as you persisted, slipping your hands out of his grip just to move back and continue working. For some reason, his teasing was more irritating, less endearing than it usually was.

"Y'know I was just teasin' you earlier about takin' this off of–"

"Please shut up."

Your brusque tone caught him off guard, you could tell, but you really couldn't find it in yourself to care when you already felt your erection straining against the tight of your slacks.

But, much as you should have expected, Wolfwood was quick to catch your wrists in a tight grip when you got to the final button, when the shirt fell open to reveal warm tanned skin and the dark trail of hair disappearing into his pants. It didn't matter how many times you got a look at him, you still felt tight in the chest, stomach still twisting in response. With your wrists bound, you couldn't do much past pushing up onto the balls of your feet, creasing your Sunday shoes to crush your lips against his again.

This time, it was more teeth and tongue than lips, and Wolfwood didn't seem to hesitate to give as good as he got. He gave you that, at the very least.

"What's the deal," Wolfwood muttered when he pulled back just out of reach, despite how much you tried to chase him. "Yer bein' a needy brat."

A knee pushed forwards, pressing between your legs and nudging up against your growing problem as if to emphasize his question, further prove his observation. The way you exhaled quick, the way you twitched and leaned forwards seemed to be enough to get you off the hook for now.

"Shit, angel– you're already hard?" His question was rhetorical, meant to mock. You knew this, but even the slightest bit of attention to your growing problem was enough to get you to fold.

Up until now, Wolfwood was never one to shy away from giving you what you needed; certainly not when you were the one to initiate– a rarity in itself. You only ever jumped him once when you were miserable and confused and drunk off your ass. So when you weren't met with the usual urgent touches, fingers digging into your pelvic bone as they shucked down your pants, you were confused. Frustrated. Agitated.

You knew better than anyone that Wolfwood was surprisingly perceptive, so the fact he was standing above you with an awfully smug smirk instead of doing anything set you off completely anew. You scowled up at him, pulled away and scoffed, before grabbing at a chair you had thrown on the floor. Unfolding it, you tossed it back to the floor, the legs rattling as it landed rightside up.

"If you're gonna be fucking useless at least take a seat to make it easier on me," You snapped. His smug expression didn't once falter, and he didn't once move. Asshole.

Lithe fingers reached out, curled around the buckle of his belt, and tugged with a little more force than necessary. Of course, you were of the understanding that Wolfwood wasn't exactly small, so either he stumbled forwards to mock you, or you genuinely caught him by surprise. Your hands dug into the relaxed muscle of his shoulders, pushing down, forcing him to sit on the chair you had so graciously set up for him.

"What's got you so–"

"I said please shut up," You cut in, taking your respective seat directly in his lap, close enough that your clothed erection was brushing up against his stomach and making you jolt.

You lean in, kisses messy and desperate, the stark contrast of your touch making him hum. One hand cupped the side of his neck, thumb brushing over the scratch of stubble on the cut of his jaw, gentle and reverent. The other was fisted in the back of his hair, angling his head back and making him groan into your greedy mouth.

He seemed to get the idea, though continued to do nothing to help. It appeared that was a common theme for him today, let you do all the work while he fucks around. What a piss-off.

With a low, frustrated growl, you inch back on his lap, hands abandoning their respectful positions to work at the buckle of his belt. His own shifted up, loosely landing on the dip of your waist, forearms resting heavy and warm on your thighs. A huffed exhale was breathed through your nose, tongue pushing into his mouth as you struggle for a moment too long. Finally getting it undone, you make an airy noise of satisfaction at feeling his hips raise. At least he wasn't being completely useless.

It took some effort, toes touching the ground and thighs burning as you held yourself up far enough to tug his pants and underwear down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. You sat yourself back in your respective seat, peeling away from the kiss to pull at your own pants. The kiss left you hazy, lips glossy with shared spit, barely parted as you tug at your own belt, undoing your pants and pulling your painfully hard erection free from its confines. You heave a sigh of relief, leaning into him for a moment of respite, a few long seconds of appeasement that helped your boiling anger bubble down to a slow simmer again.

A deep breath in, a shaky exhale out, your hand moved to encircle Wolfwood's cock, fist moving with gentle patience you hadn't harbored five minutes ago. He rewarded the good behavior, a hand leaving your hip to hook a finger under your chin, tip you down, lean his neck forwards and kiss you in the way he knew you loved. It was so easy for him to work you up, so easy for him to lay you open and bare, the way his mouth moved and his tongue curled against yours.

But it just wasn't enough.

Your hand moved quicker, squeezed a little tighter, and once he was hard enough to stand at attention you were scooting up his lap, whining an airy little noise into his open mouth when your hand clasped around the both of you. The simmer in your gut began to bubble again, the warmth of him pressing into you, how slowly he was working you open. You needed more.

"Fuck sake," You grumble when he parts from you to lay a couple slow kisses at the corner of your mouth, trailing to your jaw. Your attitude doesn't seem to go missed, his teeth gently catching on the skin making you suck a breath between your teeth. "Can't you go any faster?"

"You seem to be doin' fine on your own."

Motherfucker.

The sneer, the slight curl at the corner of his lips, his words all set you off again. Your jaw clenched so tight you could hear your molars grind, fingers squeezing tighter around the both of you.

"Fucking ridiculous," You end up huffing out, the anger in your gut churning and melting into arousal, cock twitching as you stood from your place. "I've been doing fucking everything today."

Dropping to your knees, palms laid flat on Wolfwood's inner thighs, you push them apart as you lean in. He raised a brow in intrigue, but was quick to gasp and lurch forwards when pretty pink lips wrapped around him and swallowed him down to the hilt in one single motion.

"Shit! " He choked, hands finding your hair as your throat clenched around him, nose buried in the thick wiry hair sat at the base. Your eyes watered, brows furrowed, and you felt yourself gag once, twice, before pulling off with a gasp.

A strand of spit kept you connected to his cock before dropping to the empty space between you, your lips just as glossy as his length with your gathered saliva.

"I set up your fucking tables for you–" You stand from your place, thumbs hooking in the waistline of your pants and boxers, pushing them to the floor after kicking off your shoes.

"– I sit in eighty degree weather for hours for you–" You clamber back to his lap, fingers encircling the base of his length as you line him up, spit slick tip prodding your tight ring of muscle.

"– I deal with passive-aggressive old women I hate all day for you–" Slowly, you begin to sink down; all the anger and frustration bubbling over and churning with arousal, creating a heady mixture that fogged your head and spread heat through your gut and chest.

"– and now you won't even put in even the slightest bit of minimal effort into fucking helping me here," You sigh out, sinking down to a sit in his lap, sheathing his cock completely in your tight warmth.

Tanned fingers dig into your thighs, cupping just below the swell of your ass as you lift yourself, then sink, then repeat, setting a pace that certainly got your point across. Your own fingers curl into the meat of his shoulders, dull nails sinking into the skin and carving crescent moons in your wake.

"It's too fucking hot out, and your ugly fucking shirt–"

Protests began to die on your tongue the faster you moved, the more your thighs burned, eyes sliding shut as your back arched and your body tensed and shook. It was good, the push, the pull, the fullness helping stoke the fire growing and growing. A part of you had expected the weight of his cock to tamp the fire down, quell the heat, but it only seemed to push you further towards the edge without actually giving you any relief.

Frustrated tears pricked at your eyes the longer you went and the faster you moved, muscles tensing and shaking as you struggled to keep the pace. Every time you felt yourself building up, closing in on the edge, your legs would give out, unintentionally edging yourself to absolute insanity. A pathetic little whimper fell from your lips, indignation and petulance pushing you nearly to tears.

Finally, you gave up, lips parted as you panted softly, breaths shuddered against warm tan skin. Your forehead fell to the space between his shoulder and neck, willing back the distressed sniffle as you sat in the deafening silence of the storage room.

A warm hand shifted up, palming up your thigh, hip, settling low and comforting on the small of your back under your partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Done with your tantrum, brat?" Wolfwood inquired, voice condescending, mocking, a stark contrast to his tender touch. You scoff, but don't have the energy do much else.

"Isn't a fucking tantrum."

"Right, 'n I'm Mother Mary."

You hated whenever he said that, but you couldn't find it in yourself to even be mad anymore. Just frustrated, just distressed, helpless and hopeless with Wolfwood buried balls deep inside of you.

"... yeah, 'm done," You eventually mutter, voice wobbly as you held back tears.

Strong fingers encircled your waist, lifting you a few inches before dropping you back down, testing the waters. You gasp, hands dig into his shoulders, and he does it again, then again. You're complacent, trembling in his grasp, breathless and desperate and needy.

All he gave you was a low hum, broad hands cupping underneath your upper thighs as he began to stand. "Good," Wolfwood said low, walking you over to the nearest surface– a stack of totes filled with craft supplies and miscellaneous fabrics. He set you down on top of them, hands pushing your thighs up, knees into your chest, hips bucking forwards.

"Looks like someone needs a fuckin' attitude adjustment," He mused, not missing the glassy haze in your eyes when he gave a few short thrusts, teasing you with just the tip.

"I don't need a– ah–! "

One hard smack of his hips up into yours silenced you, statements of denial tapering off into a depraved moan as you held onto him, toes curling at the sensation.

Had you been moderately more perceptive, less in your head, you would have seen that Wolfwood was just about at the end of his rope as well. After all, it wasn't just yourself you were edging. He was simply enjoying watching the show more than you hated putting it on.

His lips met yours, messy, teeth clacking together at the force, tongues pressed together. Spit dribbled down your chin, warm and wet and adding to every debauched slap of skin meeting skin, at the unforgiving pace he set to put you in your place.

Sweat trickled down his temple, the room growing hotter by the second. You felt a hand leave your thigh, urging you to part a few scant inches to watch what he was doing. Seeing his hand wrap around the edge of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, you were quick to reach out and clasp your fingers around his wrist.

"Don't– keep it on," You insisted, voice choppy, choked out and breathless between every hard thrust.

"You want me to keep it on? " Wolfwood couldn't help but chuckle low, obviously amused by the fact you were so insistent on looking at something you'd been endlessly bitching about all day.

However, he did nothing but appease you; hand back to your thigh and forcing your knees into your chest, folding you into the wall as the totes below you shook and rattled. You could feel every pull and drag, every ridge and vein as he fucked you with reckless abandon, bullying his cock into you as if it were a punishment. The coil in your gut began to wind tight again, the familiar feeling you've been so desperate for the entire goddamn day–

"Thought it made me look like a fishing dad, huh? Or do you like that? Want me to bend you over 'n call you kiddo? "

There was no build-up. It was fucking shameful how fast you were cumming from the pet name, shameful how much of a mess you were making as spurts of white hot seed splattered against your partially clothed chest, soaking into your button-up. Strangled cries fell from your throat, choked out, heady, and utterly sinful.

Wolfwood's hips stuttered to a halt, a stunned expression on his face at the reaction, at the unannounced premature climax shaking you to the core. It didn't take long for him to recover, hands clenching tighter against warm skin, eyes growing hazy and dark.

"Oh, Christ," He growled, giving you absolutely no respite as he set the pace even harder, pulling you in to meet every buck forward.

One hand moved, his touches becoming more urgent, more desperate, grabbing at the meat of your hip, your waist, before shooting up and cupping your jaw in a vice grip, fingers squeezing your cheeks. He angled you back, fucked you stupid, ignoring your cries of too much and slow down as he leaned into you, noses touching.

"That why you've been such a needy fuckin' brat all day, huh? Not gettin' what you need? Missin' daddy's dick?" He rasped, each word more punched out than the last. Filthy words had you keening, tensing in overwhelm, had him groaning in response. He was absolutely feral, an urgent heat he hasn't unleashed on you in months.

All you could do was whine, brain scrambled from the speed, the force, the orgasm still hazing your brain and clouding your thoughts. Every resounding slap just pushed you deeper, jaw slack as you moaned and whined for him, taking everything you were being given. Your thighs burned from the angle, from the earlier efforts you had put in, and you could feel yourself melting into his grip.

Each warm breath huffed against your lips had you reeling, eyes rolled back into your head as you whimpered and mewled; overstimulated, overwhelmed. Every time you tried to string together enough words to beg, to protest, try to say anything, he would fuck up into you harder. He left no room for you to do much other than take it, love it.

The handle of the storage door clicked, a choir of muffled voices chattering amongst themselves behind the thin wood no doubt trying to find where their beloved priest had run off to. It rattled, catching against the table leaning up against it, handle unable to push down completely. The voices sounded concerned, frustrated. You wanted to tense, wanted to get him to stop, but his thrusts were unabating, only pulling out and pushing in enough that his hips wouldn't smack against the swell of your ass. Though that was only half the issue when you yourself were making a considerable amount of noise.

When you managed to breathe a pathetic little Nick against his lips, he kissed you hard enough that it pushed your head back into the wall. He moaned, you whined, and you could feel his hips stutter. You had fucked him enough times to know he was close.

Tongues moved in tandem, his fingers digging into your cheeks, into your thigh, clenching and grasping you so hard you thought you might bruise. The voices faded, and you released a breathy moan you didn't know you had been holding into the kiss.

"Gonna cum." Wolfwood parted from your lips with a wet smack, tongue passing over the plush of your lower lip once before muttering, "You gonna be a good boy for me, kiddo? Gonna take it all? "

God, if you could cum again so quick you would have.

You nod quick, head feeling heavy, foggy. "Yeah, 'm gonna take it all, Nick–"

"Daddy." He corrected, causing your throat to grow tight, your stomach churning. You hadn't really discussed this particular kink with him, but you had certainly fucked into your own hand at the thought of nearly this exact scenario an embarrassing amount of times. It wasn't something you anticipated, the fact that he would be so into this.

Choking on your words, each thrust into you growing more urgent, quicker in succession, you moan. "Gonna take it all, daddy–"

His hand released your cheeks as he pressed another heated kiss against your lips, palm sliding down to your lower back to tug you into him, force you closer. The totes below rattled and shook in protest, but the tight, tender hold he had on you was more than secure.

Something you had learned over the months is that Wolfwood was mouthy in bed. He was vocal in the sense that he could talk you through an orgasm like no one better, whisper filthy things into your ear to get you to tumble over the edge faster than you could count; but past the occasional groan and grunt, he didn't make much noise. So when he was breathing into your open mouth, huffing out a depraved moan as his thrusts faltered, poured liquid white heat into you, it had your entire body tensing, committing the sound to memory. It was fucking hot.

Stammered thrusts slowed to a halt, his cock still hard enough to cut diamonds as he poured everything into you. His mouth moved sinfully good, tongue working you open again, leaving you desperate for more despite just draining him for all he was worth. Touches grew more gentle, less dire, calloused fingertips brushing reverent over your skin where bruises were surely going to form in the shape of his hands. Not that it would be the first time.

A few long moments passed of post-orgasmic bliss, kisses melting from messy to soft, before he was pulling back just to press his forehead against yours.

"Holy shit, kid," Wolfwood chuckled, breathless and exhausted. You weren't fairing much better.

"Yeah," Was all you could rasp in return, eyes glazed over with exhaustion. The day had been too long for you to want to stay conscious after being fucked into oblivion.

Wolfwood seemed to understand this, umber gaze falling to the cum stains on your shirt. He looked amused, exhaling a quick breath through his nose as he slowly, begrudgingly, pulled his now softening cock from your tight heat. You whine in protest at the immediate loss, at the drip down, milky white decorating the lid of the tote you were rested on.

"Mm. Can't let you go back out there lookin' like this," He murmured, peppering your cheek and temple with a few gentle pecks. A finger hooked below your chin, tilting you back so he could kiss you one more time, slow, sweet.

His free hand fished into his pants pocket, pulling out an absolute mess of a keyring and rested it in your open palm. "Here. Go take a shower. I'll handle cleanup."

Your legs wobbled when he helped you down to the ground, using the wall as additional support when Wolfwood walked away to fetch your pants and shoes. He brought them back, handing them off with care. Really, you only bothered to slide your underwear and pants on, deciding putting on your shoes was far too much work to simply walk through a corridor and into Wolfwood's living space.

"Hold up," He called out just as you reached the door, urging you to turn and glance over your shoulder. He already looked cleaned up, for the most part, shirt buttoned up, for the most part, and tucked into his pants. The only tell was his tousled hair, or the wrinkles in his shirt he hadn't bothered to smooth out.

Strong hands grabbed at the table wedged under the door handle, sliding it out of the way and lifting to lean it up against the adjacent wall. He pulled the door open, peering out and glancing around. The sight brought you deja vu, shooting you back to the first time, the situation that had landed you here in the first place. It looked no different, the glance around before a hand clasped around your wrist, giving you a slight pull to urge you out the door.

Caught in your head, you stumbled forward before a gentle, yet firm hand locked onto your hip.

"Hey," Wolfwood whispered low as he leaned down to kiss your temple, the husky timbre of his voice melting you. "You did great today. I appreciate you helping out so much."

It's not that you ever scoffed at his praise, but for some reason this one was a little deeper, a little more tender, and a lot more meaningful. Your chest grew tight, words lodged in your throat, but just like every time he expressed such genuineness towards you, he didn't expect you to say or do anything in return. The warm of his palm pressed a little more firmly into your lower back, guiding you out the door, encouraging your feet to shuffle you down the hall towards the massive wooden door of his living quarters.

You really only clued in to how well you've come to know both Wolfwood and his ways when you so seamlessly and quickly executed your clean-up. You knew exactly where he kept his towels, knew that he stored the special soap you used in the mirror cabinet because you refused to use his, knew exactly where you needed to pull the shower nozzle to get the perfect temperature. There was that domestic tenderness tugging at your heartstrings again, the familiarity of it all really only making itself prevalent in these moments. Never once did you think you were someone that could fall into a routine with someone, stick around long enough that you could grow so intimate like this.

The sound of the bathroom door opening startled you from your thoughts, blinking up at the ceiling as you sat at the bottom of the tub, staring at white subway tile. You didn't even question it when you heard the rattle of a belt buckle, heard clothes hit the tiled floor below, the peel back of the shower curtain. Didn't once think to question the nudge to your arm, urging you to scoot a little further towards the warm shower stream, allowing a space for him to slot in behind you, to sit with you, to pull you into a gentle embrace.

However, you did think to question the half-hard erection poking at your lower back when he tugged you into his chest, pressing a few small kisses to your shoulder. You huff an amused noise, tipping your head back to look up at him with an incredulous expression.

"I didn't even do anything. What's with this?" You inquire, half expecting some smartass response like you usually got. What you got instead was a neutral expression, soft gaze trailing along exposed skin before locking with your own.

"You don't have to do anything," He murmurs, low and intimate. "I just love you."

Breath caught in your throat, eyes locked. He gave you a beat or two to process it, before he was kissing you with such saccharine reverence you didn't know how you could possibly return it. But, like usual, he didn't expect you to say or do anything in return.

Love, huh?

Maybe you could get used to love if it was like this. If it was with him.

#trigun x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun smut #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader smut #i posted this on ao3 like a month ago woops

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honoviadakai · 9 months

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Foods I think Team Urameshi enjoys 🍜 😋

This post is kinda inspired by/a continuation of this post I made about Hiei so please enjoy my thoughts on the rest of the team’s taste in food!

Yusuke:

If the live action did nothing else, it definitely established that Yusuke’s a ramen guy 😂

He likes both the instant stuff and the traditional kind but the latter is his go to if he can afford it

The instant ones are good but they doo remind him of his childhood when either his mom didn’t have enough money to feed him properly or she was too intoxicated to feed him properly

He also really likes American food

If you get him a good burger, some fries and some soda, he’s your friend for life

He LOVES a good cheesy pizza! The greasier and cheesier the better

Honestly he just LOVES heavy, greasy, heart food

It makes him feel full and weirdly energized

He could eat an entire family bucket of fried chicken by himself, sides and all, and feel pumped up for a good workout 🏋️‍♂️

He also loves spicy food

His spice tolerance is average but he genuinely likes the burn 🔥

If he sees a spicy challenge, he’s gonna do it just to see how far he can go

He’s currently at a level 7 out of 10 on the 🌶️ meter

He’s also very open to exploring weird food combinations and food from other cultures

This includes food from the demon world

He actually kinda likes food from demon world, he just feels like it could use some more spices

Catch him trying Nutella and bologna because Chu swears that the last time he went to the human world he tried it and it was delicious

…he actually tried it…and he liked it…

9 times out of 10 he’s gonna try and actually like the cursed foods you recommend to him

Kuwabara:

He’s a big sandwich connoisseur 🥪 🧐

He just likes how customizable and portable they are

Honestly he likes meals that are not only balanced, but a comfort to the soul

So things like stews, ramen, soba, curry and pasta dishes

One of his personal favorites things to both eat and make are bento boxes 🍱

He loves making them for his friends and family for a number of reasons

For one, it’s his way of making sure his loved ones are eating enough

Some of his friends come from low income households that don’t always have enough money for food

He made sure that whenever they hung out, they were always well fed

He also learned how to make bentos from his mom and sister

He really enjoyed the cooking lessons and he enjoys the warm fuzzy feelings he gets when he feeds his loved ones

The one food he won’t make or consume is anything spicy

He can’t handle spicy food and doesn’t feel confident enough to properly make a spicy dish

Honestly he can’t eat anything spicier than a jalapeño

But he will try to beat Yusuke and Hiei in spice challenges

…my boy never wins and I don’t know why he thinks he will at this point 😂

Kurama:

Like seemingly everything else about this guy, his palate is very refined

He likes expensive things like lobster, caviar, and liver tartare

Part of why he likes it is Yoko has expensive taste and old habits die hard 😂

In Yoko’s correct opinion, if you’re gonna feed him, you might as well break out the good stuff

The other reason is that a lot of these foods have very strong flavors and he enjoys that every now and then

That by no means mean he hates “Lowe quality” foods

He use to eat McDonald’s as a kid

He liked it

Still eats it from time to time

Not as often as Yusuke does, but like…if friends invite him out for a burger, he’ll eat it

Big enjoyer of fruit, grows it himself actually!

The fresher the better 😌👌

He loves ice cream! 🍨 specially strawberry, vanilla and most fruity sorbets

He actually has a bit of a sweet tooth tbh

Thank his mom for that cuz she’d give her baby boy sweets if he looked at her with his big puppy eyes

Mf didn’t even have to say a word

She’d either buy them or make them for him

Even into his adulthood, he can demolish a tray of cookies and macaroons on his own

The difference is that as a child he didn’t care about his weight or how much sugar he’s eating

As an adult, he absolutely cares because he wants to stay in shape and also his body is technically human so he doesn’t wanna deal with diabetes if he can avoid it

Now he also technically grew up with demon world food when he was Yoko

Demon world food is whatever you can find that’s edible

So usually it’s other demons and edible plants/produce

Some of which does that pretty good

But a lot of it is more for survival than taste

He’s absolutely had to eat a bug demon before and not only did it look gross, it tasted gross!

But it was either that or starve…

And believe me…he did debate it…but food doesn’t always just die for you so…🐛🐛🐛

Boy was he grateful that humans in Japan eat some of the best food he’s ever seen

Human food has also made Kurama appreciate the artistry that can go into food

When he sees the chef went out of their way to make the food look like a literal work of art, he’s always so amazed!

He actually has a hard time eating something if it looks super pretty

Expect him to take a few pictures before he eats btw 🤣

He also has an shockingly high spice tolerance

He can eat authentic Thai food without sweating

But certain peppers will automatically have him on his knees

He can and has grown his own peppers to see if he can make spicier peppers than what’s available

He has, but internet trends make people competitive enough to dethrone him by next week 🤣

Hiei:

Oh this guy ain’t picky

Honestly he’ll eat burnt food if he’s hungry enough

He can also eat 10xs his own body weight

Want proof?

Togashi himself knows this little gremlin is a bottomless pit of angst and hangry

He could easily eat you and 12 of your friends out of house and home and still have the audacity to wonder why ya’ll stressed 🙄

Hello grew up in an environment where food was not guaranteed every day so any food he got, he wasn’t wasting a crumb

Even if he’d been given a giant demon bug leg, best believe he’s eating it

Waste not want not as they say

The only food he’s very sus about is mushrooms 🍄

Especially when talking about demon world mushrooms, a lot of them are very hard to identify wether they’re poisonous or so he tends to avoid them

Unless Kurama is there to tell him it’s poisonous or not

He’ll never admit it out loud but he LOVES human food so much!

It’s so flavorful!

His favorite dishes are meaty rice and noodle dishes

Honestly any dishes with meat are an instant hit with him 🍖

But his all time favorite dishes are the spicy ones

The spicier the better 🌶️🌶️🌶️

His spice tolerance is otherworldly

I’m 99.99% sure he could eat lava and not react

To this day, Yusuke and Kurama are trying to find a dish or pepper spicy enough to make Hiei sweat

They so far have not been successful 😔

Honestly not sure they will succeed any time soon

Mf pops Carolina reapers into his mouth like popcorn 🍿 🌶️

#yu yu hakusho #yu yu Hakusho headcannons #team urameshi #yusuke urameshi #kuwabara kazuma #kurama #yoko kurama #shuichi minamino #Hiei

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604to647 · 6 months

Text

WIP Wednesday (so/too many things 🫣)

Thank you for the tag @mermaidgirl30 😘

A productive week of writing! Writing Birthday Bunny for P's birthday really got me back into the groove of writing for our Safest with You couple 🥰

Ch. 15 - The BBQ is written but needs a good, scrub down edit 😂:

Clawing down your partially exposed body, clamouring to find the inside tie that separate him from your soft body, Din pauses only to pull you away from the car so he can unlock the door; as soon as it opens, he walks you backwards and helps you up onto the seat, scooting you back so your legs dangle out the door.

“There,” Din says huskily, as he finds the little knot on the right inside seam of your dress and pulls so it unfurls, “you aren’t out in the open anymore.” He spreads apart the fabric of your dress so you’re presented to him in your pretty pink mesh and ruffles lingerie set; he sucks in his breath.

“Just for you, daddy,” you coo. You knew Din wouldn’t be expecting something so flirty and naughty under the dress you had picked for what was supposed to be a casual and wholesome family event.

Ch. 16 - The Matchup is about 80% done as well:

The roar of the crowd is deafening. Despite this being an unsanctioned match, the spectators have showed up in droves, drawn in by Din’s celebrated fight history, the underlying family rivalry, or both.

When Din and the contingent from Mando’s make their ring entrance, the noise level somehow crescendos; you hold Bea and Lala’s hands and catch Paz’s eye with your own, shining bright with pride as you cheer loud. Somehow Din discerns your voice over the crowd and as he passes your row, looking calm and formidable, he finds you and his eyes soften just long enough to throw you a wink before settling back into a steely glare. Jimmy on the other hand follows behind Greef, all pumping fists and testosterone fueled howls. He hypes up the crowd even more, reaching in to fist bump you and the girls, and accepts a hair tousle from Paz’s long reaching arm.

The last part of Mi Galleta will be posted on Friday! I can't believe I finished a series 😭 I already started to miss our scowly bouncer and his Cookie, so I decided I would try my hand at @undercoverpena's April Showers Challenge for them - the opening lines are written (plus moodboard made):

“Keep your eyes open, Cookie.”

Your eyes snap open at Pero’s command, followed by a slower opening of your plush mouth into an oh shape before you let out a whimper.

He’s working you open so deftly with just two of his fingers, it’s a wonder you’re not crying out obscenities and pleading to come. But you have to stay quiet; you are, after all, at Pero’s place of work.

Finally, because I don't know what's good for me, I've had a little Bridgerton AU idea for a while, even before P showed up at the SAG Awards in Regency Prada™️. The basic premise is that Reader is a family friend of the Bridgertons, but missed her season (Daphne's) as she was travelling abroad with her father, now forced to return in order to finally enter the marriage mart two years later after her friend. Our Pboi is either Pero or Frankie, and he's Spanish nobility that's visiting London; being a good friend of Colin Bridgerton's who the latter met during his recent travels, Pero/Frankie is begrudgingly dragged to this season's events by his friend.

The thing is this/here's the thing: I want to make it childhood best friends to lovers, but I also want the SAG pictures to be my main visual inspo.

No pressure tags and anyone else who likes to do these (I do!🥰) please do! @nerdieforpedro @alltheotps

#wip wednesday #too many wips #halp #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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starres-stuff · 2 days

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Day 23: On Cloud Nine FFXIV Writes 2024

CW/TW: Difficult Childhood, Difficult relationship with parent

On Cloud Nine: to be extremely happy and excited

“It was difficult being around her at times. It felt like she could suck the happiness out of a room in one breath. I remember the summer I was accepted to train as a ballet dancer for one of the larger Ishgardian groups. I ran to her office with the letter in my hand, I was so excited to have the chance and all she did was pluck it out of my hands, ball up the invitation, and toss it in the garbage. All while looking right through me and simply saying no.”

Viviane's nose crinkled profoundly as she finished telling Xixa the tale, the pair had been exchanging stories about their childhood and their parents as they baked cookies and iced cakes for the next day's business. The long hours they often spent together in the small bakery they have created a friendship between them that went beyond mentor and student as they had once been when Viviane first arrived in the Shroud.

“Something I learned from my Mother that yours could have used. You can't take your issues out on your children. You are responsible for letting them live out their lives while gently nudging them forward to adulthood. I can't tell ya the number of times I pretended to be on Cloud Nine for one of my girls, all the while crying on the inside because I had a shitty day, even when my Liri came home pregnant at seventeen I hid all the things I wanted to say because she was happy.”

Xixa lifted her arm, her hand dragging across her forehead to wipe away the tiny beads of sweat that had formed from having the four ovens going. The good thing was the Shroud was preparing for another autumn season and the temperatures were not as bad as they had been all summer, but the heat these ovens could pump out was enough to feel like you were in one of those sweat lodges she had seen at those new-fangled spa places she kept hearing about. What she did not realize was that she had left streaks of flour going up into her mostly jet-black hair, which made it look like her natural silver streaks had grown bigger.

“You can't punish your children for your life, always remember that if you have your own. Hurts like the hells bit you when you realize what you missed out on but it is for the best.”

Across the room at another oven, Vi was taking stacks of chocolate chip mint cookies from the oven and setting them on the rack before placing another full pan in and setting the timer for them to back. These conversations had always made her feel like she had found the Sister she wanted in Xixa, the Viera was older than she and had experienced many things that she was willing to share. “She was a very cold woman, colder than even me. Even when we reconnected after she arrived in Gridania, she was aloof at best. I would try to get her to talk about family history or the things that I needed to know about running the house or managing its assets. She would hand me books of instructions to read and she would wave me off like I was some staff member being shooed off to work so I stopped bothering her. The odd thing was, she was much kinder to everyone else than she was to me.”

All Xixa could do was shake her head “Well anytime you have good news you want to share come see Vi if your husbands aren't home. I'll hoot and holler with you, dance around on cloud nine. I don't make light of how that woman treated you. Your Aunt Doshaine used to tell me the same about her Sister. Only met her once myself. She handed me her bag and coat like I was house staff. Doshaine apologized to me for that for turns. The thing is as we get older, I think we have to be our, own, parents if it makes sense. What happened, happened. It is behind you now, but the things that make you feel the worst, change them into things you like or ways you would have enjoyed. Used to tell one of my patients to talk to herself, adult to child when the memories hit her, you are safe now after all. That woman has no power here.”

Outside there was a sudden clap of thunder and three cracks of lightning, then the rain came, the sound of it hitting the roof made Vi look up towards the ceiling. “It’s creepy how when you or Dimitri give advice there is a storm.” It was a change of topic, but Xixa understood it, some things were too hard to talk about. They took time to take seed and grow in a person’s mind.

“Maybe it’s Shroud Magic, maybe it is a coincidence.” Xixa grinned and gave Vi a wink. “Don’t rattle your pan about it too much, girl, it will leave you confused and without answers.”

#ffxivwrites2024 #ffxiv writing #my writing #my ocs: viviane and xixa #day 23: on cloud nine

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pwblogarchive · 2 months

Text

May 2007

May 4, 2007

ryan ross lives in my house right now.

had a falling out with myself.

we just dont speak so much anymore.

theres nobody carrying weight.

nobody with hART and sole.

im sick but theres no hospital to fix this kind of thing.

i day dream at night.

i call em all in the air.

sometimes i get it right.

the things i keep inside are worth double the ones anyone knows about.

almost caught a break, but im pretty sure it was a bad throw.

youre always getting caught, so am i.

i guess we are into the same kind of things.

posted by xo at 7:35 PM

May 6, 2007

i like blowing out other peoples birthday candles and stealing their wishes.

days inn- kind of has a different meaning when its days INside my head.

shut my eyes to keep the world out.

who have you become vs. who you are supposed to be.

been shittalking so much with people who are asleep on the inside.

their veins are pumping blood but their hearts just arent in it.

they blow over legal limits and their organs have put in their two weeks notice.

sometimes i write to keep the world out.

but most of the time i write to keep my world inside.

you have no idea what i do while you sleep.

im having a 2/3rd life crisis.

i got boring.

somewhere along the way.

where the wild things are turned into where the wilde things are.

i have played russian roulette exactly once in my life.

it was the single worst thing i have ever done in my life.

it doesnt matter what the proportions are on the girl to my direct right.

or the way her heart flutters faster than a hummingbird.

just the way she looks at me sometimes.

everything about me hangs on that....

on another note, sometimes the best nights all rest on winds and conversations you have in them.

thanks.

posted by xo at 6:31 PM

May 10, 2007

“fucking nuts.”

i dont care where our heads lie,

as long as yours is close to mine.

posted by xo at 3:46 AM

May 12, 2007

"i can hardly stand living but im afraid to die"

semisweet shadows lit in backrooms

would taste if they were baked into you

lost in my head

my gut has always been my compass

but lately ive been heaving it into gutters

and toilets

sex on tile floors next to bathroom sinks

fuck to forget fuck to remember

you smell of a grove of trees my family drove past for years when i was younger

its like a fortune cookie i opened 17 years early

or a palm reader that was set like a backdated check to age 27

i wouldnt dare say these words aloud as i fear they would set off a chemical reaction within me or you

or that they would come across like a foreign language straining for meaning

i feel like i have snapped awake out of a coma like in a bad movie

i want to get under your skin and its not just a metaphor mostly

your eyelashes kiss off everything i say except in the way that it only makes me dream

informercial love affair

you hair tipped blonde crashing on black roots

or at least thats the plan

if there ever is one

its like science but one i dont understand

turned in my badge and gun as far as anyone ever understanding me is concerned.

i like standing in the rain.

i like showing up late.

i like going home early.

i like having a short fuse.

truly.

i like the madness.

i am in love with it.

the shows have made me realize that there is no other reason for me to be on this planet besides connecting with you.

thank you for that.

you have never let me down.

i am magnetized to everything you do.

and you is you who is reading this.

you are concrete and boomerangs and everything i can count on.

thank you for that.

when my back feels like breaking. or my stomch feels like heav ing or my eyes feel like raining i will think of that.

goodnight.

remember this is real.

even when your head is spinning and your heart is fluttering.

we are on the inside.

the cage spins the bird free.

dont for a second think i have forgotten you or the way you make me smile on gray days or in stormyh weather.

posted by xo at 11:19 PM

Thursday, May 10, 2007

fucking nuts.

i dont care where our heads lie,

as long as yours is close to mine.

posted by xo at 3:46 AM

May 13, 2007

“ground control to major tom…”

i can see that it kind of makes em sick in the pits of their stomachs when i smile.

or when i dont smile.

like they want it to impact but be forgotten.

im not sure you know how i was strung out but on something else.

how someone made you heavier and lighter all at once.

chaos in a wink of the eye.

and how its brushed off by something beyond it- that only speaks in whispers in crowded rooms- who only speaks of backyards and dog days. who only wants to drive south. who you wouldnt believe if i told you.

what if i said its all in reverse-

iamalonewhentheyflyyououtofmylifelikeamothinforcedflightawayfromthelight.

the things that broke me down years ago are just a shrug now.

a thumb and two fingers in.

i feel like a penny turned up the wrong way.

put me in the bowl in front of the register anyway.

let me change someones day.

posted by xo at 11:17 PM

May 17, 2007

“and”

if my conscience is a cricket then my heart is a wasp.

posted by xo at 12:20 AM

May 17, 2007

“semisweet shadows lit in backrooms”

would taste if they were baked into you

lost in my head

my gut has always been my compass

but lately ive been heaving it into gutters

and toilets

sex on tile floors next to bathroom sinks

fuck to forget fuck to remember

you smell of a grove of trees my family drove past for years when i was younger

its like a fortune cookie i opened 17 years early

or a palm reader that was set like a backdated check to age 27

i wouldnt dare say these words aloud as i fear they would set off a chemical reaction within me or you

or that they would come across like a foreign language straining for meaning

i feel like i have snapped awake out of a coma like in a bad movie

i want to get under your skin and its not just a metaphor mostly

your eyelashes kiss off everything i say except in the way that it only makes me dream

informercial love affair

you hair tipped blonde crashing on black roots

or at least thats the plan

if there ever is one

its like science but one i dont understand

turned in my badge and gun as far as anyone ever understanding me is concerned.

i like standing in the rain.

i like showing up late.

i like going home early.

i like having a short fuse.

truly.

i like the madness.

i am in love with it.

the shows have made me realize that there is no other reason for me to be on this planet besides connecting with you.

thank you for that.

you have never let me down.

i am magnetized to everything you do.

and you is you who is reading this.

you are concrete and boomerangs and everything i can count on.

thank you for that.

when my back feels like breaking. or my stomch feels like heav ing or my eyes feel like raining i will think of that.

goodnight.

remember this is real.

even when your head is spinning and your heart is fluttering.

we are on the inside.

the cage spins the bird free.

dont for a second think i have forgotten you or the way you make me smile on gray days or in stormyh weather.

god been thinking. its been awhile since ive done that.

except for "here and there"s

sick of all the speculation.

this means that, that means this.

this is really the only place i can speak to anyone without people in glass towers watching me.

commenting.

so thank you for that.

id do anything to keep this going forever.

even in my head when i wanted to be blown off this fucking planet i still hoped that little blue record kept spinning in your room.

the reason you havent seen a video of fall out boy on fuse is because of corporate litigation.

the same reasons for half of what makes this all feel like its falling apart.

we only did cribs because we thought it was funny. hopefully you are in on the joke. we rented fake cars, like ferraris and just goofed around the whole time.

didnt even know how to open the doors.

not sure if our sense of humor is gonna come across or whether it will be mtvified.

my best friend is a dog.

sometimes i miss being down all the time like it was a close friend that moved away.

but sometimes the inside of my head and my heart and my stomach all meet up into this wretched combination.

i just want to let myself be happy.

id give anything to not give up on this.

take care. sleep safe. i will write more when it comes to me.

May 20, 2007

i actually know someone whos middle name is danger

a cayahoga falling out. class four class five. id still take em. letters all over printed on every piece of luggage ever. you think you found gold every single time. she is the call just before the street lights go out. she is the minute before the alarm goes off. slurring and purring just like and engine or a cat after hes had a fifth. sometimes i hope i dont wake up, sometimes im scared that i wont. its funny how that scale works. its like our lady of justice peeking under the blindfold. if i could keep you still long enough id slip a rope around your finger or maybe even a silver band. detox to retox. hope and hype are just a letter off. sometimes, i try and forget that.

posted by xo at 12:03 PM

May 24, 2007

10 years at sea for one day on shore.

"And I can deal with some psychic pain

If it'll slow down my higher brain

Veins full of disappearing ink

Vomiting in your kitchen sink"

i can kind of see this thing going a couple of different ways. the screen pressed close against the side of my face. ear to the speaker cause i have smashed all the others that project the songs inside this stupid box. my face this close to the keys, taunting me. "i can do whatever i want"s, "i can eat my dinner in a fancy restraunt"s. there is no semblance of meaning. ice cold blue lips, vocal chords and toungue in the back of my head with everything i wish i could say. the tip of the iceberg of a credit check on the emotionally bankrupt. curse phone service or rejoice in it depending on which end of the line we are on. looking for the last life jacket on this sinking ship called life. throw your "overdramatic"s out the window. throw your "old you"s in your fucking face. i get it it. i got it. i gut it. the sun sets and rises on the same old mood. the world has become a dangerous place to me- in my head and outside of it. cant seem to shake it. all roads lead back nowhere. the wilderness of the inside of your brain- which seems to drive your body whenever your heart or crotch is not at the helm. i feel like a slow motion replay of a crash that never happened. wanted to be an anthem not an away message. most of the time dont want to be anything at all. when you are alone is when you audit yourself. you become who you truly are. or arent. there arent any cliffs to throw yourself upon and theres no romance in just: me.

last year i made a list of songs to listen to in the dark when you are all alone. i figured i would do the same again:

donny hathaway "a song for you"

eliott smith " a fond farewell"

the chemical brothers "close your eyes"

damien rice "9 crimes"

beck "lost cause"

beth hart "leave the light on"

the smashing pumpkins "ava adore"

david bowie "space oddity"

iron and wine "such great heights"

stevie wonder "they wont go"

saves the day "hold"

bjork "hyperballad"

bright eyes "coat check dream song"

prince "nothing compares 2 u"

the supremes "where did our love go"

ben folds "the luckiest"

jeff buckley "hallelujah"

i said "i kind of wish i was a pirate"

and she replied "you pretty much are"

how could i not love that?

May 25, 2007

everyone

is either full of diet pills or shit.

and usually its both.

May 30, 2007

“what has this become?”

a question only countered in some monster movie madness.

sometimes spewed out just before the

signal down.

the wizard of oz in reverse.

from color to black and white.

i am completely obsessed with everyone who is completely unobsessed with me.

or sometimes with life.

and by life i dont mean heartbeats and breathing.

i mean 9 to fives and becoming the suburbs.

the complete fuck off of it all being that i am completely obsessed with backyards, christmas trees and lemonaid stands.

its like the northshore is my heaven, the valley is my golden gates.

excuse mne for nodding off.

always boring myself to death.

take a chill pill.

the story of my life

the unauthorized biography written by myself.

i dont even remember saying goodbye to you.

happiness is the sand in the sea.

its just a percentage of a percentage inside a body of water,

life is just a crocodile with a ticking clock inside of it chasing captain hook.

its just i havent figured out this graceful aging thing so well yet.

im sorry baby. my heart is clumsy. but i love you in a holding your hair back kind of way.

just wanna dip my toe into death to see if its a warm bath.

anytime anything breaks me open ever i just spit out a fortune.

if it means anything i spend my time with a bunch of people who ignore the vibrant sky and just look for the pot of gold at the end.

addicted to addiction.

curiosity killed the cat. but what the fuck did loyalty ever get the dog.

May 31, 2007

"i dont believe...." anymore.

i have no words.

posted by xo at 5:47 PM

#fall out boy #pete wentz #livejournal

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