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dduane · 1 year

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Hello.

I've seen you posting detailed information about the WGA strike and wondered if you had any suggestions as to how those of us not directly involved can show our support for the Union?

Okay, bearing in mind that all this is entirely subjective at the moment (and so far lacking any more useful input from other sources): a few thoughts.

This will be my third WGA strike. (My first one was in 1988, just after I'd made my first live action sale—s1e6 of ST:TNG). And the thought keeps occurring to me at the moment that this time out, there's a potentially gamechanging player on the field that wasn't there before: truly pervasive social media.

(Adding a cut here, because this goes on a bit...)

In 2007, social media as we now understand it was still in its cradle. Now, though, those of us who're striking can make our voices much more widely heard. And so can those of us who're not, but just want to show solidarity. Last time, the AMPTP was able to do pretty much what it wanted without the public noticing or having even a medium-profile way to make their feelings known. But this time? Not so much.

So as an otherwise uninvolved person who wants to show solidarity, I'd start with something seemingly low-value. If I was on Twitter, I'd start routinely tweeting about the strike and my support for it—not obsessively, just persistently, a couple/few times a week—using the Twitter hashtags that are gaining ground even now, such as #DoTheWriteThing (and of course #WGAStrike). I would make sure I was following @WGAEast and @WGAWest, to keep an eye on what's going on.

Additionally: I would start politely, but repeatedly—again, maybe once or twice a week at least, and not stopping—tweeting the various major players in the AMPTP, especially the streamers: Amazon, Netflix, Hulu et al. I would start suggesting that their current attitude toward the WGA's contract negotiations is not only unrealistic but potentially (for the AMPTP) bad for business. (And self-destructive, too, as if this goes on much longer in this vein, they'll be seemingly eagerly casting themselves as The Baddies.) I would suggest that their bad behavior, if not amended by them coming to the table to bargain in good faith, might start affecting both my interest in their shows and my willingness to keep paying unreasonable people for access to them.

I should emphasize here that so far there've been no formal calls from anyone for boycotts or subscription cancellations. For the moment, this strikes me as wise. The point for WGA-friendly observers, right now, would be to keep what's happening to the writers visible: to keep bringing it up: to refuse to allow it to be swept under the rug. The "They only want two cents on the dollar!" angle seems potentially useful the more it's repeated. The point is to keep the repetition going: to make it plain, day after day, that the other side's being not just unreasonable, but greedy. Day after day, and week after week, and (if necessary: please Thoth may it not be...) month after month.

And tweeting is hardly all that can be done. Email is cheap and easy. But actual letters, written on actual paper and mailed, can still create a surprising amount of attention in a corporate office. (The saying in TV used to be that for every person who actually writes in about an issue, there are ten, or a hundred, who feel the same way but never got around to it.) Write letters to all the AMPTP members' CEOs, and make your feelings on the WGA's core demands politely plain. ...Especially when those CEOs collectively made almost three-quarters of a billion-with-a-B dollars in salaries last year, when many of the writers working on their shows can't afford rent.

After that: here's another thought, a little more physical. If by chance you're in an area where one or the other of the Guilds are picketing: turn out and support them! Honk when you pass: and if you're interested, show up and offer to walk the picket lines with them. These things get noticed. (In 2007 a bunch of us, both Guild members and non-, caused significant astonishment by turning out to picket AMPTP members' offices in Dublin.)

...Obviously not all that many people are going to be positioned, in terms of location or their own work and time commitments, to show up physically. But online? Find ways to keep this issue visible. The AMPTP wants this to go quiet, wants people to get bored with it, wants people to find reasons to blame the writers. They've tried spinning the story that way before. Don't let them pull that shit. Find ways to back those who're calling them on that, publicly. They do respond to this kind of thing (though they may strenuously deny it). If enough attention continues to be paid by the general public, they will blink—if sometimes excruciatingly slowly, as Disney began to blink over the dispute tagged #DisneyMustPay.

As viewers, and as viewers who pay for subscriptions to things, we far outnumber them. Help be a part of making the AMPTP understand that this quest for a truly fair deal is not going to go away. And the longer they try to act like the Guild's negotiation positions are beneath their notice, the more it's going to hurt them, and the stupider and greedier it's going to make them look.

...That's all I've got for the moment, as I need some lunch. :) ...But I hope this has helped. And thanks for your concern, and your desire to stand in solidarity with us! It's so welcome. :)

ETA: here's a link to the Guild's social media toolkit, for those who'd like to change PFPs or icons, etc., to show their support.

#Writers Guild strike #DoTheWriteThing #WGAStrong

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royal-bubble-tea · 2 months

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Stray Kıds - Bang Chan - Imagine

Have you seen the Clip of Bang Chan working out and lifting 140kg!!! Like what the hell?! This man is soooooo fine! He is bias wrecking me so hard lately, I can barely handle it.

Breathing, working, moving

Bang Chan x gn! Reader (smut🔥)

Imagine Bang Chan invited you to work out with him. Nothing to serious just working up a healthy sweat and spending some quality time together.

Bang Chan was already working out when you entered to gym. He looks up to to greet you but his mind imediatly goes into overdrive. There you are in tight sports wear, the curves of your body for everyone to see. Not that your clothes are very revealing but as someone who prevers wider and more baggy clothes on a daily basis Bang Chan is over the moon to be able to admire you so freely.

As you walk over to him with a big smile on your face, happy to see your ray of sunshine and spend some time with him, he has to remind himself to stay calm and not alert you to his current struggle to not make the heat in his stomach spread. While hugging you in greeting he might hold you a little bit longer, squeeze you closer and making sure as many body parts of yours as possible are touching. The two of you start with a light warm up and while you are enjoying yourself Bang Chan is to busy to watch your body move. The movement of your thighs as you work out is hypnotising to him. As you move on to some more strenous exercises Bang Chan has a a hard time controlling himself. Seeing you work up a sweat has images occupying his mind. His eyes trace a pearl of sweat starting at you temple trailing down your neck and finally dissapearing underneath you shirt. He wants nothing more than to trace those sweet pearls with his tongue. He wants to taste you, feel the veins in your neck move underneath you skin as he traces it with his tongue. Hear you stuttering breaths.

You are oblivious to Chan's internal struggle as you are fighting your own demons. Seeing him lift those weights as if its nothing, still being able to smile at you and make you to laugh has heat spreading trough your stomach. With every bang of those weights against the floor more and more butterflies flutter inside you. But it's him winking at you as if he knows what you are thinking causes those butterflies to turn into something hotter. Something that spreads like lava through your core. Images of pushing him to the floor and straddling his thick thighs start flooding your mind but a particular one sticks with you, causes your cheeks to turn pink and making you want to press you legs together to give you some well deserved friction. It is about him walking up to you, grabbing you underneath your thighs and lifting you up like you weigh nothing. Him smirking at you before bringing your lips together into a searing kiss.

Chan still faced with his internal struggle almost groans out loud when you walk over to the bench press. There he is standing in front of you, between your spread legs thinking dark and dirty toughts while he is supposed to spot you, to support you but he is barely able to hold it together. Finally Chan snaps when he hears you take a deep breath and exhaling shakily. He pulls the bar up and away from you. Now without anything in his way he looks down at you. Your body drenched in sweat, breathing heavily and splayed out for him.

You are confused as to what is going on with Chan but before you can ask him why he put the bar away he is aleady lowring himself. Slotting himself between you spread legs and slowly making his way up your body. His warm breath is hitting you and you search his face for an answer, which you find quickly. He is breathing hard and his pupils are blown. You notice that his eyes are moving between yours and your lips and before he can ask you if this is okay with you, the tension between you two snaps. You lean up, bring your arms around his broad shoulders and slot your mouths together. This is what you have been thinking about for the past 30 minutes. This is what you both were craving. You start by nipping at his bottom lip. Catching it between your teeth, pulling it back a little bit and hearing him whimper is exactly what you want. Chan is putty in your hands. He is loving the feeling of your lips against his, your hands running trough his hair and pulling slightly, making him exhale into your mouth. You use this chance to swipe your tongue into his mouth. Tracing his with yours, he moans breathlessly into your mouth. While he is distracted chasing your mouth and your tongue, you move your hands down his body and underneath his shirt. You feel the muscles in his back move, from him holding himself up to not crush you. But this is exactly what you want. You trace your hands down his back again, nails scratching him and hearing him whimper again, gives you the confidence you need for your next move. You grab his hips and pull him down on you, your legs coming up to squeeze him between your thighs and rolling your pelvis into his. He stopps kissing you, buries his head into your neck and moans out loud. You repeat the same move over and over again and Chan is at a loss for words. He continues to moan into your neck, to overrun by emotions and sensations to do much else. You can feel him getting hard and pressing into you, the friction making you moan and whimper as well. Hearing your sweet noises pulls Chan out of his own head. He traces one hand down your body, he squeezes your chest, loving the moan that leaves your lips. His hand moves to your hips, he grabs you tightly and pushes you even closer to him. You both can feel each others body heat and the sweat clinging to you. Chan starts rolling his hips into you causing you to throw you head back and he finally leans in to lick the sweat of your neck. You can feel is tongue tracing your neck, sucking and biting at your skin. Your hands claw their way up his back again, hips moving into his more passionatly. You can feel the heat in your lower stomach spreading. Chan is no different than you. His hips move more irregular, his moans getting louder and more out of control. He grips your hips tighter and grinds down with more purpose, just wanting to make you both feel good. The heat inside your lower stomach is boderline painful. What finally pushes you over the edge, is hearing his deep moans right into your ear. The heavy inhales and shaky exhales are music for you. You come with white blotches in the corner of your vision. The heat in your stomach explodes and you breathily moan his name.

Hearing his name falling from your lips. Your head thrown back in ecstasy has him stumbling over the edge as well. He throws his head back, brockenly moaning your name.

You both are trying to catch you breath, coming down from you highs. Chan is leaning back up again and you follow him. You both look at each other and start laughing. Realising the situation you both are in, being incredibly lucky that you were alone at this time of day in JYP's own company gym. "I think that was one of the most intense work-outs I have done in a while", Chan says while looking at you and smiling cutely, dimples full on display. "If this is your definition of a work-out I might join you more often", you reply with a wink.

He helps you stand up and you both make your way towards the showers. This had to be the fastest shower each of you had ever taken as you both are to exited to go back to his dorm, continuing were you left of.

Phew, that was a lot. After this I am really craving some Matcha Latte with Taro Boba. My bestie makes the best I ever had🤤🥺

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines

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navybrat817 · 21 days

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The Dad Diaries: Grief

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky explains grief to Jamie as best as he can when you need a minute to yourself. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, touch of fluff, grief, loss of a friend, reflecting, talk of death, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a dad, okay?). A/N: Another part to the The Dad Diaries . Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky could hear your cries before he reached the bedroom, the sound causing a lump to form in his throat. He could picture you hastily wiping at your face when he knocked. You were in pain and it hurt him to know you were hurting. The worst part was that it wasn’t the kind of pain he could fix by patching it up. It was the kind of hurt that lingered beneath the surface before it clawed its way out.

Grief.

“Do you need anything, doll?” He asked.

“Just give me a minute, please!” You called out, your voice close to sounding like your normal self. You were trying your best to be strong when what you needed was a moment to break. People didn’t realize the weight of the things they carried until they buckled under them.

And you didn’t need to be strong all the time.

“Mama?” Jamie asked, reaching a hand out toward the door.

Bucky kissed the top of his head. “Mama needs a minute,” he whispered before he held him against his chest. He hoped his smell and steady heart beat soothed him. “She’ll snuggle up with you soon, okay?”

If anything could make you feel better apart from being in his arms, it was having your son nuzzle against you.

Jamie made a small sound, his lower lip trembling. “Mama,” he said again.

Bucky didn’t take it to heart that his son wanted you. He understood that there were days when he’d want his dad and other days he’d want his mom and times when he’d want both of you. If anything, he felt proud that his son wanted to go to you. Maybe he sensed that you needed support and love.

“I know you want your mama,” he said, carrying him back to the living room. “But you are stuck with me for another minute.”

Jamie moved his head, his eyes set in a stubborn stare. He looked so much like you at that moment, demanding with a look to know what was the matter and how to fix it. What could he say?

“Jamie, you know how you have your Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam and Aunt Nat and everyone else?” He asked, a sad smile touching his lips at the happy look in his little boy’s eyes at the mention of his friends. He wanted his child to hold onto that innocence for as long as he could. “Well, your mama had a friend who was going to be like an aunt to you, too.”

Was. Past tense. Because your friend recently passed away. You wondered if she knew how important she was to you. If she knew how she impacted your life. She was too young in your eyes to go. Still had so many things she wanted to do. While death is fair in that it comes for everyone, it doesn’t always feel fair when someone you care for is taken away too soon.

The one thing you were thankful for was that she was no longer in pain.

“Mama’s friend, your aunt, isn’t here anymore. She misses her and she’s sad that she’s gone.”

“Mama sad?” Jamie repeated, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, Nugget. She’s very sad. Grieving. And grief is… so many things,” Bucky explained, swallowing a bit as he felt a crack in his heart. “It’s loss and mourning. It’s love that you carry inside and it no longer has a place to go.”

Jamie gazed at him, soaking up every word. His son was too young to hear something like this. Too precious. But if life taught him anything, it’s that it was too short and there was no guarantee of tomorrow.

“Some days the grief comes out of nowhere. You never really know when it’ll happen or why. You may hear a song you’ve heard dozens of times before or catch a scent of something familiar and it triggers a memory or feeling,” he told him, kissing his forehead again because he needed to ground himself. “You think you’re fine and then you fall apart.”

That was exactly what had happened a few minutes prior. You were smiling one moment as the three of you sat in the living room and the next you burst into tears before you rushed out. Bucky wished like hell he could’ve manifested your sadness into something tangible so he could snuff it out. It wasn’t his battle to fight, but he could be by your side to wipe the tears away if you let him. Or whisper words of care. Or to say nothing at all. Some didn’t always want to hear words of comfort or hope when they just needed to feel.

He would be there to give you whatever you needed or asked for.

“It’s okay to feel those feelings, Jamie. I get sad, too. There’s no timeline for healing or grieving. It takes as long as it takes. And we’re lucky in a way to feel things so strongly,” he told him. You were always understanding and patient on his off days. He more than lucked out by having you as his wife. “You know what your Uncle Vis says grief is? That it’s love persevering,” he added, bouncing him a bit to make him smile. It put a smile on his face, too. “And your mama has so much love to give.”

“So do you.”

Bucky looked toward the doorway where you stood. Bloodshot and puffy eyes, but with a small smile on your beautiful face. He wanted to hold you and remind you that you weren’t alone. “Hey,” he said as Jamie reached for you. “I think he wants to cheer you up.”

“Is that right? Well, I think a snuggle with my boys is just the thing I need,” you said as you took a seat beside Bucky and took Jamie into your arms. “Sorry I rushed off like that.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered. He had plenty of moments where he needed to step away and compose himself when his thoughts got too loud. “We just want you to be okay,” he added, kissing your temple before Jamie grabbed your face.

“Mama no sad,” he said, forcing your cheeks up in a smile. The sight almost brought tears to Bucky’s eyes because it was so simple and heartfelt. “No sad.”

You giggled, a soft sound, before it erupted into full blown laughter. It soothed the crack he felt earlier in his heart. The room felt brighter, especially when Jamie joined in with the laughter. “Not sad, Nugget,” you assured him before you looked at your husband, love shining through like always. “Not anymore.”

The grief from your loss would come again in waves. Just like the days Bucky mourned the parts of his life he lost and couldn’t get back. Some days were harder than others, especially when regret and “what if’s” came to mind, but the important thing was that neither of you allowed yourselves to live alone or lose yourselves in grief. Not when there was so much to be thankful for.

You felt what you needed to feel. You asked for help and leaned on each other. And you carried on together.

Because what is grief, if not love persevering?

I lost more than one loved one recently and writing this helped me process some of the loss. We all need someone like Bucky. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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lunargrapejuice · 2 months

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kento nanami x fem!reader

because your pussy is the best stress reliever after a long day<3

immersed in the words of your new book as you cuddled into the corner of the couch with a blanket and cup of tea, your normal routine when kento let you know he would be working over time, you hadn’t noticed how much time had passed or that you were no longer home alone until you saw a familiar blue silhouette frame over the top of your book as you flipped the page.

“welcome home kento,” you greet sweetly, putting a floral bookmark in your page and setting the book on the small table next to you.

kentos suit jacket was already shrugged off and forgotten, his footsteps quiet with the shoes he wore for too long today now left by the door and his glasses are nowhere in sight, letting you see his beautiful hazel eyes. even if they were a bit tired around the edges.

there was something else you recognized in them too, something urgent and heated and had you instinctively spreading your legs to make room for him with each step he took closer to you, one hand loosening his tie while the other unbuttons the first button of his shirt.

by the time he’s made it into the space between your legs and is lowering onto his knees in front of you, his tie is completely off, now resting on the blanket beside you. he’s warm and even though it’s been a long day of dealing with curses, ending up in places he didn’t particularly want to be and certainly not for as long as he had been, he still smells like your kento, still smiles like your kento and melts under your touch just as he had and would continue to for the rest of his life.

“hi sweetheart,” his voice is thick and deep and leaves you on bated breath when you feel his calloused hands sliding under your dress and the air in your lungs is stolen all together at the feeling of his lips on yours.

it feels like he’s barely touching you, his kisses are soft, his hands feather light on your thighs but you are littered in goosebumps, already holding onto him for support, to feel just a little more of him, kiss him deeper.

“k-kento..” your murmur against his lips, feeling your body flush with heat at the way his fingers hook into the hem of your panties and slowly pull them down your legs, the wetness that was already pooling between your legs and wetting the lacey fabric gently smearing and cooling against your inner thigh as he goes.

strong hands help lift your hips further down on the couch cushion, steady and with more pressure than usual, ensuring your comfort and tugging at the skirt of your dress until its pooled at your hips. his hold wasn’t enough to hurt you, kento would never hurt you, but it was telling of how badly he needed you, needed this.

“it’s been a long day,” he sighs against your inner thigh before placing a kiss there and then another and another, his blonde hait tickling your skin, until he’s where he needs to be the most after a stressful day.

it could have been any part of his day that brought him to this really. gojo being annoying. the overtime. troublesome curses or maybe even worse but the weight of the day, anything but you, his beloved, rolls off of his shoulders, forgotten and drowned out by the taste of you on his tongue and he devours you like he was desperate to let it all go.

♡♡♡♡♡

reblogs would be so greatly appreciated!<3 thank you for reading ♡

#kento #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #🌙moonlight.stories

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heartsforvin · 5 months

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can you do one where reader plays with vinnies dick soft then gets him hard and gives head?

DEAL WITH IT

thank you for the request !!! i hope you enjoy <3

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; smut, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, use of pet names (baby, princess, etc), lmk if i missed anything

summary; you innocently mess with vinnie only to have to deal with the consequences

you and vinnie were laying in his bed, vinnie had his arm resting behind his head while his other one was wrapped around your waist.

the two of you were watching a movie, you were cuddled into his side, your legs entangled with his.

you loved these moments with him, just being able to be close to him and wrap your body on his.

about twenty minutes into the movie you decided to mess with vinnie a bit. you move your hand so it’s resting on his lower stomach.

vinnie doesn’t notice anything off-putting about the hand placement so he continues to watch the movie.

you move your hand lower and slide it under his boxers. you give a minute before going any farther.

moving your hand farther, you grab vinnie’s dick and pull it out of its confinements, holding it in your hand as you look up at him and realize he has no clue what’s going on.

you glide your thumb over his tip which earns you a hiss from the boy. “what are you doing?” he asks you.

you try to play it off, act as if you’re definitely not trying to play with his dick as the two of you watch a movie.

“nothin’, just watching the movie.” you respond, motioning your free hand to the tv as you avert your gaze in the same direction.

vinnie gives you a questioning look but nods, turning his attention back to the movie playing in front of him.

you however, don’t stop your little antics. moving down on the bed, you get into a position like you were to lay your head on vinnie’s stomach.

what you do is completely different. moving your head down, you softly place your lips on the boy’s dick, making him instinctively jerk his body.

“y/n,” vinnie says in a warning tone. “cut that shit out.”

you look up at him from your current position, mouth still so close to where he wants it. “cut what out, vin?” you ask innocently.

you can tell you’re getting under his skin by the second. his arm is no longer supporting his head and he has now sat up a bit more.

“you know exactly what you’re doing, princess,” he says sternly, leaning down to grab your face in his hands, but makes sure it isn’t forceful. “finish what you started.”

you don’t know what he means until you look down and realize that those two small interactions have just made him hard.

he sees you eye him and the problem you have created. “go on pretty, suck my dick.” he says.

you look at your boyfriend for a moment, watching as he waits for you to do as told. suddenly, you feel so small under his gaze, wondering where the confidence went minutes prior.

“am i gonna have to do it myself, or are you gonna be a good girl and listen?” he asks you, already knowing the answer, he just loves to tease you.

you smile subtly while biting your lip as you kneel on the bed, vinnie having a perfect view of your ass.

“so pretty, baby,” he mummers as he watches you with hungry eyes. “yeah, that’s it.” he moans out once he feels your lips around him.

you try to fit every inch of him, but that doesn’t seem to be possible, so you wrap your hand around the rest.

you look up and see vinnie’s head thrown back and eyes closed, clearly enjoying the moment.

you keep your pace slow, but that doesn’t seem to work with vinnie. his eyes shoot open and he tilts his head to look at you.

“little faster, baby,” he tells you, smiling once you fasten your pace. “mm, so good for me.”

you lift your head from vinnie for a minute to breathe, you watch as vinnie’s eyes open again and he’s about to scold you, but he’s quickly cut short when he feels your tongue circle around his tip.

“fuck, sweetheart,” you hear vinnie say, making you smile mentally since you can’t do it literally. you move your head back on his cock with your hand wrapped around him and start your actions again. “don’t stop, baby.”

you have no intentions on stopping anytime soon. you bob your head a bit to help gain some friction, making the boy in front of you moan loudly.

vinnie smacks your ass harshly and you moan at the contact, making vinnie buck his hips into you.

“shit, sorry, princess.” he apologizes once he’s realized what he did. you look up at him and pull yourself off him for a second to reply.

“do it again.” you tell him.

vinnie gives you a questioning look. “smack your ass or fuck your face?” he asks.

your cheeks heat up at the second question, something about the way he said it was so hot to you.

biting your lip, you look at him for a second before replying. instead of doing so, vinnie already knows what you want.

you lower your head back down onto vinnie’s cock and continue your previous actions.

vinnie begins to thrust his hips, but not too much to where it’ll hurt you. you moan around his cock are feeling, making vinnie go a little faster.

“yeah you like when i fuck your face, don’t you, pretty girl.” vinnie says, you can’t help but clench your legs the best you can.

you can feel yourself get wet by the second, wanting to touch yourself or have vinnie touch you so bad.

he can tell how bad you need to do something, too. “need me to touch you, baby?” he teases, knowing that you do in fact need him to do so.

you whine as you continue your actions, that whine soon turns into a moan shortly as soon as vinnie thrusts particularly hard.

“fuck, baby i’m close.” you hear vinnie say, which makes you spread up your actions.

with a few more thrusts on vinnie’s end, he’s soon a shaking moaning mess, coming undone right under you.

he has no time to warn you, to tell you to move so he doesn’t cum down your throat, before he’s actually doing so.

once he does, you swallow then pull off of him and stick your tongue out. “good girl.”

sitting up, you wipe your mouth and smile at your boyfriend, making him smile in return. he leans in to kiss you and you gladly meet him halfway.

“you want my help now?” vinnie asks, you nod your head frantically.

you lay down on the bed and let vinnie do one of his favorite things in the entire world.

hiii !! girl lemme be real w you, life has been BUSY ,, i’ve started a new job + writers block has been kickin my ass 🥲

so sorry it’s taking so long for me to post, shits been crazy busy for me , but i hope you enjoyed this !!!!

taglist; @lyndys , @cosmicanakin , @leqonsluv3r , @kriissy4gov , @bernelflo , @laylasbunbunny , @slvthrs , @lovingsturniolo , @kayleiggh , @hallecarey1 ,

#vhackerr #vinniehacker #vincent hacker #vvhacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie x reader #vinnie x y/n

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sketchbook-of-shadows · 1 year

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💕Cuddling Slashers Headcanons💕

(x reader, all sfw🫶)

I finally finished the cuddling headcanons!! I wanna say thanku to @sprite-real as I based this off their slasher cuddling headcanons post they very kindly done up for me so please go read their HC's first to show them some support and also for context! (this is not a request, everyone give Sprite love and say ' thanku Sprite' 🔫) I'll also be putting these in the same order they did😚💕

Thomas Hewitt

I didn't use a pose ref for this one but I still really liked how it turned out, still getting used to drawing 2 figures close to eachother without it looking awkward at this time because it's the first one I drew

Bubba Sawyer

Struggled a little with his mask and hair on this one but overall I really like the pose

Lester Sinclair

I'm gonna be honest, I almost waged war on Lester because it took forever to get his face even remotely similar to how he looks in the movie (I still feel it doesn't but if I spent longer on this it'd probably be out in Jan), I adored drawing Jonesy though (puppyyyy)

Bo Sinclair

This pose was a little awkward for me to do up so I ended up tweaking the ref I made a couple of times because his head looked weird

Vincent Sinclair

Definitely my favourite one, favourite brother, favourite pose and overall favourite drawing out of these

Michael Myers

Looks a little awkward but trust me, it's meant to look like that. Also if you zoom in a bit I drew his eyes under his mask but I mostly shadowed them out because it looked off

Jason Voorhees

Posing here was a little sus but I love it regardless

Also buttcheeks hehe😛

I made these poses (aside from Thomas's one) in Magic Poser, if you'd like to use the same ref for an oc or a self insert or whichever, I can upload the poses to the Magic Poser gallery and share them there or post the exact angles of the ones I used, just ask and u shall receive🫶

OH ITS 1AM

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pocketsizedq · 7 months

Text

Sh! I’m talking to the baby

Summary:Jamie being the best husband

Warnings: very fluffy.

Request:Yes

Word Count:1040

As it slowly started to become dusk in the southwest region of the US there were two young married lovers who were beginning to get ready for bed in their cozy countryside California home.

Jamie and you started your guys night off with a comforting shared shower as He had begun to worry that you would silp in the shower. He carefully helped you out of the shower by holding your hand so gently like you would break if he squeezed too hard.

He walks over to the towel warmer that you guys kept in the bathroom. As Jamie started to pull out one of the cream colored egyptian cotton bath sheets which was longer than your normal towel.

The Toronto boy made his way over to your shivering frame wrapping the freshly warm bath sheet around you delicately as he has became more soothing mellow since finding out you were pregnant.

You held the towel close to your naked body making sure it didn't fall while he went into the closet you both share still bare butt which you were looking at the small freckles that covered your husband's back.

Jamie grabs one of his plain black shirts for you with a pair of your underwear then goes over to his drawers grabbing out a plain pair of boxers for himself.

He puts the boxer on before making his way back to the bathroom where you stood.

"lets get you dressed mama" Jamie spoke to you in a more gentle voice then what he usually does.

Jamie had started calling you mama after finding out you were pregnant as it just rolled off his tongue. He had always thought you would be such a cute mama and was glad you were going to be the mother to his little one.

Jamie made his way over to you gently removing the large towel from around you taking into his grasp to start gently dry off your hair knowing if you went to bed with hair that you would get sick.

He put the towel on the marble counter after drying your hair off a bit so it wouldn't be soaking wet and spoke up again saying "lift your arms up for me mama"

you lift your arms up so Jamie could silp his slightly oversized shirt over your head letting it fall onto your six month belly then He helps you slip your underwear on using his shoulders for support.

Once, Jamie gets done getting your clothes on you. He then makes you sit down at your vanity that was in the bathroom starting to carefully brush out your hair then grabbing hair tie from the vanity so He could put your h/c into a braid so it would not be in your way.

As he did so, Jamie would whisper small little praise in your ear about how pretty you look carrying his baby and how strong you are as He read in one of his books that sometimes pregnancy can makes you feel self conscious so when ever he is around you even if your doing the little thing he would kiss your forehead and tell you how amazing you are.

While you started to do your skincare at the skin he came up behind you gently lifting your heavy swollen belly to give you some relief from the pressure.

Jamie and you both started to brush your guys teeth at the sink giving each other goofy expressions making each other laugh enjoying it just being you two.

The blue eye boy was overjoyed at the thought of becoming a dad to a little baby girl which made him even more happy knowing that there will be a little you running around your guys home.

After you both got done brushing your teeth you guys made your way over to the king sized bed that was calling both of your guys names to lay in it.

Jamie unmake the bed while you watched him do it taking off the millions of throw pillows that you put on the bed which he has complain to which you replied with the its the style now card.

You pull the covers back taking a sip from your plain green stanley which had freshly been filled with water knowing who filled it up as Jamie was always making sure you were hydrated quoting something that trevor had said to him.

Jamie got into the bed helping you get comfortable once you laid down making sure you weren't in any discomfort as you snuggled into the somewhat beige silk sheets.

As you got more comfortable, Jamie made his way down to where your swollen bump gently kissing it when he started doing something he read in one of the baby books he got.

Jamie read all the benefits of talking to the baby when it is still in the womb so tonight he was going to give it a try. you watched as he placed a gentle kiss on your bump wondering what on earth he has read now.

"Hi there baby girl it's daddy i can't wait to meet you in a few more months. Mama has said that you have been jumping around in her belly. you better be nice to your mommy as she and I love you so very much and she is keeping you safe until you are ready to come into the world. I can't wait to teach you how to play hockey" He spoke to your stomach while gently rubbing your bump.

The emotions started to get to you as you knew he was going to be an amazing dad to your guys babygirl. Jamie looks up at you in worry noticing the tears fill your eyes.

He gently wipes your eyes with his thumb. Jamie's big beautiful icy eyes were filled with so much love when he looked at you that your heart filled with so much love looking at the man you fell in love with when you were 19 now he was going to be an amazing dad to the baby you both made in love.

"I love you so much mama and our little princess. Thank you for making me a dad."

#jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale blurb #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x you #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl x y/n #nhl x reader #kay’s works #JD09

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drmaddict · 17 days

Text

Pixie

Summary: The boys react to the new short hair of (Y/n).

Characters: Ghost, Soap, Rudy, König

Wordcount: 1.247

Authors note: To all my short haired girlies who just need a little support.

Ghost

"It's short." He looked at me emotionlessly. There was no reaction apart from this sentence.

"So?", I asked rather nervously.

He just shrugged his shoulders. "Cute.", he said. He tousled my now short hair. "Relax."

I pouted. "That was a big step for me, okay?"

He just took me in his arms. "It looks good." He kissed the top of my head and sneezed right after, because of the tickling stubble. Something he deeply hated doing in front of other people. Simon may be a bull of a man, but he had the sneeze of a kitten.

I stifled my giggles.

He just grumbled, "I'll have to get used to that."

I snuggled against his chest. "You really like it?"

He stroked the short hair on the back of my neck. Cuddled me properly. "I like it... now your spider webs of hair aren't flying around everywhere."

I punched him lightly on the chest. "Ass."

"Love you too." He tugged lightly on a strand of hair and smiled with this look in his eyes, that told me he was just remembering one of the few fond memories from his childhood.

"What?", I asked cautiously.

The tips of his ears turned slightly red. "When I was little, a girl in my class had short hair... Maybe I had a bit of a crush on her."

I grinned at him. "There was someone before me?" I groaned in mock shock.

He rolled his eyes. "I was eight!"

I kissed him lightly. "I love you."

He ran his hand over my head. "Love you, too."

Soap

I walked as quickly as I could through the apartment and into the bathroom. Annoyed, I ripped the shower head from its holder and held my head over the bath. The water ran through my cut of strands and I breathed a sigh of relief. I hated the amount of mousse that hairdressers always slammed into my hair.

Like that would change the fact, that I hated the cut. I could feel the tears coming again. I rubbed my hair dry and looked in the mirror, exhausted.

Johnny hesitantly opened the door. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head. I had spent weeks looking for a cut I liked, only to leave the store with "something" on my head.

I pulled up the snot. Johnny gave me a quick hug and ran his fingers through the wet strands. "That's longer than the cut you chose.", he said.

"It's not what I chose at all." I took a deep breath. It was just hair, but the teasing from school still ran deep.

"You give it a quick wash now. Okay?",he mumbled.

I hung my head over the bath and started washing my hair until the sticky feeling was finally gone.

Johnny immediately wrapped a towel around my head and rubbed it dry.

"Sit down.", he just said and sat me on the toilet lid. I saw Johnny standing in front of me with his cell phone and a pair of scissors in his hand.

"What are you going to do?", I asked, irritated.

He just grinned. "I've been cutting my hair for years. I can manage it."

I sighed. "Why not?"

Johnny was beaming like a child at Christmas and studied the picture I had sent him a few days ago in detail. Then he set to work with great concentration, cutting my head more by feel than anything else. It couldn't get any worse than the mushroom hairstyle I left with.

He looked almost professional as he divided the hair and checked every now and then to make sure it was lying the way he wanted it.

Then he rubbed the towel over my head again and nodded with satisfaction. He reached for the hairdryer and put it in place before grabbing one of his various hair gels and styling it.

"Voilà.", he grinned and pulled me up to look in the mirror.

I stared. "That's perfect.", I whispered. Johnny grinned behind me. "I know."

I ran my fingers through the now more beautiful strands. "How are you so good at this?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I've been cutting mine forever and every now and then I cut someone's hair at base."

I pulled him in for a kiss. "Thank you."

He ran his hand over the back of my head. "Always."

Rudy

"Morning." he murmured, smiling. I buried myself in the pillow again. I was slow to come back to the land of the living and realized that my scalp felt different. I remembered yesterday. I remembered that I had finally taken the plunge and cut off my hair. I remembered all too well that Rudy had shown me, what he thought of my new look. My neck felt sore. Rudy is and always has been a biter. I ran my hand over my head. "How bad is it?", I asked, still tired.

Rudy laughed lightly. "I thought we established yesterday, that I like it."

I grinned. "Yeah." I peeked at him through one eye. "I meant more the current state."

He stroked my hair. "I think it's cute."

I grinned. "I feel like an Araucana chicken."

He laughed relaxed. "My sweet Araucana chicken."

I buried myself against his chest. Gently, he ran his fingers over my back. "I must confess... It's quite pleasant to not swallow your hair all the time in my slepp."

I laughed. "You're welcome."

He kissed me on the nose and tousled my head. "Does my Araucana chicken want to shower with me?"

I grinned. "Only if my silky fowl comes with me."

He stumbled. "I don't look like a silky."

I grinned. "Just a little bit."

He buried me playfully underneath him and maltreated my neck with his mouth, grinning. I laughed and surrendered to his caresses.

König (Klaus)

I felt big hands running over my head. I rolled my eyes with a grin and looked up from my book.

The mountain of a man, who called himself my boyfriend stood behind me with an embarrassed grin and looked down at me.

"Sorry.", he mumbled.

I shook my head. "That's all right. Let off steam."

He lifted me off the sofa, sat on it himself and then draped me so that I could continue reading on his lap. His hands continued to run through the short strands of hair on my head.

I almost felt like a cat being cuddled. I could understand the little creatures. I put my book aside with a sigh and curled up on top of him.

"I would have cut my hair off much earlier, if I'd known I'd get a head massage every day."

He just grumbled and continued stroking my head.

I let myself be lulled by his fingers, until my eyes fell shut. I was almost in the land of dreams when I was torn from my relaxation.

Pumpkin the cat was standing next to us and screaming at Klaus. It didn't matter that I had rescued the little one. Klaus had been her human from day one. Klaus and only Klaus.

He laughed lightly and lifted the cat onto his lap too. She let him stroke her demonstratively and showed me which of us was number one here.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. Cats.

Klaus pressed a kiss to my lips. Pumpkin immediately rubbed her head at his chin.

"Hey, I saved you. He didn't want you at all!"

He laughed. "My two girls." he sighed.

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zeroeightzeroone · 5 days

Text

homesick - han jisung

love collection

genre: comfort, angst? soft

pairings: fem!reader (infp) x idol!han jisung (istp)

warnings: none?

wc ~3.7k | moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

you miss your boyfriend–you miss him a lot.

how could you not?

all you have wanted to do for the past couple of weeks is throw your arms around jisung and hold him close. you want to keep your boyfriend so tightly against your chest that you're encapsulated by the warmth radiating off his body, the warmth that never fails to comfort you, resting your head against his chest to listen to how his heart beats in tandem with your own. you miss the physical closeness with jisung.

stray kids has been on tour since late april this year, and the last leg of the tour is expected to end early april next year. while that's quite a long time for the boys to be away, they'd be back in asia in late july and on a break until the tour kicks back up in early september. it's currently the beginning of july.

thankfully, you weren't taking any summer courses. through the grace of whatever higher power there is up there, you managed to convince your boss to let you work remotely so you could join jisung and the boys for two weeks during the japanese leg of their tour back at the beginning of june.

you loved watching jisung perform. seeing him firsthand from the crowd, in his element when he's on stage, performing his art and perfecting his craft, makes your heart lurch; you fall for the man all over again, watching him up there. seeing it firsthand is completely different from watching videos of him–you can feel the energy radiating off him when he's up there.

at the end of those two weeks, you and the boys ended up in the same place: the airport. you were boarding a plane back to seoul, and they were boarding a plane to their first tour stop in america. due to the influx of reporters and fans waiting at narita international airport, your goodbyes to the boys and their staff had to be in the hotel, inside your rooms, hours before checkout time.

knock, knock, knock.

"come in!" you call whoever is on the other side of the door; if it's any of the boys, then they will be accompanied by jisung, who has the extra room key for your room.

you grunt in a squatting position as you move your luggage from laying on the ground, on its back, to standing upright on its wheels. you hear the keycard machine beep from the other side of the door in confirmation as you're hunched over, wheeling your luggage up against the wall before standing up straight and rubbing your palms against your jeans. you watch as the front door opens to reveal the eight boys, jisung in front, holding the keycard to your hotel room. behind them, the managers and some guards come into the room with them, but the bodyguards stay outside.

"y/n!" felix whines with a pout as he pushes forward, running to you and enveloping you in his arms, "fly safe, okay?"

you pat the freckled boy's back appreciatively as you nod.

"make sure you text ji when you land, okay?"

"i will, but you guys will still be in the air when he gets that message."

felix pulls away, his hands on your shoulders as he looks at you, "still, it's the thought that counts." you smile and giggle at felix, who moves aside for the next couple of members to say their goodbyes to you.

your exchanges with jeongin, minho and changbin are on the shorter side; brief hugs with jeongin and changbin, who thank you for coming to support them in concert, meanwhile minho gives you a half hug and pats your head as he bids you farewell, thanking you for taking two weeks out of the many months jisung will spend talking about how much he'll miss you.

meanwhile, hyunjin, chan and seungmin's hugs last a little longer when you're swayed around a little bit and told to be safe, get a lot of rest on the plane and not miss them too much. chan lets you know that if there is any other time you're going to be free when they're on tour, let them know, and they'll arrange everything for you–from the plane tickets to where you're staying–anything at all.

seungmin, the member you're closest to after your boyfriend, whispers in your ear quietly to ensure it's kept between the two of you: "i know you're going to ask me to take care of jisung for you, so don't worry about that. don't worry about hannie; we all got him."

the reassurance brings a smile to your face, and your grip on seungmin gets tighter in appreciation. the boy sways your bodies back and forth, patting your back when you separate. when he pulls away, he steps aside to reveal your boyfriend standing there with a pout, his big, brown eyes glossy as tears build up at his waterline. you have to bite your lip to keep from sobbing.

you were already feeling on the verge of tears when felix came rushing in and pulled you into a hug. chan's words about arranging anything and everything if you're free, then seungmin assuring you that they'll look out for your boyfriend while on tour and now, here's your boyfriend, your hannie, your jisung, looking at you with teary eyes.

you open your arms and jisung runs into them, prompting you to take a step back at the sudden impact, but jisung's tight grip around your waist protects you from any chance of falling backward. jisung buries his face in the crook of your neck while your arms are wrapped around his neck, your chin resting on his shoulder as your eyes are squeezed shut. your grip on each other is tight, knowing that once either of you lets go, the next time you'll be in each other's arms is in two months.

jisung lets a choked whimper slip out that he tries to hide with a cough. you smack his back gently, "ya!"

you clear your throat, trying your best to stay composed and stern as you utter the next words.

"if you cry, i'm going to cry too!" your voice cracks and trembles as you speak.

"i'm not crying," he denies. though his voice is muffled from his head buried in the crook of your neck, you can clearly hear that it's softer than usual, shaky, and uneasy.

you let out a pained laugh, "liar." the tears flow down your cheeks as you hold him even tighter.

"i'm not lying!" jisung continues to deny. he lifts his head up from your neck, and you stand there, still in each other's arms, looking at each other, "see."

what you see is how jisung's cheeks are flushed, wet with tears that probably fell and landed on the fabric of the hoodie you're wearing, his lashes clumped together with tears as he tries to keep his lips pursed together when they're trembling and threatening to go back to that pout. on the other hand, your tears are freely falling as you stare up at your boyfriend through your fluttering lids, mouth opening and closing as you breathe heavily through your pouted lips, cheeks also flushed and damp. you smack his chest.

"what?" he whines.

you open your mouth to laugh at him, but instead, a sob comes out. you fall back into his arms and bury your face into his chest as you cry.

"look who's crying now," jisung retorts as his arms move around your body again, holding you close. one hand rests on the small of your back while the other caresses your hair.

"yeah, the both of you," minho teases and jisung glares at the boy, but the older one just smiles back.

the rest of the boys watch the exchange between you and jisung with a slight ache in their chests as they remember how hard it was to say goodbye to their friends and family before leaving. chan looks around and he gathers everyone to leave, wanting to give you and jisung a minute alone to say your goodbyes before the driver takes you to the airport.

pulling away, jisung moves his hands to your face and brushes your hair back, some strands sticking to your skin because of tears as you hiccup. even when your hair is out of your face, he continues to stroke your hair back while the other hand is on your cheek, gently caressing the skin with the pad of his thumb. the two of you stare up at each other, sniffling.

"i love you," jisung whispers, his voice hoarse from crying.

you nod, sniffling and hiccuping in return, "i love you too."

jisung smiles down at you, "hey, i'll be back before you know it."

your eyelids flutter as you blink quickly, and your hands play with the back of the sweatshirt jisung is wearing.

"i'll text you everyday," he reminds, "i'll call you as much as i can, and as much our schedules and the time zones allow for."

you sigh shakily, "i'm gonna miss you so much."

"i'm going to miss you so much too, my love," jisung brushes your hair back again, "god, i wish i could just take you with me. two months away from you? that's too long."

you snicker, nodding in agreement, "i do too. but hey, i'll get to see so many videos of you taken by stay, doing your thing on stage."

your boyfriend smiles, gazing down at you lovingly.

"i'm so proud of you. look at you," you sigh, lips curled up in a smile, "my boyfriend is going on a world tour."

"do you know what that means?" you tilt your head in confusion, "souvenirs from every stop that remind me of you!"

since he left, both of you have been sending texts daily and video calls whenever your schedules permit it and when the time zones line up enough so it isn't too early or too late for either of you.

sometimes your calls only prompt you to miss jisung even more, wishing he was next to you and that his voice wasn't just coming through a device while he's on the other side of the world, but the distance also means you continue to long for the day jisung comes home. you know his parents long for that day as well, his mother sending you texts every couple of days asking when you're free so you can go out together. as jisung likes to put it–spending time with her future daughter-in-law.

however, as the number of days away from jisung increases, the number of days before jisung returns also decreases. with that in mind, you try to stay positive and look forward to the day he comes home.

now that the boys are in america, they've been quite busy rehearsing, checking and then rechecking their formations and any technical details that could go wrong during the concerts, the process repeating at each venue as they sync up their equipment with the new venues. their team organizing and making sure everything is okay with the venue and other organizers. as a result, jisung has been too busy to call late at night as he passes out the moment he's in his hotel room from the venue, then waking up a couple hours later to hop on a flight to the next destination.

he sends you texts here and there throughout his day, sending random photos of himself and the members during rehearsals or before and after the show. on jisung's end, he sent a text over when he landed early in the morning, saying he could probably hop on a call quickly when he gets to the hotel, seeing as they're going to be in inglewood for a little over a week for two shows instead of one. you were about to leave work when the message came through. going home for the evening when the message reminded you of your phone call with jisung's mother.

"hello, eomeonim (mother-in-law)," you greet when the line connects.

"y/n, myeoneuri (daughter-in-law)," she speaks into the phone, her tone sweet as usual. she doesn't say anything for a moment before speaking, "is this a bad time? you don't sound like you're at home?"

"ah, sorry eomeonim," you apologize, "i just got off the bus, but i'm on the way home now. but don't worry, i can talk if you need me."

"ah okay, i won't keep you too long then, myeoneuri," she assures before continuing, "have you spoken to jisung on the phone recently?"

you hum as you think, "I think it's been a couple of days since our last phone call; why? is he okay?"

you hear jisung's mother sigh on the other end of the line, "i'm a little worried, if i'm honest," you hum in acknowledgment and she continues, "he sounded quite down on our phone call yesterday and the day before. he told me not to worry when i asked… i know this might be a lot, but would you mind talking to him? if it's you, he'll open up more–at least, he'll have talked about what's on his mind."

"yeah, yeah, of course," you agree, "i'll see if we can call tonight, and i'll check up on him, see how he's doing, eomeonim. don't worry too much, i'm sure ji is okay!"

she chuckles on the other end, "ah, you sound just like him, y/n. don't tell him i sent you!"

you laugh in response to her rushed addition at the end of her statement: "i won't say anything," she sighs in relief, "was there anything else you were curious about?"

she hums, "nothing else, thank you so much, myeoneuri. i'll see you on the weekend, okay? come over whenever you want! the door is always open for you!"

your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you smile, "thank you, i'll see you in a couple of days. bye eomeonim!"

"goodbye, myeoneuri! get home safely. i love you," she bids her farewells, which you exchange right back with her before she hangs up the call.

thinking back to that conversation, you wonder what worried jisung's mother about him; was it how he spoke? his tone? the words he used? was he quite active in the conversation, or did he seem more passive? you wonder what exactly she meant by jisung sounding quite down, but you guess you'll figure it out when he calls you in the morning.

it's around eight in the morning when your phone rings from the bedside table. yunjin should already be awake and ready for work, so the ringer volume doesn't wake anyone up except you. you roll around, feeling around the bedside table for the device. you accept his call quickly and place the phone to your ear.

a deep yawn leaves your lips before you say, "ji baby?"

you hear him hum in acknowledgment on the other end before he replies, "yeah, baby, it's me." a sleepy smile forms on your lips at the sound of his voice. " did I wake you?"

you groan softly as you flick the lamp on, the sudden brightness causing you to squint, "yes but i don't mind. i just wanna hear your voice. are you back at the hotel now?"

"yeah, we got back a while ago. i just wanted to be ready for bed before calling; this way i can fall asleep while you're on the line," jisung explains, and you feel your cheeks heat up at his sentiments.

he continues to talk about what they did today. you're gradually more awake and more attentive as the minutes pass, so eventually, you realize what jisung's mother was referring to when it sounded like he's been down. jisung is speaking monotone, his voice softer, and when he speaks, it sounds like his mind is elsewhere.

when he's finished, you decide to segway into that conversation, "how are you feeling?"

he pauses for a moment, taken aback before he shrugs, "i'm tired, it's been a long day of rehearsal. what about you? how are you feeling?"

"i'm doing good, i'm hearing your voice, so i'm doing great," you answer quickly before he tries to shift the conversation to you, "are you physically tired or?"

jisung is lying in bed as he speaks to you, looking up at the ceiling and thinking of his replies, "yeah. dancing and all."

"emotionally?"

"emotionally?" he repeats to which you confirm, "i mean… i'm okay–better now since i'm hearing your voice after a couple of days… it's been a busy last couple of days."

you nod, running a hand through your tangled hair as you listen to jisung on the other end. his tone is still distracted as his words graze over how he's feeling, avoiding delving deeper into it. realizing that maybe he isn't ready to delve deeper into his emotions, you allow him to shift the conversation to your life and what you've been up to while he's been on tour–asking you how work has been and if anything new has occurred. you answer jisung honestly; there is nothing new at work as it's the same job you've had since getting into university; the only new events would be the lunch you have on the weekend with jisung's mother, aunt and grandmother.

the latter part of your updates brings a smile to jisung's lips, his heart warming at the thought of the most important women in his life spending quality time together. but at the same time, hearing your updates about your life back at home, no matter how small you think they are or if they're the same things that always happen, has jisung's chest aching in a completely different way.

"ji?" you call, not hearing anything coming from his end, "did you fall asleep?" you pause to listen, to survey whether or not you hear soft snores or heavy breathing that indicate that he is indeed asleep.

instead, jisung responds after a couple of moments, "i'm still here. i'm awake."

"are you okay?" you wonder, "if you're tired then i can go–"

"no, don't go," he quickly interrupts, "sorry."

"don't apologize, i just wanna make sure you're okay," you reassure, and you hear him hum in acknowledgment.

"i miss you," he declares softly, his voice solemn as he speaks.

"i miss you too, ji," you sigh, instinctively clutching the pillow closer to your chest.

the boy on the other end ponders for a moment before continuing, "i miss you a lot. i don't really know how to explain it," jisung blinks up at the ceiling, "i miss you all the time, but when we get back to the hotel or when i'm not performing, i miss you even more."

jisung's eyebrows knit in frustration as he continues to explain himself.

"i love being on stage, i love performing," he states, "i can't explain how i feel when i'm performing either, but… there's a feeling of contentment or fullness? i don't know… i just know i love to be up there. but…"

"but?" you encourage him to continue as his words trail off.

"but when i get back to the hotel, or when it's all over, i feel tired: the adrenaline doesn't last as long as it usually does. but even though i'm tired, it's hard to fall asleep."

you aren't sure where to place jisung's words, unsure if you've ever felt the way he's been feeling lately, uncertain if you can relate, but at the least, you want to understand and reassure him that you're there.

"there's a feeling of emptiness that kinda just sits there when i'm not on stage," his voice is softer when he says the word 'emptiness' like it's a fragile word, one he's unsure of, "i wasn't sure what it was before but listening to you talk started to help me realize what caused the emptiness."

"something i said helped you realize?" you repeat for clarification.

"yeah, listening to you talk about home, work, the local cafes, the conversations you have with my mom–just everything about your life at home," jisung lists, "i'm feeling homesick."

your lips part in awe when the last word leaves his mouth, the singular word allowing you to reconceptualize what he said previously and gain a greater understanding.

"i tried my best to distract myself and rehearse more to combat those feelings of emptiness but nothing seemed to work; it just stuck there. listening to you helped combat some of my homesickness but…"

"but it's still there," you finish his sentence, and he agrees with a sigh.

"i love being onstage, i feel so alive when i'm up there," now, when jisung speaks, his tone is clearer, and his thoughts are clearer, the way he's speaking signalling that instead of being lost in his own thoughts he's got both feet on the ground and he's working through them, "but i miss home so much. god… i miss you so damn much."

you smile sadly when you hear him sniffle.

"i miss my bed at the dorms, the air fryer at the dorms that we don't even use. i miss the smell of your laundry detergent and shampoo, i miss being in your arms, and you playing with my hair. i miss being at home."

jisung cries softly as he speaks, sniffling and continuing to list off the things that he misses at home. it brings tears to your eyes; using your comforter to dab the tears off your face.

"hey…" you call into the phone, "would it help if i sent little voice messages throughout the day so you could hear my voice? i can send pictures of things you love here too? just a couple more weeks, and you'll be here, and i'll hold you so tightly you get sick of me."

"i'll never be sick of being in your arms," he remarks, "and if it isn't too much, i would love that, all of it." jisung smiles at your suggestions, appreciative of you and your ideas to help him combat his homesickness until he's back in seoul.

"i'll try my best."

"baby?" he coos, prompting a soft response from you, "do you think we can video call? i wanna see your face before i sleep. can you stay until i fall asleep?"

your cheeks heat up from your boyfriend's suggestion, and your heart feels giddy at seeing his face for a couple of minutes before he falls asleep. " of course, baby."

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urfavoritewriter · 7 months

Text

College Group Project - Part 2

Content: College Vore, Male Pred, Male Prey, Muscled Pred, Nerd Prey, Fatal Digestion, Unwilling Prey. Second part is about the hours-long digestion. Read the first part HERE.

Likes and Reblogs are very appreciated!

Max, still revelling in the euphoria of the moment, shifted his weight and tried to adjust to the new heaviness in his gut. Eli was no longer beside him, but rather, an unmistakable presence within him. The room seemed to have grown smaller in contrast to the impressive bulge protruding from Max's midsection. The silhouette of Eli's curled body was clearly visible through the taut fabric of Max’s shirt, his form outlined in the smooth curve of the stomach.

Max grunted slightly as he moved toward his desk. Sitting down wasn't as simple as it used to be. The chair creaked under the additional weight. With Eli inside, he had to spread his legs apart to accommodate the swollen belly, leaning slightly back to balance the shift in his center of gravity. He rested one hand atop the bulge, the other supporting him from behind, fingers splayed across the chair's backrest.

"Feeling snug in there, Eli?" Max chuckled, the vibrations of his voice coursing through his stomach, a tantalizing reminder to Eli of his predicament. "I must say, you add quite the weight. Didn't realize you were this… dense."

From the confines of Max's stomach, Eli could feel every movement, every breath his captor took. The walls of the gut squeezed and massaged him rhythmically, making any hope of shifting or adjusting himself futile.

Max's shirt, which was once loose-fitting, now seemed stretched to its limits. The fabric clung to the swell of his stomach, the seams appearing as though they might give way. There was a pronounced tightness around his midsection, the pressure from Eli's form making the belt on Max's jeans dig into his waist. The button looked like it might pop off any second.

"You know," Max began, running his fingers over the taut surface of his belly, tracing Eli's form, "I can't help but wonder how you're feeling right now. Completely surrounded, enveloped, unable to escape. It’s a bit poetic, don’t you think?"

He leaned forward slightly, the movement causing a tighter constriction within, making Eli all the more aware of his helplessness. "I hope you're comfortable," Max teased, "because you're going to be in there for a while.

With each futile squirm and shift from Eli, Max's belly rippled and shuddered. From within, Eli could feel the constant clenching of Max’s stomach muscles, making his enclosed space even more restricted with each passing moment.

“Ooh, a little fighter, aren’t we?” Max grinned, feeling the movements from within. “You know, all that struggling is only going to help me. It’s like you’re stirring yourself up, getting ready for digestion.” He chuckled, a dark gleam in his eye.

Max adjusted in his seat, the added weight and movement from inside causing him to shift uncomfortably. Every twitch and push Eli made had an effect. The tight confines meant that each prod was easily felt against the walls of Max's stomach. As he tried to find a comfortable seated position, he leaned back, spreading his legs wider to make room for the pronounced bulge. His jeans strained, the material digging into his thighs.

Reaching down, Max began to massage his belly, his strong fingers pressing into the contours of Eli's form. Despite the distension, the faint outline of Max's abs could still be seen, a testament to the hours spent in the gym. His fingers traced each of the muscles, emphasizing his control over the situation.

The pressure increased as Max began to squeeze deliberately, compressing Eli even further within the confines of his stomach. The sensation was intense, each squeeze forcing Eli to feel the powerful grip of Max’s innards. “Feeling the burn yet?” Max taunted. “My muscles aren’t just for show, you know.”

Eli’s muffled protests and desperate pushes against his fleshy prison were met with increasing amusement from Max. But as the minutes ticked by, and the initial thrill started to wane, Max’s attention shifted back to the task at hand.

“You know, Eli,” Max began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I invited you here to work on the project. And if you keep up this ruckus, it's going to be quite hard for me to concentrate.” He smirked, tapping lightly on his belly. “So, how about you settle down in there, huh? Give it a rest. Because either way, I have a project to finish.”

In the first hour, Max settled into a rhythm. The open tabs on his computer displayed articles, research, and data graphs. He found himself deeply engrossed, typing away as ideas began to flow. But every so often, he would feel a faint thud or a twist from within, reminding him of Eli's presence. At one point, he felt a particularly strong wriggle, which caused him to pause and chuckle. “Still trying to make your opinion heard, huh, Eli? Well, keep it down; I'm actually trying to work here.” With a smirk, he took a moment to stretch, his fingers lightly brushing against the top of the rounded bulge. The sensation seemed to still Eli, if only for a moment, before Max returned his focus to the project.

By the second hour, Max's stomach had grown noticeably quieter. The acids and enzymes were doing their job, slowly breaking down the intruder. Every now and then, however, Max would still feel a feeble movement. It seemed as though Eli, despite the odds, was holding on. Not that it bothered Max much. In fact, he took a certain pleasure in it. "You really are determined, aren't you?" he mused aloud, feeling a weak, fluttering push from inside. "But trust me, Eli, by the time I’m done with this project, there won't be much left of you to protest." He said it lightly, a hint of jest in his voice, but the dark undertone was evident.

As the third hour neared its end, Max's progress on the project was evident. Pages of notes, diagrams, and written content filled his screen. His concentration was occasionally broken by the slight gurgling sounds emanating from his midsection. The digestion process was in full swing. Eli's movements had dwindled to almost nothing, the occasional twitch reminding Max of his slowly dissolving passenger. "You know," he murmured, a hint of nostalgia in his voice, "I almost missed our little back-and-forths, Eli. But I have to admit, you've been a… productive motivator." He leaned back, taking a moment to glance down at the now slightly less pronounced bulge. With a sly grin, he added, "By tomorrow, thanks to you, I'll have a completed project and some added muscle definition. Not a bad trade, if you ask me."

The room was filled with the soft hum of Max's computer and the occasional rustle of papers. But as the fourth hour began, another sound began to join the symphony—a desperate, frantic movement emanating from Max's gut. Eli, it seemed, was rallying his remaining strength, making one final, desperate bid for freedom. Each squirm, each attempt to push and stretch against the fleshy walls, only served to make Max more aware of the life within him.

"Back with a vengeance, are we?" Max quipped, feeling the surge of activity. He momentarily paused his work, resting both hands atop his belly, feeling the contours shift beneath his fingers. The rhythm of Eli's movements, previously weak and intermittent, now came in waves of intensity. "You've got spirit, Eli, I'll give you that." Max mused, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. But the smirk faded as a particularly strong jolt from Eli took him by surprise. It seemed Eli wasn't quite ready to give up.

By the fifth hour, Max felt a mix of amusement and mild annoyance. He had to adjust his seating position more frequently, sometimes leaning back to counterbalance the vigorous activity inside. He could feel every twist and turn Eli made, every push against his stomach walls. The sensation was… intense. More than once, he found himself pausing, taking a deep breath to collect himself. "You do realize," Max drawled, addressing his midsection, "that this is all in vain? But I do admire your tenacity. It's almost… commendable."

As the clock struck the end of the sixth hour, the once intense and frantic movements began to wane. Eli's energy was diminishing, the acids and the unyielding pressure of Max's stomach taking their toll. The once sharp jabs became mere flutters, then eventually, mere twitches. Max, sensing the decline, leaned forward, his ear almost touching his belly, listening intently. "Almost done there, Eli?" he whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and genuine curiosity. But all he got in response was a soft, almost imperceptible movement.

With a sigh of both relief and satisfaction, Max settled back into his chair. "You gave it a good run," he murmured, his fingers lightly drumming on his belly, "but now, it's time to finish what we started." As he returned to his project, Eli's once-vibrant presence faded, leaving behind only the slow, methodical work of digestion.

As the ninth hour approached, the room was cast in the soft glow of the laptop screen, accompanied by the rhythmic tap-tap of Max’s fingers on the keyboard. He leaned back, stretching his arms above his head, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The project, which had consumed so much of his time and focus, was finally complete.

Closing his laptop, Max glanced down, taking a moment to admire the swollen belly that protruded from his frame. The gentle rise and fall as he breathed was punctuated only by the subtle gurgle of digestion at work. “Looks like I’ve finished on time, Eli,” he mused, giving his belly a gentle pat. "Thanks for the… motivation."

Standing up, Max moved over to the full-length mirror hanging on the door. Turning sideways, he assessed the pronounced bulge critically. “I guess I’ll be carrying you around for a few more days,” he murmured, poking the soft mound. “Maybe I’ll just tell everyone I’ve been indulging in a bit too much beer lately.”

Chuckles filled the room as he imagined the looks and comments he'd get from friends and acquaintances. "A beer belly, or rather an Eli-belly," he smirked, appreciating his own joke. "Either way, I guess we'll be spending a bit more time together."

With one last glance at the mirror, Max powered down his laptop.

#digestion #male pred #male prey #male vore #muscle pred #muscled pred #hunk #lean prey #nerd prey #betrayal #painful digestion #fatal digestion

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thetriumphantpanda · 7 months

Text

where have all the good men gone? | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary | A date, supposed to get your mind of Javier, goes terribly, and he's the only person you can think to call that will make anything better.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, alcohol consumption, protective!Javi, misogynistic comments (not from Javi), (1) man being a pushy douchebag (also not Javi), swearing, mentions of the drug trade - nothing else I can think of.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Authors Note | I am truly having the most fun with these two and I hope you're enjoying their story so far! Things are definitely going to be heating up soon, so please hang in there, it'll be spectacular when they finally do get spicy with each other! If you're enjoying this then comments, asks and reblogs are my lifeblood and if you'd like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

“I promise he’s good fun,” Liv’s voice speaks through the phone, cradled to your ear by your shoulder as you skim through your wardrobe, “Nice, and age appropriate.” She teases.

“Shut up,” You grumble, still annoyed that you’ve allowed her to talk you into this at all, “This is still a terrible idea.”

“You were the one complaining about Javier Peña being a bad idea,” She defends herself, “And you also could have said no, too late now.”

You sigh because she’s right. You’ve been trying for the past week to convince yourself that finding someone else might make wanting Javier go away, even just a little bit. Someone your age, not entangled in your family dynamics, or at least you’re hoping anyway. Liv had suggested someone she knew from work, a nice boy, two years older than you, his head screwed on, a managerial position at work. Sensible.

“I have no idea what to wear.” You groan down the phone, there are plenty of dresses you could choose, but somehow, it feels like this person you don’t know doesn’t deserve that of you.

“Put those jeans on,” Liv speaks, crunching coming down the phone line, clearly she’s snacking like she always does, “The tight ones, makes your ass look phenomenal, and the lowest cut top you own.”

“Liv,” You chastise, “I’ve never met him before, I’m not fucking him tonight.”

“I didn’t suggest you did,” She chuckles, “Just give him a taste of what’s to come.”

“Unbelievable,” You mutter, but follow her advice anyway, pulling out a shirt that cuts low, scooping out your jeans from the drawer, “Right, I gotta go and get ready, but if this is awful, you’re entirely to blame, okay?”

“Hearing you loud and clear girl,” She chuckles, “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Goodbye!” You chuckle, hanging up.

It’s still light out, so you opt to walk to the bar in town. It’s not all that far, and the air has cooled enough by the time you leave that it doesn’t feel too stiflingly hot. The bar is not one you would have chosen, one of the more upmarket establishments in town. You wish you could go back to your normal dive bar, with its slightly sticky floor and the smell of fried food. You give him the benefit of the doubt though, maybe he’s just trying to impress you and you can’t fault him for that, can you?

Liv told you he’d be sat at the bar in a blue shirt, and there’s only one person it can be when you get close enough, “Victor?” You ask, stood next to him.

“The one and only,” He smiles at you, standing from the barstool to give you a hug, which you allow, “You look hot.”

“Thanks,” You chuckle, sitting down on the stool next him, noticing a drink already there for you, it’s a cocktail, bright pink, and you know you’ll already hate it, and you do when you take a sip, wincing as the fruity blend moves down your throat, “Oh, it’s very sweet.”

“I thought it was a safe option, most girls love this drink.”

You’re tempted to make a comment about this clearly being his favourite place to bring his dates but you bite your tongue, working through the necessary small talk as you try and drink it as fast as you can so you can choose something you might actually enjoy.

“So, Liv told me you’re a journalist,” He comments, sipping his glass of whiskey, “What kind of things do you write?”

“I mainly cover news about the drug trade and how that affects the town.” You explain, taking the last sip of your drink, flagging the bartender down.

“Pretty morbid,” He shrugs, ordering himself another whiskey as you opt for a margarita, “Surely a girl like you should be writing about fashion or something.”

You scoff, “So I can’t write about things that are important to our town because I’m a woman?”

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” He tries to backtrack, “Just that it’s intimidating, is all, might put people off,” He chuckles then, “Although not me, like my girls with a bit of personality.”

You roll your eyes and don’t even try and hide it as you sip at your margarita, much better, you think. It carries on like that for another hour, Victor and his thinly veiled misogyny and his boring, surface level conversation. He tries at some point to put his hand on your knee, but you jerk away, moving so he can’t touch you.

“You want another?” He asks when you finish your third drink, “The night is still young.”

“No thank you,” You say, trying to be as polite as possible, “I have work tomorrow so probably best to head home.”

You try and insist that you pay for your part of the bill, but to his only credit, he insists on covering the tab but does then try and wrap his arm around your waist to walk you outside, which makes you want to hit him more than anything.

You stand next to him on the pavement outside the bar as the doors close behind you. You can still hear everyone else talking inside, but you have no idea what to do. You want to go home, but it’s dark, and you know you’d told your dad that Victor would walk you home, but you don’t want to spend another minute in his company.

“So, am I gonna get my goodnight kiss?” He asks, trying to take hold of your wrist to pull you into him.

He’s stronger than you, so he does sort of succeed in pulling you into his body, but you manage to put your palm against his chest to push him back.

“I don’t think so.” You cringe a little, trying to lean back as far as you can with his hand pulling your wrist.

“You’re joking right?” He scoffs, “I paid for your drinks, try and be interested in what you said and you’re going to refuse me?”

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” You speak, trying to talk the situation down, “I just don’t think this is gonna work.”

“Don’t need to tell me,” He snaps, “Such a fucking tease turning up dressed like this, but you’re really just a prude.”

“Oh fuck off man!” You try and push him again, succeeding in doing it enough for him to let go of your wrist so you can put some distance between you, “I don’t owe you shit.”

“Forget it,” He turns around and walks away, leaving you on your own, “Probably would have been a shit lay anyway.”

You’re tempted to call back but realise it’s not worth it, so you let him wander off, leaving you on the sidewalk on your own with no idea what to do now. You would walk home, but if your dad see’s you on your own, he’s going to kill you for being silly enough to walk home alone after dark, and then find Victor and kill him too for being a jerk.

You slump against the brick wall of the bar, rooting through your bag, there’s enough cash to go back in and get a drink and try and calm down a little, then, your fingers brush against the card you’d slipped in there a few days ago. The name and the number, and the few coins in the bottom of your bag, draw you to the phone box at the end of the street. You’re putting the money in and dialing before you can convince yourself it’s a silly idea.

He picks up on the third ring.

“Peña.” It’s so formal.

“Javi?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level, but ultimately failing.

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he asks, and he sounds frantic.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, I just-” God this seems so stupid now, mainly because you don’t want to admit you were on a date, you don’t want to make yourself seem unavailable to him, “I was on a date and it didn’t go well, he was meant to walk me home and well, I don’t want him to, but I don’t wanna call my dad.”

“He hurt you?” He seems cross, protective even, which makes your tummy flutter.

“N-no,” You sigh, “He got pushy when I wouldn’t kiss him but I’m fine.”

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the phone, can hear the jangle of keys, “Where are you?”

“I’m at the phone box at the end of Grant Street.” You say, you’re about to speak again when Javi beats you to it.

“Stay there, go inside a store or something and wait for me, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” You nod, like he can see you, “Javi?”

“Yeah, querida?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare,” He scoffs, “Never apologise for needing my help, okay?” You can hear the sound of his truck engine in the background, “I gotta hang up to drive, but I’ll be there soon, promise.”

“Okay,” You sniff, “Thank you.”

You can hear the dial tone before he can reply, so you hang the receiver back up and head into the liquor store on the other side of the road. You smile at the clerk, who asks if you need anything, you shake your head, tell him you’re just waiting for someone and then spend the rest of the time looking out of the window.

He’s parking up in a worryingly short amount of time, and as you walk from the store you worry that he put himself in danger driving so fast to get you. He’s opening his door and climbing down from the truck. As soon as you’re close enough, he’s got his hands on your shoulders, searching your face to make sure you’re alright.

“I’m fine Javi, I promise,” You insist, holding gently to his arms, giving him a smile, “I’ve probably overreacted.”

He lets his arm drops and signals for you to get into the truck, following swiftly, “If he made you uncomfortable it’s not an overreaction,” He speaks, turning the truck back on and pulling away, “He still around?”

You shake your head, “I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

It makes you wonder if he means good because he won’t bother you anymore, or good because it means he won’t be tempted to do something about his blatant disrespect. You decide not to probe that one, but file it away for later. You’re driving down the street when your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you’ve not eaten since lunch.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat,” You mumble sheepishly, “I’m sure there’s something at home.”

Javi nods, but drives straight past the turning he would need to take you home, driving straight on instead and turning off a little later. You’re about to ask where he’s taking you when he pulls into the parking lot at McDonalds. He parks up and tells you to stay where you are.

You watch him as he walks away, perfectly broad back, shirt tucked into his jeans. He really is a vision in every way when you look at him. He’s striding back out a little while later, brown paper bag in one hand and a soda cup in the other. He passes them both to you as he climbs back into his seat.

“What’s this?” You ask, taking a sip of the cold soda.

“Cheeseburger, extra pickles and a Sprite with extra ice.”

Yet again, he’s managed to amaze you with his observation skills. There was a time where he’d taken a trip with you and your parents, just a day out of town somewhere, and you’d stopped to get food on the way home, you’d made this exact order, turned to him and told him it was your favourite, and somehow he’d filed that away for right now, when you needed it the most.

“Thank you.” You speak simply, reaching in for the burger, unwrapping it carefully before taking a bite.

Javi can’t help but watch out of the side of his eye as you eat. God, you looked beautiful. Jeans that looked like they’d been painted onto your skin, showing off all those perfect parts of you. A shirt that was enticing without being too much. Fuck, he wanted to reach over, use his thumb to wipe away the tiny bit of sauce that had gathered in the corner of your mouth, push it into your mouth and let you lick it off his thumb.

You ball up the wrapper your burger had come in once you’ve finished, dropping it into the paper bag, picking up the cup of soda to suck the Sprite through the straw, “You alright now?” He asks.

You look at him, small, sad smile on your lips, “Just can’t help feeling there’s something wrong with me.” You shrug, offering him a sip of your drink which he declines.

“What do you mean?” He asks, wanting to reach over to you, put a comforting hand on you, but deciding against it for now.

You shrug a little, leaning your head back against the seat, “No-one ever looks at me in that way, I suppose,” You answer honestly, and he wants to tell you it isn’t true, that he thinks of you exactly like that, no matter how much he shouldn’t, “I’ve been with one guy in my whole life and I don’t think he ever really liked me, was only with me because I was the only one left out of my friends.”

“Did he say that?”

“He didn’t have to,” You shrug again, “He never really made an effort, never took me out, never really wanted to sleep with me much either, I guess I was just easy for him,” You say, “Convenient.” Is what you finish on.

“It isn’t you,” Javi speaks, turning his head to look at you, resting it against his seat in much the same way you are, “First of all, college boys are always idiots, don’t let that be your base line,” You snort and turn your head to look at him now, “What did tonight’s idiot do?”

You shake your head at him, “He was just a misogynistic asshole,” You add a shrug, “Apparently because I’m a woman I should write about fashion and not anything that actually matters.”

Javi scoffs, because in his experience, women make the best journalists, quiet, unassuming but they always knew how to pull strings and get what they wanted and he doesn’t doubt you’re the same, “Take it as a compliment,” He offers, “Sometimes it’s best to intimidate boys, and the ones that you don’t?” He asks as a rhetorical question, “Those will be the men worth your time.”

You chuckle a bit, rolling your head on the headrest behind you to look back out of the front of the car, “You’re just saying this to make me feel better.”

Javi reaches over, takes hold of your hand and gives it a slight squeeze before he’s letting it drop again, almost like he’s been burnt, like he knows he shouldn’t have done it, “I am saying it to make you feel better, that’s the whole point, but it’s true,” He shrugs a little in his seat, “Don’t feel like you’ve got to rush into that side of life either, you’re still young, there’s plenty of time for you.”

You hum in agreement because you know he’s right, it’s what everyone always says to you in these circumstances, but somehow, coming from him, it means more. He’s older than you and although you’ve no doubt that he’s known plenty of women in his time, he’s in just the same predicament as you are.

“Will you take me home?” You ask softly, “I’m tired.”

He nods, starting up his car, pulling out of the parking lot and finally driving you back home.

He pulls his truck up just down the street from your house, far enough away that your dad won’t be able to see, but close enough that he knows he’ll be able to sit and wait to watch you get in safely. He cuts the engine and turns to you, giving you a soft smile, trying to tell you that it’ll all be okay.

“Thanks,” You speak softly, “For all this, made a shitty night not so bad in the end.”

“Always,” He smiles back, “I mean it when I say you don’t ever need to worry about calling me.”

“I know,” You smile, and he feels his heart swell at the sight, “Well, goodnight Javi.”

He doesn’t really register what’s happening until it’s too late. You drag your body across the truck instead of moving to the door to open it and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It would be innocent enough if it wasn’t for the fact your lips press into the skin just far enough away from his mouth so as not to cross a line, but not right in the middle of his cheek either. It’s the softest way he’s been touched in a long time, and he can feel himself wanting to grip onto you, smash his mouth to your own and finally scratch the itch that’s sitting under his skin.

You pull away, but before you can open the door, he’s taking hold of your wrist and moving closer, pressing his own kiss to your cheek right back, further up your skin than you had done to him, but it’s a kiss to your skin none-the-less, one that floods his chest with hope, a feeling he hasn’t really felt in years. He keeps his mouth there probably for a little longer than he should, committing the feel of your skin on his mouth because he knows this is as far as he should push things, but he also knows that he now needs to know what the rest of your skin feels like under his mouth.

He pulls away and when he looks at your eyes, all full of hope and want, the same look he’d seen countless times in Colombia, whether he was promising a visa or led next to someone in bed, and he knows he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged these kinds of feelings, but he’s done it now, he can’t take it back, wouldn’t want to if he could either.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, querida,” He says softly, “Nothing wrong with you at all.”

362 notes · View notes

mrswint3rs · 3 months

Note

Oh my God, the baby fever Wesker SENT ME... Could I request one where he finally becomes a dad and is so soft with his S/O while they're pregnant and at the end they go into labour? Wesker is scared something might happen (Maybe this fear isn't unfounded 👀) but he's doing everything he to keep them calm and praise them for being brave. So brave.

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐱 ꨄ ( 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 ) sfw

pairings - Husband! Wesker x Fem! Reader

(𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞)

𝐀/𝐧- his little smile in this pic :3

sorry I just had to make him a girl dad because. yea. also i genuinely don’t know how to write long fics i’m sorry :( I have the attention span of an ant

𝐂𝐰- just fluff, they take a bath together, pregnancy, childbirth with the use of epidural, slight mentions of weight gain, Wesker being a softy ❦

╰₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢

“Sit down, dear,” your husband insists. Ever since that test read back as positive, Wesker has done nothing but baby you.

You’re hungry? He’s cooking you the most extravagant meal, articulately planned out days in advance. He wouldn’t let you ingest anything that could even slightly possibly be harmful to you or his baby.

No fish, lunch meat, and especially no caffeine or herbal teas. He didn’t care if he was being paranoid. With ongoing pregnancy, you could never be too careful.

“Feeling better today?” he asks, setting down your plate of breakfast at the table in front of you. “We have lamaze class soon.”

“Much better,” you answer. “All thanks to you.”

Poor man was practically traumatized from your previous weeks of morning sickness. It was no longer an issue, midway through your second trimester. Still, he knew very well how nauseous you’ve been feeling.

He hated not being able to be home with you 24/7 because of work. He was terrified something was going to happen to you without his support.

“How about we take a bath together?” he suggests. “After you’re finished with breakfast of course. I know you’ve been feeling sore.”

Yet another thing he refused to allow you to do on your own. He was too scared you were going to faint, or worse, slip on something. It sickened him to even think about. He’d much rather stick to your side as much as he can to prevent these things. You didn’t mind it. It was cute how invested he was.

You agree and he scurries off to ready the bath while you finish up. He fills the tub halfway with medium temp water and its ready by the time you are.

Wesker gets in first, gently guiding you in after him to sit between his legs. He rests his chin on your shoulder, rubbing his hands over the little bump of your belly. “There’s no way there’s a human in there…”

“You say this every day,” you giggle.

“I know. I’m sorry, it’s just so fascinating.”

He wets the sponge, soaping up your back for you, along with the rest. He washes you from head to toe so you don’t have to strain.

But after about 15 minutes you have to get out. Again, something he read about online. Plus, you had to get ready for your class.

It’s the first day, but you’re not all that worried with him by your side, so ready and willing. You both get dressed together, making your way there by car.

Both of you take your seats in the empty spots of the front row with the other expecting mothers and their partners. You’ve been feeling like a bit of a balloon lately, so it’s nice to see others who are dealing with the same processes as you. The instructor starts to talk about the different breathing exercises and techniques that will help you through the process of childbirth.

Wesker holds your hand and squeezes it tightly, listening intently to the instructor. You’ve never seen him so focused.

The instructor leads the class through a series of partner exercises. Each involves two people and focuses on different aspects of pregnancy. At first, they are a little awkward but you and Wesker quickly get into a rhythm.

You both practice your breathing techniques together, maintaining eye contact and learning how important intimacy and trust can be for the process of giving birth.

As the it goes on, the exercises become more complex. You're both sweating and slightly out of breath but you're enjoying every moment of it.

Everyone else in the class seems to fade away and it feels like it’s just the two of you finally having fun together. Wesker was never the type to go out and enjoy himself, so seeing him smile and laugh like this was heartwarming.

Both of you lose track of time, genuinely just enjoying spending time with one another and the class eventually ends. By the time it’s over, you feel closer to him than you did before walking in.

You continue to go to the weekly class throughout the rest of your second trimester and third.

When your contractions grow to be so constant painful you can hardly walk, Wesker is immediately ready with your hospital bag, rushing you to the car. He holds your hand tightly as always like he’s afraid of letting go. You try to stay relaxed but it's becoming increasingly difficult as the pain gets worse.

He drives you there as fast as he can without speeding and helps you into the building. Your water breaks on the way there and the nurses attend to you immediately and help guide you straight to the birthing suite.

Wesker waits anxiously outside as the doctors prepare you for delivery.

He leans against the wall and watches through the open door as you're hooked up to monitors, and given an epidural to help relieve some of the pain. The doctors assure him that everything is going to be fine but he feels too apprehensive to just stand by.

The nurses tell him that it's not necessary for him to be with you during the birth, and technically due to sterile regulations he shouldn’t yet, but he won't have it. He can't bear to see you in so much pain.

He goes in anyway, pulling up a chair by your bedside. “It’s going to be okay, dear. We’ll get through this together.” he encourages, getting as close to you as he can without overwhelming you.

He keeps an eye on your vitals, making sure you’re remembering to breathe steady. “Focus on me…”

You try your best, but it’s a struggle to breathe steady and focus on anything but the burdening weight and repetitive contractions despite the epidural’s effects.

As the minutes pass you can’t help but cry from the discomfort, and it tugs heavily on Wesker’s heart strings. He feels useless, unable to ease your hurt, not even realizing the difference he’s making in comforting you. Without him you’d probably be in a frenzy by now.

Everything happens faster than anticipated. The process is becoming increasingly intense as you've reached the pushing point and the baby works its way through the birth canal. You’re gripping his hand so tightly it’s probably enough to break something, but you aren’t too considerate of that at the moment.

“Keep breathing, sweetheart,” he urges, but you can hardly hear over your strained screams. “You’re doing so well. So brave.”

Seeing you in this state is enough to make him get all choked up along with you.

“I can’t do it!” you sob through tightly closed eyes, gritting your teeth. Every part of you is achingly stiff.

“Yes you can,” he croons. “We’re halfway through already. Breathe with me…slow deep breaths.”

He puts more emphasis on his demonstration, trying his hardest as he notices your paling face. The beeping of the heart monitor increases as you get more and more overwhelmed.

“Breathe,” he repeats and you try to match him while simultaneously pushing at the doctor’s order. You feel completely exhausted and you can barely focus on anything but getting this baby out.

You lean into him as much as your IV hookup will allow, trying to listen to his soft, concerned voice. Before you know it, cries fill the room that aren’t yours.

Your eyes open to the beautiful baby girl you delivered into the world who’s now finally laid in your arms. It makes you forget everything else exists as you look down at her, so tiny, yet so big.

Wesker is in shock as he looks her over. It was hard to believe the both of you could make a whole being. The thought was unreal. All he knew was that he was incredibly happy, especially now that you’re calmer.

Your time with her is cut short, temporarily, as the nurses have to take her to check for any health concerns, and all the other important afterbirth details, leaving you alone in the room with your husband.

He brushes your hair out of your face which was sticky with sweat. “I can’t believe we have a daughter. You’re so amazing, dear,” he says, Im so proud of you for holding together. I don’t know what i’d do without you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you…” you croak out, your voice hoarse from all the yelling and grunting you were put through.

He looks at you with such a loving yet uneasy gaze. “How are you feeling..?” he asks, even though he can see the answer.

“m’ tired…”

“You can rest now. The worst is over, I think. You’ve done plenty, try and relax for me.”

mlist

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lady-harrowhark · 1 year

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I promise I’m going somewhere with this but I am currently fixating on how seeing Naberius’s trident knife in the beginning of HtN gives Harrow the Gideon Memory Migraine™, despite no clear connection to Gideon:

Ianthe considered this. She nudged the confection basket hilt of the rapier at her hip aside, and took out a long knife that, again, ran a hot rill of pain down your temporal bone. It was—though you had never bothered to learn—Tern’s main-gauche, his trident knife, a long blade from which two other blades would spring at the press of some hidden mechanism; she flicked that mechanism now, and with a snickt they burst out like a firework, two hard points of gleaming steel. She flicked it again, and the blades went snickt back into their housing.

Is it simply that it’s something from the Canaan House era in general? Or is there more going on? Stick with me here.

One of my pet theories I’ve been harboring since Kiriona’s wounds were revealed is that Harrow herself wounded Gideon after she threw herself on the fence, paralleling Jesus’s side wound from being speared after his crucifixion. They needed to ensure Jesus was truly dead, and presumably Harrow also needed to be well and truly sure that Gideon was dead before proceeding. Ianthe says she put a sword through Naberius’s heart to pin his soul in place for her ascension, and we see his body run through with the sword. Harrow needing to do the same to Gideon would certainly be some very juicy angst fuel.

The other crucial component here is one of my other favorite pet theories: that Harrow knew Gideon’s sword was haunted, likely before even coming to Canaan House. I’ve seen a few people do some more detailed explanations about that, but I’ll do a brief rundown here.

Harrow says as far back as GtN about the sword “I never liked that cursed thing anyway; I always felt like it was judging me.” After the events of HtN with the River and Canaan House 2.0, we know she has an innate and potentially subconscious talent with spirit magic; it seems likely she was able to sense what was in the sword whether she knew exactly what was going on or not.

In HtN, Guideline #3 in her her pre-lobotomy letters to her post-lobotomy self has several stipulations (wipe it down with arterial blood nightly, coat it in regenerating ash, don’t cut flesh or bone with it) that sound a lot like precautions one would take to keep a soul from hopping out of it.

When discussing the sword with Abigail in Canaan House 2.0, we get some very specific qualifiers around how much information Harrow is able to provide about the sword. Directly before remembering that the sword was Gideon’s we have: “Harrow’s brain, though still a jumble, was no longer a mess in a darkened room. Memory had gifted her a small torch she could light the disarray with.”

After that, she struggles to recall further details, her own brain providing obstacles: “The light was not proving helpful enough: she was, in desperation, kicking over piles of the rubble in her own brain.” In the end, she’s able to tell Abigail: “I hated that damned sword for years. I don’t know why; it just felt strange - rancorous. I cannot deny that I often assumed its edge would be the last thing I saw. I don’t know.”

Circling back to the final battle of GtN, we get my favorite little nugget of support for this: Harrow is described as looking “affrighted” when Gideon tells her to go get her two-hander. I’d initially taken that to mean she was startled (and maybe a bit annoyed) to find out that Gideon had brought it at all, or freaked out at the situation in general. But I’ve begun to wonder if she specifically didn’t want Gideon to bring that sword with her to Canaan House because she knew, or at least suspected, what it contained.

Which brings us to the trident knife. If Harrow needed to fix Gideon’s soul in place by impaling her herself, and she knew there was a malevolent soul in the two-hander that could conceivably hitch a ride in another body that it came into contact with, she would have needed a different tool for the job… Which may very well have been the trident knife. Seeing the weapon she used to mutilate her cavalier’s body with seems like exactly the sort of thing that would bring on one of Harrow’s Gideon-induced headaches, no? It’s also notable that when Harrow sees this knife, it’s directly before Ianthe stabs her through the hand, again analogous to crucifixion wounds. I gotta say, if this holds water, there’s a certain poetry to both Harrow and Gideon receiving versions of the Holy Wounds on the blade of the same knife.

(Edit to add: further theorizing prompted by @camilla-rekt‘s fab addition can be found on this reblog)

#this is really just a jenga tower of theories but i'm still sitting here rubbing my hands together like a cartoon villain #i am just ripping biting tearing to know what happened between those two chapters #(and incidentally there may have been actual ripping biting tearing involved but i digress)#i wonder if this could have anything to do with the favor harrow owes ianthe… hmm #Nona the Ninth spoilers #harrowhark nonagesimus #Gideon nav #kiriona gaia #ianthe tridentarius #Nona the Ninth #ntn #the locked tomb #tlt #tlt meta #tlt theories

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kamehamehamlet · 2 months

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The Tumblr reblog sensation is returning. But like the Sayians or Shakespeare’s folios, it has the potential to develop in many forms.

Visit kamehamehamlet.com to be notified when we have more details.

Follow this blog for a peak behind the curtain.

And read on to learn more about the show, how we got here, and where we’re going.

Thank you for waiting just a little bit longer.

Revival Project Q&A

Who are you?

Hi! I’m Daniel Cole Mauleón (@writepictures), the writer of Kamehamehamlet. In 2015 I co-founded the theatre company Play-Dot Productions with KHH’s director Shalee Mae Cole Mauleón.

What is Kamehamehamlet?

Kamehamehamlet: Good Night Saiyan Prince, was an hour-long one act play, performed during the 2015 Minnesota Fringe Festival. It’s a staged retelling of Vegeta and Freeza’s battle on the planet Namek. Marketed as a Dragon Ball Z and Hamlet mash-up, the parody quickly shuffled off its weighted gi, revealing it was actually a Waiting for Godot spoof. After five performances, Vegeta hung up his helmet of spiky hair. Seven years later, K (@amokslime) wrote this incredibly gracious post on Tumblr, which inspired two people to reach out to me via Reddit to ask if I had a script or a recording of the performance.

I want to pause the semi-marketing voice and say a heartfelt thanks to K. Kamehamehamlet was brought to life by an incredible team of artists during a summer I’ll never forget. We got laughs at jokes, gasps at fight choreography, and we broke even on the budget (a Fringe miracle TBH). K’s post gave me the chance to revisit that show through someone else’s eyes. The mix of pride and humility it stirs up is truly indescribable.

If there is art which has changed you, and especially if the artist is still alive I encourage you to non-intrusively share that with the artist.

Is there a copy of the script?

Yes, I’ll speak more about that at below.

Is there a recording of the performance?

There was, but I genuinely lost the files. And that’s for the best, honestly. It was a last-second attempt, filmed from two cheap cameras (with different qualities and resolutions!), both at bad angles and with truly awful audio. Trust me. It’s better this way.

That said, I do have other archival footage from rehearsal's, tech, etc. that I look forward to sharing for those curious.

What’s next?

This is the question I’ve been asking myself over the past year and the reason it took so long to post anything. Especially since one thing I want to do differently this time is make sure that any artists involved are meaningfully compensated for their time and skill. However, I can’t plan without a better estimate of what kind of support we would have, and I didn’t want to share our intentions without concrete details.

Right now, the best way you can support this project is by signing up for the announcement on kamehamehamlet.com.

The second best thing you can do is to share with others about this project, if I’ve learned anything reading through the comments on K’s post, it is that there’s a much bigger audience for KHH than I could have ever imagined, and you likely know at least one more person who would be interested.

And while I don’t want to promise anything I can’t deliver on, I will share that I’m planning on making the script available this year and I’ll be writing a separate post about that in near future.

If you’ve read this far thank you so much.

Photography by Ann B. Erickson. Vegeta is played by McKenzie Shappell. Freeza is played by Cayla Marie Wolpers. Costumes by Sarah Noel Simon.

#kamehamehamlet #theater #dbz #dragon ball #shakespeare #hamlet #waiting for godot #vegeta #freeza #goku #this is about as good a place as any to share that...#I only just realized after spending a day in Adobe Illustrator that I've just made the IKEA logo...

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 9 months

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the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather.

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering.

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity.

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.”

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.”

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area.

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera.

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world.

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!”

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows.

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more.

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one.

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.”

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly.

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue.

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer.

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.”

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?”

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm.

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table.

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer.

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more.

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?”

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…”

“Hey, dad?”

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…”

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated.

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over.

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle series #lumberjack au

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