#like do i need to air out my dirty laundry for all else to see

[jmeslovr]

forever fighting the urge to give jegulus my specific brand of mental illness just split in half

[gothcsz]

Body Language | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 2 to this bad boy right here | ~8.2k wc | Series Masterlist | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Caught in a charged and unexpected moment with Javier Peña, you struggle between resisting his relentless seduction and giving in to the tension that has been building since the last shoot.

Tags: smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, no use of Y/N, reader is shorter than javier but other than that no physical descriptions, some dirty talk, semi-public sex (we're in an elevator this time around), reader really doesn't like javi, steve being steve, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short lil thing but then my ass had to drag it out just a little because their dynamic is very fun to write 😭 he's like whyyy don't you like me and she's like how much time do you have? lmfao. this is dedicated to @auteurdelabre 🖤 #1 pornstar javi stan, i almost submitted this for your trope off but decided to save that honor for my other story! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy javier begging to eat you out 🥂 let me know what you think 🖤 mandatory mutual tags: @almostempty / @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

You sit in the cramped waiting room outside of Robbie’s office, the stale air clinging to your skin as you shift uncomfortably in the worn-out chair. The place is too quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outdoors.

You glance at the clock on the wall, anxiety creeping up your spine. You have a shift at the bar in an hour, and time is slipping through your fingers. The laundry, the groceries, the endless list of errands— it all piled up today, and now you’re cutting it too close.

But you need this check. It’s the only reason you’re here, tapping your foot in impatience. If you don’t get it today, the money won’t hit your account in time to cover rent, and you really don’t want another lecture from your landlord. It’s bad enough you’re already behind— no need to give him more ammunition to chew you out.

You sigh and lean back, eyes closing as you try to drown out the frustration swirling in your head. That’s when you hear the unmistakable ding of the elevator down the hall and turn your head to see who’s joining.

Your stomach drops and you sit up straight. No. Not now. The air feels heavier, thick with that familiar irritation, as the slow, deliberate sound of boots against the tile grows louder. 

Javier Peña.

Just the thought of him sends a hot wave through your being, a mix of irritation and something else you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t want to think about that last shoot, the one where things shifted. Where shit got weird. You behind the camera, filming as always, while he was balls deep in another woman, claiming you were on his mind.

“Bet you’d look just as pretty like this, nena.”

“Did you like what you saw? Like watching the way I fucked her but was thinking of you the whole time?”

It was like he’d stripped you bare with just a few words, leaving you more exposed than them in the midst of their carnal fucking. And the worst part? You’d been affected by it. Skin on fire, pussy wet. It also didn’t help that Steve had heard it too. The mic catching the flirting, the hitch of your breath getting stuck in your throat, clear as day.

He’d asked you about it later at Lucky’s, as promised, all smug and drinking that God-awful beer. But you’d brushed him off, hoping he’d drop it. Thankfully, he had— for the most part— but you could still feel his restlessness, wanting to stir the pot.

Now, Javier is here, of course, because the universe just loves to mess with you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, leaning back against the chair in defiance. You refuse to look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he gets under your skin. 

His footsteps stop just a few feet away, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore. You can feel him looking at you, feel the weight of his brown eyes like a physical thing as they rake over your body.

You keep your gaze glued to the wall, focusing on the ugly, generic painting hanging there like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You gonna act like you don’t see me?” His voice is deep, smooth, and frustratingly cocky, just like always. 

You grit your teeth, biting back a response. You won’t give him an inch. Not again. This motherfucker will take a mile.

“Okay, so that’s what we’re doing.” Before you can react, he plops down beside you. You stiffen immediately, moving your crossed knees to the side, angling yourself away from him, as if the few inches of space will protect you from the onslaught of whatever the hell he’s about to say next.

He spreads his thighs wide, his posture screaming obnoxious confidence. You just barely catch a glimpse of his bulge pressing up against his left thigh and how the fuck does it look so big even when he’s soft? “You know,” he says, voice dripping with that lazy, arrogant drawl, “you’re the only woman that treats me like this, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

You snort, the sound sharp and humorless. You still don’t bother looking at him.

Javier frowns, flitting his tongue across the top row of his teeth. “Is it because I came off too strong the first time we met? ‘Cause if that’s the case; then I’m sorry. Can’t help myself from flirting with pretty little things like you.”

You roll your eyes so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of their sockets. He doesn’t sound sincere at all.

Thing is, you didn’t mind the flirting. Even if he, like he’s so romantically put it, does flirt with pretty little things all the time; it did make you feel like just that. Pretty. It’s what came after that soured your Javier Peña experience.

He huffs, like a petulant child, frustrated by your silence. You don’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. Instead, you shift in your seat, your mind racing, wondering what the hell is taking Robbie so damn long. He never works, barely lifts a finger unless there’s money or something else in it for him, and now, suddenly, he’s busy? Yeah, right. He’s probably in his office jerking it to one of his films, getting off on his own work. Typical.

You’re done waiting. With a sharp movement, you stand, startling Javier, though you still don’t give him the time of day. He’s used to women catering to his every whim, hanging on his every word. You aren’t going to be one of them. Not even if he did manage to get you all hot and bothered.

You stalk over to the door and knock harder than necessary. “I’m busy,” his voice grumbles through the wooden surface, and you resist the urge to scream.

“And I need my check. Just slide it under the door or something,” you snap, the urgency in your voice making it clear that you’re not in the mood to get fucked around with.

There’s a pause, followed by the sound of shuffling papers before the door cracks open just enough for Robbie to stick his hand out, an envelope clutched between his fingers. He practically shoves it into your hand before slamming the door shut again.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the envelope with your name scrawled across the front. Surrounded by imbeciles. Just one shift to get through tonight, and then maybe, just maybe, you can get some peace. Enjoy the first weekend off you’ve had in months.

Now that you have what you came for, you spin on your heel and stride down the hallway, ignoring the handsome pornstar still lounging in the chair behind you. From your peripheral, you can see him sitting there, skinny jean clad legs spread, looking all annoyingly sexy without even trying. It would be so much easier if he were ugly— or literally anyone else. But no, it’s Javier fucking Peña, with his ridiculous good looks and that cocky smirk that could probably charm the panties off half the city if he wanted to (it probably has, to be honest).

You mentally map out the next hour: hit the bank, dash home to change, then off to work. You could walk to the bank, maybe catch a taxi home if you’re lucky. But with traffic in this city, luck isn’t really on your side. You start considering your options— do you skip changing and just head to work as you are? Would your other boss even care if you showed up a little underdressed? You’re so lost in your thoughts, focused on cutting corners to save time, that you don’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you.

It’s not until the elevator dings and you step inside that you realize you’re not alone. Javier’s slipped in just before the doors close, sliding smoothly into the cramped space beside you. The sudden proximity makes your heart do this stupid little jump, and you curse yourself for it. You’re trapped now— stuck way too close to him in the tiny metal box.

The air feels charged, his presence impossible to ignore yet again. The smell of his aftershave hits you first— spicy, with a hint of something woodsy, layered under the scent of his leather jacket and the faint, lingering whiff of cigarette smoke. He tries to drown it out with minty gum, but it’s still there, clinging to him like an old habit. And damn it, your knees go a little weak, despite your best efforts to stay cool.

The height difference between you is glaringly obvious now. You’re eye level with the habitually open portion of his cream colored shirt, the buttons undone just enough to give a peek at his brown chest. It’s frustrating how effortlessly he pulls off the whole rugged look— like he doesn’t even try, but somehow manages to look better than most men who spend hours on it.

You swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you can smell him, that you can feel the heat radiating off his body in the tight space. He’s just too close, and the damn elevator isn’t moving fast enough. You’ve got a million things to worry about right now—rent, work, your life— and the last thing you need is to be distracted by him.

But, like always, he’s right there, invading your space, making it impossible to think of anything else.

“What the fuck do you want?” You snap, breaking your vow of silence. You frown up at him, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface as you cross your arms defensively over your chest— a bad move, you realize too late, as the motion only pushes your braless tits together beneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Predictably, his eyes drop immediately. You curse yourself for not wearing something more substantial. It’s not like I was planning to run into him today, you think to yourself.

“To understand why you hate me so much,” Javier says, his voice low, carrying that annoyingly casual tone, as if this whole conversation is nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him.

Your brows knit together, and a dry laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it. “Well, for starters,” you bite out, “you can’t even look me in the eyes when you ask.” 

His gaze snaps up so fast it’s almost comical, his dark eyes locking with yours, defiance flaring there. But there’s something else too— something that makes the air between you even more tense. You hold his stare, daring him to say something, to make this worse for himself. His expression tightens, but you continue before he has a chance to speak. “And I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. You annoy the shit out of me.” 

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The smallest chink in his armor. You reach around him, your hand brushing against his side as you press the button for the main floor. The contact sends a ripple of awareness through you that you try to ignore. You don’t have time for this— for him.

Javier scowls, his mouth pulling into a frown that mirrors yours, and before you can react, he half-turns and punches a button for a different floor, effectively canceling your request. The elevator jolts, shifting direction. 

You groan audibly, exasperation washing over you. “And here you are, proving my point,” you mutter under your breath. Every second you waste in this shitty elevator with him is another second closer to being late for work. Another second closer to not getting everything done that you needed to today. He’s not just in your way—he’s deliberately in your way, and the worst part is, he knows it.

“You don’t like me,” he counters, turning back to face you fully, his tone edging into frustration, “but you never even gave me a chance.” His jaw is set now, his eyes searching yours as if he’s waiting for you to crack, to admit that there’s more to it than just annoyance. Like he wants you to say it’s something else, something deeper.

If you had the luxury of time, you’d lay it all out for him, explain in excruciating detail just why you’ve avoided giving him that chance. How his arrogance grates on you. How his charm, though admittedly effective, feels hollow. How the way he flirts isn’t even the problem—it’s the way he looks at you, like he knows something about you that you don’t want to admit.

But you don’t have that kind of time.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady your nerves. “As fun as it’d be to stand here and explain this shit to you like a child,” you say, your voice tight, “I have important things to do, and you’re keeping me from them.” You jab the elevator button again, hoping the damn thing will just go where you need it to without another unnecessary detour, but you already know it’s a losing battle. 

Javier shifts closer, just slightly, his presence looming. You can smell that damn aftershave again, all spice and leather and smoke, and it only pisses you off more because your body reacts to it before your brain can stop it. You feel your resolve slipping, just a little. His eyes are on you, unwavering, intense in a way that makes you want to both slap him and pull him closer at the same time.

“I’m not trying to keep you from anything,” he replies, softer now, the edge in his voice gone. His tone is almost... apologetic? No. It can’t be. Javier Peña doesn’t apologize. At least not in any way that feels real.

You don’t even bother responding, just stare at the numbers above the door, willing them to move faster. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

“Just—fuck, give me something. Anything,” he growls, frustrated as all hell. His eyes are wild, and you can see the cracks in his usual suave demeanor, like he’s barely holding it together. “Ever since that last shoot, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, and I don’t know why. You think you’re exasperated? How the fuck do you think I’m feeling over here?”

You raise a brow, leaning into your disdain as you pout at him mockingly. “Oh, boohoo. Cry me a river. A girl doesn’t like me back, wahh.” You mimic the sound of a crying baby, bringing your fists up to rub against your cheeks in the most exaggerated way possible. Then you drop the act, face deadpanning. 

His eyes narrow, and you think you’ve finally hit a nerve. Good. Let him stew in it. But instead of backing down, he does something you don’t expect— he turns, reaches out, and slams his palm against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a sudden halt, the hum of motion disappearing as the car freezes between floors.

Your eyes widen, a sharp spike of adrenaline shooting through you as the reality of the situation sets in. “What the hell, Javier?” You’re about to cuss him out, to let him know exactly what kind of shit he’s just gotten himself into, but before the words can leave your mouth, he takes two long, purposeful steps toward you.

Instinctively, you move back, the sudden intensity in his eyes sending warning signals through your brain. But there’s nowhere to go. You can’t escape the tight confines of the elevator, your back is pressed up against the cold metal railing. You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as his broad body looms over yours, trapping you in a way that leaves you feeling both furious and breathless.

He’s too close. His chest brushes against yours, and you can feel his gaze as it drags over your face, down your neck, and lower still, lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Any insult you were ready to hurl at him gets stuck in your throat. You hate how your pulse quickens, how your breath catches. You can feel every inch of him— solid muscle, tense with whatever storm is brewing behind those dark eyes. 

For a brief, dizzying moment, you forget to be mad. You forget that you’re supposed to dislike him, that he’s the last person you should let get under your skin like this but somehow is the only one who’s able to. All you can focus on is the way his breath fans across your cheek, the way the small space between you crackles with tension, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, making your pussy tingle in ways you wish it didn’t. “You think it’s easy for me to just... shrug it off? Because it’s not. Not when I keep thinking about you, and I don’t even fucking understand why.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that catches you off guard, making you pause to wonder if this really isn’t a game to him.

But you can’t let him see that. You can’t let him know how much he’s getting to you (even though he’s more than aware). So instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “And stopping the elevator? Trapping me in here with you? That’s your brilliant solution?”

“No,” he breathes, voice dropping to a near whisper as his face inches closer to yours. “But it’s the only way I could get you to stop running from me.” 

You hate how your stomach flips at his words. Hate how much you’re fighting against the instinct to lean into him instead of shoving him away. Every part of your body is screaming at you to tell him to fuck off and leave you the hell alone.

“Do you know what I think it is?” The words come out in a low, dangerous drawl, the kind that seems to wrap around your throat and squeeze. He leans in, crowding your space, eyes boring into you with an intensity that has your pulse skyrocketing. “I think you’re too fucking stubborn to let yourself have any fun. The idea of me fucking you is enticing, isn’t it?” His lips curl into a smirk, the kind that drips with arrogance and dark promises. “Could see it written all over your face that night at the hotel. That look in your eye while I was fucking Lexxie.”

His accusations slam into you, pulling up the exact moment you’ve been trying to bury. It should have been a professional gig, routine even, nothing personal… except that wasn’t the case. Not with the way he looked at you the entire time, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to react.

And, fuck, you had reacted. You felt the heat rise in your face, the way your body betrayed you as you stood behind the camera, mouth salivating, thighs pressing together.

“Javier…” You push at his chest, your hand meeting the hard wall of muscle beneath his shirt. The intent is to shove him back, to create some space between you. But the second your palm makes contact, it’s like the air shifts, and instead of moving him, it’s like you’ve anchored yourself to him.

Goddamn him. Goddamn you for your spineless ass, for not being able to follow through on resisting the temptation that he is.

He smirks wider, clearly reading the war going on behind your eyes. “You were shaking,” he continues, his voice a dark whisper that coils around your insides. “Damn near moaning while you watched me go down on her. Rubbing those thighs together while this pretty ass was in my face as she was sucking my cock.” 

His large hand snakes around you, catching you off guard, fingers gripping a handful of your ass and pulling you closer. Your body collides with his, and that’s when you feel it— his erection, hard and insistent, pressing into your stomach. The heat between you flares up to unbearable levels, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, every nerve ending in your body on high alert, buzzing with want.

“You’re delusional,” it’s breathless but you’re still determined to keep some semblance of control. You squirm in his grip, your body betraying your words, the friction making your mind tilt. “You just can’t stand the fact that, for once, a woman isn’t throwing herself at you. That I’m not kissing the ground you walk on or falling to my knees, ready to suck you off.”

His hold tightens briefly, pulling you even closer, and for a second, you wonder if you’ll be able to break free at all. It’s damn near impossible to ignore the ache building between your thighs at this point. But somehow, you manage to slip out of his grip, your body twisting away from his until you’ve backed yourself into the far corner of the elevator. 

You can’t breathe. Not properly, anyway. You’ve never felt so on edge, so exposed in such a small space. Every fiber of your being screams at you to keep your distance, to reassert control of the situation, but there’s a part of you— dangerous and impulsive— that wants to step right back into his arms.

Javier doesn’t move, but his eyes stay glued to you, watching your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. The elevator is still locked in place, a silent reminder that you’re trapped here with him until one of you decides to relent. His jaw clenches, and you think he’s going to say something cutting, something to tear you down. But instead, he surprises you.

“You’re right.” His voice is rough, but it carries a weight that’s different from the cocky arrogance he usually hides behind. “I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. There’s no smirk this time, no sarcastic bite. Just honesty, and it’s a fucking curveball.

You weren’t prepared for him to actually admit it. For once, he’s not trying to fuck with you, not trying to win.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You swallow hard, the weight of his confession making your heart leap out of your chest.

You don’t know what to say, so instead, you just stand there, staring at him, your body buzzing with a cocktail of adrenaline, lust, and confusion. Because as much as you want to dislike him, as much as you need to dislike him for your own sanity, you can’t deny the way your pussy responds to him. The way your mind keeps pulling you back to that night, to the way he made you feel without even touching you.

“Get over it,” you snap, cutting him off before he can sink any deeper into this conversation. You don’t need to entertain this further. It can’t happen, and it will never happen. The second you fall into bed with him, it’ll be game over. Javier Peña isn’t just a casual fuck— you know deep down he’d be the kind that wraps himself around your soul and doesn’t let go until he’s consumed every inch of you. 

The problem is, you’re terrified that you’ll let him. It’s why you’re so dead set on not giving in.

You cross your arms over your chest again, as if trying to shield yourself from the strength in his eyes, the way he seems to reach into your very core with just a look.

You try to focus on anything else— on the fact that you still need to get to the bank, then to your apartment, and finally to your bar shift. You don’t have time for this shit, for the endless back-and-forth with him.

But then he says your name.

The sound of it on his lips makes you close your eyes, every muscle in your body tensing. Damn him. It sounds so fucking sweet, almost reverent, and you know if you make the mistake of looking at him right now— if you see those beautiful, pleading brown eyes— you’ll fold.

He says your name again, softer this time, and the way his voice wraps around each syllable has your resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. “Please, just let me show you how good I can make you feel,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “Just one taste, nena, por favor.” 

And for the first time since you met Javier— he’s begging. You never imagined that he, of all people, would beg for anything. But here he is, his voice low and thick with desire, pleading with you to give him just one chance.

You blink your eyes open slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that have been ignited by his words. The synapses in your brain light up like fucking fireworks, each one triggering a new thought, a new possibility. There’s a moment— a split second— where you picture it.

You imagine his hands on your body, his lips trailing fire down your skin, his mouth between your legs. The image flashes so vividly, so intensely in your mind, that it steals the breath from your lungs. 

You can practically feel the way he’d elicit things you’ve been trying to suppress. Your legs go weak just thinking about it, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself, to remember who you are, what this is. 

But your cavewoman, horny brain betrays you— racing ahead, picturing every possible outcome. You can’t help but wonder how good it would feel to let him in, just once. How it would be to let him take control, to let him show you, like he’s promising, just how good he can make you feel. 

You’re already late getting to the bank. You should be focusing on that, on getting out of this damn elevator and away from him, but your body won’t cooperate. Every part of you is ablaze, screaming at you to just give in.

Javier’s standing there, staring at you with those chocolate eyes, his dark brows drawn together, pouty lips parted just slightly as he waits for you to say something. Anything. He’s laid it all out in front of you, leaving you to make the next move. And fuck, as much as you hate to admit it, you want to. You want to let him pull you into his world, even though you know it’ll consume you. You want to feel his hands on your skin, his mouth everywhere, his name slipping from your lips.

But you can’t. 

If you give in now, you’ll never be able to walk away from him, and you can’t afford to let yourself get tangled up in Javier Peña. He’s chaos wrapped in temptation, and once you let him in, there’s no turning back.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you try to hold on to the last shred of control you have. “Javier,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff, teetering between desire and self-preservation. The weight of his gaze presses down on you, and for a moment, you think you might just jump.

But then, with every ounce of willpower you have left, you take a shaky breath, shaking your head and breaking the spell he’s woven around you.

“No,” you say, the word barely above a whisper, but firm enough to anchor you back to reality.

His face falls, the fire in his eyes dimming just a little. You almost regret it, almost, but then you remember who he is. What he does. And you know you made the right choice, even if every part of you is berating otherwise.

You stand there, locked in a silent standoff, both of you doing a piss poor job of pretending like you don’t want to tear each other’s clothes off right here in the elevator. 

You’re hoping—no, praying— that he’ll finally let it go. That he’ll stop pushing, stop testing your resolve, and just leave you alone. You’re begging for him to go back to what he does best, to leave you to your job— both of them.

You break eye contact first, glancing down at your watch. You’re definitely not going to make it to your shift on time. Shit. You need to phone your boss and give him a heads up before this gets even worse. But right now, you can’t seem to focus, not with Javier standing there like a Roman statue, immovable and perfect, watching you with that infuriating intensity.

“Now, if you can get the elevator to take us down, I’d really appreciate it,” you say, but the words come out softer than you intended. You hate how small your voice sounds, like you’ve already lost the upper hand, and you mentally slap yourself for it. 

But he doesn’t budge. He just stands there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and it makes you want to scream. His gaze is piercing, boring holes into your entire existence, and it’s taking everything you have not to crumble beneath it.

“Do you really mean that?” He asks as he brings a hand up to smooth down his mustache. There’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips, like he already knows the answer. “Because everything about your body language is screaming otherwise.” 

When the fuck did he get so close again? He’s right there, towering over you, and suddenly the air between you feels impossibly thin.

“It’s my fuckin’ job to read a woman’s body,” he continues, his voice growing huskier with each word. “And you know what yours is telling me right now?”

Your pulse quickens, your heart slamming against your ribcage, and you can’t find the words to respond. You don’t trust yourself to speak— not when his presence is drowning you in your own body. 

He leans in, lips so close to your ear that his breath almost has you fainting. “It’s telling me that you want it.”

Your stomach flips, every nerve ending in your body coming alive as his curved nose barely grazes your skin. The touch is featherlight, but it sends electricity straight to your cunt. You grip the railing behind you like a lifeline, your knuckles flushed as goosebumps ripple across your skin. 

Javier’s smirk deepens, the asshole clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Stop fighting it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, his hand sliding down the length of your figure in a way that feels too natural, too right. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel…”

You should stop him. You should. But you don’t. You can’t. His hands are on you now, moving with a confidence that’s impossible to resist. One large hand finds its way to your tit, groping it gently through the thin fabric of your tank top, and you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it. Your body fails you, head falling back against the elevator wall, your chest arching into his touch. 

The way his hand moves, so sure, so practiced, has your resistance crumbling, piece by piece. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, peppering soft, teasing kisses along your sensitive skin. “Barely done a thing and you’re already gone.” 

Your mind is spinning, your resolve completely undone as you melt under his touch. Every kiss, every graze of his lips against your neck feels like it’s unraveling the last bit of control you have. His body is pressed up against yours, and you can feel his erection through his jeans again, the hard (pun intended) evidence of just how much he wants you.

God help you, it feels too good to resist.

You sigh, a low, breathy sound that’s equal parts surrender and relief. His lips trail lower, his hand still groping your breast, and you let him. You let him because you’ve been fighting this for too long, and right now, you just want to feel something. 

Javier grins against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he pulls you even closer, his voice hoarse in your ear. “Told you,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you wanted this.”

You don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given in, you’ll figure out how to pick up the pieces later, but right now? Right now, you’re letting yourself fall apart.

It’s like your whole body just deflates against his, sinking into the solid warmth of him as if all the fight has finally drained out of you. You’re giving him the green light, and he knows it. The grunt that escapes his throat is guttural, and you feel the weight of his palm pressing harder against your chest, his thumb and pointer finger expertly pinching your now hardened nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

“After this,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone.” His words are punctuated by a sharp tug at your nipple that sends a surge of arousal straight between your legs. Then his hand moves, sliding up to cradle your jaw with a surprising gentleness. He tilts your head so that your eyes meet his, forcing you to look at him— forcing you to really see him. “You have my word.”

You search his eyes, not entirely sure what you’re looking for— honesty, maybe? A hint of something real beyond the heat of the moment? Whatever it is, you can’t find the words to respond, so you just nod weakly, your breath bated. 

Javier smiles at that, a slow, predatory grin, and he leans in as if to kiss you. But you stop him, your hand pressing against his sternum with just enough force to halt him in his tracks.

“No kissing,” you say, your voice more resolute than you feel. “You said one taste, so get to it.” You’re setting boundaries, trying to keep some semblance of control in this situation. No kissing, no fucking— just head. That’s all this will be. He’ll get a taste of you, and you’ll finally get a taste of what all the hype is about. Then it’ll be over, and you’ll go your separate ways. That’s the deal.

His frown deepens, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features, like he’s not used to anyone telling him no in any capacity. But it’s brief, because he’s not about to take the proverbial bone you’ve thrown him for granted. He agrees in his own way, pivoting without protest, his mouth returning to your neck like he’s already forgotten the attempt to kiss you.

Now that the rules are clear, you allow yourself to let your guard down— just a little. It’s not like your sex life has been riveting lately, and truth be told, you can’t even remember the last time a partner went down on you willingly. At least you’re getting something out of this fucked-up little arrangement, and for now, that’s enough. 

He kisses and licks a line down your throat, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive flesh. You sigh, your breath hitching as you feel his hands roaming your body with a confidence that should piss you off but doesn’t. 

His rough palms map out your curves like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. He’s groping, squeezing, learning you in a way that makes you feel like you’re his personal discovery. 

The warmth of his breath, the skill in his movements— it’s intoxicating. You can’t help but respond, your hips shifting, your body bending instinctively toward him when one hand slides up under your shirt, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast.

He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. Too damn good. It’s almost like he’s a fucking pornstar.

You hate that you’re enjoying it so much, hate that you’re already melting under his touch like some lovesick fool.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs against your skin, feeling the nerves radiating off of you. 

His touch lingers as he reaches the button on your denim shorts, undoing it with a flick of his fingers before pulling down the zipper, slow and deliberate.

“You and these damn shorts…” you hear him say, more to himself than to you. His voice is gruff, frustrated, like he’s been waging a silent battle against his own restraint. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down over your hips, watching as the fabric slides off your skin. You step out of them, standing there in nothing but your underwear, top and sneakers, exposed in ways you hadn’t intended to be when you walked into that office earlier today.

His brows shoot up, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Of course, it’s laundry day. Of course, you’re left wearing your least practical pair of underwear— this skimpy, lacy purple number you hardly ever break out. The delicate string disappears between the cheeks of your ass, and the sheer front does little to conceal the soft tuft of hair just below your navel. 

And he’s drinking it all in.

“Fuckin’ hell, nena,” he breathes, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lust. His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and hungry. “You always walkin’ around like this?” His hands grip your hips, and before you can even formulate a response, he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, taking his sweet ass time, like this is some kind of worship.

“No, I—” Your voice is breathy, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “I had to do laundry today…” It’s all you can manage, barely coherent as his lips begin pressing soft, teasing kisses to the inside of your knee.

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, steadying you, his fingers gripping your thigh with enough pressure to leave you keening. You brace yourself against the elevator railing, your body tense with anticipation, your mind a chaotic swirl of logic and lust. You barely notice as the check you came here for flutters to the floor beside you, forgotten.

Don’t forget to deposit that, the reasonable part of your brain chimes in, but you tell that bitch to shut up because Javier Peña is currently on his knees in font of you, about to take you on the ride of your fucking life, and you’re nowhere near strapped in.

His head is tilted up, lips brushing dangerously close to where you want him most, and all rational thought is slipping through your fingers like sand.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes glinting with something wicked, and your breath catches again. You don’t know how to feel about any of this anymore. There’s a line you swore you wouldn’t cross, but now that he’s right there, so close to giving you what you’ve craved for longer than you care to admit, it’s hard to remember why you drew that line in the first place.

Javier’s lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and a quiet moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks against your skin, his fingers tracing a slow path up your leg, sending shivers coursing through you. “Relax, bonita,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I’ll take care of you.”

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop teasing, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale as his hands part your thighs wider, positioning you exactly how he wants you. His grip is firm, possessive, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll survive whatever it is he’s about to do to you.

You don’t even have time to dwell on the thought before his mouth is on you, lips pressing a lingering kiss over the thin fabric of your panties. The sudden pressure sends a shockwave through your body, and your eyes fall closed, surrendering to the moment. His tongue teases the fabric, nudging against your already soaked cunt, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the lace. He hums low in his throat, savoring the first taste of you.

“These are so pretty. Don’t think I’ll take ’em off.”

He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to him completely. The cool air hits your slick folds, a contrast to the heat of his breath as he hovers just inches away. He’s staring, taking you in, and when he curses under his breath, it’s like he’s caught off guard by how badly he wants this. Wants you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as he drags his nose up and down the length of your wet slit. The touch is maddeningly light, just enough to make you clench involuntarily, your body reacting without permission. More of your slick leaks out of your pussy, a response to the subtle stimulation, and you grip the elevator railing tighter to keep yourself from falling with how weak your knees get.

Javier flattens his tongue, delivering a slow, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like your entire body ignites at once. You throw your head back, a ragged cry of his name ripping from your throat as your hips buck instinctively, searching for more of him, more of that friction that feels like pure electricity.

He’s not done, though. Not even close. One hand snakes around your thighs, strong and sure. His middle and pointer fingers spread you open, forming an upside-down V, and then he does something so filthy, so perfectly Javier— he spits directly onto your exposed pussy.

The sound alone could get you off, but the sensation is something else entirely. His saliva mixes with your slick, making everything wetter, hotter, and you feel like you’re unraveling before he’s even truly begun. A series of high-pitched moans spill from your lips as he latches his mouth onto your cunt, sucking and licking with a precision that has your entire being quaking.

Lips, tongue, teeth—he’s using everything he has, dragging you deeper into a haze of pleasure where nothing exists but the heat coiling in your belly, tightening with every flick. He’s devouring you, utterly relentless, and it’s too much but not enough, all at once. Every nerve ending is on fire, your thighs trembling as you fight to keep your balance. His grip on your leg tightens, keeping you locked in place, helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling back for just a moment, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. His face is glistening, covered in your arousal, but his eyes are dark and hungry, never straying from your face. “With noises like that and a pussy this pretty— you’d be a fucking sight on camera.”

His words send another jolt through you, dirty and wrong and so fucking hot that you nearly forget how to breathe. He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving faint marks in his wake, before diving back in with that skilled tongue of his. He’s a man with something to prove, alternating between broad strokes and tight circles, zeroing in on your fleshy clit with a precision that makes your head spin.

It’s obscene, the way he’s working you over, all these years spent perfecting this art, but there’s a rawness to it too, a desperation like he can’t get enough of you. You’re soaked, dripping onto his face, and he laps it up like a man starved, the sounds of his mouth slurping against your wetness filling the small space around you. Your moans are louder now, more desperate, each one pushing you closer to that edge where you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

His fingers tighten on your thigh again, and then he’s dragging them lower, inching toward your entrance as his tongue flicks mercilessly against your clit. When he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you nearly scream. The combination of his mouth and his fingers is enough to send you spiraling, your legs trembling uncontrollably as you arch into him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts when he pulls away to get a good look at your beautiful face and how you look when he’s making you feel like you’re on top of the world. It’s enough to get him to latch onto your clit, sucking on it harshly.

“God, Javier,” you gasp, your voice shaky, barely coherent. You can’t think, can’t form any rational thought, not with the way he’s pulling you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the pleasure.

“Let go,” he growls against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your core. “I’ve got you, nena. Just let go.” 

And with that, the dam breaks. You’re coming hard, hips jerking wildly as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for a second, working you through it with that relentless mouth until you’re gasping for air, hands clenching at the railing so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped. 

Your vision blurs, your mind goes blank, and all you can do is hold on as Javier takes you on the ride of your life, just like you knew he would.

You don’t know how long it takes you to come back into your body after letting him take the reins for a little. You’re trembling, legs weak and body heavy against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s still on his knees, knuckle-deep inside you, lazily curling them as if savoring every last second.

His mouth trails soft, teasing kisses across your soaked panties, and the tenderness of the act startles you, nearly pulling you under again. But then he withdraws his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with an almost obscene groan, tasting you one last time as if to commit your flavor to memory. He carefully adjusts your underwear back into place.

Javier stands to his full height, your leg falling from his shoulder, towering over you. His hand comes to rest lightly on your waist as if to steady you. “You okay?”

You nod, though your bones feel like jelly. Your eyes stay closed as you try to gather yourself, forcing yourself back into reality, back into the woman who doesn’t fold like a house of cards for her co-worker. You bend down to retrieve your shorts and check from the floor, fingers fumbling with the zipper as you button yourself back up. He presses the button to resume the elevator, the gears shifting as you’re slowly carried back to the main floor. 

And just like that, it hits you. It happened. You’ve came on Javier’s tongue and fingers. You swore it wouldn’t— swore up and down that he was nothing more than a nuisance at work, a distraction you wouldn’t let get to you. But here you are, post-orgasm, in a goddamn public elevator, of all places, with the man who was supposed to be just a headache.

“Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again,” you mutter, trying to summon the biting edge to your words, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

Javier just smirks, that infuriating glint back in his eyes like he already knows better, but he doesn’t push it. Not now.

The elevator doors slide open with a sharp ding, and the scene before you is worse than any nightmare you could’ve concocted in the heat of the moment. Two firefighters, the building manager, and— of course because why the hell not— Steve Murphy are standing there with varying degrees of shock and amusement.

You can see the moment Steve takes it all in— your flushed cheeks, the slightly mussed state of your clothes, Javier standing just a bit too close to you. His blue eyes narrow, then widen, and then he breaks into a shit-eating grin so wide you could slap it right off his face.

“Well, well, well,” Steve drawls, barely containing his laughter. “What do we have here?”

Your stomach sinks. Not again. 

Javier, ever the cocky bastard, simply raises an eyebrow and slides his hands into his pockets, all cool nonchalance like he hasn’t just been between your thighs minutes earlier. “Just crapped out on us randomly,” he says smoothly, and you want to strangle him for the audacity.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as if he’s in on some big joke that only you and Javier are the punchline for. And as you step past him, cheeks burning, all you can think is that this will never, ever happen again.

But even as you repeat it to yourself, a small part of you— the part still buzzing from the memory of Javier’s mouth— wonders if you’re lying.

[lit3rallyll0yd]

Can you do oni!Lloyd x half-Dragon!fem!reader. Like Lloyd has always insecure getting into his oni form. So reader who already use to her dragon form, comfort him and say that she always love him no matter what form he is. Also bonus if you can do like how their tail (i think Lloyd has tail in his oni form??) wrap around each other and make a love shape.

Aodbksna im going crazy

"SCARY? MY GOD, YOUR DIVINE..." ── ninjago x reader. ft lloyd garmadon ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

warnings: lowercase writing, pretty rushed

basic info: takes place after crystallized, lloyd x reader, female reader, ft. garmadon, romantic x reader, n/n means your nickname!

you knocked on the door to lloyd's room softly, thinking because it was already so quiet in there he could hear it. it's been hours, no, days, since you've seen lloyd come out of his room.

when he does come out, it's only to use the washroom or to grab a snack in the middle of the night when no one is around to see him.

after the defeat of the overlord, harumi, and all of the other villains── lloyd has stayed in his oni form. he hasn't learned how to transform back to his human form, so everyone has kinda been waiting to see how long it will take naturally...much to lloyds discomfort.

you went to garmadon about lloyd's state, and even he was starting to worry. he knew from the start helping lloyd achieve his oni power would be tricky and lloyd would be stubborn. however i don't think he thought this far ahead.

"your his, girlfriend, aren't you dragon girl?"

the oni asked you, who was watering his plants in one of the rooms of the newly built monestary.

you glared at the man, the nickname is gave you caused you to cringe but you kept your cool. your tail swinging back n forth from behind.

"yea. why do you think i'm coming to you for help?" you placed your hands on your hips, "he hasn't come out of his room, i haven't seen him eat or drink any water, he hasn't spoken to anyone since his changed. i don't know much about the oni form; but even you guys still need to eat...right?"

garmadon just sighed, finishing watering his plants. "oni indeed are powerful beings, although everyone needs food to live a healthy life."

you gave the oni a "so??" look and he sighed again.

"oni kids enjoy cuddling. they like to feel the warmth of they're loved one; gives them comfort knowing someone is there for them. i believe your perfect for to give that to him."

you thought for a moment.

"i want to, that's all i want to do is let him know i'm there for him! he's been cooped up in his room, crying and it breaks my heart-."

"then why are you still here talking to me?"

you looked at your father-in-law and had a frown on your face.

thats what lead you here to where you are now.

you called out your boyfriends name after knocking a few times, hoping he would open up. "i made you you're favorite?" you smiled to yourself sheepishly, not knowing what else to do in this awkward silence.

when you got no response you sighed, "c'mon baby, i haven't seen you eat in days, let alone you in general! i'm worried, your uncle's worried, our friends are worried for you!"

you frowned softly, hearing the words come out of your mouth.

"i miss you..."

as you were about to put the plate on the floor by his door, the sound of it creaking open causes you to look up to see a blonde, 6'0 tall oni boy look back at you. his ears drooped down, his eyes res and puffy, his long thick tail fell to the floor a d drag behind him as he stumbled back into the bed.

you stood back up and walked into the room. it was dark, and cold. the window been open to let out dirty smells and bring fresh air in to block out of the smell of dirty laundry, which was all in one pile in the corner of his room.

you had a small frown in your face as you placed the food on his nightstand, sitting in the end of his bed by his feet. lloyd was cuddled in on himself, hiding his body from you and on the opposite side of the bed.

it was quiet for a moment before he spoke up, "i'm ugly, aren't i?" it was almost a whisper, his grouchy voice from crying and his oni form made it harder for you to hear, another insecurity he has.

you frowned and scooted closer to him and place your hand on his knee, looking at him with a sad smile. "lloyd, your beautiful. nothing about you has changed, your still lloyd, my boyfriend!" you laughed, rubbing his knee back n forth in a comfort motion.

it was quiet once more, until lloyd spoke up again, "how do you do it?"

you raised your eyebrow at him, "do what?"

"how do you walk around in your dragon form, aren't you scared people will judge you? be scared of you?"

tears started to form in his eyes as he ranted. you felt your heart shatter into two pieces hearing his sobs, "i never wanted this, i didn't want this!!"

he shouts ans cries, huddling into his arms the best he could. however soon he felt your arms wrap around his, your large dragon body holding him tight.

"i know, lloyd, none of us knew you were going to have to achieve your oni form; to be honest i was hoping you were...me n you have more in common now. and...you look 10x hotter then before, i say that's a bright side."

you gave him a goofy grin, hearing his laughter soon later caused you to open your eyes and look at him.

there's that smile you've missed.

you quickly leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips, to which he took by surprise. "your lips are still soft." you chuckled. as you were distracted, you suddenly felt something wrap around your tail...looking down at your legs you saw lloyd's oni tail wrap with your dragon one.

you blushed slightly before looking back up at him, who had a blush redder then yours. he pulls you into his chest and holds you, his face in your hair.

"thank you, n/n...i love you..." he whispered softly.

you smiled, happily snuggling into your boyfriend more comfortably.

"i love'ya too, mints."

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #14

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You try to move on after the Universe has been saved.

Word count: 4,700

Warning: Angst

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

[Previous] [Next]

You're standing in the middle of your old apartment.

The same apartment that had a helicopter crash into it and left nothing but rubble, ash and melted cement in its wake. Except now it's restored, like nothing ever happened.

Your rickety dining table sits in the middle of the room, propped up by a hardcover book to make up for the fact that one leg is crooked. Your tiny double bed with your lumpy mattress is pushed up against the wall. The usual piles of clean and dirty laundry indiscriminately mixed together sits unattended on top of the unmade covers.

You don't understand.

Why is it all back to normal?

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it.

Miguel… You need to get back to him and you don't have time for this right now.

"Lyla," you summon. A warm ping vibrates against your inner wrist as Lyla appears. "Take me back to the void."

Lyla shakes her head firmly. "I'm sorry I can't do that."

"What do you mean? Of course you can, you've brought us there twice. You did it when Miguel commanded you."

She peers up at you through her pink heart-shaped glasses, with a solemn look in her holographic eyes.

"The first time was a miscalculation. The second was to eliminate the continued threat to your life."

Her words stop you cold. 'Continued threat...' Is she referring to Miguel?

"Lyla, please. Stop messing around. Take me back to Miguel."

Lyla's eyes go blank, no longer the flippant expression you are so used to seeing.

"Request denied. My programming does not allow me to expose you to danger."

"He's going to die if we don't do something Lyla!" You shout at her.

There is a tremor in your hand. Your nerves are shot, exhausted and tired from everything that has happened in the last 24 hours and you can feel the tears pushing up against your throat.

"Isn't it part of your protocol to protect him?!"

"I was built to protect you. My primary directive is to make sure you're safe above all else. That is my purpose."

She recites the words as if she's reading from a manual. It's flat and emotionless in a way you've never known Lyla to be before. Like the line is hardwired into the very core of her basic coding. There are no funny jokes. No sass.

"Lyla, please," you beg.

She doesn't answer you. That same impassive expression as before is still on her face.

"Lyla..." you try again.

You scramble to think of your options. To devise a plan B. But to your horror, you can’t think of anything.

What are you meant to do? You’re not a super genius who can build source code out of thin air that can break the laws of physics. You have no superpowers. No magic that allows you to travel to other dimensions.

The only thing you know how to do is file claim insurance applications. You’re useless.

There's nothing to be done.

It's over.

Your legs give in from the oppressive weight of your realization. You slump to the floor, unable to hold yourself together as the hard wooden floor hits your knees. You fold in two, hunched over the floor and you let the ache inside your chest break and pour over and you cry.

When you come to some time later, you find yourself curled up on the floor. You don't know how long you must've been crying for. But it must’ve been long enough for you to have cried yourself to exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

Turning onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling, shivering from the cold breeze of the evening coming through the window.

Your limbs are cramping from exhaustion. You're dehydrated. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with dried tears. There's a deep-seated headache burrowing into your skull. It's a struggle for you to get up from the floor into a seated position, as you properly take in your surroundings.

At first glance, this version of your apartment looks identical to yours, but on closer inspection there are some stark differences.

By the window, there are black out curtains hanging from the ceiling to allow for sleep-ins during daylight hours.

On your bed, amongst the mountain piles of laundry strewn haphazardly, there are items you don’t recognize. Oversized hoodies that are big enough to fit a bear. Male sweatpants. Socks so big they look like they're Christmas stockings.

Walking over to the kitchen area, there's a distinct lack of coffee. It's been replaced by expired Reese's Peanut Butter cups, milk duds, and Hershey bars that fill every corner of your kitchen cupboards to the brim, stuffed haphazardly on the upper shelves that you could never reach. They have even made their way into your nightstand and stuffed and hidden between books on the bookshelf.

Lyla doesn't even have to tell you where you are. You already know.

This is your home. In your other self's dimension. It belongs to Miguel's nena.

Miguel sent you here, the closest universe he knew of that was identical to yours, so that you could live out your days in safety, without him.

Fucking idiot.

This is not what you wanted.

Days pass.

It's an odd and empty existence, you've beaten the impossible odds and won against the universe itself and made it out alive. Yet you're not sure that anything about this truly qualifies as a victory.

For all you know, the world that is your home may have been destroyed.

After all that's what Stark said: there is no guarantee that just because you left, everything would go back to normal.

And who are you to argue with the (second) smartest man on earth?

There's no way of you knowing what the outcome was, and Lyla refuses to transport you out of this current dimension.

You spend most of your days curled into a ball in bed unable to summon the strength to keep yourself upright or awake for more than an hour at a time, haunted by the knowledge that your escape from your death might have doomed trillions to theirs.

In the hours in between, when that inescapable guilt doesn't eat into your mind, the only thing you are left with is replaying the moments of your life in the past three months.

It flits through your closed eyes like an old film reel and in every one of those moments, Miguel is there, reminding you of what you have now lost.

You feel hollowed out, scraped out and empty like there's nothing inside. The only time you manage to feel anything that resembles an emotion is when you clutch onto whatever piece of oversized clothing that once belonged to Miguel. The only physical trace you have to prove to yourself that he existed and it's not just some fantastical made up story in your mind.

Miguel once told you that anyone who gets lost in the void gets erased. Their very existence scrubbed from the records of the world. Does the fact that you can still remember him mean that he's still there? And if so, how much longer will you be able to mourn him before he's faded entirely in that space. Before your very memory of him and the love you have that sits inside you with nowhere to go is gone too?

Nothing about this feels like a happy ending.

In the first few days, you don't leave the house. You tell yourself that it's better that way. Now that Miguel is no longer here, the idea of walking out in into open streets in broad daylight seems strange to you.

Lyla tries to tempt you with exotic holidays.

“Bali, India! The world is your oyster, we can fly out first class tonight and do an Eat Pray Love for as long as you want to!” Lyla’s voice sings in your ear. "Thailand is lovely this time of the year, barely any tycoons."

Most of the time, you ignore her presence, burying your head into the pillow, pathetically hugging onto one of the oversized shirts that’s been left behind.

Everytime you hope to catch a whiff of the remnant traces of Miguel’s presence there. But there’s nothing. It just smells of stale detergent.

After surviving the end of the world, a lot of things that used to be important seems meaningless to you now.

Alive as you may be, there’s no real purpose for you carved out in this dimension. You don't go to work in the mornings, because the you of this universe died years ago. Showing up at your office at the Chrysler building would likely induce heart attacks amongst your old co-workers.

You could scour Careerbuilder for job ads, but there's a sour pit in your stomach that hugs tightly around your guts everytime you think of the prospect of having to speak to job recruiters.

You don't think you have it in you to lie to some stranger at an interview and pretend that being in front of a white screen poring over excel sheets 8 hours a day is the way you want to spend the rest of your life until you hit retirement.

Besides, rent is not an issue anymore. Nor is money when Lyla is there to take care of you and act as your digital sugar momma. A standing order for any and all bills needed to maintain this home had already been set up long before you arrived.

You feel sorry for Lyla. She's been programmed to take care of your mental and physical well being and you know she is at wit's end with your listless behavior.

She pulls out all the stops. Lyla orders take out for you, delivered right to your door to try to get you to eat. If she had a physical body, you think she would hold you down and force feed you.

But something is wrong with you, because even though every dish is your favorite, rounded up from your favorite restaurants in the city, for the first time in your life since you were born, you no longer have much of an appetite.

You usually only manage mouthfuls just to keep Lyla from constantly nagging, before you shove the take-out box back into the fridge and then crawl back into bed.

Everything tastes bland and grey. Everything around you seems to have lost its color and shine. Was the world around you always this dull?

On the fifth day, there is a familiar baby-pink box with Gladis' logo printed on the lid arriving at your doorstep.

“Surprise!” Lyla announces. “It’s your favorite! I ordered the luxury box with the elderflower lemon flavors, as well as the lychee-raspberry jello!”

You sit down by the table, staring at the beautifully adorned cupcakes in the box. Spirals of white and pink frosting with petals of edible flowers. There's freshly cut strawberries and blackberries and chocolate shavings on op.

Picking one up, you cram the whole cupcake into your mouth, trying to cling onto the memory of that first time when the flavor of lemon zest bursting on your tongue had made you squeal with happiness.

That doesn't happen.

This time, as the sugar hits the top of your mouth, all you can think about is how much you miss him. How things will never be the same without him.

How you'll never get to have him sit next to you, smiling softly as he watches you eat. That you'll never get to see him demolish a cupcake in one bite and leave frosting on his nose.

It doesn't feel the same, you just feel hollow. Wetness spills across your cheeks, and snot clogs your nose and throat. You must look like a looney, ugly crying with your mouth stuffed full of cupcake, barely swallowing.

After that Lyla doesn’t order them for you anymore.

It's morning you think, judging from the bright sun pouring in from the blinds.

Lyla is buzzing near your ear where you've taken off the watch and placed it on the pillow next to you for company.

"You need to get out of the house. You're turning into a social recluse. It's not a good look," she says, as she peers down at you over her pink-tinted glasses.

"How about I get a date for you? Have a fab night out on the town? I have a roller-dex of the top bachelors in New York. I'm happy to hack into their calendar!"

You ignore her, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging Miguel's worn hoodie tighter to your chest. You pull the cover over your head, but you can still hear her babble on through the thin separation of fabric.

"What's your type? Oscar Isaac? He’s hot– No, no you're right he's happily married and we don’t wanna be homewreckers here. What about Lenny Kravitz? Doesn't get cooler than Kravitz and he’s long divorced."

"Lyla stop," you groan, poking your head back up above the covers. You just want quiet. Just want to stay here cocooned in this space that is the closest you'll ever get to Miguel for as long as you can remember him, until that too is taken away from you.

"I'm fine. I don't need a date."

"You're not fine though. You've only eaten a box of cupcakes in the last week. You haven't showered and you look like a mess. Your hair is greasier than the BP oil spill off the gulf of Mexico. My purpose is to keep you safe, and that includes your mental and emotional levels, which are... " she stops, throwing up some diagnostics boxes in floating holograms, then makes a face. "Yikes."

She’s doing this on purpose. Talking incessantly, so that she can nag you into doing what she wants. Suddenly you gain newfound sympathy for Miguel. You used to think it was funny when she nagged him and got on his nerves, but now that you're on the end of it, you see how he must’ve suffered when Lyla was in one of these moods with him.

"Will you stop if I step out of the house for a walk," you offer as an olive branch, hoping for a little peace and quiet.

"How long of a walk?"

"Five."

"Minutes?!" Lyla screeches with outrage. "The general recommendation is 150 minutes of weekly exercise, I'm going to need at least an hour's walk from you boss-girl."

"Twenty minutes."

"Forty!"

"Half an hour, or I'm going back to bed and wearing earplugs."

Lyla grins. "Deal".

The streets here look the same as the ones in your dimension, down to the Bodega owned by the old Korean couple around the corner. This version of earth is identical to yours in almost every way you know of.

Except in this New York, instead of Matthew Ellis, a man named Biden who is apparently over 100 years old (give or take a few years) is president.

In this reality, Leonardo Di Caprio apparently won an Oscar, while Amy Adams still hasn't, which is nuts to you.

The Avengers also don't seem to exist here. Though Superheroes still seem prevalent. A group of misfits that refers to themselves as the Fantastic Four seems to dominate the news cycle more often than not.

Ahead of you, the street splits into two paths and you take a corner into the smaller street that you know should cut through to a dog park.

But it doesn’t. Instead of green grass fields and park benches, you end up in a small narrow dead end of a street. Somehow you're lost. Shit. You should've paid more attention.

Looking up, you turn your head left and right to try to make sense of where you could be. You’re just about to pull up google maps, when the flickering light of the one sole streetlamp illuminating this alley catches your attention.

You're 12 blocks from Chinatown, but you recognize this alley even though it shouldn't be here.

From a distance, you spot the familiar red stall. The same small rickety table. The same red cloth draped on top. The same old lady with her abnormally large shiny head, comically large sunglasses and white-blue robe. The same giant sign spelling out: Fortune teller.

Only this time, there's only one folding chair set up in front of it.

She takes one look at you, as you sit down with a look of familiarity in her milky-white eyes.

"Your bad luck is gone," she says.

You should be more surprised that the scam fortune teller from another dimension seemingly remembers the conversation you had with her other self. But it doesn't. You've learned by now that nothing is as it seems.

Random near death accidents are not just due to bad luck. A superhero that repeatedly saves you isn’t just doing it out of sheer goodwill and duty. A starmap is not just a starmap, and you’re willing to bet your life that this fortune teller is not just a fortune teller.

“Who are you?” you ask her.

“Is that of importance to you?”

“Yes.”

She takes off her sunglasses and stares directly into your eyes. Without the obstruction of dark tinted lenses, you can see that it's not glaucoma causing the whiteness in her pupils. In her eyes, there are galaxies, millions of tiny dots of glowing stars, endless and mesmerizing as you stare back into them.

"My name is Ulana. I’m a Watcher. My role is to observe the Multiverse from the Nexus of all realities.”

There’s no longer that harmless demeanor and friendly smile that makes you drop your guard. She holds herself with reverence as she speaks, with the aura of the divine.

“Does that mean you are able to observe every reality in this moment?” you ask.

“Yes.”

The image of your New York with its pink cracked sky and the chaos you left it in crowds your vision.

"Can you tell me what happened to my old world after I left? Is it still there?"

"Your old home is intact and safe."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you had been holding all this time.

Thank god.

Relieved tears spill from your cheeks. Somehow you haven't single-handedly caused the destruction and death of whole worlds and countless lives.

Even if you can never go back there, that place will always be your home, and your chest warms at the thought that even without you it will always still be there.

You take a moment to gather yourself, to wipe the errant tears that are welling up with the back of your hand.

Then you take a deep calming breath before you ask her the question that has been plaguing your mind since you arrived in this reality.

"Is Miguel still alive in the void?" you ask her.

"Your husband is still alive. But he doesn't have much time left. He's fading."

Your fingers curl into fists on top of your knees, "How do I save him?"

"I couldn't tell you.” She shakes her head sadly. "My kind is not allowed to intervene. We are only meant to observe the ongoings of the universes. I've already meddled too much.”

Ducking down, she reaches under her desk, sorting through the pile of junk paper, before she leans back up over the table.

"This is the only help I can give you," she says, reaching over to place something into your hands.

You look down to see a familiar bright yellow Star Map.

"He'll be home this time," she tells you.

You're standing on the doorsteps of the old brownstone on 177A Bleecker Street, staring up at the old ornate wooden front doors.

Unlike last time you were here, there's no hesitation in you anymore. It doesn't matter that you've come alone with no other superhero to validate your mad and fantastical story about the Cosmos that was out to kill you.

You don't care if Strange thinks you're a random crazy from the streets.

If he doesn't believe you, then you'll make him believe you. If he tries to have you hauled out, you'll kick and drag and scream at the top of your lungs, and chain yourself to his front door if that's what it takes.

You bring your hand to the door knocker and tap it three times. Then you wait.

Nothing.

Didn't the fortune teller say he was going to be home this time?

Goddamnit, was she a scam after all? What kind of name is Ulana for a celestial being anyhow? Did you end up wasting another ten dollars?

You grit your teeth and step forward again, grabbing the door knocker to pound it down against the front door, even harder this time and you don’t stop at one or two, you keep slamming it down fervently.

Mid-knock, the door creaks, swinging open, as an exasperated voice greets you.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming. There's no need to knock that aggressively, I'm not going to come to the door any fast–"

He stops mid-sentence as he looks at you. For a man you've never met, Dr. Strange's eyes go wide at the sight of you standing on his doorsteps. His eyes are filled with the disbelief of a man who's seen a ghost.

"You're alive," he says.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Strange says as he hurriedly pulls out a chair by the old oak table in his dining room.

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says.

He waves his cape with a dramatic flare in the empty space, and from a distance you hear a small click, before you realize that he must’ve used magic to put on the kettle.

For someone that’s supposed to be a sorcerer, you don’t know why the hell he bothers having a kettle. Seems a bit redundant, couldn’t he just use magic to instantly heat water?

You sit down as instructed, hands folded in your lap as you try not to fidget.

There’s a prolonged and uncomfortable silence as you both wait for the water to boil.

Strange opens then closes his mouth, as if he’s unsure of who should speak first. In the end though, he doesn’t say anything at all, he just drums his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface as he smiles politely but awkwardly at you. Across the room, the water starts simmering to a boil.

This wasn’t what you had expected. You had counted on him to try to kick you out and you having to make a passionate plea for him to listen to you. Instead he’d opened the door and insisted on inviting you in and now the two of you are drowning in a sea of uncomfortable silence.

There’s a tinny whistle from the kettle, and Strange darts up from the chair, as if the interruption was a godsend. He rushes over to pick it up, before walking back to the table with it at a much slower pace.

Then he stands next to you, tilting the snout of the kettle into your small tea cup.

Strange stares intently at your face as he pours the boiling water into the cup. So focused on you that he doesn't pay any attention to the level of the hot water, until it spills over the rim and onto the table surface below. Then he seemingly snaps himself out of it.

"Shit! Sorry," Strange begins. He wipes up the spillage with his robe, even though there are perfectly good paper towels behind him, even though he could’ve just used magic to make it vanish in the blink of an eye.

"You look exactly like her," he says, then he stops himself.

Strange considers the statement and does a curt little nod at himself as if berating himself for how stupid that comment sounded. "Which of course you do. You are her, just… from another dimension."

From your time with Miguel, you’ve been able to glean from his childish rants about the man’s “ugly” and “useless” and “impractical” cape that there’s a hostility there towards Strange that goes beyond just Miguel being Miguel.

Judging from the guilt in this man’s eyes as he looks at you from across the table, you can guess that there is a complicated history between Strange and Miguel and you.

“Did you know me?” you ask.

“Yeah, we were friends. Good friends,” Strange corrects himself. Then a sadness seeps into his eyes as he stops wiping the table and pulls back his robe close to his body. “Although I supposed I wasn’t a great friend to you near the end of things.”

He places the cup down on the table in front of you, the rising steam wafts through the air, smelling of mint and honey as he drags out the chair and sits himself next to you.

"Why don't you tell me everything from the start," Strange asks you.

So you do. You tell him of that first day when you fell out of the Chrysler building and was saved by Miguel. Tell him about how Miguel saved you again and again and how you tried to trap him with cookies and how you fell out of the Chrysler building a second time on purpose, which makes Strange laugh that sounds fond and warm.

You tell him of the void, the fortune teller, the Avengers and everything in between, and how despite surviving all of that Miguel had exiled himself to the void and sent you here by yourself, with each event you tell him his eyes grow sadder.

When you're done, Strange nods solemnly. He picks up his cup and takes a small sip of his tea to buy himself time to gather his thoughts. Then he finally speaks again. "What can I do to help?"

"Miguel is still in the void. I need your help to send me there so I can get him back."

Strange frowns, then goes entirely quiet as he stares out of the window in deliberation. It takes several moments before he speaks again.

"The void is a dangerous place, stay too long and you will be erased from existence. If you go in you may not be able to find your way out and I wouldn’t be able to help you from here."

“That’s fine, I just need your help to get there” you say.

He sets down his cup as he continues. "I can’t in good conscience send you back out there. I've already broken my promise to keep you safe once."

Frustration brims in your chest. As flattered as you are over Strange’s concern over your safety, you bristle at the fact that there seems to be none extended to Miguel’s. Every second you spend here is another second wasted.

“Miguel is there. If I don’t save him, he’s going to be erased from existence.”

That doesn’t seem to move the doctor in the slightest.

“For Miguel, his own life is a small price to pay in exchange for yours. He’d sacrifice the whole world for you to live.”

“That’s not a choice for him to make.”

Strange scratches his thumb over his bearded jaw, as if he's trying to figure out how to solve a puzzle, before speaking again.

"Right now with Miguel gone, the volatile cosmic energy surrounding you is stabilized. The version of you in this universe died and is viewing your presence as an equivalent exchange. You could stay here. You'd be safe. Miguel would've known that. That's probably why he sent you here.”

"I don't want to stay here if Miguel isn't here," you counter.

Leaning back in his chair, Strange up at the ceiling in deep thought.

"It's risky, if I sent you there, you may not even be able to find him. He might not even have his physical shape anymore, he’s been there too long by now."

His head ducks back down as he looks at your face, observing you for long moments.

You don't know what it is he sees, but a small amused smile quirks at his lip as he shakes his head again.

"But... I think you already know the risks and nothing I can say will dissuade you will it?" he says.

You nod.

It's not that you've stopped being scared of the void. It's not that the very thought of it doesn't fill your stomach with a cold dread. It's that Miguel is there, and there is no risk you're not willing to take to have the chance to see him again.

You square your chest and confidence swells inside you with your answer.

"Send me there."

~ Next Issue

Credit and Dedication: We're almost there guys! Next issue is going to be the final one. Thanks to everyone who has been with me on this ride! I cannot wait to share the final conclusion with you all.

Special thank you (as always) go out to my bestie: @thirstworldproblemss who is a big reason this story even lifted off the ground in the first place.

Big BIG BIGGEST thanks to my muse @guruan who has gifted me with so much inspiration be it thirsty twitter art of our favorite rude spider or her own insanely gorgeous art. Have you seen this heartbreaking beauty?!

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

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part one

part two: if she's got blue eyes, i will surmise that you'll probably date her

Eddie had felt completely numb after leaving Steve's apartment. He wasn't really interested in doing anything with his band even though they definitely owed the studio a new album but Eddie wasn't feeling inspired after the abrupt departure of his most recent muse.

He didn't want to be that guy who wrote songs about his exes or aired dirty laundry in public through cryptic lyrics. It worked for other people but his band's vibe was a lot more fantasy and concept albumy and he couldn't quite find the energy to allegorize his current heartbreak. This is where the reality of the music industry really sucked because at some point their label didn't give a shit about Eddie's need to wallow and his manager could only negotiate so many extensions.

Thankfully, all previous qualms he had with writing about his ex and their breakup ended when he saw another fucking TMZ headline about Steve leaving a club with another model. This had to be the thirtieth person Steve had been tied to since their breakup. Eddie's best guess was that his pact with Robin to be each other's whatever to get the media off their back had ended.

Lyrics started flowing out of Eddie as he swiped out of twitter and into his notes app.

Your new girl is my clone And did you think I didn't see you? There were flashing lights At least I had the decency To keep my nights out of sight Only rumors 'bout my hips and thighs And my whispered sighs

Eddie knew it was probably a low blow to flaunt his escapades after he'd worked pretty hard to keep them under wraps. He didn't need the world to know he had pity sex with some random guy he picked up because he really got Eddie's last album. Eddie fucking hated how pretentious some fans were about his lyrics. Like sometimes a sword is just a sword, bestie. Anyways, an NDA and really shitty coffee later, Eddie pretended that mistake hadn't happened but was petty enough to make it clear to Steve that he wasn't the only one finding solace in someone else's bed.

He put together a rough melody on his acoustic and sent it over to his band to see what they thought. He wasn't sure if they'd be into it but it was fucking therapeutic to get the feelings out of his body that were festering there. Gareth was over the moon because he had been anti-Steve from the beginning and was super on board with some pretty boy actor directed snark. Ronnie, Jeff, and Freak were a little harder to bring around as they felt like they should at least sort of protect their darker brand but once Freak laid down a pretty sick base and Ronnie added some haunting piano it was undeniably a Corroded Coffin song. They packaged up a rough draft and sent it over to their producer to work his magic. Before Eddie knew it the song was approved for a sound on TikTok and Eddie and the band were thinking of video ideas to promote the single which would apparently be ready for streaming in the next month. Eddie wasn't quite ready to concede an entire angsty breakup album but it did at least feel good to get a start on producing what the studio was looking for.

Eddie sat back and scrolled through the sound on TikTok and thought about Steve's reaction to the sound or the single a perfectly healthy amount, thank you very much.

@lololol-1234 (it's not quite fixed yet but i hope you don't mind the tag)

part three

[rollinouttahere-writes]

helloo!! Can we please have dark chocolate number 13 with Ace pls \(//∇//)\ thank you!!♡♥︎♡♥︎╰(*´︶`*)╯🍫♡

Yandere Ace x GN!Reader

1.1k words

Prompt:

I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve last seen Ace. An eternity in his book, barely a breath of fresh air in yours. During your precious alone time, you elected to stay in his cabin and tidy up the place. His tendency to just throw shit and leave it wherever it falls left the room in a chaotic state, and that got on your nerves given that this is where you spend almost every waking moment of your day.

Going out amongst the other people on the Moby Dick always left a bad taste in your mouth. They would give you pitying glances at best, but never lend a hand to help. They ultimately cared more about Ace’s well being than yours, and since your presence was directly tied to his mental state, your fate was sealed.

You never asked for any of this. No one wants to get dragged off onto a pirate ship because the captain of it got too attached. You had a glimmer of hope that you may be able to escape after the Spade Pirates were forcibly disbanded by the Whitebeard Pirates, but as already stated. They weren’t much help. At first they couldn’t even get close to you without Ace trying to kill them, but eventually he grew on them. Then they were helping keep you on board, lest he spirals. 

The relationship you had with Ace could be very draining. That fun, rambunctious side of him that had originally drawn you in was only a part of him. A front that he put on. In reality he was an intensely depressed individual that had become much more comfortable showing that side of himself to you.

In normal circumstances, this would be a heartwarming show of trust. Typically this would be a steady step in the right direction to build a healthy relationship, but nothing about your relationship was healthy. The exposure to his depressive episodes felt suffocating more than anything. While he would be sobbing into your chest and clinging to you for dear life, you would be forced to comfort your captor out of pure guilt from seeing him look so broken. You felt more like an emotional support animal than a human significant other some days.

Going back and forth between hating and pitying him was dizzying. Not to mention the bizarre form of codependent love that had been thrown into the mix. You never knew what direction your emotions towards him would go any given day, just like you never knew what kind of a mood Ace would be in.

It was exhausting. You felt like you needed a vacation to recuperate at the end of every day, but you of course never got one. So you would have to settle for the moment of peace you’ve been granted in this messy cabin.

The door is suddenly kicked open and you internally curse. Your quiet moment is done and over with now. You should have cherished it more.

Strong arms lock around your waist, heave you up, and spin you around. Ace seems to be in a good mood today, which is a plus. “(Y/N), I missed you!”

“It’s only been a couple of hours, you’re acting like it’s been months,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

“What? A couple of hours is a long time, it felt like months.” He had mercifully stopped spinning and was looking around the room. “Where’d all my stuff go?”

You rolled your eyes, “All I did was stuff your dirty clothes into the hamper. Don’t know why you even have that thing seeing as you never use it.” It had a fine layer of dust that would gather over it in between your sporadic uses when you got fed up enough to clean.

“Not everything was dirty, most of those were still good!”

“It’s not “good” if you have to do like three sniff tests to determine that! Just wash that shit!” You were squirming to get out of his grasp, thoroughly irritated from bickering about you cleaning up his laundry.

Ace laughed and shrugged, “Maybe I’ll do it later.” Yeah right. He walked towards your shared, unmade bed and tossed you onto it before throwing himself on top of you. Oh. He’s feeling cuddly today. Great. Well, as long as he doesn’t start crying it won’t be so bad.

A kiss was placed against your cheek with enough force to squish your face, and then he unceremoniously flopped down, further squishing you into the mattress. Instead of using your chest as a pillow like he usually does, he nestled his face into your neck. His arms snaked underneath you to keep your bodies fully pressed together.

The man was a walking furnace, so you were already beginning to sweat. Such a thing didn’t bother him, but it was uncomfortable for you. Not that your discomfort was enough to deter him, you would be stuck in this position until he’d gotten his fill. This was far from the first time you’ve been subjected to this, so you knew what he wanted. One of your hands plucked his already partially dislodged hat from his head and tossed it aside so you could run your fingers through his messy hair, the other one rubbed slow circles on his back.

Ace hummed in contentment from your ministrations, and his body sagged more than it already had against your own. His hair was tangled, a common occurrence for anyone primarily living at sea. Your fingers worked meticulously to undo all of the knots. You weren’t particularly gentle with it, but he wasn’t flinching from every tug so you can’t imagine it was that harsh either.

For a while, nothing is said. Ace enjoys your company, while you feel obligated to acquiesce his wants and desires.

“I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.” The words are spoken in a hushed whisper directly into your ear.

There it is again. That pesky, traitorous feeling of affection. The flutter of your heart from being so desperately wanted- needed even. Your impulsive inclination to comfort someone so clearly in need even though it’s absolutely not your job to do so. You wanted to “save” him almost as badly as you wanted to save yourself.

It made you question if he was the only one with serious psychological issues here. Have you always had this savior complex, or was it a recent development brought on by your living situation? 

This wasn’t something you wanted to think about today. You sighed and clutched Ace closer. Maybe it would be for the best if you just turned your brain off for a little while? Thinking too hard on your circumstances has never done you any good.

[logical-grave]

✧ Pretty little thing ✧ Ch.2

�� Pairing ♡ - Rafe Cameron x Plus Size!Reader

♡ Warnings ♡ - Public sex, Smut, some mean!Rafe again and some nice!rafe? Creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talk, some tit play, hurtful comments, and ofc unedited mistakes hehehe

♡ A/N ♡ - Erm I need this man biblically. Pls don’t lose respect for me hehe

♡ Word count ♡ - 2.7k

♡ Part 1 ♡

“Of course! Let me know if you need anything else.” My cheeks hurt due to the forced smile on my face, a side effect of my customer service persona. The serving tray in my hand was two seconds from toppling over, but I made it to the club guests with their drinks before that could happen. The older gentleman of the group slipped me a twenty, and I smiled, slyly taking it and stuffing it in the waistband of my skirt. Twenty was cheap. On a good day, I made close to twelve hundred in tips alone, but every penny counts, I guess.

“Hey sweetie.” Another man called for me and I rolled my eyes before turning to him with another forced smile. “How can I help you, sir?” I tucked the tray I held under my arm as the man approached me, toying with the racket in his hand. His partner busied himself by playing with a tennis ball like a golden retriever, and I stifled a chuckle. “Here,” he holds his racket out towards me, “play a game with us.”

My lips form into a tight-lipped smile, looking at him with hesitation. “I should get back to work.” A dry chuckle follows my words, and he makes an unsatisfied face. “Come on, aren’t you guys supposed to attend to our every need?” He asks, and he’s right, we aren’t supposed to say no to the guests, but it’s also not supposed to be knowledgeable to them. He steps closer to me, making it obvious as he looks me up and down, eye-fucking me right in front of my face. “Apologies, sir. I’m neede-”

“Fuck off, ballsack. She’s busy.” Rafes voice cut through the air and I looked over my shoulder to see him approaching us, holding a racket as well. My eyes widened slightly as I took in Rafes frame. He was shirtless, a sheen of sweat coating his body, telling me just finished a match, and a pair of black shorts hanging low on his hips, accentuating the ‘V’ of his torso along with a backwards hat. Jesus, it’s like looking at a fucking marble statue. It didn't help when he stepped close enough for me to feel his body heat emanating onto my back.

“You’re gonna let this douche speak for you?” The man stepped closer as well, still keeping a safe distance from me, but I could feel Rafe tense up. His reaction caused the man to smirk, showing he was getting what he wanted out of Rafe. “Please, forgive us.” I turn and push on Rafes chest, urging him to walk backwards, and he keeps his attention on the older man. He was in clear view still as Rafe lifted his arm, pointing his racket at the man in a threatening manner. “Watch yourself, gramps.” He yelled out, eventually turning around to walk until we were far enough away from the man.

“What the hell, Rafe?” I bit, drawing my eyebrows together in a pissed off manner. Rafe flared his nostrils, throwing his racket on the ground next to the benches on the court. Great, now he’s going to rip me a new one. “He was harassing you, I wasn’t going to sit on my ass and do nothing.” He was in my face now, anger written all over his face, and I closed my mouth, deciding not to talk back due to the fact that another guest might overhear. “He asked me to play a game, and I was telling him no.” I turned, walking off the courts and towards the pool.

Recently, we cut our laundry attendant because she was smoking joints on the job and made all the towels smell like weed. Of course, complaints ensued and now towel duty that was a one-person job was now a six-person job, dividing it between my coworkers and I.

I groaned as I heard footsteps trailing mine on the wet tile of the pool deck. “You would’ve had to tell him no twice. That’s one too many for my liking.” He reasoned, and I ignored him as I walked over to the first cabana on the pool deck, stripping its sheets and towels. It was close to 10 o’clock and the guests were beginning to trickle out of the club, so it was time to start on my closing duties, but Rafe didn’t give a shit. “I could’ve handled him.” My voice was harsher than I intended as I turned to him, dropping the sheets I held onto the cabana.

I look at Rafe, and he doesn’t say anything, just huffing his chest, which doesn’t help when I’m trying to be mad at him. His broad shoulders compliment him well, his eyes narrowing on me as he walks closer to me. I could feel his body heat again, and I looked forward, facing his chest, which was beautifully structured. He hooked a finger under my chin, leading my face up to meet his, his other hand resting on my hip. He doesn’t say anything, just staring into my eyes longer than he’d ever done. In fact, I think this was the first time he actually took the time to look at me and could answer what color my eyes were if he was asked by someone.

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, as a gasp left my lips from the feeling of his hand pushing my back to bring my body flush against him. Something flashed in his eyes, igniting something inside me, and it was all centered around him. I couldn’t tell when he placed his lips on mine, but when I realized it, the anger that resented him seemed to fade along with whatever else was around us. The kiss felt like a pull that I refused for so long, and the relief of his lips on mine was something that burned into the memory of my brain. His lips are soft, pink, and so perfectly tender as passion brewed between us from the way he pushed his tongue passed the slit above my bottom lip. The kiss was needy and intimate, exactly the kind of kiss Rafe would give.

I pushed his chest, urging him away from me, and I could swear he didn’t want to until I pushed him further. He sighed, pushing his hips forward and making me gasp. “Are you hard?” I giggled with a small blush, looking down at his prominent bulge, pressing it against me. Rafe looked at me and gave me a small shrug. “I get turned on when you yell at me.” His face was unchanging, as if his statement was matter-of-factly.

My head turned as I searched the pool deck for any signs of life. The golf course was not far and anyone in a cabby driving by would see, as well as tennis players returning from a match. Even worse, a lot of the workers walk through the pool deck as a shortcut to the gym. It was simply too risky and though this wasn’t the best paying job, I didn’t want to lose it over something as trivial as sex. Yet, I’m reminded of our agreement as Rafe presses his body against mine, prompting me to sit on the edge of the cabana.

“Rafe, we can’t. I’ll get fired if we get caught.” I move to sit up, but Rafe pushes me down, making me let out an exasperated yelp. The comfort of the cabana on my back was welcomed as I laid down on it and my head rested on the bundled sheets. Rafe moved to stand between my legs, making me bite my lip at how perfectly aligned we are. I stretch my neck up to look around once again, the fear of someone coming rushing through me. “Rafe, we shouldn’t.” I looked at him with worry, but he’s busy trailing his fingers under my skirt and up my thigh, leaving goose-bumps over my skin due to his delicate touch.

Fuck, he makes this hard.

“What did I say about these?” Rafe hooked his finger on the waistband of my panties before snapping them back against my skin, warranting a small wince from me. I looked up at him and bit my lip nervously. “Not to wear them anymore.” My voice was soft-spoken, his intimidation drawing this out from me. The side of his mouth curled up, his eyes darkening at my response, just like he wanted me to. “Good girl,” He said in a low voice, a tinge of husk aiding it. Rafe pulls on my polo that was tucked into my skirt, pushing it over my breasts, and my eyes widen.

Though, I don't stop him. The worry of being caught by someone has been pushed behind the lust that began to cloud my mind, and Rafe took notice. He pulled the cups of my bra down under my breasts, giving them a small push-up and exposing them perfectly to him. He makes no hesitation to reach and palm at my breasts, biting his lip. “That's what I love about girls like you,” He pinched my nipple. “You have tits and ass for days.”

I look away, attempting to distract myself from his words. I knew what he meant, the compliment not even close to being considered one with how backhanded it was. The worst part? Rafe genuinely meant it, as if bigger girls didn’t have much more to themselves than our sizable assets. It reminded me that to him, I was good enough to fuck but not to date, much less even save my phone number.

Rafe doesn’t take notice of my sudden disinterest, instead removing one hand from my breast, and I hear a rustle of fabric. I crane my neck and look at him standing between my legs, taking his shorts off to circle his knees, fully baring himself. I let out a small gasp as I looked at his cock. It was painfully hard, with a string of pre-cum falling from the tip to drip onto my thigh. “See what you do to me?” He pumps himself a couple of times, letting out small moans as his other hand bunches my skirt up at my waist.

He thumbs my clit, making small circular motions as he narrows his eyes at me, making sure I’m reacting how he wants. I blush as I bite my lip, holding back the moans that threaten to spill from my lips. This just warrants him to press on it, eliciting a moan from me as he intended. “I wish you could see yourself right now.” His eyes are hooded, clouded with lust and desire. I look at him innocently, his comment giving me a small surge of confidence. It was insane how quickly he shifted my mood and I, more than, let him.

I watch as he removes his hand, moving it to grip my hip as he presses his tip on my clit. I make a small noise at the sensation before he starts to drag his tip up and down my folds, gathering my slick with his pre-cum, the act lewd in itself. Finally, after out his tease, he slowly eases in until fully sinking in me, prompting a moan from the both of us. I shut my eyes as I let out a show exhale, delighting in the feeling of him in me time and time again. Rafe pushed my thigh down, as he began his thrusts, his other hand moving to cup my breast.

My head falls back against the bundle of sheets as Rafe thrusts into me, my hand reaching over my head to grip the sheets. “Fuck, Rafe.” I whimper, his cock stretching me out, and I bite the inside of my cheek against the burn, ignoring it due to the pleasure accompanying it. The familiar way his cock curved always lightly grazed over my g-spot, adding to my lust. Sometimes, I swear he knew my body better than I did.

“Rafe,” I whine, “S’too much.” This only drove him to pound into me harder and at a faster pace as well. If he had the chance to ruin me completely, he’d take it without hesitation. “You can take me,” Rafe pants, looking down. “Look.” I follow his eyes, and it takes everything in me not to cum as I watch his cock slide in and out of my abused cunt. The image, so pornographic, I almost subconsciously tell myself to look away, but then I remember I’m a part of that image. The indecent sound of our shared arousal fills our ears with each slap of his skin against mine, along with my strangled moans.

This was wrong. This was so incredibly wrong yet the seemingly never ending list of consequences wouldn’t even be considered when asked if this was worth it. Rafe grasps onto my hips as he pushes me into the cabana, driving into me enough to hit my cervix. He squeezes his eyes shut, a habit he’s formed when he’s trying to hold himself back from finishing quickly.

“Rafe,” He looks at me with lust-driven eyes. “I need you to cum in me.” I whine and something behind his eyes shifts. As if he’s been waiting to hear those words leave my mouth for as long as we’ve had this relationship. Rafe always came inside me, thanks to the IUD I have implanted, but I had never asked him once to do the sinful act myself.

Then, It started at the base of my stomach, the familiar tightness of my walls causing Rafe to hold my hips harder, and I winced at the pleasurable pain it drew out. “I’m close, baby. I’m so close.” He reached his finger to my clit and circled it with his thumb, the stimulation allowing the force of my orgasm to crash into every crevice of my body. My head fell into a daze and my vision blurred slightly as I milked his cock, my walls clenching him oh so nicely.

He thrusts forward, the fill of his cum settled into me with pulses of his cock, and the overflow dripped down between our thighs. The stutter of his hips made a slow stop and his body fell slack over mine, and a silent buzz of content settled over us. Rafe and I panted as we attempted to recover our breathing, the feeling of his chest pressing against mine almost giving me a sense of comfort. A blush pinched my cheeks as I felt Rafe pepper small kisses over my chest and neck, the ticklish feeling making me giggle. Rafe stopped himself at that sound and looked at me and in an instant, he was Rafe Cameron again. The subtle changes in his expression weren't subtle enough, clearly.

Rafe pushes off me and takes himself out with a groan. I cross my ankles as I sit up, pulling down my shirt before reaching behind myself to grab a pillowcase and clean myself off but its taken from my hands before I could do so. I look up at Rafe, and he rudely avoids my gaze, instead wiping his shaft before I get a chance for myself. I sigh and reach behind again for another pillowcase, but Rafe grabs that one and throws it behind me as well.

“Put your panties on.” He says, pulling up his shorts and wiping his hand. I quirk an eyebrow as I look at him, finding some sort of tell that says he’s not serious. He seems to notice and darkens his expression, reaching to pull on my arm and stand me up abruptly, making me stumble into his chest. I stare at him in disbelief at his man-handling, ready to speak on it, but he beats me to it. “If you're going to wear your little panties, you’re going to wear them to keep my cum inside you.” He lightly grasps my chin to look up at him, and I slowly nod in response. Rafe pecks my lips with a small smile before taking the waistband of my panties and pulling them up, giving my ass cheek a slap, and I jumped slightly.

Rafe gives me a small nod as a goodbye before walking out the pool deck, and a strike of fear surges through me as soon as he’s gone. Just above the door he left through, a camera sits idly facing the entirety of the pool and all the blood drains from my face. “Fuck!” I yell to myself, into the sheets I held in my hands out of frustration. Attempting to push the problem from my brain, I continued stripping the rest of the cabanas on the pool deck until a notification made me pause. I take out my phone and read it to myself.

“Rafe Cameron sent you $1,500.”

-

thank you for reading!!! lmk what you think! love you!!

[grapejuicestyless]

Mad Woman

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Angst to less angst???

Summery: Out of his own jealousy, Jeremiah decides to take the one thing Conrad has always wanted away from his brother in an attempt to finally have something over him. He never meant to hurt anyone, but in doing that, he hurt everyone.

Jeremiah is a total douche in this(I love him it’s just bc I needed a mean character.)

“You can have her, I won’t get in the way. But I will not watch you climb over people like her. She might be your girlfriend now, but she was my best friend first. Whatever you do, I will not defend it.” He was seething in anger when the news broke. Chest heaving unevenly the moment he had to watch as my lips captured hers. How my hands had a home in her hips. I was the one who got to worship her. I hope it killed him to know I finally had something he didn’t. I won the girl, not him.

He left the room, leaving behind the lingering shadow of a storm that brewed between us. A tension that was caused solely by his own jealousy. Conrad had always been older, stronger, smarter. The better brother. I hoped it killed him to know that even if all those things were true, he still couldn’t get the one thing he so desperately wanted. I felt giddy about it, in contrast to him.

I had the warmth of a childhood friend to crowd my bed on the chilly summer nights. Company that would only be for me, she was all mine.

Of course, Y/n was completely oblivious to the rift being created from this scandal. She always was so blind to what people felt for her, too nervous to see if her instincts were true. She never wanted to feel like an idiot if she was wrong, so she ignored them.

She would’ve never let me kiss her, hold her, have her if she’d known what Conrad felt for her. She didn’t want to see anyone hurt. So much so, she would rather live a life of misery and loneliness than to pit two friends against each other, much less brothers. And if that wasn’t enough to point out her stupidity around the topic, it was painfully apparent the way Y/n and Conrad shared glances. Like he was the only boy in the world. She didn’t idolize him, she had too much pride to put a boy over herself, but the love she felt for him was overflowing in a way that seeped into everyone else’s lives. Always trying to push the pair together.

Now, Y/n was mine. I could call her my girlfriend, my own. Conrad had finally lost, I had something over him. It wasn’t like I didn’t like Y/n. I thought she was the most beautiful girl in Cousins, maybe even in Pennsylvania. I hadn’t been, but I could assume that she was.

The relationship started slow, easy. I still remember the first night we spent together. I hadn’t touched her more than my arm slung around her shoulders so she could prop her head up on my bicep. I didn’t push for her to give me affection. She never hinted that she wanted more anyways. It was never rushed, we were always able to enjoy the closeness of our company, never needing more. Just being close was enough.

Sometimes we’d kiss, my hands in hers, eyes fluttering shut. Mostly, I did it in front of Conrad. I believed it felt better when it was more than just a kiss, but a way to rub salt in the wound that Conrad wore shamefully on his sleeve. Sometimes he would clear his throat, start talking to break it up so he could save the last bit of composure he had left. More often than now though, Conrad just walked away. Not willing to fight for her attention anymore. Not strong enough to even try.

It was a pattern like this, Y/n and I having small intimate moments behind closed doors, saving the steamy things for the couch cushions or the poolside mid-afternoon. Our dirty laundry was aired out in the open, allowing the mind to not only imagine what we were doing, but have physical proof of it.

Part of me felt bad, horrible inside. Y/n was the best of all of us. The kindest, the bravest. The second oldest. While Conrad struggled to keep us all safe, she was always his helping hand. Keeping everyone content and satisfied. Truly, I did really like her. I loved being with her. I’d always had a little crush on the girl, how could I not? Everything about her was so perfect. She was a dream. But deep down I always knew that what we had together had only started through some sort of twisted competition I held with my brother. The burning desire to have something he never would.

Maybe that’s when I started to push her away, because even if I had once been able to convince myself that I was with her out of my own feelings, I knew better than that. I knew I was doing it out of pure selfishness. What was so new and vibrant in June was rusted and unwanted by the following spring. Our long history together only making the shine turn into a matte finish, something old and worn out. I no longer had any pull towards her. I no longer imagined how her soft skin would feel under my fingertips. How her lips melted against mine. Our closeness, even in the most intimate moments felt dull. Sparks that once flew hiding away.

I began to try to pull away without a reason. Only that I was bored. Conrad seemingly felt better about it, coming to terms that maybe this was the end of his little daydream he always imagined he had with Y/n. So the competition felt useless. It was no fun anymore, I didn’t care. And with that dying down, so did the excitement. The thing that had sparked the fire burning between us in the beginning.

………………………………………………………………………………….

“Hey, Jere.” Her voice was like honey, smile so infectious as she waited for me by the front door. Summer had begun again and still, I strung the poor girl along instead of just cutting the ties. Slowly wrapping my noose around her, slowly breaking down her confidence. I watched her genuine kindness turn into a cover up for the scathing anger underneath it.

“Hi, Y/n.” I brushed past her, shoulder bumping, I expected her to follow. She didn’t.

Her frame was still at the door, hands clenching and unclenching quickly. I heard her sigh out of irritation. Finally then, she turned on her heals to meet me in the kitchen, elbows leaning on the counter, eyes killing me slowly with her deadly glare.

This was some form of punishment that was aimed directly at nothing. Only due to the fact that I didn’t have a single care about her anymore. Not even her darkest moods had any affect on me.

“What? What’s got you so upset?” I almost wanted to tease her further, knowing fully well that what I was doing was getting under her skin. I swear she almost broke, but her mouth was sealed shut.

“I’m not upset.” She breathed out evenly, putting on a false smile. Just once I’d like her to get mad. Freak out on me, end it so this whole game could be over.

“Really? You seem mad.” Looking away from her, I went to focus on anything else more interesting in the kitchen.

“Well, I’m not.” Her voice was raised, but she didn’t scream. She never did. She would never let anyone see her upset, always wanting peace. So instead of taking out her frustrations on me, the person who was the source of them, she left. Walking away to find where her head had gone.

“Who do you think you are?” His voice was harsh, like a slap to the face. Conrad never put his hands on me, but I almost wished he would’ve. A punch would’ve ended much quicker than this long argument that was about to ensue.

I shrugged.

“You have someone you don’t deserve at all, someone who stands by you even at your worst and you treat her like that?” Conrad was always the more mature out of the two of us. To describe him as more levelheaded would be untrue. We both had our moments, lost our cool on multiple occasions. But out of the two of us, he usually made the better choices. Did the right things. It would’ve been the right thing to let her go after that. It should’ve been a wake up call. But instead all I got out of his small outburst was the confirmation that even if he downplayed it, deep down he was still hurting. He still wanted her. So I would continue to play the game.

Not because I wished to hurt my brother, or Y/n for that matter. But because I just wanted one thing in my life that Conrad did not have. It was cruel, and twisted but I could not see that. It was like some sort of tunnel vision was casted down onto me and I only had one goal. Excluding the fact that I was hurting two very important people in my life.

………………………………………………………………………………….

It was early August by now, and it was a long time coming. This summer, unlike all the previous ones, seemed to drag by. Tensions high each day, only growing worse and worse with each passing hour until a fight broke out. The magic that once put us all in a trance had slipped off, revealing our darkest colors. To say that my relationship was strong, holding up through this would be a lie. It would’ve been a lie since July.

Because in July, I had not only been distancing myself from Y/n, but I had taken an interest for her younger sister. Belly. To compare the two, Belly was a little louder. A little shorter and her hair was longer. Y/n and her shared the same traits other than that. Not appearance wise, but personality wise. Both having some driving force pushing them into an intense competitive state. Both overly kind and caring for others. It was like newer version of the girl I already had, it was irresistible.

Even in my worst behavior, I could see it was wrong. So wrong to have let Belly trap me in the kitchen. No, even I wasn’t that naïve to blame it solely on her. It was wrong for me to kiss Belly. Even in Y/n and I’s roughest patch. She had never done anything to hurt me, always trying her hardest to be the best girlfriend someone could be to someone like me.

Glass shattered on the floors, a soft gasp being swallowed whole by the suddenness of the sound.

Belly and I pulled away with a pop, scrambling to fix ourselves, to downplay our mistake.

“Y/n.” I was utterly shocked to see her standing there, hair pinned up, the shirt she wore was ironically her sisters. She had glitter by her eyes and lips reddened, bitten raw. She looked like something out of a movie, even at her worst. For the first time I’d known her, she was speechless. The worst part, however, was the matching expression painted on the face behind her. The smile fading slowly into a familiar expression mixed with shock, hate and disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

“Y/n…” I tried again, trying to make it sound more pitiful. I reached out to grasp her hands, hold her. I wanted to hold her. It was odd. In the entire situation, I’d never really longed to hold her like this. I’d never felt my heart beat so fast. Shit, was I really? I was in love.

“No-don’t.” She warned, backing away, hands raised as a warning. She couldn’t even look at me, let alone Belly who was now hidden behind my shoulder, sinking down into herself.

“Y/n, hey, no please.” I begged again, not really sure what I was begging for.

She wiped away her tears with the palm of her hands, sucking in a breath. She tried to collect herself, but she couldn’t. It was only a matter of time before shit hit the fan. You can only put on a fake smile for so long before you are driven mad. And no one likes a mad woman.

“Fuck you, forever.” She stormed out before I even had the chance to speak, gone like an early autumn breeze. I could see she was angry, steam practically blowing out of her ears. But she didn’t yell, or give it to me like I had hoped. Our flame simply faltered out. Silently, slowly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Words I had heard one too many times in the past year. Ones that sometimes I wondered myself.

Truthfully, I didn’t know. I had her, right in the palm of my hands, but I poked that bear, I caused the end of this beautiful situation we found ourselves in. I had no real explanation for it. I just did it because I wanted to. I wanted Belly more than I had ever wanted her, or I thought so. No, Belly was just a crush. Now that I had lost her older sister, I saw her as my other half. Something that I should’ve loved completely from the very beginning.

I expected to hear his rants about how shitty of a boyfriend I was to her. How I’d taken away his one true love only to break her heart.

“You might be my brother by blood, but you are no brother of mine.” It was as quiet as a mouse coming from him, almost as if he didn’t believe such words could come out of his mouth. The venom that was laced within them told me that even in the guilt he felt while confessing it, he meant it. And if it wasn’t obvious in his scathing rage, I knew he had meant it for awhile. I didn’t expect him to leave without even a second look after that. Chasing after the beautiful woman I left behind.

I never meant to hurt anyone. I never wanted to. I was just so blind sighted I hadn’t even noticed how negatively I was impacting everyone’s lives. How I was just fucking up consistently until there was nothing left to mess with. All over some stupid jealousy. A war between two brothers that didn’t exist to Conrad, but only to me. And in trying to win, I had hurt two of the most important people in my life.

………………………………………………………………………………….

“Y/n. Y/n, Wait!” I chased after her like my life depended on it. Even the tightness in my chest couldn’t stop me. The quickness in my steps, and the length of them making it easy to catch her in just mere minutes.

“Go away.” She held her hand up, looking away. By the shaking in her voice, I could tell she didn’t mean it.

She was hurting. But she wasn’t sad. No, the tears that were so obviously glistening in the golden hour light weren’t of despair or even a faint sadness. They were hot, angry tears. And she had every right to be.

She should be mad, she should be scathing like me. Her face was contorted into a frown, eyebrows furrowed. I could tell she wanted to scream, wanted to, but no one likes a mad woman. Not even she did, but it she couldn’t help it. He made her like that.

I knew there was no getting through to her, no talking to her when she was so upset. I could only offer my shoulder for her to lean on. And as her tears soaked through my thin sleeves, I held her. I would continue to hold her until it was all okay. Until my brother was nothing more than a distant memory, one that felt more like a fever dream than reality.

So standing there, on the hill that led down to the beach, we sunk into the sandy grass. Hiding away from the world.

“I’m sorry Conrad. I’m so sorry. I was just so stupid. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She apologized over and over, and for some reason my mouth couldn’t move. I could only sit there looking at her and hope that she could read my mind.

[reikunrei]

feeling incredibly averse to posting this but i'm just gonna drop my kofi link here in case anyone wants to help me get out of my increasingly shitty situation living with my parents

more info below ig

after having given my parents nearly $100k over the last four years, i'd love to be able to actually leave. my future job situation is still up in the air (i've submitted for about a dozen positions and the only one i've heard back from and interviewed for hasn't gotten back to me yet), and i haven't been able to build up any savings because, again, i was (and still am) helping my family afford rent and bills, and probably the taxes my parents are behind on, but if i think about that, i'll get too angry. no joke, i've given my family, at the bare minimum, 85% of my income over the last 4 years. the rest of it has gone toward medical stuff and, now, my car

at this point, with the combo of my mom refusing to lower her standards and my dad's seeming refusal to hunt for a new full time job, i don't see how they won't continue to bleed me dry. my dad even has a bad habit of taking money out of my old savings account that he's a joint owner on or whatever from when i got it set up when i was 16, even when i stopped actively putting money in it, so now any time it gets its automated $1 transfer from my checking account, he'll just take that $1 without consulting me. i'm not exaggerating, even if it has $1-2 in it, it'll be gone within a week

i've even put off starting on testosterone because of this. i wanted to start it like 3 years ago, but kept putting it off because of money issues and wanting to save as much as possible. i got really close to actually starting it this year, but because of how messy everything is, i put it off again bc having one more thing on my plate, especially when my parents are already weird about me being trans, was not something i wanted to deal with

not to mention, we're still currently not living under a lease in our house that we're, as far as i'm aware, still tens of thousands of dollars behind in rent on (again, my dad refuses to disclose our financial position honestly with any of us) and it's developed many, many issues bc the landlord, even before we were behind on rent, is shit and refuses to actually fix anything. and my dad loves to just ignore things unless we beg him to do something

i'd love to be on my own (in the, much more affordable, midwest) by the end of summer. i by no means want to rely on donations and i have other avenues i'm working with to make money (i still have my current full time job, but i'm going through my old belongings and selling a lot online), but i'll take any help i can get atp because i'm truly at my wits end. i'd start doing art commissions again if i could, but doing that from 2020-2022, partially on top of my full time job, absolutely wrecked my right hand and i'm still in enough pain that i can't make it a regular activity

idk how much else there is to say. there's more i could say but... i don't really wanna air all my dirty laundry here. i'm miserable in so many ways and it's just become increasingly clear that my dad expects me to constantly cover his ass. my younger brother gives money too, but he manages to go on big cross-country and overseas trips with friends, so i think i've been stuck with the burden of giving the most money. there's so many more things going on in the world rn and everyone is stretched thin so i don't expect much, or anything, but. idk. might as well throw it out there, right?

i’ve also since taken down the gfm i set up last year when we got our first eviction notice bc, while we still need the money, i don’t feel right keeping it up for multiple reasons, including “i don’t want to give any of that money to my family” and it feels too… serious to keep it up when i could just throw out my kofi instead

i just want to make sure i have some sort of safety net to catch me if i move before anything job-wise is finalized. i need to be able to afford a place to live for at least a month so i can job-search while physically being in the area i wanna move to, which would ultimately make it easier for me to find a job at all. i'm working on being more firm with giving less money so i can actually have the means to move and be safe and comfortable, but... that never lasts long in this house

anyway. that's it, i guess. thanks for reading

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

first i just wanna say i love whenever you post I’ve literally turned on post notifs now ‼️🫶🏾

my request is just like a scenario or HC’s of if auron were ever to get jealous teehee

Jealous Auron.

First off he doesn't get jealous he gets even - Auron glaring at a man that was flirting with Rook in front of him.

He'll act indifferent to the person stealing rook's attention bc as YB said before he KNOWS Rook would never.

But still doesn't mean he can show off a bit like giving Rook presents using an anonymous name, giving them their collar they love wearing (since it went with everything), and more.

Also it helped the Rook ignored the person trying to flirt with them.

He was chuckling when he saw Rook cut their conversation short to go and talk with him.

But in all he knows that they'll come back to them, let anyone dare try and take them away from him. See how you'll end up with blood spilling and getting your dirty laundry aired by him.

Auron also claims that he doesn't get jealous he gets even.

Scenario:

Auron was starting to get annoyed by this meeting he was in, that new guy, James was pissing him off. He knows Rook is a really beautiful person but if this fucker keeps looking he's going to-

"Auron? Sir. Your input on this?" Turning his head Auron gave a smile, Rook was looking in his eyes. Confused on why he was acting such a way in a meeting nonetheless.

"Amazingly put together as usual Rook, go ahead and go with the plan. Sadly I need to contact someone at the moment, excuse me everyone." Everyone felt nervous seeing him getting up and leaving, Rook sighed as they knew he was mad at someone. Doesn't help that someone keeps looking at them with confusion.

"okay, we got the approval John, Derrida, and Angela please start your part." The three nodded and left the meeting room, Rook continued to give everyone a task or role to play in the movement of the new project. James, had the role of writing everyone's progress on their part of the project and helping if needed for someones part.

After finally getting the blonde out of their hair Rook started to walk to Auron's office. He was probably brooding and working on some emails that he decided to finally work on. Trish nodded to them as soon as she saw them, shooting the older woman a smile they walked through those big doors.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Saying as they walked to his desk not waiting for an answer and sitting on it looking at him. A sigh was their response as he placed his pen down from writing whatever he was.

"Hm, that would be good." So they did talk about; James, the new project, their relationship and how Rook won't ever leave him because they chose him. Only him, no one else. Auron knew he really shouldn't be jealous but he did know he has a lot of baggage in this relationship.

"Auron." Turning his head to look at Rook he felt a small kiss be placed on his forehead. "Your cute when your jealous." Giggling filed the room and Auron sighed again.

"Wow, bullying me when I want comfort. What a lucky man I am." Sarcasm was dripping on his words and Rook just ignored that. Peppering kisses all over his face and Auron liked the attention, then he had to stop them. "As much as I love the attention you give to me so easily. You need to go check up n your team." An eye rol and sighing was his answer as Rook got off his desk.

"Okay....One more before I go though!" Leaning down Rook pecked his lips and walked back to the door. Auron smiled lightly then looked back at the computer and papers he was working on.

[raplinesmoon]

Après Moi, Le Deluge (JHS x F!Reader)

pairing: Hoseok x afab!reader genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, mafia au, sort of arranged marriage au, exes au, 18+ summary: It was one night. One night where Hoseok sought refuge from the storm outside, from the life he led, from the past that haunted him. And where else does fate lead him but back into your arms?

word count: 8.2k

warnings: the mafia, mentions minor character death, cursing, smoking, alcohol use, use of weapons, strained relationships with parents, mental health issues, mentions threats against people Hoseok cares about, brief, non-graphic depiction of blood and injuries, breakups, makeups, a cameo by one Xu Minghao, Hoseok and OC are both very closed off and bad at communicating, Hoseok is lowkey an asshole for most of this, happy-ish ending, smut warnings: making out, fingering (fem receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, marking, teeny bit of cockwarming

a/n: Hello it is me, profusely apologising because there is no reason this should have taken this long to write, other than I had the worst case of writer's block ever, but I missed Hoseok and I needed to see this through. This fic is set in the same universe as Doom Boy, my Namjoon mafia fic! You don't necessarily have to read Doom Boy to read this, but it may help some of the moments mentioned here make sense! The title is a reference to a famous saying by King Louis XV of France, or if you're me, season 1 episode 11 of The Originals. I hope you all enjoy <3

listen to the playlist here!

The rain slams down on the pavement, rendering the soles of Hoseok’s shoes even more sodden than they’d previously been. A cold, sticky feeling settles across his spine, and he heaves for breath, wishing he could just stop and take a break. But he can’t. He has to keep moving. Resisting the urge to shiver and warm himself up, he rounds the corner.

The day had started off normal enough. Hoseok had been assigned patrol duty for the day by Namjoon, a task he was more than familiar with. After the collapse of the Kim empire and his father’s death, Namjoon had returned to clean up the family business. And he was doing a damn good job at it, training the younger ones like Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook in how to run a business.

But there was more to this than a business, and Namjoon knew that well enough. Someone had to be around to air out the dirty laundry, to clean up the streets. And who better for the job than Hoseok? 

He was used to it anyway, more comfortable around knives and guns than he’d ever been around people who weren’t Namjoon, Yoongi, or Seokjin. It was partly the reason he’d been sent out tonight, to monitor the slimy activities that took place under the cover of night. 

Yet sometimes, the downpour got the best of Hoseok. He hadn’t been expecting the Choi cronies to spot him, much less for them to be armed. Luckily they were as thick-skulled as Hoseok expected them to be, and he’d been able to craft a quick escape. For the time being.

But it wouldn’t last for long. Hoseok knew the men would be on his tail all night, and as much as he wanted to call for backup, he didn’t feel like bothering Namjoon, Yoongi, or their families, at this time of night. He wouldn’t have had a problem bothering Seokjin, but that fucker had run the moment he’d shot up Namjoon’s father. 

Looking around, he falters. The buildings around him loom ominously, stretching much taller than he’s used to, the lights from the highest floors creating artificial stars against the cloudy backdrop of the sky. Hoseok gathers that he must be in the swanky part of town. He scoffs, knowing from personal experience the rich were no better than the mobs and gangs they pretended to look down upon, licking at their bootstraps whenever the necessity arose.

Still, he decides it’s better to take cover. He spots the sleeping security guard from outside one of the buildings, and slips in, shaking the raindrops from his hair. Making his way to the elevators at the end of the lobby, his mind ran with plans of how he’d clean up the mess with the Choi men in a way that Namjoon would approve of. 

Which is why he misses the other person entering the elevator at the same time as him, instead collapsing against the railing and letting out a loud sigh, rubbing at his eyes.

“H-Hoseok?” the voice that calls out to him is quiet, barely above a whisper. But its familiarity sends a chill down Hoseok’s spine. It’s a voice he thought he’d never hear again.

His eyes open slowly, and he sees his shocked reflection mirrored in the ones directly across from him, eyes that he’d never been able to forget. The way they look at him now is the same way they’d been the last time he saw you, on a similarly cloudy day.

The eyes of his former fiancée.

The doors of the elevator screech shut, the sound doing nothing to drown out the pounding of your heart. The soft tiny plops of raindrops echo on the grey floor, falling from Hoseok’s hair as he freezes at the sound of your voice.

You suck in a breath, lungs desperately searching for air, unable to squeak out anything beyond his name. Brows furrowing, you check him for any signs of injury, relieved when you find nothing but his blank eyes blinking back at you. You didn’t have to ask him where he’d been tonight. Both of you already knew.

It infuriates you that even after everything, after all this time, he still manages to have this effect on you. You hate how you can’t take your eyes off the lean curve of his neck, or the tiny mole above his heart-shaped smile.

A chill runs down your spine, despite having never stepped foot out in the rain. 

“Why are you…” your throat feels heavy, struggling to get the words out, to ask him why he ended up here of all places. Especially when you made it clear you never wanted to see him again after the last time.

“Choi’s men were tailing me, I had to get them off my back,” he barks, immediately regretting his harsh tone when he looks into your weary eyes, on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry,” he adds on, more gently this time. “If I’d have known, I would never…”

Never what? Never managed to infiltrate the one place you thought you could be free of him, from the past the two of you shared?

Your shoulders slump against the panel, and you realize you’d never pressed the button to go up, too consumed by his presence. Finally managing to muster up the focus, you turn away, hearing the elevator creak to life.

“You’re always sorry. How can I be sure that this time, you mean it?”

Hoseok is annoyed. First of all, this damn elevator is taking nearly too long to go anywhere, and he longs for escape from this metallic box that’s imprisoning you both. Second of all, your words cut at him, sharper than any knife and hotter than any bullet any of Choi’s men could have sent his way tonight.

As far as he remembers, you’d been the one to end it. You’d been the one to walk away from your arrangement.

He doesn’t know why he grits his teeth, biting down to combat the throbbing pain in his temples. You were supposed to be gone, your goodbye delivered in the same way the designer bags and packages piled up at your doorstep - neat, polished, shallow, the ties that had brought you together unraveling before they’d even had a chance to be joined properly. 

Unfinished business. That’s what you were. And Hoseok hated unfinished business. But somehow, he’d never managed to hate you. You’d never given him a fair chance.

. . .

Hoseok shrugged the wife beater over his head with a grunt, immediately turning around to see if he’d woken up his sleeping companion, but she remained unfazed, her soft snores echoing into the pillow. 

He lets his eyes linger over her body appreciatively one last time before he slips on his leather jacket and is out the door. For a brief moment, his hand twitches, yearning to reach into his pocket and call Namjoon for old times’ sake, detailing every last detail of his lascivious romp. The thought is abandoned immediately, Hoseok’s mood souring at the thought of his former best friend. Namjoon had no trouble leaving all of them behind, so why should he even bother? Instead, he reaches into his other pocket, his frenzied emotions finally calming down when he pulls out the lighter. Ducking under an awning, he checks his surroundings for anything suspicious before affirming that the coast is clear, lighting up and taking a drag. The smoke drifts away on the nighttime breeze, and Hoseok follows, roaming the city streets. 

It’s lonely at this hour, not another soul in sight, but Hoseok prefers it that way. Gone are the days when he and his friends would run through the city, stealing cars and honking horns at everyone for fun. Now, shit had hit the fan big time, and there was no room for fun anymore. With Namjoon gone, Hoseok, along with Seokjin and Yoongi, had been sucked into the tangled web of duties he’d left behind, each stepping up in their own way.

Holding a gun in his hands for the first time had been a sobering experience for Hoseok. It rattled him that if he pressed down on the trigger, so many things could change in a split second. He’d heard the higher-ups in the organization rave with glee about how much fun it was putting the city’s other families in line, Namjoon’s father at the head of them. And for a brief moment, Hoseok understood what it was that Namjoon had run away from. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed off about it though. 

His lips turn up in a smile when he takes in the graffiti on the building in front of him, thinking back to his younger, more rebellious self, before faltering. Someone else was there. 

He wonders if you’re cold, the thin satin gown doing nothing to protect you from the chill, and he wants to laugh at the contrast between his well-worn leather jacket and the jewels dripping from your ears. They must cost a few thousands of dollars, money he’d never had in his pocket. His eyes scan around for someone, anyone – a boyfriend, or a husband maybe. But you’re alone.

Nobility has never been Hoseok’s forte - Namjoon and Seokjin had always been the womanizers, and poor Yoongi had been in love with the same woman for over ten years, but he clears his throat, prompting you to turn around, eyes widening at your company.

If he catches a glimpse of unshed tears in your eyes, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Kids these days, huh? They’ll do anything to cause a little chaos,” he quips, a sinking feeling building up in his chest when you don’t respond.

“Ma’am,” he grapples with whether he should ask for your name, “do you need me to walk you home?”

“Did you read it?” your voice is quieter than he expects, yet he draws closer, wanting to hear more of it. Coming to stand beside you, he takes in the captivating features of your face, made all the more alluring by the shadows cast across them.

Following your gaze, he looks at the mural on the wall. A giant wave, Hosukai-style, crashing into a set of words. “After me, the flood,” your voice whispers, and Hoseok feels a rush of emotion at the way you say it, his mind circling back to everything that had happened in the past few years - the dark cloud that had settled over all their lives with Namjoon leaving, the city’s underbelly coming to life, crawling out of the woodwork. 

“I have to go,” you interrupt him, heels clacking against the pavement, before Hoseok’s gaze turns sharply on you, the desperation in his eyes begging you not to go. Come sunrise, he’d be forced back into the same grim routine, but right now, it felt nice, standing here with you.

“Will you be okay getting home alone?” he asks, grappling for any chance to prolong the moment.

“My driver is around the corner,” you tell him. “Thank you for keeping me company, –”

“Hoseok,” he fills you in, his chest aching with the desire to ask for your own name, but you’re already gone.

. . .

Hoseok wakes up the next morning to the rattling of the blinds, the sunlight causing him to immediately shut his eyes and bite back a groan. There was only one person who’d have access to his apartment at this hour – and exploit it.

“Eomma?” he rasps, burrowing his head further into the sheets. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you forget Hoseok-ah? Hurry up and get dressed, everyone’s waiting! You have five minutes.”

Forget what? His mother’s fussing continues in the background as she leafs through his closet, no doubt trying to find him a suitable outfit amongst the many pairs of ripped denim and oversized shirts he prefers on a day-to-day basis. Hoseok wracks his brain, trying to remember what could have called for such an occasion, but comes up empty, his mother’s stern warning echoing in his ears. 

As per usual, if it had anything to do with the organization, he’d do best not to ignore it.

Slipping on the stark white shirt and tie she’d chosen, the fabric itches against his skin, and he rakes his fingers through his hair, attempting to comb the mess into something somewhat presentable. He’s sure there was little to be done about the bags under his eyes, and the faint smell of tobacco emanating from him, and hoped that whoever these important guests were, they wouldn’t catch onto his late-night activities from the previous day. 

Stumbling into the hallway, Hoseok hears the faint chatter of voices, his father’s bellowing laugh a stark contrast to his mother’s delicate titter, and is immediately confused. Conversations with the bosses of the organization weren’t usually so… enthusiastic. 

When he rounds the corner to his living room, he stops in his tracks. Sitting next to his mother and father is another older couple he doesn’t recognize. They reek of wealth that his family could never even imagine, he notes, the polished Italian leather of the man’s shoes and the older woman’s massive diamond ring speaking for themselves. But he could honestly care less. Because to their left side, sitting on his favorite armchair, is you. The woman from in front of the mural. You’re clad in a simple sundress today, but you still manage to be nothing short of breathtaking against the backdrop of the sun’s rays. 

“There you are, Hoseok!” his father beckons him over jovially, but Hoseok remains frozen. “This is Mr. and Mrs. ____, and their daughter ____.”

Hoseok’s turns his gaze to his father, watching him recoil at the sharpness present in his son’s expression, a thousand unspoken questions lingering on his lips as to why these people were here, what purpose they had in his home, his space.

“We’d like for the two of you to get to know each other,” your mother speaks up with a smile so wide, he’d assume it’d been plastered onto her face. 

“Why?” he finally manages to whistle out in between grit teeth, looking only at you. But you don’t meet his eyes. Instead, your gaze is looking out his window, at the city beyond, the same loneliness from last night ever present in your eyes. 

“Because,” his father continues uncertainly, fidgeting the glass of wine in his hands, “___ is going to be your wife.”

You can feel Hoseok’s eyes glaring into the back of your head as he follows you wordlessly down the hallway. Moments pass before you come to a stop outside your apartment, and you hear the faint stumble of Hoseok’s boots as he stops unexpectedly in his tracks. His warm breath fans against the back of your neck for a brief moment before he straightens with a grunt, and you resist the urge to shiver, despite having never stepped foot into the rain.

The lock clicks, and he follows you inside. You can hear him rustle behind you as he struggles to remove his coat and boots, but you look straight ahead, hoping the darkness can hide how your fingernails are digging into your palm. 

“I won’t stay long,” his low voice breaks the silence. “Just until the storm passes.”

“Please,” you manage to muster up your most polite sounding voice. “Have a seat. I can get you something, maybe some water, o-or a cup of tea…” 

You want to curse your voice for wobbling in his presence, hating the way he still affected you even after all this time apart. Your brain bades you to walk away instinctively, and so you pad into the kitchen, wanting to put distance in between you and Hoseok so he can’t hear the rapid fluttering of your heart. The noise pounds in your ears as you rattle around in the cupboards, cursing when you realized you’d forgotten to turn on the light. It seemed embarrassing to do it now, and so you reach aimlessly, looking for some coffee. 

The pot bubbles, and in mere moments, you’re clutching two steaming mugs, finding your way back onto the living room. Hoseok has settled himself onto your couch, taking extra care not to rest his soaked shirt against the back of it, instead hunched over and dangling an unlit cigarette from his fingertips.

“Sorry, I didn’t know if you’d be okay with me…” he gestures to it, twirling it around in his fingers. “I know you don’t like the smell.”

You’re unsure whether to be touched that he remembers, or uneasy at the way he says it so monotonously, as if you’d still judge him for something so mundane when so much else had happened in between you.

“Here,” you set down the coffee in front of him, taking the seat directly opposite. “It’ll help take the edge off.”

The warm liquid burns your throat as you rush to take a sip, and you nearly sputter trying to keep it down. Over the rim of your cup, Hoseok remains frozen, his own mug steaming and untouched. His dark eyes bore into you, studying your face, and you feel your cheeks begin to burn.

If he notices the bags under your eyes, he says nothing. The same way he says nothing when he probably remarks at your simplistic clothes and lack of jewelry, a far cry from the expensive dresses and diamonds he’d been used to seeing you in. 

“Were you about to go out?” Hoseok asks, and the question catches you off guard. “I’m sorry if I stopped you from going somewhere.”

“Or meeting someone.” The last part is a hushed whisper, mumbled underneath his breath, in the hopes that you wouldn’t catch him. But you had. You wish he’d stop apologizing. It makes you feel guilty when you shouldn’t be, like he’s trying and you’re shutting him out, when in reality it’d been the exact opposite. 

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes to life, a text message lighting up the screen. You freeze when you see who it’s from, quickly snatching your phone and cursing in your head. Minghao was a friend of a friend, the two of you running into each other a number of times over the past couple of weeks, before he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask you for a coffee date.

You’d told him you’d think about it, and now here he was, lighting up your phone to ask you about your decision. Of course, how was he supposed to know that the reason you’d been holding off was the very man sitting in your living room, whom you’d almost married, and still couldn’t seem to let go?

Clutching your phone to your chest, you turn it to silent, setting it down beside you. Hoseok’s eyes are alight with curiosity, his lips turned up in a faint smirk, as though he’s remembering his statement from earlier. 

You take another sip, willing the caffeine to give you some strength, to rein in the bare threads of this conversation back to your control.

“How are your parents?”

Hoseok is taken aback by the question. He hadn’t expected it from you. There had once been a time where you’d been bright eyed and eager, wanting to know everything about him, bombarding him with question after question every time you were together. And yet somehow, he’d never managed to give you the time of day, always giving brusque answers and half-hearted excuses that there were other things that needed his attention.

He knew it was just a poor attempt to fill the silence, but his heart lurches at the thought that there’s so much you don’t know anymore. Namjoon coming back, Seokjin running away, the life that Hoseok knew being turned inside out. What’s more unsettling is the fact that he yearns to tell you, despite knowing he’d lost the privilege to do so.

“They’re okay. Doing well,” he lies through his teeth. “We all are. How about yours?”

He thinks it’s an innocent question, but he watches your fingers blanch as you grip the mug so tight, he thinks it’ll break. 

“I wouldn’t know,” you whisper out softly, and his heart stops. “I haven’t spoken to them since– you know.”

Hoseok feels dizzy at your confession. What do you mean you hadn’t spoken to them? Suddenly, it all begins to make sense in his head. The fact that he hadn’t expected to run into you tonight, because he hadn’t expected you to live alone, with your austere clothes and hair tossed up into a messy bun. It was so different from the woman he’d known, the dazzling one he’d written off as hollow in his mind, the one he was incapable of forming a real relationship with. 

And here you were, living the exact opposite of the cozy life he’d painted for you in his head. He thought you’d be fine, that you’d move on, your family offering you up to the next prospect that came along. And you’d accept them, like you’d accepted Hoseok with all his flaws, not caring that he could barely give you what you deserved.

His thoughts flash back to the last conversation you had, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed.

I can’t live like this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and he watches annoyance flash across your face. He knows he’s done nothing but apologize this entire time, but it probably isn’t even worth a damn. No consolation would ever make up for losing someone that meant everything to you. He’d known that when Namjoon had run away.

“Hey,” you set the mug down, leaning over the table. For a brief second, he sees your hand reach out blindly in the darkness, almost as if it’s searching for his, but you withdraw just as quickly. “I’m okay. I really am.”

“I wish you’d stop pretending,” Hoseok blurts out, and he watches you jolt in surprise. “Why do you always have to pretend like everything’s okay, like nothing affects you? Is it the society training? Or do you really just not care about what happened at all?”

You chew the inside of your cheek, mulling over Hoseok’s words in your head.

“The same way you can pull the trigger on someone and be able to lie in your bed and fall asleep,” you seethe, a venom that Hoseok has never heard in your voice. 

“I knew who you were Hoseok. I knew what kind of man I was marrying. You think it didn’t affect me? You think I wasn’t scared out of my wits because of what you did, what other people could do to you?” 

You rise up, palms quivering as you open and close them, strolling over to the window. Hoseok watches your shoulders shake before they slump completely, and he knows that you’re crying.

He’s up before he can stop himself, feet ready to walk out the door. He’d fucked up the moment he’d stayed in the elevator with you, all the ugly feelings between you coming to a head, ones he’d struggled so hard to keep buried. 

But his body betrays him, instead leading him right behind. He pauses until he’s just close enough that if he reaches out, he’d be able to grab your arm and turn you around to face him. But he waits instead.

“I did what I did because I realized I was chasing a ghost,” you huff out, resignation in your tone. “I wanted you to be someone you weren’t. I wanted you to care so badly. But you didn’t. I don’t want any part in whatever you’re caught up in, Hoseok. Whatever has a hold on you so badly that you couldn’t even look beyond your cynicism to give me a chance.”

“I just want to survive.”

Hoseok grips the bathroom sink, knuckles turning white. His cell phone clatters on the counter beside him and he has to keep from heaving. This whole thing was a mess – no one had counted on Namjoon coming back. Even less so on him refusing to take up his father’s mantle. And so the threats continued – the words from the anonymous phone call still ringing in his ear, your name echoing across the line.

While he didn’t know what he felt for you, or whether he could even marry you, Hoseok knew you were an innocent person. You didn’t deserve to be the victim of your parents’ greed, them using you to bury their secrets in the hands of even more powerful people. You deserved gardens full of flowers and meals together every night, not coming home to an empty bed. Or a fiancé who couldn’t spare a moment during the entire night to even dance with you. 

He’s so lost in his brooding that he doesn’t hear the door the click behind him, the soft tapping of heels on the floor coming up behind him. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask him gently, and he feels the bristle of your hand on his jacket. 

So much was wrong. You couldn’t even begin to understand. 

“It’s fine,” he clears his throat, straightening up to adjust his jacket. “I’ll need to leave soon. I can have the car stay behind for you.”

The farther away he got from you, the better. That way no one could hurt you – or him. 

“I can go with you,” your voice echoes from beside him, “I was getting tired anyway.”

Hoseok turns to face you, watching you recoil at the red rimming his eyes, the bags underneath them becoming even more prominent in the dim lighting of the bathroom.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to reach for the single strand of hair that has managed to escape your polished bun, but he watches you suck in a breath, lips parting in surprise.

Before he knows it, your face is drawing in closer, and he can smell the rosé on your breath. Your lips barely ghost against his, and he has to fight every nerve ending not to grab your hand and run away from here, somewhere where he wasn’t Hoseok, and you weren’t ____, and you didn’t need protecting from everything around you – most of all him. 

His paralysis slowly melts away and he’s pushing you away without realizing, the door to the bathroom suddenly materialising in front of him. 

“Like I said,” he doesn’t bother turning around, knowing his heart would twist at whatever expression he found on your face. “I’ll have the car stay behind for you.”

Before you can wrestle with the weight of your confession to Hoseok, a hand is clamping over your mouth. Caught in a silent scream, you turn your eyes to see Hoseok lifting a finger to his lips, willing you to stay quiet. And that’s when you hear them. The voices.

Raucous laughter echoes through the hallway, tinged with malevolent glee. The air around you feels cold, a breeze at the base of your spine, and you instinctively curl into Hoseok.

“Come out, come out,” the disembodied voice cackles from the hallway. “Are you hiding from us, Jung? Found some poor rich girl to use as a body shield?”

Your hand seizes Hoseok’s wrist clamped against your mouth, nails digging into his arm, the fear taking over. Slowly, his wrist lowers, slipping to take your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?” 

He’s so quiet you almost can’t tell he’s said it at all. You nod reluctantly, eyes continuing to dart to the door.

“Go hide underneath the bed. Lock the door. I may or may not come back but please stay inside. Don’t come looking for me.”

His voice is clipped, the faint hint of nerves colouring his tone, but his eyes are filled with a resoluteness you know all too well. You’d spent the better part of over a year staring into them, hoping they’d look back. And now they finally were. 

“Be safe.” Your voice comes out louder than you’d intended, but there’s no anger in Hoseok’s expression. All he does is nod, and then you turn, stumbling down the hallway to your room, never bothering to look back until you hear the door click behind you.

. . .

Hoseok’s heart pounds in his chest, a strange pain settling in his ribs – he never expected to be in this position again. His sense of duty had always been his biggest downfall – and while you were no longer his, he owed it to you to make sure he gave you exactly what you’d asked him for – the chance to survive, to come out on the other side of this. That’s why he had to settle this once and for all.

Choi’s cronies linger at the other end of the hallway, too dumb to notice Hoseok slipping out of your door, reaching for the revolver he’d kept hidden in his coat pocket. A chill settles in his bones as he runs his fingers over the metal.

The brief events of the night play over in his head – the rain pounding against the pavement, the ding of the elevator, the now-cold mug of coffee that sat on your coffee table. And then there was you – your eyes, the softness of your skin, the faint smell of gardenias that lingered on your skin.

And it hits Hoseok that while he was very much alive – he’d been in mourning. Mourning for the friendships he’d never be able to recover, for the youth that had been taken away from him. But most of all, Hoseok’s heart mourns for the relationship he’d never gotten to have with you. The glass walls he’d so carefully put up around himself shatter, making way for a torrential deluge. 

After me, the flood.

He remembers the first night you’d met, how he’d been drawn to you without even trying, the portrait of the wave. He remembers the months that passed afterwards, where you drew closer to him and he drew back. He remembers the regret he’d buried deep in his heart for not kissing you back the night of the gala, not knowing he’d never get another chance.

But most of all, he remembers the somber expression on your face the day you’d ended things, pressing the engagement ring back into his hands, the very same ring that was still sitting in the first drawer of his nightstand. 

Choi’s men finally perk up, noticing Hoseok’s solitary figure lingering at the end of the hallway, smirks twisting on their grotesque faces. A shot rings out, and Hoseok thinks of you now, hiding under your bed. And then he charges.

The alleyway was grim at this time of day, the sunlight barely able to reach beyond the towering skyscrapers, the clouds casting everything in grey. Rain fell softly from the sky. You clutch your coat tighter around you, unable to stop looking at the mural of the wave.

So much had changed since you’d first seen it. And yet it was still the same.

You know Hoseok from the thud of his boots against the pavement, coming up beside you. His head turns, an eyebrow raised in your direction, wondering why you’d asked to meet him here of all places.

You avoid his eyes, fingers clasping around the blue velvet in your pocket. His eyes widen with surprise when he sees the box, confusion marring his handsome face. 

A knot forms in your chest when you watch the confusion turn into alarm as you press the box into his hand, the dazzling diamond no longer on your left finger.

“I don’t understand,” he grunts, breath visible in the cold air.

“We can’t do this anymore, Hoseok. I can’t do this. I can’t live like this.”

“Was it something that I did?” he questions you, desperation creeping into his voice.

You scoff, watching him flinch, pain on his face. 

“No, it’s the opposite. It’s what you haven’t ever been able to do. It’s been an entire year, Hoseok. I’ve watched you answer every phone call that comes your way, disappear into the night to do god knows what, run whenever your friends call. And in that entire time, have you ever thought about us? About the future?”

You take a deep breath.

“I know that neither of us chose this, but Hoseok, we were engaged. Did that mean anything to you?”

He squares his shoulders, fists clenching at his sides, a tick in his jaw.

“You don’t understand. I-I’m not good for you, ___. I dont think I’ll ever be. There’s too much that’s happened, too much I’ve lost. But please don’t walk away like this.

“I thought it’d be enough,” you whisper, and Hoseok freezes. You didn’t know he’d heard you.

“I thought me loving you would be enough for the both of us. But it’s not. I need more. I need someone who I know will come home to me every night. But what I need even more than that, is for you to let me walk away so I can breathe again. So I can be myself.”

Your eyes are just as sad as the first time Hoseok saw them, and all of a sudden, you remark at how stagnant the two of you had been together.

“Hoseok please, I know I can’t ask you to do it if you love me, but if you’ve ever cared about me, even the tiniest bit, let me go.”

You watch him open the box, gazing at the ring. Moments pass by before he slips it into his own pocket, his eyes flitting to the wave as he gives you a small smile, the most genuine one you’d ever seen.

“Goodbye, ____. 

Hoseok’s fist rattles against the door, before he slumps over, heaving for breath. The pain in his side licks at him like the flames of a fire. He hisses when he presses a hand to it, eyes widening when it comes away covered in blood. Those fuckers had managed to get him. Shit.

His eyes are about to close when the door springs open, the wide eyes of Kim Namjoon taking in his battered figure. 

“Hobi, what the fuck?” Namjoon seethes, offering him an arm and pulling him inside. Slinging an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder, the two of them hobble to Namjoon’s kitchen, the burning in Hoseok chest causing him to let out a loud groan.

“Hyun is sleeping,” Namjoon chastises him, and Hoseok bites his tongue, remembering that this Namjoon was dealing with a pregnant wife and a toddler. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened, or do I have to force it out of you?”

“I made a mistake, Namjoon. I went somewhere I shouldn’t have tonight. I fucked up, but I-I didn’t mean to I swear…”

Hoseok feels himself shake as the words pour out, the ruined mission the furthest thing from his mind. He tells Namjoon everything – from being tailed to running into to you, to how he’d left, not knowing whether you were okay or not. 

“That was a dick move,” Namjoon huffs.

“Excuse me?” Hoseok looks up at his best friend, who looks more pissed off than he’s ever seen him. 

“I said what I said. That was a dick move, just leaving her like that.”

“I don’t need a lecture on running away from you, Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon wipes away the blood on his side, and Hoseok bites his tongue at the sting of the alcohol, before slumping into the chair next to him. 

“You’re an idiot, Jung Hoseok. You’ve been so afraid of letting yourself feel things for so long, and I know it’s because you think that everyone around you is going to leave, or that you’ll lose them. But I’m telling you right now, that’s the stupidest thing you could ever do.”

“You have to let yourself just be, Hobi. Just let go. Enjoy things - life, your friends, your family. Be open to the possibility of love. It’s the only thing that can keep the darkness away.”

Namjoon’s voice shrinks when he says the last line, and Hoseok knows his friend is far off in his own mind, battling the demons that plague him. 

“I think I’m too far gone for that, Namjoon,” Hoseok tells him. “Maybe some of us weren’t meant for happiness. Maybe some of us needed to make sacrifices so others could live the lives they wanted to.”

“That’s a damn lie if I’ve ever heard one, Hoseok.” Namjoon striaghtens, rising up from the chair. “I know you’ve been angry at me for leaving, for keeping you all in the dark. I know how much it hurts to not be able to share your happiest moments with people you love. And I’m sorry for that. But you have a chance to change things.”

“Listen Hobi,” Namjoon crouches down to his level. “I want to be the best man at your wedding – I want to be there for you in all the ways you didn’t get to do for me. This is my way of making amends, but you need to fix whatever this is between you two.”

“What makes you think she’ll even take me back? I was awful to her… god, she didn’t deserve that Joon. She deserves so much better.”

“Do you love her?” Namjoon asks him, and Hoseok is shocked when he doesn’t even have to pause to think about it. He wants to start over, to be by your side, to have a chance to love you properly this time around. 

“Second chances come when you least expect them, Hobi. Think about what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped out into the rain last night. And don’t let it happen again.”

The knock at the door startles you, your phone clattering to the floor. Swearing under your breath, you pick it up, perusing the message from Minghao once again. He was nothing if not persistent. And Hoseok was never coming back. You’d convinced yourself of that.

It’d been over a week since he’d left you that night - the promise to keep you safe burrowing its way into your heart. And then radio silence. You’d heard the gunshots in the hallway, but when you’d opened the door, no one was there, the only evidence of the showdown being the faint splatters of blood on the wall. When the police had questioned you, you’d left Hoseok’s name out of it – those words echoing in your mind, instilling a false sense of loyalty in you.

Why did you think things would be different this time around? It’d been foolish to assume that Hoseok thought anything more of you. But you couldn’t forget the look in his eyes, the gentle touches, the way he’d promise he would never let anything happen to you, and you fell for him all over again.

Throwing your phone aside, you grumble as you make your way to the door, making a mental note to respond to Minghao later, agreeing to the date.

Swinging it open, you freeze when you see who’s on the other end. Hoseok, looking worse for wear with bruises on his jaw and a nasty cut on his forehead, nervously twirling a tiny bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You’re dumbfounded - unable to speak as you take him in, his dark, inquisitive eyes gazing into your shocked ones. 

“You better let me in, ____,” he says with a grin. “Or the neighbours are gonna think I did something really bad this time.”

Wordlessly, you open the door to allow him to enter, watching as he slips off his coat and shoes, an exact repeat of a week ago. You watch him, trying to open your mouth and say something, ask him anything, but nothing will come out. 

“These are for you,” Hoseok nearly shoves the bouquet in your hands and you watch him rub at the back of his neck, his ears reddening.

“Are you okay Hoseok?” you finally manage to ask him, setting the flowers on your coffee table. Your concern wins out over your confusion once again, but the whole scene is odd – him, smiling in your apartment, the late afternoon sunlight casting half his angular face in a mysterious shadow.

“Just a little nick to my side,” he lifts his shirt up, your eyes widening at the bandages on his abdomen. “But actually, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since the day I let you walk away, and I can’t live with it anymore.”

You take a step back, unable to breathe. The space in between you seems to have lessened considerably, and you can make out every delicate detail of his face. Dizzy, you put some distance in between the two of you.

“Everything hurts, ___. It hurts because I look at you and I feel like I can’t breathe anymore, knowing how much pain I put you through. It hurts knowing that you’re so kind, so understanding of someone like me, when I don’t deserve it at all. And what hurts the most is knowing that I love you, and I’ve been lying to myself this entire time because I’m afraid you’ll leave just like everyone else, but I lost you anyway.”

Hoseok’s voice cracks on the last words, and you watch him sway, gripping onto your counter for support.

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” you finally manage to look him in the eyes, tears spilling out of your own. “I thought I was crazy, because ever since you walked out that door a week ago, all I’ve been doing is waiting for you to come back.”

“I’m here,” Hoseok closes the gap between you, arms wrapping around you. You breathe in the faint scent of tobacco on his leather jacket, mixed with the spice of his cologne. “And I’m not leaving. Not this time.”

You grip his lapels, before your arms come up to wrap around his neck, running your fingers through the soft hair at his nape. 

“What if it’s not different this time around?” you whisper into his neck. “What if nothing changes?”

“What if it is?” his low voice rumbles into your hair. “Can you trust me, ___? One more time?”

You take his hand in yours, bringing it to your chest, his lips parting in awe at the fluttering of your heartbeat.

“Only you can do that to me,” you say softly, a smile gracing your lips. 

Before you know it, Hoseok’s lips are crashing against yours, and you can feel him release a euphoric sigh, groaning into your mouth. It’s slow, tentative in the way he waits for your body to respond, never pushing more than you’re comfortable with. Eventually, even the small bit of distance in between you becomes too much to bear. You card your fingers into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in your chest.

It feels too short when he pulls away all too soon, lips tinged with red and eyes dark with something that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since the night of the gala,” he rasps, warmth blooming in your chest at his confession. “You were—, I mean you still are, breathtaking.”

You can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand, watching his entire body soften at your touch. 

“Come with me,” you ask him, eyes turning down the hallway to your bedroom. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for. 

Hoseok tries to ignore the rapid rushing of blood in his ears, his focus narrowing to your head resting on his shoulder, the two of you looking out at the city together for the last little while from your bed. It’s somewhere he never imagined he’d be, but he’d felt the ice around his heart melt the moment he’d finally kissed you for real, warmth filling his veins.

And despite relishing in your presence, it was spiking to a fever pitch. He’d tasted you, and now he couldn’t get enough. All it takes is a brief moment for you to look in his eyes, and he’s pulling you into him once again, mouth hard on yours, unable to resist the desire for more, more, more. 

You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He uses one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to hike your dress up to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in. 

He kisses you again, his lean body hovering over yours, hands roaming everywhere – your arms, up your neck, and on your thighs. He inches higher and higher, fingers ghosting over your core.

“Hoseok please,” you whimper, digging your nails into his shoulder blades. “I can’t wait anymore.”

You part your thighs for him, and he wastes no time, pulling your soaked underwear to the side and dipping his fingers into your arousal. He presses another hard kiss to your lips, catching your moans in his mouth while he works you open, leaving you trembling underneath him.

You whine when his fingers leave you, clenching around nothing, coming up to cup your exposed breasts in both hands while he licks and sucks at your nipples.

“Fuck,” he groans against your chest. “How are you so perfect? How are you even mine?”

His voice breaks, and you mouth at his jaw, mirroring his actions until purple bruises begin to bloom in the spots where your lips previously were.

“I’m yours,” you nip at his bottom lip. “Whether you like it or not.”

“Believe me,” he smirks. “I like it. I like it a lot actually. Let me show you how much.”

With adept skill, he manages to remove your panties in seconds, throwing them to the wall. The clinking sound of his belt drives you mad, and your hands join his, the two of you awkwardly fumbling to remove it.

You feel your mouth go dry when his cock springs free, and he chuckles at the depraved look in your eyes.

“Some other time, love,” he whispers, voice lowering a few octaves. “Right now, I need to feel you.”

You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Move, please,” you beg him, and he obliges, hiking one leg up over his shoulder to open you up for him, the wet sounds of your pussy accompanying the fluid snap of his hips. His knuckles grip the headboard, turning white while he pins you underneath him, unable to take his eyes off the way your tits bounce with every thrust. His hands grip at your ass, every jerk of his hips an excuse to hold you tighter, until he can see your skin redden underneath his fingers. 

“Oh my god, Hoseok, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the sparks underneath your skin, lighting you up like a livewire.

“Come for me,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Hoseok speeds up his thrusts to join you, roaring when he feels himself explode, before slumping against you, chest heaving with the weight of his breaths. 

Moments pass like this, him remaining inside you while he burrows into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning your damp skin. Eventually he pulls out of you with a soft whine, brushing away the sweat-soaked strands of hair at your temple, before rising. 

You trap his wrist in your hand, panic settling in. He watches your expression change and immediately stiffens, cradling you against his chest.

“That expression you always talk about, the flood. I-, I looked it up. And I know the life I have isn’t ideal, and maybe things will only get harder, but I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I don’t want to live out the rest of my life not caring anymore.”

“Do you know what I was thinking of that night, looking at the wave?” you mumble in his ear, and he gazes at you inquisitively, watching the way your skin glows under the moonlight as you take a breath.

“My whole life, people have forced me into this box, this image, of someone they want me to be – the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. It’s been suffocating. All I wanted that night was a taste of freedom - that feeling of happiness you have on a beach, feeling the waves crash at your feet. And then I saw you.”

Hoseok leaves a kiss in your hair, his fingers intertwining with yours. Briefly, his heart drops at the absence of the ring he’d given you on your finger, but he knows when you’re ready, it’ll be waiting for you. He’ll be waiting for you. And the two of you will step into the flood, together. 

a/n pt. 2:  Okay long ending note here. First, please visualize this Hoseok with the undercut ;) Second, I don't normally say this but the writer's block really got me good with this one, so I apologize if it's not up to my usual standards (pls be kind tho). And third and last, this fic definitely would never exist if it weren't for the wonderful Guarded series by Ana (@xjoonchildx). I think about it more than is necessary and this is definitely my tribute to the impeccable Captain Jung.

As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

taglist (pls let me know if you want to be removed): @jalexad @secfir @hobi-love @back2bluesidex @temptingempress

[sibylsleaves]

Personally, I will always be insane about Bobby's "we haven't had to talk about him" conversation with Buck. Buck is a Yapper! A Talker! A man who Does Not Shut Up! That man aired all of Eddie's dirty laundry with Ana to a random woman they were saving for pretty much no reason. He saw that Eddie was worried about Chris during the earthquake and immediately started spouting facts about how safe he'd be. If that man was anywhere close to in love he'd be constantly like "did you know that Harbor was built in the year . . ." or "Tommy and I went here on a date last week and . . ." etc.

And the Bobby of it all! Bobby so desperately wants to prove to himself that the 118 don't need him! So of course he'll believe that Buck's relationship is fine (I think I heard someone here say once that the only LI that Bobby has actually been against is Chim's gf Tatiana? The man may give good advice once someone tells him there's a problem, but he is NOT a reliable measure of a good relationship). If Buck's relationship wasn't fine, he'd have to stick around to help, but at that point he'd completely convinced himself that everything will 100% be Totally and Completely Fine without him. Bobby couldn't have told Buck anything else!!!

Right and like i think another aspect of that scene people miss or ignore is that it also is the first time Bobby and Buck have discussed Buck's sexuality since he accidentally came out to everyone at the wedding. So in that sense when Buck is like "we haven't taked about Tommy--" he MEANS they haven't talked about the fact that he's dating a man. And we've already strongly established that Bucks sees Bobby as a father (and in case we forgot he reminds us in the next episode) so of course he wants to know that his father figure accepts this new facet of him.

And Bobby being like "what's there to talk about" is his version of "this doesn't change anything, you're still my (surrogate) son." Buck's asking for his approval not just about Tommy but about his sexuality in general. And of course Bobby gives it.

And the other part that kills me is the way that after Bobby says "Tommy's good for you" (or whatever he says) Buck then has to ask "how do you know?" like this is not something that HE intrinsically knows.

[blushcoloreddreams]

Packed for success - 16 tips for successful packing

Hello and welcome back to the blog!

We are headed on vacation soon, and I wanted to quickly do a little write-up for you all on some of my methods for packing. Enjoy!

1. Research your trip

I have been doing this method for a few years now, and it NEVER fails me! I'll sit down, take a pause, and really think about every single activity I'm about to embark on for my vacation. If I'm going to a foreign country, I'll research the local culture and clothing expectations: I'll of course, research the weather, look into all the activities I will be doing, and think through every single detail, from the terrain I will be walking on, to the types of restaurants we will be attending.

When I went to Portugal for a month, I made sure to meticulously research the climate, the weather, and all of the sites we were going to see.

2. Write a list (check it twice)

Obviously write a list. We all do this when we pack (I hope.) As long as I can remember, I have looooooved packing lists. As soon as the teacher sent home the packing list for the class trip, I could not wait to look through each detail and plan everything out. I'm still the same today, but now, I like to write my lists on notion, and reference it the week before we leave. Nothing is more satisfying than checking off a packing list!

3. Pack ahead of time

This seems obvious: we all have to pack before we leave the house! But I'm talking waaaaay ahead of time... like 3 days ahead of time! Of course, you can't exactly do this with your toiletries, but I have found that packing ahead of time always allows me a little wiggle room to figure out what I need, if I need to purchase anything, and what might need to be adjusted.

4. Pack your purse

This is an overlooked region of the travel aresenal, but I do NOT believe in having a messy purse full of ancient granola and chapsticks rolling around like tumbleweeds on the floor of your Kate Spade. No no no. Clean out your purse, set aside what you want to bring, and leave the rest. Pack it with your essentials, then add in some special extras like some extra concealer, a mascara, and anything else you might need for touch-ups along the way.

5. Clean your house

Before I go on a trip, I always clean the house. This is nice in case you have someone to be the house sitter, but also gives me peace of mind when I return, that I don't have a huge mess waiting for me. Returning home from a vacation can sometimes feel depressing, and there is no need to add a depressing house mess on top of that!

6. Check your dirty laundry pile ahead of time

Ideally, you are going to want to leave your home with NO dirty laundry because when you return, you're going to have a lot of laundry to do anyways, but if this is unfeasible, I encourage you to at least make sure that nothing you were planning on packing is hiding in the dirty laundry well in advance of your departure date. We've all played out the scenario of running around our home looking for that one specific black long sleeve we were planning to bring on vacation, only to realize it's lurking underneath three weeks of wet towels and dirty socks. Yuck.

7. Do a test-run of your outfits

I always always always test run my outfits. I try on what I plan to wear, see if I like it, and if I do, it goes in the bag! I can usually gauge what I'm going to want to wear based off of my favorite recent outfits, but just to be safe, I will test run the looks and see what works! This is also helpful if you plan on packing light, because you can switch up your looks and mix and match the pieces as you go.

8. Don't forget a technology bag

We always bring our technology with us when we travel, as I often have work to do, and it's nice to have a computer to watch movies on. We pack this up in advance as well, and always make sure that everything is secure, especially for air travel!

9. Pack the entertainment

This will be different for everyone. I used to bring physical books and things on vacation, but now I just download a few books from my kindle, download some podcasts, maybe an audiobook and make sure I have all the games on my phone I want. Of course, this means bringing headphones, extra phone chargers, and any other technology-related entertainment. So bring what works for you, and try to plan it as if you had no access to LTE or wifi, just in case.

10. Bring the little things

These are the little things that are specific to you. For me, this would be downloading a few podcasts for the flight, making sure I have an extra pair of underwear in my purse in case I feel grimy during travel, and usually a journal and pen for when I want to get creative or thoughtful. We all have little things we like that are specific to our personalities and idiosyncrasies: pack them up!

12. Combination Packing

When traveling with family it’s not a bad idea to pack clothes together if staying in the same room It streamlines everything, and makes it cheaper when we do air travel! Packing the other person’s clothes on one side, and mine on the other, and will employ packing cubes or the vacuum bags if necessary . Keeping things neat and tidy in the suitcase is an important aspect to having a great trip!

13. Pack your house up

I go through a checklist before we leave, locking all the windows, and throwing away the trash, pouring vinegar down the kitchen sink drain, and leaving the laundry machine open to breathe. I also make sure that the fridge doesn't have anything gross in it or that may become moldy by the time I’m back and that I have the temperature at the right levels. Can't be too careful!

14. Hair, makeup, skin, & accessories

I pack a separate bag for each of these things, but I do make sure to whittle down to only the necessities. I pack mascara, eyeliner, an eyelash curler, blush, foundation, concealer, and one small palette of eyeshadow, with a beauty blender and three brushes. Keeping it to the minimum makes life SO much easier. I also like to put my liquids and gels into cute travel-size carriers

16. Shoe protectors are key

A little trick I've learned is to wrap your shoes in plastic bags or shoe protectors when you travel to avoid getting your clothes dirty from any leftover shoe gunk!

17. Phone, keys, wallet, ID, passport REPEAT

This is what I repeat to myself as I walk around the house the morning before. Pro tip as well, if you know you will be needing your passport when you book your vacation, don't wait until the week before to check if it's still up to date! Get all that done ahead of time and cut out allllll the stress. I like to keep my keys on a cute keychain, secure my phone in a special purse pocket, and only take the essentials in my small snap-wallet.

15. Germ killers

I do NOT leave home without antibacterial gel on hand. I know that it is NEARLY impossible to avoid germs when you travel, but we should not give up the fight! I like to wear driving gloves if it's winter, for most of the flight, and use my antibacterial gel when before eating at a flight or airport. I also keep a medical face mask tucked away in my purse in case I get into a hairy situation with a coughing seat mate, God forbid

16. Pack your attitude

This is my last bit of advice, but you really should manage your attitude before a vacation. Vacations and trips are INVESTMENTS. They are investments into your happiness, and investments into the concept of making memories and exploring or relaxing during your time here on earth. When you enter into a vacation or a trip with a sour attitude, you are essentially robbing YOURSELF of your own investment, not to mention the fact that you are also robbing everyone around you of their investment. If you have a bad attitude on a trip, are prone to acting bitchy or rude when you travel, or have any other sort of unpleasant behavioral tendencies when it comes to vacations, knock it off. You will be happy you did.

Alright! That is all I have for you today. As you can tell, I'm always quite excited for a good trip.

xoxo,

Julia

[theresaghostinmyhome]

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick dating headcanons

• Author’s note: Starting off the romantic writings with Mista Garrick because everyone has been sleeping on him since basically he got introduced dammit! Enjoy <3 ☾ • Warnings: The tiniest bit of suggestive content. Otherwise completely wholesome! ☾

☆ Some might perceive Kyle to be a Lad™, but honestly he’s really not. He’s too much of a softboy to play girls like that or be a dudebro about anything. He’s incredibly respectful, intelligent, and loves loyalty and commitment!

☆ Speaking of being loyal, Kyle is exactly that. When he’s interested in someone he puts his all into it, hoping they’ll be the one. He’s had many heartbreaks because he puts his heart on his sleeve and he gets taken advantage of. He just wants someone to love and to love him! Someone give this man a break huh? (I volunteer as tribute)

☆ Man is all about those sweet pet names! Think: Love, sweetheart, darling, babe(s). Once he’s in love, oh boy is he in LOVE. You’ll get all these and more, trust and believe.

☆ Loves arcade dates. In my mind, Kyle is a huge fan of classic arcade cabinets. Furthermore, Mortal Kombat. He totally wants to indoctrinate you into it if you aren’t already, will play hours and hours smashing those buttons and messing around with you just to see your smile. Will also pay for dinner no matter if he wins or loses, true gentleman. He will tease you if you lose though!

☆ If you aren’t military he would want you to meet Price. That man is Kyle’s whole inspiration, his mentor. That’s very special to him and he’d love to set up a cute little brunch where you can meet the man himself. Tell stories about how many times Kyle’s fallen out of air crafts, stuff like that! You mean a lot to him, only fair that you get to meet the old man that makes him the man he is today!

☆ He doesn’t expect it or demand it, but if you ever help him in his life outside of work he appreciates it beyond everything else. Making breakfast or helping him get through the mountain of dirty laundry he always brings back, helping him out like that makes his whole week. He’ll make sure to do the same for you, returning the favor is his favorite game after all (wink wonk). If you make breakfast, he’ll make dinner. If you do his laundry, he’ll wash every dish in his vicinity. Mans will never leave you with more to be desired, trust.

☆ Will always check in on how you’re doing. Never wants you to feel as if you aren’t being listened to or heard. Making sure you’re eating and sleeping comes with this too! He wants his partner to be comfortable and happy. If you need anything he’ll always be there to get it to you.

☆ If you’re not military and are more civilian aligned, face timing him while he’s deployed is a must for him. He needs to check in on you, make sure you know he’s okay and alive, and to see your wonderful face that he loves so much.  Plus, you get to see that handsome smile of his! Hearing you while he’s out in the middle of nowhere unable to sleep, it keeps him going. Ever since you came into his life things have changed in a good way, he’s always doing good for everyone else and he loves it, but now he can do good for those he loves too.

☆ Top tier cuddler, truly. Mans loves to hold and to be held, whatever you want he can be and he’ll soak up every second of it. He’s good at detecting what you want in the moment, accommodating if you need to be held after a rough day or if you sense he needs to just get lost in your arms for a while. Plenty of kisses are going to happen during any designated cuddle time too, he’s especially fond of kissing your hands and your temple.

☆ Overall a fantastic boyfriend to have, he’s a sweetheart with so much to give! Gaz girlies (gender neutral) unite <3

[sapphyreopal5]

I'm sorry but Genevieve said that all her kids go to therapy, I think it's good if it's hard for them to see their father always gone for work, I had a similar situation, but why is she posting pictures of her kids in distressed, like... what's the point... shep is crying and the first thing she does is to take a picture and posting on ig?

Thank you for the ask Anon. Here's my thing about the therapy stuff. I don't think that's exactly the only reason they are in therapy because the way she puts it, it's brain exercise. If you have not done so, please listen to her Dave Hollis podcast from November 2020 where she talked about it in this fashion. She THRIVES when he's gone apparently and supposedly so do the kids (according to her since she's apparently got their routine and such all under control). My dad traveled a lot for work also but I will say it depends on the child(ren)'s personality or personalities in question.

In my case, I ultimately think I actually needed to have more "distant" or off hands parents the way I did growing up. Having too much hands on involvement from my parents would've been greatly detrimental to my development for multiple reasons that aren't meant to be part of this post. This doesn't apply to a whole lot of children I realize but my point is, this kind of arrangement hurts some kids like Shep and perhaps Tom too, but more independent kids are either okay with it or may even do better.

Seeing this photo of Shep makes me think she's more of a liar than people realize. I was extremely polite in my last answer where I linked to that post. The people saying how sweet that photo is... please, you all are just as bad as she is. We are NOT entitled to knowing everything about their private lives and she shouldn't be entitled to posting whatever the hell she wants without someone calling her out on her bullshit. She should have NEVER posted that photo PERIOD. If you ask me, Gen is doing more damage by posting their business for the world to know about than people want to admit. If my parents posted about my business on social media or spoke of it on a PUBLIC podcast, I'd be absolutely furious with my parents and rightfully so. Don't go airing someone else's dirty laundry on social media. It's an asshole move and very bitchy on her part, point blank. I swear her stans are idiots.

She just might be cut out from some of her kids' lives when they get older if she keeps up this bullshit, I'm just saying.

[homunculus-argument]

Actually no, it's been 24 hours and I'm still mad about it so I'm elaborating.

My cousin's graduation is soon. I had decided that I will either get there through public transport, or I'm not coming at all. After seeing that getting there by bus and train wasn't a plausible option, I informed my family group chat (my mom and sister) that I'm not coming. When mom asked whether I'd need a ride, I told them that my therapist doesn't recommend that I should travel with them after what happened in London.

See, we went to London together as a family last summer. My sister was turning 30 and really wanted to go to London for it, but didn't want to go alone. So as my birthday gift to them both, I paid for our mother's ticket on top of my own to make the family trip possible.

In London, we tried to have a good time and do family activities. All being fond of history, we went to see a beautiful old church. I kept my hat off, of course, it would be rude and disrespectful to wear your hat inside a church. We were taking pictures in the areas where photography was permitted. I wanted to take a picture of something where I needed both hands, and didn't know where else to put my hat, so I decided to hold it by the rim with my teeth for the 30 seconds it would take to snap the picture.

My sister saw this, marched up to me and without saying a word, slapped my hat from my teeth onto the church floor hard enough to make my tickets and all such things that were inside the hat scatter. I was startled and baffled, asking why she did that and protested that it was uncalled for. Our mother swooped in to her defense.

"She was only trying to correct you."

Later on, we were eating at a restaurant. I had the toughest pizza in history, and while struggling to cut it, I managed to rip it apart and pieces scattered on the floor. Defeated and beaten down, I gave up trying to eat. One piece fell beside my foot. I wanted to pick it up, bur being used to my family berating me for anything I tried to do, I figured they would scold me if I did.

When my sister told me to pick it up, I broke down completely.

I wasn't just sobbing, but stammering and shaking uncontrollably, physically incapable of holding the outpour back. I was so desperate to calm myself down that I clawed my scalp hard enough to draw blood, begging them to just fucking tell me what the fuck they want me to be like, how the fuck am I supposed to be and do to be good enough for them. I told them that no matter what I did, it seemed to be wrong.

They calmly, angrily told me that they had never done such things, that the way I was feeling was completely incorrect, and right now they wanted me to calm down and stop being dramatic, I was embarrassing them. The waitress looked genuinely unsettled and concerned for my wellbeing, while my family was annoyed with me.

So that was what I was referring to when I referred to London. My sister responded with "well you were the one who wanted to come along" and a passive-aggressive thumbs-up emoji. As if I had forced my way to her fun birthday vacation that would have been nice without me, and therefore it's my own fault if I had a horrible time there.

Our mother chimed in to say that it's very sad if we can't all just get along when our family is so small, but agreed that maybe it is for the best to let the dust settle before we can spend time together again.

And that was it. I was done. I left the group chat, blocked them both, and I am never speaking to my family again. And I know if my sister finds this post (I've blocked her on tumblr too), she'll try to find a way to contact me to try to shame me for "airing out our dirty laundry" by reporting the things that they did in public.

Fuck you.