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inkskinned · 7 months

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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

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roturo · 5 months

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⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚ WATCH IT!

Gojo Satoru didn't predicted this move... So he ended up fucking you lol ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ G!Satoru x afab!reader and sex pollen!

tags: smut, sex pollen, unprocteted sex (wrap it and pee after sex), overstimulation (like A LOT), use of nicknames (princess, baby, good boy, love...) multiple rounds, praise kink, angst if you squint your eyes till you cry like gojo, sub(ish)!gojo satoru, god complex, fluff if you take one eye out, crack, belly bulgde, creampie, breeding kink, crempie kink, A LOT of cum, dumbfication, cock warming, npr.

A/N: happy holidays! might be my last writing of the year so i wish you lots of love and happiness <3 i might write pt2 for this one and 'she's back', which one would you like first?

o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

DAY 1: HOW IT STARTED

How the fuck at his grown ass age Gojo Satoru could be this stupid. And that’s big coming from him, because this man considers himself the senior of seniors and god of gods. So, how come he falled into this?

And you know what? Maybe it is his fault! For believing he’s a superior and underestimating such a weak and useless curse he just killed. But, this weak and useless curse has him going crazy. That really was karma paying back to him because motherfucker- Why is he feeling all giddy and hot all of sudden? This has never happened to him before, so that’s why he’s losing his mind right now and almost sprinting into his room because of how bothered he was feeling to just teleport.

Everything was like hell. Really, like hot as hell. And how does Satoru know that? Uh well, because he’s living it right now.

He couldn’t bear the sensation anymore and dialogue Shoko’s number like it was a habit.

“What do you want, Gojo? I’m in the middle of trying to know how Yuuji’s body is capable of being Sukuna’s vessel. Like- It’s quite important right now, and more than debating about some of your dumb tv shows you-”

Shoko’s voice was interrupted by a whine coming from Gojo’s line, seconds of silence continued the awkward moment between the both of them, while all Gojo could do was breathe and maintain his whines inside of his body before he started literally moaning.

“Are you okay, Gojo?...”

“Fuck, no. Some fucking curse sprayed me all over with some fucking stinky pollen. Didn’t even taste great, by the way. And now I'm just feeling really hot, sometimes dizzy… or kinda giddy? fuck. And my breathing became irregular. I’m fucking sprawled out in my bed trying to find a comfy position but my legs won’t cooperate.”

A loud laugh was heard coming from Shoko’s line. It was clear she’s been holding it all this time just trying to make sure she’s gettin it right.. and well.

“Gojo.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Silence.

“You know what? I’m sending Y/N over there with some medicine. You’ve been sprayed with sex pollen by the way.”

Sex- what?!

Before he couldn’t even ask Shoko any question since she quickly hung up. Leaving a needy and confused (and hard) Gojo.

Knock. Knock.

No answer, but a weird sounding moan? You gave yourself permission to enter Gojo’s room since no life signals were heard. But- holy fuck. Was this a reward or a punishment from the gods?

He was kneeled down on his bed, one of his hands used as a support placed in his bare calf while his other hand was as fast as possible jerking himself off. You stayed still some seconds before rewinding back to what Shoko told you before coming here.

“He might be another type… of… Gojo?... Anyways. He’ll be really needy and like a lost puppy looking for some salvation. I gave you this backpack with all you would need, yeah? Thank me later and good luck.”

So that’s why her flat ass was quickly sending you off with a backpack full of water bottles and snacks. Sex fucking pollen. Great.

It’s not like people don’t know that both of you have been crushing into each other lately, hell- even his newest student asked about this. But you never expected for it to be like this.

“G-Gojo…?”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it’s like a hawk located his next prey because of how instant his reaction was just for your voice. A drunk smile on his face, while both of his hands fall infront of him trying to hide the act that was going on minutes ago. His sculptured white as snow body covered in a hot layer of sweat. Not being able to catch a breath thanks to this sight, somehow he’s in front of you.

“Are you here to help me? Y/N?”

His voice sounded so different. But at the same time it was just Gojo.

A small nod was all the reaction he got. You could smell that sweaty smell, looking down you found yourself looking at a large wet spot staining his black briefs. While his cock does nothing to imagination, marking perfectly the shape of it. Moving your gaze to his v-line, a white happy trail proudly adorning it. Eyes moving up, you found yourself looking at his clearly erected nipples, But all this examination was over once he interrupted your thoughts.

“I need a verbal affirmation, princess”

Ah, the nicknames. If you weren’t wet by now, you’re pretty sure you’re leaking right now all because of him.

“Yes Satoru, I’ll help you.”

His knees felt weak. Literally. He kneeled down in front of you, it was like he hypnotized and somehow could smell through your body into emotions. His hands were cold but hot at the same time he roamed your body.

You tried warning him by calling his name while he started kissing the softness of your thighs, telling him to at least move you towards the bed. And his body was doing what you said like if you were controlling him, while his mind was somewhere else. He moved the both of you towards his bed, making you lie down. His head not wasting any second between your thighs until his nose touched where you needed him the most and you whimpered at the feeling. Clearly triggering a new kind of need inside Gojo.

Everything happened really fast. Between some kisses and moaning, Gojo ripped your shorts and pantoes a muffled noise coming out from him of what you suppose was “I’ll buy you new ones later” but right now you couldn’t care less.

Not when his tongue slowly started tracing the way from your entrance until it reached your core. Teasing it with kitten licks, while his hands remained on your hips from preventing moving them.

His tongue quickly found a rhythm between your entrance and your clit, forming infinite signs between them. And the simulation was too much you couldn’t notify Gojo about your orgasm- But he was so lost in the feeling of your thighs suffocating him and the taste of yourself in his lips, he swears he could die as a happy man right now.

And like it wasn’t enough, Gojo kept eating you out even after your intense orgasm. Overstimulation taking over your body, trying to take him off your core, ended up with annoyed groans coming out from him.

“Satoru, love, fuck. I need you to stop, please.”

The nickname had him exploding with happiness, he really looked like a puppy from this angle. His eyes looked ethereal, his mouth covered with your fluids and his face was with a cute smile while he called out your name.

“Will you please let me fuck you?”

A small giggle came out from your mouth, Gojo’s face looked a little sad and embarrassed, but was quickly erased when you pecked his lips. And that was all he needed to clumsily take off his briefs and while he climbed back to the bed, taking off your top while doing so. His eyes were full of adoration looking over your body, before he pressed his lips into yours, locking them for a long moment, clearly enjoying the moment, before the kiss turned more heated and he started kissing every part of your body again.

His tip was now wet thanks to your folds, Easily slipping through it.

“Ffuck- Ssatoru- Be a good boy and put it in, please?”

Gojo needed no more words before thrusting his cock whole into you with one swift movement, hitting perfectly against that spongy spot that made you see stars. But something didn’t feel right. Not in a bad way. Since you re-opened your eyes to find a glassy eyed Satoru mumbling a lot of ´sorry’s´ while he kept thrusting.

Oh.

He came with just one thrust and was overstimulating himself, still rock hard with no break while he hid his face in the crook of your neck while marking it as his and tearing down from the pleasure.

You’re pretty sure he came again, when he whimpered your name and moaned against your ear but still continued thrusting into you perfectly. And he was so lost in the pleasure of overstimulating himself he didn’t realize once he confessed to you.

“You’re so pretty- ffuck– I really want to make you mine now. So no one could look at you, not even in a friendly way. Just… have you all for me- sshit. I love you.”

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, thinking it was all because of the moment, so you just had to enjoy it for now. His thrusts were so fast and hard, but somehow still felt romantic. Like this was a normal routine on a daily basis. And you would be disgusted by the pool of cum forming under the both of you if you weren’t so close to your third orgasm this night. No matter how many times you told Gojo to stop for a moment and take a break, he would cum again, and still be hard so he had to keep thrusting.

Your mind is lost now. All you could ever think about right now was Gojo Satoru and his immense cock. He wouldn’t stop mumbling praises to you, saying this was all for you to feel good and he would stop once you cum at least 3 times more than him. A hard dare to get over with. Or maybe it already happened?

You begged for mercy, not thinking he could get another orgasm out of you. Hell- to even get an orgasm out of him. His hands interweld into yours, and moved it down towards your tummy.

“Do you feel it, baby? I'm right here. Ahh~ I’m pretty sure my cum is there too heh. Your tummy is full of me and my cum.”

He sounded drunk. Like. Really drunk. But his words took off your last orgasm of the night, apparently your reaction making his trigger off and cum… dry?

How many fucking times did Gojo Satoru came inside you?

Will pills even prevent a pregnancy?

“Ah- shit baby.”

You couldn’t pay attention to him anymore, quickly slipping into dreamland. Gojo not once leaves your side. Literally. He was cock-warming, still hard, but no energy (and cum) to continue his misery.

You were here at 7.45 o’clock, one last look at the clock and it was 3.23 in the morning.

And it was like you just blinked, because a whimper came out of your mouth. Looking again into the clock, it was 10 AM, and Gojo was not over.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months

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baby shoes

words: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, best friend!rafe, childhood friends to lovers, pretty fluffy :), p in v sex, unprotected smut, breeding!, pregnancy kink?, no actual sex while pregnant but lots of like. bump descriptions?

rafe rolls his eyes as you let out a squeal, already knowing what is happening.

“oh. my. god.” you pick up the baby shoes off the shelf, a pair of sparkly flats with the cutest flower straps you've ever seen. “rafe, they're so tiny!”

you hold them up for him to look at as if he's never seen baby shoes before, despite you pointing them out to him every time you're out shopping together.

“yeah, real cute.” he says, keeping his voice completely monotone.

“rafe, don't be so sour.” you pout at him. your friendship is an unexpected one. started in kindergarten and has only grown closer since, your sweet nature in contrast to rafes hard exterior.

“y/n.” rafe sighs, taking the baby shoes from your hands as he sets them back on the shelf. “we look at baby shoes and onesies every time we go to target. i brought you here to buy you a pair of boots, let's go.”

rafe tries to usher you down the aisle. despite you also being a kook he refuses to let you (or, really, your parents credit card) pay for anything.

you nod and continue to the women's section when you cross by a pair of ugg boots made for toddlers and stop in your tracks. “raaaafe!” you coo.

look how cute this baby is rafey

“are you serious?” rafe questions reading your text message. “im laying right next to you.”

“too much work to roll over and show you.” you shrug, both scrolling on your phones, having just gotten back from a long day. so long rafe insisted you slept at his because it was closer. only one block closer, but you didn't argue. rafes bed is also yours, and yours his. you've always shared, no need to change now just because you're older.

“that baby isn't even that cute.” rafe huffs out.

you turn over now, rolling onto your stomach to glare at him. “rafe cameron, you are such a dick!”

“oh, so you'll roll over to yell at me?” rafe questions, a smile on his face. usually he wouldn't take shit from anyone, but you're not just anyone to him.

“yes because you deserve it asshole. that baby is adorable.”

“yours would be way cuter.” rafe grins, knowing how flustered you get talking about having a child of your own.

“okay, true.”

“what the fuck is going on?” rafe questions, his mouth literally dropping as he walks in.

“oh my god!” you squeal. “you told me you were coming over at 2, you idiot!”

rafe looks at the time on your alarm clock. 1:55. rafe may have not knocked before letting himself in, but he figured it was fine.

“what are you wearing?”

“it's… it's a fake pregnancy belly. my friend carly who works with the school plays said they were getting rid of it bc it was getting old… and i asked to have it.” you shrug, your embarrassment melting away the longer you talk about it.

“why would you want that?” rafe questions.

“i just wanted to see what id look like.” you shrug, turning again to look at yourself in the mirror, running your hands over the tshirt stretching around the plastic material. “i think i look cute.”

rafes eyes are on the round swell of your belly. he thinks you look more than cute, he thinks you look so ravishing he wants to make that belly real right this second.

“gonna take a shower.” rafe makes a turn towards your bathroom before you can argue, saving himself by locking the door behind him.

“why are you in a mood?” rafe just entered your house but he can already tell from the look on your face that something has upset you.

“freaking kelsey is pregnant.” you spit her name out like it's an insult. she's been your sworn moral enemy ever since she “dated” rafe in the fourth grade and told him he had to choose between staying friends with you or dating her. he chose staying friends of course, but you've despised her anyways since.

“okay…” rafe waits for more reasoning to you being so upset.

“that should be me.” you whine, not ashamed as you throw a little tantrum, stomping your feet on the ground.

“it can be.” rafe shrugs.

“huh?” you question, plopping back on the couch behind you, waiting for rafe to join you for movie night.

“you're not a kid anymore, y/n. you're 21. have a baby if you want.” rafe simply states.

“i- who would i even have a baby with? im single.” you've been single a majority of your life. there were flings in high school, but no one that lasted.

what you don't know if rafe contributed heavily to those relationships ending. he had staked his claim on you, and no guy was worthy in his eyes.

“id help you raise a baby.” rafe says without really thinking, sitting down on the couch next to you, not flinching as you turn to place your feet on his lap, always wanting to stretch out and get comfortable.

“you would?”

“im with you all the time anyways.” rafe nods. “if you had a baby id basically be their dad anyways.”

“id want that.” you admit. “you're the only guy out there i trust enough to get me pregnant.” you're not really thinking about your words themselves as you press your fingers to your stomach, imagining it filled up with a baby, with rafes baby.

“alright, we gotta talk about something else.” rafe shifts on the couch, pushing your feet off his lap to turn himself slightly away from you.

“wait why?” you question, sitting forward.

“just… change the subject.” rafe takes a deep breath, trying to calm down the boner that is growing in his pants.

“no, tell me!” you move closer, which only makes rafe turn away more. “tell me, rafey!”

he's never kept anything from you, and shockingly you can't figure out why he's behaving like this now.

“jesus, stop!” rafe scooches away when you grab onto his arm, trying to get him to face you, to look at you.

“tell me!” you complain again.

“because im fucking hard okay!” rafe shouts, standing up from the couch. “it's getting me fucking hard thinking about getting you pregnant so change the fucking subject!”

you sit on the couch in shock, eyes wide open. you know you shouldn't, he's your best friend after all, but you find your eyes moving lower, and sure enough, the front of rafes pants and tented, cock pushing away from his body.

“i-i-” you stammer.

“you nothing. okay? we forget this happened. just stop talking about getting fucking pregnant and stop talking about me being the one to do it.”

“but i want it to be you.” you blink up at rafe, head suddenly clearing. you do want it or be rafe. he's the only one who should be waking up in the middle of the night with you when your baby cries. he's the one you want to experience every milestone with. he's the one you want filling you up over and over until your tummy starts to swell.

“we can't go back.” rafe says, his tone suddenly serious. “we can't go back to just friends.”

“i know.” it's all you need to say for rafe to surge forward, dropping his knees to the floor as he kisses you, mouth easily dominating yours. you let out a soft moan as his hands cup your jaw, keeping you close even though you press yourself into him, hands fisted in his shirt.

“let me have you.” rafe pants against your mouth. “i need you. let me fill you up.”

“yes.” you nod. “yes, please. take your clothes off.”

you don't care that you're in the middle of your living room, you immediately tug your shirt off over your head, bearing your breasts to him. rafe knew you never wore a bra when in your own home, but seeing your bare tits is still a shock.

he doesn't even take his shirt off despite you tugging at it, cupping your chest as he leans in, mouth wrapping around your nipple.

“oh my god!” you squeal, fisting your hands in rafes hair, holding him close to your body as his tongue flicks over your nipple, hardening it quickly.

“i… im sorry baby i need to get inside of you.” rafe feels crude, tugging at your shorts to pull them down your legs, tossing them away.

“i need you too.” there will be plenty of time now that you've admitted feelings for each other to take your time, to go slow and learn each other's bodies.

rafe stands up, looking down at you in just your underwear, eyes glassy with lust as he pulls his shirt off, followed by him tugging his pants down, finally getting your eyes off his face as your eyes move down. you reach forward, hand rubbing over rafes length, annoyed that the fabric of his underwear is not allowing you to see him properly.

“fuck, stop.” rafe takes a step back. “im supposed to cum in you. get you pregnant. you're gonna make me bust.”

you smile, flattered that your simple touch can cause him to almost lose it.

“where do you want me.” you whisper. you aren't a virgin but you certainly aren't as experienced as rafe. while you know he partakes in hookups at parties you don't attend, you were never interested in sleeping around just for the sake of sleeping around.

“just lay back, baby.” rafe let's out a huff as you turn from sitting on the couch to laying down, your breasts falling beautifully as you wait for him to make the next move. “let's get these off.” rafe pulls your underwear down, but you keep your legs together to hide yourself for a little longer.

rafe shucks his underwear off next, praying his throbbing erection doesn't cause him to cum the second he gets inside of you.

you let out a low moan just from the both of you being naked. “gonna kneel down. wrap your leg around me.” rafe helps position you, spreading your legs as his eyes take in your wet cunt, pretty and perfect as he wraps your knee around his hips as he sinks himself down, moving to drape his body over yours.

“ill go slow.” rafe says, hoping he can stay true to his word as he reaches down, running his cock briefly through your folds, obsessed with the way your expression changed into one of pure pleasure.

“okay, just at first.” you nod. you need slow to open you up, to stretch your walls to allow rafes size, but you dont want it to stay slow, needing to feel him pound into you, make a mess of your cunt.

rafe sinks in with a gasp as your tightness and warmth envelops him. “fuck.” he mutters out, eyes squeezing closed as he inserts himself until he’s fully buried inside you pussy.

“feels real good rafey.” you pout. “cant believe we didn’t do this sooner. could already have a baby by now.” “oh, im gonna give you plenty.” rafe bends down to kiss you, letting himself get lost in the kiss, focusing on your mouth against his to distract from his throbbing cock.

“move.” you gasp, starting to grind your hips. “move.”

its all rafe needs to start smashing his hips back and forth, rocking into you in a steady but fast motion, aiming every time to get his cock as deep inside of you as possible.

“yes, yes!” you squeal, hands gripping his shoulders. as good as rafe thrusting into you feels, you want his cum more than anything. you begin to squeeze your pussy around him every time he pulls out before thrusting back in, and you can tell from the way rafes mouth hangs open that he likes it.

“fuck, im already close, sorry.” rafe has never had a problem cumming too early with anyone else, but hes never been with you, his best friend who he’s been head over heels for since kindergarten, who is begging to have him put a baby in your womb.

“cum in me. please.” you don’t even care about your own orgasm. you don’t even want it, already feeling so overwhelmed from the way rafes cock swells inside of you.

your eyebrows raise when you realize what the warmth spreading inside of you is, never having let a man take you without a condom. you let out a moan to match rafes as he cums, flooding your insides as he grinds into you.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down onto you, not caring about the weight as you squeeze your cunt, milking any last drops out of him.

“oh my god, i’m gonna cry its so cute.” tears brim in your eyes as you look at your finished nursery, rafe having done the last of the decorations when you were napping, putting the final touches on.

“you're so cute.” he hums, wrapping his arms around you as he stands behind you, also looking over the room.

“thank you. its perfect.” you sniffle.

“you’re perfect.” rafe has been overwhelming you with compliments lately, wanting to make sure that you know he is still very much attracted to you with your pregnant belly. “and beautiful. and hot. and sexy.” “oh, stop it.” you roll your eyes with a giggle, turning to face rafe.

“it would be inappropriate to have sex in our babies nursery, wouldn’t it?” despite the baby not even being here yet, rafe looks around the former guest bedroom and realizes that it simply wouldn’t be right.

“you’re not getting me on the floor anyways.” you press your hands to your stomach. seven months along with rafes baby.

“probably for the best.” rafe places his hand on your back, leading you out of the nursery and towards your bed. “wanna eat you out on our bed anyways, mamas.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @folklorsweet @soilderpoetandking @auryyz

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 1 month

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analyzing some images (for fun)

so i found this pair of promotion images for good omens season 1 on the good omens reference library server and it’s hooked me so so bad im having feelings about it. we’re analyzing them now. not really for meta purposes just fun to see the parallels and differences :)

everything under the cut !

unique traits

aziraphale:

1) his plank background. its older, its crisp, it smells like wood from the screen. mmmm

2) the pencil shavings at the bottom. he does a lot of writing honestly, so i like this. also adds a messy and cozy vibe he always seems to have in that shop…. i like that blessed shop fr

3) his SUSHI. little soy sauce drops near it too—just the right amount of deliberate mess. our first formal introduction to aziraphale in the present day and beginning the Tomfoolery just happens to have sushi... i watch that scene and i go “yeah, that sums up aziraphale i suppose” very nicely. (they dont have sushi Up There) (im literally never gonna forget that)

4) the ray of light shining on the scene. tiny thing, but a bit of the heaven is peeking through..it also sort of blurs the whole image but i think thats just me.

5) and we’ve saved the best for last: the big whopper. the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter, witch. I LOVE THAT BOOK!!!!!!! i cant remember if that ring stain was there but if it isnt in the show on the actual book i’d assume thats to add that ‘thy cocoa doth grow cold’ thing. ALSO. you know what’s being used as a bookmark in the pages?? a check for the ritz. he bookmarked their one chance for living . with a ritz check . MMMMMM. my GOD. that means so much to me even if i cant convey it in words. he KEEPS THE CHECKS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

crowley:

1) let me get my favorite out of the way. crowley’s glasses have fire in their reflection. we’ll talk about the glasses themselves later but the REFLECTION IN THEM. fucking FIRE, BOOKSHOP fire, PAIN, SRIVING THROUGH THE M-25, HELL, I DONT KNOWIM HAVING FEELINGS!!! i do believe this is a bookshop fire reference though, the flames feel too Familiar. the lengths people will go to to attack others 🤧

2) the leather seat background!!!!!!! probably meant to look similar to the bentley’s seats but i cant recall their texture, exactly. maybe just meant to convey modernness—unsure. still, its there <3

3) the tiny little crisp plant </3 its trying his damned best to stay perfect. it might a specific plant that means something, but i cant tell at thsi angle, so i’ll assume its a mini version of the ficus he keeps in the flat. its so SMALL and sitting in ANOTHER POT i CANT

4) the snake slithering!! black and red (in this image it looks orange lol) bellied scales!!!! slithering there, chilling, being crowley, showing hints. love it

5) QUEEN RECORD!!!!! TRYING TO OVERRIDE IT WITH TCHAIKOVSKY!!!!!! the tape over it does a reminisence to crowley’s handwriting, but in a clean ‘this made made to be a font’ way. not exactly just yet. ive become a fan of tchaikovsky recently. amazing darling wonderful crowley, trying to push the rock up the hill for eternity 😞

6) HIS LITTLE DEMON KEY THING. HOLDING A TINY LITTLE BENTLEY CAR KEY OHHH. thats how he doesnt lose the tiny key despite probably not needing one of those. and he CHOSE that intentionally probably. little wings and red circle….URGHHHHHHH

similarities

mmmmm now here’s the good shit. similarities! i’ll bullet point most of them but ohhhhh. ohhhh these. i’ll go from top to bottom as best i can….

1) one of their shoes, obviously. crowley has them iconic snakeskin shoes while aziraphale has his old loafers like the old loafer he is /pos

2) chateauneuf de pape wine bottle labels! (crowley’s is under his glasses, aziraphale’s is next to his shoe). oh my fucking god theyre MATCHING. the labels are old, battered, of course labeling the drink’s age, but mmmmm its these tiny details that get me going….

3) their respective drinks in their mugs—crowley’s a black mug coffee (or what looks to be coffee) and aziraphale’s angel mug tea (or what looks to be tea). i think about that mug sometimes. where did he get that from?? mystery for the ages….

4) their glasses, of course. crowley’s iconic sunglasses and aziraphale’s reading spectacles. i cant really tell the reflections in this pair, but if its supposed to be fucking fire, im done with this. im giving up forever

5) their own watches! aziraphale’s is visibily older while crowley’s is visibly modern, but they function just the same. also, crowley’s is set to 2:56:59 (presumably PM), which is around the time we see when crowley starts checking his watch at warlock’s birthday party. its almost time for disaster to strike!! 😃

6) and finally….their ties!! they have their own ties!!! or more accurately, neck accessories, but i digress. i mesn i assume its crowley’s neck tie, because the fabric looks… different. either way, crowley’s neck thingie is very whispy and aziraphale has his funky little bowtie i love so much,,,

okay thats it. there’s no canonical implications, any fantheories, none of the sort. just saw a pair of images and my mind went GOD DAMN!!!!!! theyre very important to me. i need to look at more promo material 😔

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable spouses #dont have an analyzing tag so. this is it for now

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ceilidho · 4 months

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exit, no entry wound joe bear graves x reader; part 1 (3.8k)

Local time at destination: 0500 hours.

And then the world rushes back to him like the culmination of a terrible dream.

Bear wakes up in another rosebush outside the front steps of the local library worse for wear. Blinking out of sleep-crusted eyes, shapes diverging in blurry unfocus before slipping back into material objects. A bench. A door. The thorny stems of roses already on their way out, already depetalling, the ground below covered in a thin layer of them. One petal even sticking to his cheek when he pulls himself off the ground, wincing at the branches that crunch around him, that tug against his skin and clothes.

His clothes smell of cheap liquor. Gin. Bourbon. It hurts to open his eyes, to sit up.

“Morning, sunshine,” someone says. He remembers hearing it in his dream too.

He looks to the source of his awakening, blanching when he notices the man staring at him.

Rip sits on the other side of the bushes on his haunches, looking deeply unimpressed. Hair slicked back for a change. “This what you get up to when I’m gone?”

Bear doesn’t respond. He struggles to his feet instead, hangover only just creeping in. Still drunk, to an extent. His knees threaten to buckle under him, forcing him to lay a hand flat on the wall to keep himself upright. One foot in front of the other. The walk home feels endless in the hour before dawn, hardly any light to guide him.

“Pretty pathetic shit, Bear,” the man says, trailing along behind him. Not quite mockingly, but bordering on it. “Getting piss drunk and passing out in a bush? Really? C’mon, man. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

There’s no sense in responding, Bear knows that now. No sense in even turning around to look. One foot in front of the other. Stumbling home alone under the cloak of night, dawn just around the corner; terrified that one day he’ll have to see it—the sun coming over the mountains, over the horizon.

It’s been less than a year. He hasn’t yet made his amends with God. Forgiveness sits outside of him. Not quite the right time to let it in. Maybe that time passed a long time ago, a small aperture that shuttered closed at the approach of his eyes. He missed it sometime between killing a boy and losing his mind.

A man cannot hold himself up on the scaffolding of the world alone. There has to be something beneath him. There is no sense in repeating the horrors of the world back to him; he’s already lived them. He’s got something of a Midas touch for death.

The months have been long since the divorce was finalised, since Lena left for good, since Buckley died, since Rip—since it all went down. If he thinks about it for too long, it seems like a nightmare that he woke up from still mad about; a nightmare he had no choice but to drink himself into a stupor over to escape. That’s the reality of the world.

“You know, Bear, you’re not the one that’s fuckin’ dead,” Rip spits as he follows behind, matching Bear’s stumbling gait stride for stride. “So you can stop acting like it.”

There’s a truth in Rip’s words and it leaves him feeling nauseous. There’s also a kink in his neck and a headache threatening to split his forehead open. In the belly of him, he has a truth that says that the firmament of heaven is beyond his reach. When he looks up and the sky is void of coruscating light, the meagre stars like an exit with no entry wound, it doesn’t surprise him. Of course there wouldn’t be anything there.

On a good day, his heart feels like it’s weathered a siege.

“So she left you! It’s time to fuckin’ move on. Go to a bar—I mean, you already are, so step one done—and pick someone up. Go on Christian Mingle or something. You keep living your life like this and you’re going to wind up killing yourself. And then the fuck good that’ll do?”

It takes everything in him to not turn around and do something rash. Only the nausea keeps him from making any sudden movements. Even if he were to turn around and do something, his knees would probably buckle under him. Probably throw up the contents of his stomach. Not much in there either. It rumbles when he thinks that, clenching at the thought of food. Then it twists, the nausea returning.

One foot in front of the other. The walk home takes twice as long, his whole body aching.

“Heard you almost quit. Wouldn’t be the worst idea you ever had. Let Buddha take over—he’s earned it. Get yourself a nice piece of land in fuckin’…Montana or something. Couple cows, maybe some chicken—you could get a dog, Christ. You look like a guy who’d have a dog. Why don’t you have a dog, actually? You would’ve told me if you didn’t like dogs, so it’s not that.”

His forehead is greasy when he touches it to rub his head. Body secreting poison in his sleep. Oily. The corners of his lips crack when he yawns. It’s not like he’s never thought about a dog, about having something to care for, another living thing in his house.

But—

(“Bear? …I don’t think we should have a child.”)

What he wants often falls to the wayside, slides off him like a glancing blow.

Her old, familiar shape appears at the sudden loss of a dream: one where Lena’s gaze lingers on him long enough to burn; but then it is the sun.

Bear watches dawn break. Sunday morning. In a different life, he would’ve squinted into the light of a new day and closed his eyes against it, curling into the slighter body tucked into his chest for another hour of rest. Felt the rise and fall of her chest. Woken up to a hot mouth on his cock or fingers curling in his chest hair, petal lips seeking him out. Church after that, showering off the remnants of their morning, solemn in their pews with their chests still holding the laughter of an hour previous. Light as air, as a feather.

He won’t go to church today; hasn’t in months. Not with the guilt of missing it the week before trailing after him, each missed week compounding month after month. The cracks in his faith webbing. Splintering out like stepping on the lake when it freezes over in the winter, crunching under his boot until he holds his place. Conscious that it could break under his feet.

“I grew up with a dog,” Bear finally responds, voice hoarse. First thing he’s said since last call at the bar.

“Yeah. Figures. What kind?”

“Black lab. We called her Daisy.”

It’s another lifetime ago. Still living in his parent’s house, Daisy curled by his dad’s feet, her favourite spot to sleep. Television playing at a low volume, mom at the kitchen table doing her crossword, ink bleeding into the side of her hand. It’s been a long time since Bear buried all of them. He’s buried countless people since.

“What—can’t get another? One and done? That’s how everything works for you?”

Teeth raze across his skin again. Trust Rip to always cut to the quick. Finally back in his neighbourhood at least, the street empty apart from the cars parked in their driveways or along the sidewalk. Bear’s stomach rumbles something fierce now, entreating him to eat. Worse than hunger is how he’d kill for a glass of water though. Anything to settle his head.

“Haven’t wanted a dog,” Bear grumbles, then clears his throat.

“Yeah, you have,” Rip scoffs. Bear hears him kick a rock, sending it skidding across the asphalt.

“Fuck off.”

Heart silicified in his chest, composed of fossilised shells and rocks and bones. It feels heavy in his chest.

He turns down the street leading to his house.

“Gotta let someone else in, Bear. Girl, dog—whatever. You can’t keep this up forever or it’ll kill you.”

When he turns around at the door, fishing in his pocket for his keys, the sidewalk beyond his house is empty.

(So a man lies down and rises not again; till the heavens are no more he will not awake or be roused out of his sleep.)

Every Friday like clockwork, Bear stops at the diner down the street for a coffee and a slice of cherry pie before heading to the bar.

Today is like any other. He leaves the house with only his keys and wallet and walks the long twenty minutes to the diner. Every time he fights the urge to drive, but there has to be something holding him in place. A reason not to throw it all away.

It’s never completely empty when he shows up, but it’s never full either. His seat at the back of the room is open as usual, like they put up a sign before he comes ambling down the street that says Reserved for Joe Graves and then pluck it away before he opens the door. It’d be nice if that were the case. Nice to have something just for him for a change. The thought comes with its accompanying pang of shame. Desire is a dangerous thing; anything he’s ever wanted has come at him with sharpened teeth, clamping down on his leg and ripping through the flesh. Bear trap for old Bear.

He slides into the booth and waits for someone to notice him. Never bothers to flag someone down—if it’s ten minutes or even half an hour before he’s served, that’s fine by him.

“Hiya,” a clear voice says to his right, pulling him away from staring through the blinds out the window. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?”

The face Bear turns to meet is pleasant, smiling. Wide and untroubled. It’s not a face he recognizes though, despite months coming to this diner and becoming familiar with the staff. If he had to guess, he’d bet she only started a few days ago, maybe a week at most. She still has the sparkle of someone who hasn’t had the goodness beaten out of them yet.

“Coffee,” he says, his own smile strained. “And a slice of pie.”

“Sure—we have key lime, blueberry, apple—”

“Cherry,” he interrupts, not letting her build steam. The wick in his chest burns too low for any conversation. The quick flicker of her brow makes the shame in his chest swell again. Forgive me sitting on his lips, unsaid. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I do this.

She nods and scurries off to the back, skirt swishing with her movements. Bear notices only because his eyes get stuck there, somewhere between the curves of her hips and the roundness of her ass. When he realizes where he’s let his mind wander, he pulls it back, flattening his lips into a hard line. Any sort of indulgence feels wrong, a taking that shouldn’t be taken. He hasn’t even begun to pay penance for all the damage he’s wrought.

It’s only on her way back that Bear notices the small bump protruding from under her apron. His mouth goes dry. When she reaches him again, he wordlessly accepts the cup of coffee and her reassurance that the pie will be out in just a minute. For a moment, he can hardly meet her gaze, eyes locked on the gentle curve of her belly, caught off guard in a way he hasn’t been in months.

The first thought with any clarity is, what is she doing working here? A crummy diner on a Friday night. Down the street from an even sleazier pub. His second thought is to look outside at the poorly lit stretch of road and think that this is no place for a pregnant woman to be alone. He recognizes each car in the parking lot save one, likely hers. Drove herself here with the expectation of driving herself home at the end of the night.

If it had been Lena—well, he never would’ve let it be Lena, but if it had been, Bear can’t imagine letting his pregnant wife drive herself home in the middle of the night. Can hardly stomach the thought.

She’s not Lena though, so he has no right.

She’s gone before he has time to say anything else, skirt swishing behind her. It catches his eye again. When he tears his gaze away for a second time, he swallows back the metallic taste of self-loathing. It curdles in his mouth. It’s the sign telling him to stop coveting, stop looking out into the world and wondering what he can take. It’s his hamartia, his fatal flaw; thinking himself above the reproach of God. Thinking that he can kill, fuck, curse, and stray farther and farther from the light only to find his way back in the dark.

The bell above the door rings when someone else comes in and Bear tenses. His shoulders only relax when two older women step in and head to a table.

He watches as she picks up a plate from the pass-through window and heads back towards him. When she places it in front of him, he draws a deep breath in, trying to catch more than just the aroma of fresh baked cherries.

“Here we go…one slice of cherry pie, straight out of the oven.”

“Thanks, honey,” Bear rumbles, smile finally meeting his eyes.

“No trouble. The guys in the back said they make it special for you. Joe, right?”

That gets him to levy her with the full weight of his attention. The thought of her asking about him. “I go by Bear.”

“Oh. Alright, Bear.” She twists the word around in her mouth and seems to find it satisfying. “I think I’ve heard your name before. You were—I mean, you’re part of Pastor Adams’ parish, right?”

He clears his throat, cutting off the triangle point of his pie with the side of his fork. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Me too,” she confides, voice a low whisper. A secret between strangers. She doesn’t glance around though, doesn’t bother to draw out the ruse. “Or, I was, anyway. Haven’t been to service in awhile. I, um…I remember you. From a year or so back. You and your—um…you and your wife used to always sit up at the front.”

The fork scrapes against the plate. “Ex-wife.”

He catches her wince from the corner of his eye. “Oh. Sorry. You just—” She doesn’t have to say it. The slight dip of her eyes tells him all he has to know, and besides, it’s his own fault for still wearing the ring. Even with the paperwork signed and dated, even with Lena in another state now, starting a new life without him, the thought of taking it off makes him break out in a cold sweat.

“It’s not—” Bear starts before giving up. He curls his fingers into a fist on the table.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Not a big deal.”

She fidgets in the silence. Bear can’t bring himself to break it or make the atmosphere less oppressive. He tenses under it, the ache in his low back worsening. These days, he always aches. Nerve damage, a disc on the verge of slipping, an old ankle injury that flares up whenever he goes running. A ghost that follows him from haunt to haunt. The ring on his finger is just another old ache.

“So, uh—” he clears his throat, nodding to her belly. “Your first?”

It’s inappropriate, hardly his place to ask. Incredibly intrusive for someone he’s met for the first time, a stranger just trying to do her job and serve him coffee and pie before he goes off to drink himself half to death again at the dive bar down the road.

Still, he asks.

Only the faintest wrinkle of her nose betrays any embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah. First one.”

“Congratulations.” It’s sincere. The envy in his gut is old, but it’s a manageable pain.

“Thanks,” she says, with a small, private smile, hand resting absently under her belly. “I’m excited. I’m only a couple months along, but, uh…it’s been a journey. Just me and baby against the world, you know.”

That stops him in his tracks. Screws up the whole course of his evening because suddenly the sound of the bell over the door jingling doesn’t draw his attention away. It stays fixed on the smiling girl to his right that just opened her mouth and said something unacceptable.

“Where’s the dad?” he asks, far too bluntly.

She shrugs. “Somewhere. Didn’t stick around long enough to tell me where. It’s fine though—I’ve got my little peanut. That’s all that matters.”

“You told him and he left?”

The pie sits cooling in front of Bear as a pit in his stomach opens up. It’s a terrible, empty hole that holds truths like the fallibility of the body and the good shouldering the burdens of the world.

He only regrets being so direct when her lip quivers, a little motion that betrays her until she wrests control over her face again. “It’s not his fault. I don’t think he was—well…you know, it was a surprise.”

“That’s—” he struggles to find his words, “—that’s not right.”

Again, she shrugs. “That’s life.”

Bear feels his eyes go hard. A coldness settles under his skin.

In the deep, dark gut of him, only anger lives. He spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but refuses, for reasons unbeknownst to him, to kill him. He’s given him enough opportunity and enough reason.

The answer he circles back to time and again is the same. An eye for an eye. Divine wrath. The litany of his sins could be sung until the end of time and there’d still be more to sing. It’s only right that there would be consequences for him.

The rage that simmers in his blood now is twofold. It begins with the sharp pang of injustice, of witnessing a punishment meted out to someone innocent. The girl standing by the booth he’s shoved himself into, almost too small for a man of his size, cannot be deserving of the same punishment that he’s brought upon himself. She has never killed. The babe in her belly has never killed. The two of them should never have to meet at the point of two paths converging with the likes of someone like Bear and proceed down the same road together.

Then it sinks into a familiar territory. A place at the core of him where righteousness gives way to envy, as it always does. After what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then sending it back leaves him feeling a bit off-kilter. Not quite right.

“Bear?” Her voice breaks the silence. When he blinks, concerned eyes stare down at him, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, dragging a hand down his face. Shaking it off. “Sorry, I—got lost in my head. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” she says, again gentle in her voice and smile. “Easy place to get lost in, isn’t it?”

He makes a sound in acknowledgment. Drags the silence out. Her mouth twists shy under his scrutiny.

“Anyway, I have a few other tables to get to, if you don’t mind. Enjoy your pie. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

He eats his slice of pie in silence as she leaves, eyes following her to her next table. Rage still sizzles under his fingertips. It makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems.

It’s like a gun punch to think of her all on her own. It’s not right. For someone like him, well, it’s—deserved, earned. Inevitable, even. Every step taking him further away from grace, from its light. No one who knows his story would think otherwise.

She’s a pretty thing though, this new waitress. Too tired, the bags under her eyes testament to that, no matter how well she hides them with makeup. Slightly puffy anyway, maybe from a lack of sleep or too many tears. His stomach aches at the thought. It must have come as a shock, the bottom of her world dropping out from under her when the baby’s father took off. Dragged away from the church not through her own doing, but the fault of another. Not her shame to bear, and yet.

He forces the pie down. Bites that taste like nothing,

Bear hears the lilt of her voice from two tables over. “Refill on your coffee, hun?”

A supplicant sits in his place as he sips his coffee. The hour slips by into the next and it starts to come together in his mind. Why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. His eyes follow her flit across the diner, the light seeming to bend around her like a halation.

When Bear looks across the room at her, he thinks, Lord, do not think I am waiting patiently for your hands. Every part of me trembles with anxiety.

(O Lord, show me I can fall apart together again; but not just yet.)

He stays until the last customer has finally left, waiting for her to come back to his table with an apologetic smile. When she does, Bear hands her his empty plate, watching her take a step back when he scoots out of the booth, rising to his full height. He makes note of the way her eyes round as they follow him up. Taller than her, unsurprisingly. Surprising though, the way her bottom lip droops just the slightest bit.

“Is it just you closing up?” he asks, voice a tad too gruff. He clears his throat again, looking around for anyone else.

“Well, the chef’s cleaning up in the back, but, uh—” she looks around the diner, conspicuously empty apart from the two of them. “Yeah. Just me.”

Bear gestures with his chin towards the door. “I’ll wait ‘till you’re done, then walk you to your car.”

“Oh, Joe—”

“Bear,” he corrects.

“Bear,” she amends, fingers twisting together now. He relishes the sound of it on her lips. “You don’t have to. I’m used to it, honestly. I know I just started here, but I’ve done closes before, you know.”

“I’ll wait outside.” A statement now. Stubborn. He’s always been a bit mulish, hard to shake off.

He can tell the second she relents, shoulders slumping. “Alright. I shouldn’t be too long…you can leave if you get bored though. Won’t blame you.”

He fights the urge to tilt her head up by the chin to make her meet his eyes. Just barely restrains himself.

Leaning against a tree out front, he twirls the ring around his finger as he watches her clean up. For the first time in a long time, he slips it off.

#ceil writing #joe bear graves #six (2017)#joe graves #six #big bear

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bahrtofane · 3 months

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here we go again - pt.1

pt. 2 , pt.3

jude x fem!reader , trent x fem!reader

empty promise after another leaves you walking in the cold. alone. on valentines day. youre never speaking to another player again.

word count : 1K+

watch it : mild fluff, heavy on the angst, situationships, toxic relationships, Jude is kinda an ass in this one sorry, not very happy ending

happy valentines day LOL

—--

you and Jude have a complex history, complex relationship.

you aren't officially together but at the same time you are exclusive. it's odd, but it's what works at the moment, (even if you wish he would just grow the balls to make you his already.)

you get he's a busy guy, top player both club and international. you aren't going to force him to choose you or make him get with you while his career is soon about to peak.

your wishes for more soon fade into the background as he presses gentle kisses into your skin. he called you a few hours prior, wondering if you wanted to keep him company while he binges movies and orders you a pizza. you said yes, maybe a little foolishly. but it's hard to stay away from him.

he's addicting. maybe it's a rush of being with someone whose whole existence is so grand. maybe it's the fact of knowing you have what millions of others crave for. you don't know, you try not to read into the intricacies. bad habit.

so here you are, face pressed up against his chest while you lay side by side on this stupidly large couch, action movie playing, your pizza done, belly full and body warm.

"what are you thinking about love?" he mumbles.

"you." you shrug.

"me ?" he chuckles.

you hum, wiggling deeper into the pile of blankets.

"i've been thinking about you. and us." he confesses, almost shy. the movie playing in front of you has long fizzled out of your attention.

hey might as well rip the band aid off.

"me too," you hum, "why aren't we official again?"

you feel him sigh dramatically, "because my career."

you squint. there goes the same lousy explanation. "you could put more i don't know, thought into us."

he shifts under the blankets , "valentine's day is coming up. dont worry love i have it all planned out." he assures you.

"oh yeah ?" you tease

"just you wait, the best valentine's day ever." he kisses the top of your head soundly.

—--

worst fucking valenties day of your life. you don't remember being more livid a day in your life. you cant remember the last time so much pure rage burned through you, hot enough to hurt. you didn't think it was humanly possible to clench your fist so tight youve dug into your palm hard enough to draw blood.

your head hurts, your legs hurt, you think your arm is starting to bruise from where you were shoved into a table on "accident" but what would Jude know. he was so busy taking pictures with models and laughing at corny jokes while you kept yourself company. texting and calling didnt work and he didn't even try to give you any attention the whole night, you can't keep doing this with him.

"you can't just run off-" Jude shouts from somewhere behind you.

"or what Jude. or fucking what." you seeth, not bothering to face him, storming out into the night.

It's your fault for trusting him all those nights ago. your fault for falling for the same shit over and over.

he sprints to catch up to you, "i don't know why you're being like this."

you stop dead in your tracks, "oh i don't know, let's think. you didn't tell me your escorts would be there. and to top it all fucking off they have to nerve to be on my ass the whole night, not letting me get anywhere near you even through we walked in together?"

he doesn't respond and you half the mind not to punch the shit out of him, walking further away from the club you just came from, heels clanking against the sidewalk so hard it hurts, pulling on your dress so you dont trip and fall. maybe you should let it go so you can fall flat on your face. that would be a better ending to the night than seeing his face. silly stupid you thinking this would work.

"happy fucking valentines day huh Jude. you take me to a damn club, you ignore me the whole night, and you spend all your time surrounded by other women who might as well just suck you off right then and there." you yell, hell if anyone hears. you want them too, you want him to be as humiliated as you feel.

Bellinghams date thrown away the moment you step inside, ignored and tossed for some common whores. oh you can't wait to see where your face ends up online after tonight. you can see the headlines now.

he grabs your arm, making you face him, "love listen-"

"no, you dont get to fucking do that anymore. you cant keep sweet talking your way out of things when you fuck up. why can't you just pretend to care" your voice shakes, you can feel tears brimming in your eyes.

"i'm not trying to talk my way out of it, i'm trying to explain." he tries.

you yank your arm out of his grip, "i'm not listening anymore, im done. all i asked was one day for us, just valentines day to make things work. and you showed me you dont care enough for that."

"please, let me fix this." he pleads.

"its too late."

"i wanted things to work so fucking bad, and you humiliated me Jude. i imagined a nice dinner, hell i would have settled for take out and a few kisses. that's how bad i want things to work, that's how bad i wanted you." you tremble.

"please my darling. let's talk about this. come back inside and i'll show everyone that you are mine," he holds a hand out to you, waiting. silently pleading with each breath he takes.

the street lights dance across his skin as for a moment you almost believe him. for a moment you think about stepping back inside with him. you can't do that to yourself, not again.

"no, iim done. don't follow me, don't call me dont text nothing. i want nothing more to do with you." your firm, final. swallowing the lump that builds in your throat, youd be damned if he sees you cry after this fucking shit show.

he stops in his tracks at this, not bothering to try and stop you.

it hurts more than it should to leave him behind you, but you honest to god can not keep up with his lifestyle.

all those articles and rumors were right you suppose, he's an arrogant stuck up bastard with too much money to know what to do with, too cocky for his own good and destroys anything good that comes his way. you hope he's happy without you.

#jude x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #footballer angst #jude bellingham angst #footballer x reader #footballer fic #footballer one shot #footballer imagine #footballer x y/n #footballer x you

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sickeninglyshoujo · 3 months

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a/n: finally finished this after being left such an essay about dad!price by @connorsui that made me want to cry with joy that someone liked my silly rambling that much so now have dad!johnny

part 1: simon here

part 2: price here

part 4: gaz here

masterlist here

buy me a ko-fi

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 1.7k

Soap has always told you that he wanted a house full of babies with you and will not take no for an answer

You rolled your eyes everytime thinking he's exaggerating but he never was.

He tells you so during your romps “Gannae pump you full of babies, mama” With any other man it would ruin the moment but the way soap snarls it out sends heat spiraling through you and having you begging him to cum inside. He’ll wear the condom if you ask him to, but he won’t bring it out on his own volition. He knows you’re the person he wants to build a family with, has known since the first date when you rolled your eyes at all his corny jokes and groaned in mock pain.

Soap will not heed doctor’s advice and tries to palm at you before you’re ready, not even caring when you whine about things not being tight and firm like they used to be

“You’re positively bonnie lass, even more now that I know those stretch marks came from our baby that you carried for me.”

Feral for a man who calls me mama

Soap will absolutely come up behind you and grab at your flesh every time you put the baby down for a nap, “Cannae help myself lass,” he’d pant as he’s rutting against you, a man possessed, “You’ve been teasing me all day!” Even though you don’t recall doing so

You’d been taking care of the baby all morning and hadn’t paid much mind to your hyper husband as he flitted around doting on you and the little one. Little did you know that’s what he meant. Seeing you be such a good mom and a mom to HIS baby had gotten him rock hard

It was tough for him to get through your pregnancy because each time he looked at your growing belly he got turned on

“Johnny I’m already pregnant you know, we don’t have to keep trying,” you teased every time his hands began to wander down below your hips.

“Ah cannae help it, mama, you’re glowing!” He mutters trying to nuzzle under your shirt

Asked the doctor explicitly if pregnancy sex would hurt the baby.

“Johnny!” You hissed

“Need to know if I have to behave myself for nine months lass”

Thankfully the good-humored doctor laughed at his requests. Johnny listened intently as the doctor discussed the pros and cons of both the act and different positions with his chin resting on intertwined fingers. Soap asked question after question about your limitations much to your horror.

Once the appointment was over and you two were safely confined into your flat again, his hands were on you before the door had even closed.

“You heard the doctor's orders, Mama.”

You laughed loudly at that, “I don’t think they’re doctor’s orders as much as yours!”

“Then listen to your sergeant and let him take care of you”

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny was constantly stumbling over himself to try and help you with chores through the pregnancy. You move to wash a dish and he’s hopping up from the couch to plush the sponge from your hand before you’ve even wet it.

“I’ve got that love,” He constantly says, trying to herd you towards the couch, “Don’ even worry about it.”

You’d still hover each time, ensuring that he completed the chores to your satisfaction.

“Johnny! The yellow rags are for dusting! Not wiping up!” You fussed.

“It doesn’t matter! They all go in the wash the same!”

“It does matter! They’re color-coded so that they stay cleaner and we don’t go through so many!”

“Johnny,” You waddle into the bedroom one morning after getting up to get a cup of tea, “It’s time.”

“Time?” The tired man pulled his head up from where he’d buried it into his pillow, “Lass, is still early, come back to bed.”

“Johnny the baby’s not going to be born in the same bed it was conceived in.”

“Yer not due for weeks yet lass, she won’t be.”

“There’s a puddle in the kitchen that says otherwise.”

“A puddle?”

“Johnny, my water broke.”

He jerks his head up from the pillow, “It’s time?”

“Yes, Johnny, I have the bag, I just need you to get dressed and drive.”

He stumbles out of bed and shoves his legs into yesterday’s jeans from where they lay on the floor, he’s nearly to the door before you hold up a hand, “Shirt, Johnny, you’re going to the hospital. You need to put on a shirt.”

He looks down at his bare chest, “Shirt? Shirt,” He turns on his heel and scoops up yesterday’s shirt too before returning to you.

“Shoe’s, Johnny.”

Johnny grabs a pair of slides from the closet and you finally let him through, happy that he’s finally presentable for your daughter’s birth.

Johnny ends up pacing the room while you rest in the hospital bed, flipping through channels on the wall-mounted television, “Thought you said it was time lass.”

“It is,” you flip past game show, news, game show, soap opera.

“Then where is she? We've been here hours now.”

“They don’t just slide out, the body has to prepare itself to squeeze out a daughter who probably has as big a head as her daddy,” He doesn’t notice your insult, instead rubbing his hands over the stubble he hadn’t gotten to shave.

When Johnny see’s the baby crown, he faints.

Your big strong army man who had been through war and back fainted at the sight of his daughter entering the world and had to be woken up by an attending nurse, “Sir, you’re going to want to wake up, your baby’s coming now.”

He ends up on wobbly feet, deposited by the head of the bed this time where he surely won’t see anything to make him faint.

After the baby’s born he makes you promise that you won’t tell anyone on his team, particularly Ghost.

“I’ll never hear the end of it,” Soap begs, “L.t. would make it known base-wide before the day is out.”

You roll your eyes, “You don’t give Simon enough credit, he’s nothing but a gentleman to me.”

“Ya only say that because he hasn’t made you run drills! He’s a right mean bastard to me!”

Soap brings the baby on base to meet the 141 at your request after moaning that you didn’t want his team to see you when you were wearing mesh panties even if you were wearing pants over them. Soap loudly announced his arrival, depositing the large carrier onto the table in the briefing room.

“Here she is,” he coos at the baby in her carseat, pulling the blanket covering her off the carrier, “The latest addition to the Mactavish clan.”

“She’s so tiny!” Gaz can’t help but note, leaning forward.

“Didn’ think you actually had the balls to make one of them,” Ghost starts.

“How’s the missus doing?” Price asks, leaning forward to offer his finger to the bundle who takes it and grasps it.

“Sore as all hell and still mad abou’ it,” Soap bemoans, “Keeps telling me about the frozen pads she’s wearing and that it’s my fault!”

“Frozen pads?” Gaz frowns at him, finally taking his eyes off the baby.

“Aye, the lass has cleared out half the freezer so her unmentionables can be kept below thirty two degrees at all times.”

“You’re in a hell of your own making Soap, she’ll be right as rain before long and yelling at you for something else you’ve done.”

“Hope you learned to wrap it for next time, Soap,” Gaz this time.

“The poor bastard came out of the womb as dumb as this and he’ll return the same way, he’ll have another baby before this one’s out of diapers.

After the baby’s born, he takes you and her on a flight to visit the Mactavish clan. He insists on holding the baby through the flight so you could nap. He also falls asleep with the baby in his arms and his head laying on your shoulder.

His sister’s crowd around you before you can even take your shoes off when you enter the house.

The energy in the Mactavish house is the same as Soap’s when he’s first off deployment and wired, full of energy and yelling. You silently send a thanks up to heaven that the baby was already awake and well-rested as there likely would be no keeping this family quiet.

Johnny’s mother fussed over you, smoothing your hair and holding your hand, apologizing already for something her son did.

“Ma!”

“Don’ ‘Ma’ me! You gave me hell growing up, I have to make sure you’re treating her well!”

Baby Mactavish grows to be a whirlwind like her father, constantly getting into cabinets you swore you baby-proofed, leaving piles of tupperware scattered on the kitchen floor.

“Sergeant John Mactavish if you don’t come get your daughter this second!” You yell into the house while you fight against your daughter’s grip of steel on the plastic spatula.

He skids into the kitchen and scoops up the baby, turning her over in the air and using the element of surprise to snatch the utensil from her chubby hands.

“Ah, dinnae be so mean to the bairn lass, she’s jus’ explorin’,” he continues turning her over and over until she’s weak with giggles.

True to his word, Johnny gets you pregnant within a year after you're medically cleared. This time a second and third baby on the way. At once. When you learned of the split embryo at the ultrasound you scowled at Johnny, “Now see what you’ve done, John Mactavish!”

“Ah promised it to you, remember,” He took your hand in his and planted kisses on the back, ignorant of the ultrasound tech pointedly keeping their eyes on the screen, “Toldja we’d have a house-full when we first started dating.”

“I didn’t think you meant two at once!”

Not to mention the dogs that lingered on the stoop. Or the barn cats that hung around the outbuildings. The highland cows that Johnny had begged you for. The donkeys that he rescued from a feedlot. None of them were in the plan. Mactavish, the devil he is, ruins all your plans.

a/n: reblogs/comments are most appreciated but i cherish every like too, someone please talk more about this to me

#soap x reader #soap x you #cod fanfiction #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #grave writes

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deathbecomesthem · 4 months

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You, Me, and Baby Make Three, Pt. 1

Pregnant!Reader x Partner!Eddie Munson | 3.9K

Summary: You and Eddie are at the end of your first pregnancy. Things take an unexpected turn. This story starts on day -3 to birth and will go through ~day 42 postpartum. It will be a realistic portrayal of first time parenthood.

Warnings: Pregnancy, blood, childbirth, pregnancy complications, gross body things that come along with childbirth and parenthood, financial insecurity, medical trauma, and all of the wonderful and terrible feelings that are a part of having a child. The good, the bad, and the very ugly. This story will have smut in the end. I'm only telling you this because I know that information sometimes means a person will otherwise not bother with a story. I should warn you, though - it will be an accurate portrayal of postpartum sex.

A/N: This is largely based on my own experiences as pregnant person and new parent. I'm writing and publishing this story without a whole lot of tidying of the story. It is what it is, and I'm very ok with that. Don't read this if you think it will trigger you in any way.

---

Day -3 to 0

You can almost reach it. You got down on your hands and knees in front of the large stainless steel refrigerator before you really thought about it. It was just a small thing, reaching under the behemoth cooling machine to get the errant bagel that fell off the baking tray. You’ve done it, or something close to it, hundreds of times before. Except this time, you can’t lay flat on your belly to reach under and grab at it with the tips of your fingers. You’re wondering if you’re even going to be able to get up off the tile at this moment.

“What the fuck are you doing?” An annoyed voice asks. You can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed, only relieved that someone is here to help you up. “Whatever’s down there can stay there. Don’t need you going into labor over a danish.”

“A bagel,” you answer back. You reach your hands out and let Beth, the opening barista, help you to your feet. “I didn’t think about it. I know, it’s stupid.”

“Well, I’ll leave a note at the baking station. ‘You’re super pregnant, you idiot. Stay off the floor.’”

You cock your head to the side and roll your eyes. You hate this. You hate people treating you differently. No, it’s more than that - you hate that you need to be treated differently. It’s not right. It’s just not. You are still in this body, and you can take care of it yourself. It’s not right that everyone gets to have an opinion about what you do with it.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I have an appointment with the midwife this morning. I came in early, I’ll be gone for about an hour. You’ll have to hold it down til the other girls get in.” You’re hanging your flour dusted apron on the handle of the already cooling oven doors, not waiting for a response from Beth.

“You know, you can just take the day -” Beth doesn’t get far before you cut her off.

“You know the fuck I cannot just take the day. I need every second of work I can get before this kid pops outta me.” You’re telling her while still making your way to the back door, grabbing your bag on the way.

“I can’t believe Eddie lets you work like this.” Beth gets her last jab in, earning her your middle finger before you slam the large metal door closed on your way through the door and into the parking lot.

You consider your hip pain on the ride to your doctor. It’s been getting worse. Every part of your body is heavy, all of the time. You wish you could be done with spending 9 hours on your feet 5 days a week. Truly, would a few hundreds of dollars matter? Probably not. There isn’t enough money for what’s coming, that’s something you’re certain of. And Eddie.

Eddie. Your sweet man. Oh, he does worry, it’s all he does right now. It’s why he’s pulling 50 hours at the factory, delivering pizzas 4 nights a week, and still doing guitar lessons on Saturdays. You want to tell him that it’s too much, that you need him to be happy. You need him with you more, holding and caring for you. Except. Except that there’s a baby on the way, and what you need is as much cash as possible. This is how the world works.

Your legs feel heavier than when you left the cafe as you swing them out of your car in the parking lot of the midwife’s office. Today, your ankles feel like full balloons ready to pop. Your feet hurt, but not from standing on them - they hurt because they feel too big for your shoes. You try not to think about the last appointment, when your midwife told you to keep an eye on the swelling in your legs, and how you ignored the advice. What could you do? Tell your body to stop retaining so much water?

The empty waiting room is a blessing, you don’t even have time to waddle to one of the cold, plastic chairs that line the walls of the waiting room. No time to flip through the glossy paged parenting magazines. The nurse brings you right back. You turn your face away from the scale as it registers your weight, follow her back into one of the rooms at the far end of the office.

“Alright, get a gown on, and then open the door. I’ll come back for your blood pressure.” The nurse is making her way out before you even have a chance to respond. You undress clumsily. You can’t get used to the way your weight is distributed, every day something changes in you. Your body expands and makes space for the thing that’s growing, that’s sucking the nutrients from your blood. You’ve come to think of them, the baby, as a kind of parasite. An unkind thought that you’ve kept to yourself.

You tuck your bra and underwear beneath the maternity pants and oversized blouse, and waddle to leave the door open a crack to indicate you’re once again modest. As modest as you can be with the back of your gown open to anyone that might move behind you. The paper under your butt crinkles as you move your thighs around to try to get comfortable. The nurse is back, and you wonder if she was standing in the hallway waiting for you to be ready for her.

She pulls the cuff down from the wall, and wraps it around your arm. With a finger at your wrist, she pumps air into the cuff. And pumps. And pumps. And pumps until it starts to get painful, and you feel a vague sense of panic, as if your arm might break open at the pressure. She mercifully releases the air just as you're gearing up to tell her it’s too tight. You look at her face, feeling your own features relaxing, waiting for her to tell you the numbers that are meaningless to you. Her eyebrows are pinched together, the first sign of anything more than vague politeness and professionalism.

“Why don’t you lay back, let me get you a pillow.” She pats the paper covered table behind you, and pulls out the extension at the foot end. She pulls a pillow, covered in a similar paper to your gown and the table cover, and sets it down by your head. “Janice will be in very soon.”

You do as you’re told. You lay back. You think about the look on the nurse’s face, and start to feel small rumbles of concern surge through you. Your heavy belly sits in your eyesight, so that when the midwife comes in, you can only see her cheerful face. The prickling of panic fades when you see her. A 65 year old woman that has birthed a countless number of babies, a motherly figure you’ve come to trust, she guides you through the strange wilderness of pregnancy.

“How’s mom feeling today, hm?” She asks as she wheels over the backless stool to sit next to you. Unlike during a doctor’s visit, Janice likes to sit and talk to you before she begins her examination. She told you on your first visit with her that it lets her understand what she should be looking for. Today, though, she’s looking at your ankles, and testing the skin while she waits for your answer.

“Oh, I’m tired. My skin itches. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.” You’re listing your usual complaints, and see Janice nodding along. Normal complaints.

“How’s baby? Have we been keeping track of movements?” Janice looks at you, her hand still feeling around your lower leg. She’ll know if you’re lying, so you don’t even try.

“I mean, I haven’t kept notes or anything, but I feel like it’s moving around all the time. Just before you came in, I swear there was a dance party going on in there.” As if to reiterate your point, a movement could be seen across the top of your belly. An elbow? A knee?

“Good, good. That’s what I like to hear.” Her words seem a little hollow, and you know she’s holding back something. “You’re very swollen, though. I’m more worried about mom than baby right now. Have you been keeping your feet up when you can?” Janice is already on her feet, and heading to the counter to pull out a pair of vinyl gloves.

“Well. Sure, when I can. I’m still working, but after work I try to keep them up. Eddie found a recliner a couple of months ago, did I tell you that? It rocks when it’s upright, good for the baby, he said. It’s been a godsend to have that thing.” You’re just talking now, but Janice is still nodding along with your words.

“That’s good. It helps to have a supportive daddy at home.” Janice sighs, and smiles. Her lips are a thin line, and you feel your muscles brace for impact, “your BP is pretty high today, and I don’t like the look of your ankles. Your urine sample was normal, though, so we might just be looking at a bad day.”

You don’t say anything. You’re trying to remember what that means. It’s in the book, the one that Wayne bought you as soon as he found out about the baby on the way. A potential complication, oh shit, what was it called. It could be really bad, you’re remembering - low birth weight, birth complications, postpartum seizures, fetal and mother death. Shit, shit, shit, what is it called -

“Just to be safe, we need to treat this like it’s toxemia. That means partial bed rest for the next few weeks. You can come in three days from now for a BP check. We have a wonderful OB that comes in once a week, and we can squeeze you in to see him.” You can hear Janice’s words, but you lack understanding. You pick out one bit, and ask,

“Partial bed rest? I can’t work?” You ask Janice’s back. She’s rifling around in the cabinet about the sink. She finds what she’s looking for, bringing out the measuring tape so that she can see the fundal height of the baby. She gives you the same tight lipped smile as before as she works the tape around your middle.

“No, you can’t work. I’m sorry. We’ll know more when you see the doctor. For now, you’re staying with your feet up unless you’re going to the bathroom.” Her voice is soft, but firm. No room for argument.

—-

You hear the van pull up outside the trailer. It’s Wednesday, that means he’s home tonight, not driving around town delivering pizzas to the people of Hawkins. You hope he won’t notice the puffiness around your eyes, you cried for an hour after you stopped at the cafe to turn in your keys. You looked at the checkbook balance while you sat in your car and wondered how you’d be able to afford groceries by the end of the month. This wasn’t in the plan.

“If you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world,” Eddie’s singing as he swings open the door, “tell her I’m sorry, tell her I need my baby!” He’s smiling and swinging his old lunch box. You can’t help but laugh at him, still dressed in his coveralls and hair pulled up in a ponytail. The hairnet and earplugs were left in the van, along with his safety glasses.

“You goon. Charlie Rich, huh? You’re edging closer to becoming Wayne’s twin every day.”

Eddie comes over to you, and kisses your forehead, careful to not get his still grease stained hands on the chair. “Hello, beautiful. How are we doing tonight?”

“Mm, ok. I saw the midwife today.” You don’t like the way your voice sounds. You’ve thought about how to tell Eddie this news, and have decided that ripping the bandaid off is the best approach. No point in trying to soften things, especially if it ends up being serious.

“And?” Eddie asks, looking down at you with expectation.

“And, go wash up.” You tell him, “we’ll talk over frozen pizza.”

You click the knobs on the oven to let it heat up. You decide to throw together a salad - just some iceberg, tomato, and cucumbers - as an attempt to get some vegetables into Eddie’s system. You try not to think about how you’re supposed to be keeping your feet up right now. Unless I’m going to the bathroom, you think. You shake your head and chop up a tomato. What an unreasonable expectation.

You see the way his lips jut into a small and concerned frown, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just makes his way down the hallway to take his after work shower. You’re surprised to find that your legs feel even heavier now that you’ve spent the last several hours reclined on your chair. Eddie found the chair at an estate sale, and it’s been a godsend. It keeps you upright enough to ease your heartburn, you sleep better in the chair than your own bed these days.

Eddie’s back, smelling of Irish Spring and fabric softener, just as you’re putting the pizza into the oven. He walks up behind you as you shut the oven door, and wraps his hands around your belly. The baby, Eddie’s sure that it’s a boy, moves around as if to get its father’s attention.

“He’s really movin’ in there.” Eddie’s rocking you back and forth, slowly. You close your eyes and lean your head back into his chest. If you could live your life between his arms, you would do it. This is your home.

“Yeah, ready to make a break for it.” You tell him. You turn the dial timer to 15 minutes, and say, “the midwife says the baby’s fully cooked now. Just putting on some extra weight. I could give birth tomorrow, and it’d be ok.”

“Oof, tomorrow? Let’s hope not.” Eddie kisses the top of your head and slaps your ass. “Go sit down, woman. I’ll bring you some lemonade.”

You do as you’re told, you waddle your way over to the lumpy couch and put your feet up. Eddie follows behind you at a much quicker pace, glass of lemonade in his hand. It’s sweating already, the ice can’t keep up with the warmth inside the trailer. You look over to the small air conditioner in the corner and wonder if it’s even worth running the thing. The space is too big, and it just adds more money to the electric bill. Eddie sits at the end of the couch, and hands you the lemonade before taking your feet and placing them on his lap.

“So. What are you not telling me?” He asks, working his thumb into the bottom of your foot. You sink lower, giving him better access to your sore feet. They’re so swollen tonight, you feel like your skin might burst.

“Don’t overreact,” you pick up your foot and point a toe at his face. He grabs it again, and sets it down on his lap. “My blood pressure was high. I’m on partial bed rest. I have to go see the OB in three days.”

Eddie hands freeze for a second, and then his thumb begins to work on your foot again while he absorbs the information you just gave to him. “What does that mean? Partial bed rest? Do they think you have - shit, what’s it called?”

“Toxemia. Yes, the midwife said maybe. But it’s ok, because we’re fully cooked,” you point two fingers at your swollen belly, reminding him that the child inside could come out at this very moment and be fine, if a little small. “We’ll know better in a couple of days. I just need to keep my feet up and keep track of any really bad headaches. But I haven’t had those. I really think it’s fine, Eddie. I just hate that I can’t work.”

“You should’ve stopped working a month ago,” he looks over to you with an expression of slight exasperation. This is not the first time this idea has come up between the two of you. “I told you, that’s why I started working at Gino’s. You do too much.”

“Stop. Do not lecture me, Eddie Munson. I’m fine. I’ll do what the midwife says, and lay on this couch, or in the bed, or in the recliner, until I can get this thing out of me.”

“Yes, you fucking will. And no more making dinner. I’ll figure that shit out.” As if to put an exclamation on his statement, the kitchen buzzer goes off, and he’s up before you can even consider moving. “Stay.” He puts a hand out before making his way across the room and behind the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen.

—

Day 0

Eddie took the day off of work. When he told you he was coming to your appointment with you, you had put up a fight. You had argued. You had gotten unreasonably annoyed at the idea that he thought you needed him there. The pain inside your skull, a sneaking thing that had begun to keep you up at night, beat a steady rhythm at the idea of Eddie seeing you in that vulnerable position.

It’s so unfair. The days of bed rest have done nothing but steadily increase your irritation about everything. Your situation. The too warm trailer. The fact that you can’t make yourself anything more than a sandwich to eat, or Eddie will scold you like a child when he comes home after work. He’s like a detective, looking for any clues of potential bad behavior. The worst of it all, though, is that Mrs. Reynolds has been assigned to take care of you. The elderly woman that lives in the trailer between Wayne and the Johnsons comes down every day to bring you egg salad, or tuna noodle casserole, or whatever other concoction she’s decided is appropriate for the poor pregnant girl.

You had not expected Eddie to pull 10 hour shifts, followed by extra hours at Gino’s following the news of your bed rest - but you should have seen it coming. The financial anxiety is getting to him. Where you carry the weight of your unborn child, he carries the weight of expectation. You see it written all over his face, and no amount of reassurance that you’re fine, and you’ll be back to work in no time, eases the deepening creases on his beautiful face.

This morning, you don’t think about that. You don’t think about the fear that he’s feeling. You ignore your own fear, and allow irritation to take over. That irritation gives you a sense of control, of power over a situation in which you have no authority. Your body is not your own, and its betrayal is something you can never forgive. Today, you will go see this doctor, and he will show you exactly how out of control you really are.

—

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Seiver.” A man about your age comes strolling into the exam room. He zeroes in on Eddie sitting in the chair beside the exam table and offers his hand. You fight against an urge to scoff. “Let’s take a look. Scoot down, please.”

You scoot down, holding onto the paper blanket that covers your naked lower half. Eddie’s seen your naked body many times before, but never like this. And, this doctor, Dr. Seiver, has probably seen hundreds of naked women. You wonder if he looks at the naked body of his lover with cold medical appraisal.

You look over and see Eddie’s eyes are wide, and you can feel your skin burn with embarrassment. He must have known that his insistence at being present for this appointment meant that he would watch a doctor stick his fingers into your vagina, but maybe not. You hadn’t prepared him beforehand, too annoyed to bother.

Speculum, vinyl gloves, and lubricant on two fingers, the doctor continues to talk with no preamble, “your blood pressure is more elevated than the other day, and I’m sorry to say that your urine dip this morning showed protein. So,” he’s looking over to Eddie now while his fingers dig deeper into your vagina until they hit a wall, “we need you to leave here and go straight to Mercy to be induced today. No need to risk it, not while you and baby are in good shape.”

The pain shocks you to your core, a deep ache that you are not at all prepared for. Tears flow down your cheeks, and you let out a small sob. Eddie’s hand is on your arm, and he’s looking at your face with confusion. The doctor is unaffected, and pulls his now bloody fingers out of you and says -

“That should get you going. I manually dilated your cervix, it will make this process go a lot quicker and maybe we won’t need to load you up with too much pitocin. Just head over to Mercy, the maternity ward is on the 4th floor.” The doctor is up on his feet, peeling bloody gloves off and disposing them into the red biohazard waste bin on the wall, “there are pantyliners in the top drawer over here, you might bleed for a little while.”

And just like that, the doctor was gone, leaving you with your legs spread on the table and tears streaming down your face. You’re going to have a baby today. You turn to look at Eddie, his hand is still clenching your arm. He’s pale, the blood drained from his face completely. You would swear that the lines of his face are even deeper than they were when you got in the car this morning. You wipe your face with your free hand, and sit up.

“Ed, come on.” You’re suddenly anxious to get moving. Get on the road, and into a hospital bed. Let the professionals take over. “It’s ok. Why don’t we call Wayne on the way out. He can meet us at the hospital.”

Eddie stands up, helps you to your feet. You see him sway a little bit and wonder if it was the sight of your blood that did this to him, or if it’s the thought that this baby is actually real and he’ll be holding it in his arms in less than 24 hours.

“I, uh, are you ok? That guy was an absolute asshole,” Eddie’s helping you get your clothes back on. He helps you with your jeans, and then sits you in the chair and starts working on getting your shoes on your feet. You are overwhelmed with love for him, bent down on his knees in front of you, jaw clenched in anger and frustration at the way you’ve been treated today.

“I’m ok. I’m glad you’re here, baby. I’m sorry I was such a bitch about you coming.”

Arm in arm, the two of you walk through the hallways and through the front door of the medical building. You think it might be your imagination, but the child inside of you feels like he’s lower than he was when you entered. The doctor, with his cruel fingers, cracked the door, and the baby is making its way down.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #tw pregnancy #pregnant!reader

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onlyhuis · 1 year

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behave!

member — jeonghan x f reader genre — smut word count — 2.1k synopsis — you like misbehaving, and jeonghan likes putting you in your place. even more so when you know you're being filmed. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, mean dom jeonghan, hannie is a sadist but reader is a masochist so it works out, hate sex (spoiler: it's pretend!), heavy degredation mixed with praise, oral (reader receiving), some fingering, edging, one (1) ruined orgasm, sexual acts on camera, choking, marking, begging, spitting in reader's mouth, reader is a capital b Brat, some borderline pet play (??), maybe kinda bulge kink but only for a second, nicknames (slut, whore, bitch, puppy, angel, good girl), hannie is called sir a couple times, everything is shown to be consensual beforehand!! implied established relationship, aftercare, playful banter between hannie & reader, the ending is soft notes — this is payback for @duhnova and @onlymingyus because i love torturing you both. i wish i had more notes to say about this but i literally wrote it at 3am after i told yall i was going to sleep oopsies (also tagging @lovelyhan because you need to suffer too!!)

“smile for the camera, baby,” jeonghan grins mischievously, holding his phone in one hand as he traces his fingers over your stomach.

“fuck you, jeonghan!”

he tsks, index finger circling around your belly button. “you won’t get to, not with that attitude.”

you stay silent and give him a glare, watching as his fingers slowly travel lower, ghosting over your skin. he’s teasing, and both of you know it. but although there’s nothing you can do to stop it, you don’t even really want to.

he presses his hand flat against your stomach and automatically you let out a whimper, feeling the tension already beginning to build in your core and you’re not even halfway undressed yet. he relishes in your involuntary sounds, knowing that no matter how you pout and pretend to be angry with him and try to hide them from him, he knows your body like the back of his own hand and it won’t be long until he’s got you screaming his name.

he pushes harder and your hands grab at his wrist, unclear whether you’re trying to push him away or hold him in place to add even more pressure. you can’t help the way your legs slide further and further apart, wordlessly begging him to do more than he’s already doing, because it’s not enough.

“you feel that, baby?” he says, pressing the heel of his palm into your abdomen. “feel how empty you are?”

you keep your mouth shut, determined to continue being a brat as long as he’s got his camera out. you already know that watching this recording back the next time you’re horny will be a damn treat, and you’re enjoying riling him up just as much as he enjoys you doing it. misbehaving is half the fun, after all; and when the reward is so sweet, how could you resist?

jeonghan clicks his teeth, tsking at your lack of a response. “if you aren’t gonna talk, then i might as well just put this away and go on with my day. but i know my little whore wouldn’t like that, would they?”

“and why should i say anything to you?” you spit back at him, and your stomach jumps in anticipation when you see his eyes light up at your words.

his nostrils flare as he sets his phone down on the table, giving it no more than a half second of thought on whether or not he’s propped it up properly before he’s bending over you, face to face in a split second.

his hand is still flat against your stomach, and the tip of his nose presses against your cheek with how close he suddenly is to your face. his breath is warm on your lips, and your heart races as you try to guess what he’s about to say to you.

“because, i can just leave you here, soaking wet and painfully horny and it wouldn’t bother me one bit,” he says, “i know your adorable little panties are ruined right now and you’re dripping onto the fucking sheets. i could smell you a mile away like a bitch in heat, that’s how bad you want me. and if you keep acting like a fucking brat, you aren’t going to get any of me. is that clear?”

you nod without a word, knowing it’s not the reaction he wants and purposefully not giving it to him as a final act of defiance. you know him well enough to know he’s reaching the end of his patience, and you can’t keep up being a brat forever. not when you can see how thick the bulge in his pants is, not when you can see the veins popping out in his arms, not when you can see that look in his eyes when you know he’s going to fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling it for days afterward.

he sits up and his hand on your stomach flies to your chin, gripping it tightly. on instinct your lips part in compliance as he forces your jaw open and puckers his lips, violently spitting into your eagerly awaiting mouth.

he wipes the remnants of spit from around his mouth with the back of his free hand, still holding onto your jaw with his other. “when i say speak, i mean speak, bitch. if i say bark, you bark. use your words like a good puppy and i’ll reward you, but disobey me and i’ll make you regret every second of it.”

jeonghan lets go of your mouth and you exhale a shaky but excited breath, this time quick to give him an answer. “yes, sir.”

he leans over you to adjust his phone on the nightstand, eyes narrowing with a sly smile. “now that’s a good girl. see how easy that was?”

“yes, sir,” you answer again. you know this part of the routine; he doesn’t do rhetorical questions, and you know better than not to answer him now.

when he’s satisfied with the camera’s placement he leans back down over you, his lips just centimeters above yours. this time you can’t hide your whines, and he coos. “aw, sweetheart, did it hurt when i grabbed you? want me to kiss it better for you, my little angel?” there’s just enough sarcasm in his tone to know he doesn’t care whether or not it hurt, and he won’t kiss it better, no matter what your answer is.

again it’s a trick question, and again you know exactly what response he’s looking for. “no, sir,” you whisper, barely enough space between you and him for you to move your lips to speak. “i liked it. sir.”

he grins sadistically, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth anyways. “what a good whore,” he praises, “taking what i give you so well.”

he moves on to your neck, biting roughly at the skin below your jaw and sucking for so long you’re sure he can feel your pulse jump each time a new bruise begins to form.

“jeonghan—” you gasp out his name as he moves lower to your collarbones, teeth scratching along your skin as he stares up at you through his pretty long lashes, never breaking the eye contact despite how you writhe beneath him.

“that’s a good girl,” he says, his mouth hovering over your nipple as he looks up at you. “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make. need to hear how good i’m making you feel.”

his tongue laves over your breast and you arch your back up into him, struggling to keep your voice from breaking as you reply with another “yes, sir”.

you’re aware that he’s still teasing you as he works his way down your body, taking longer than necessary to get to where you really want him to be. but the feeling of his mouth covering every inch of your skin is too good to pass up, despite the way your cunt throbs and the uncomfortable feeling of your ruined panties sticking to your soaked folds.

but finally, mercifully, he must decide that even he’s had enough teasing for one night, because he slides down in between your legs, pressing a kiss to your clit over the fabric of your underwear.

you exhale as tears begin to form in your eyes, already exhausted from being edged and denied and he’s still barely done a thing. “god, fuck— hannie, please, more, please give me more, please—” you babble, your hands gripping the sheets below you until your fingers begin to numb.

usually when you piss him off it’ll take a lot more begging than that to get him to cave, but he must be feeling generous today because he just smiles, fingertips hooking into the waistband of your underwear as he slides them down your legs. “sound so nice when you beg, angel. now look at how you get rewarded when you behave.”

“wait, jeongha—”

and that’s all the warning you get before he dives in. his hands pry apart your thighs, roughly pinning your legs to the bed as his mouth wraps around your clit and he begins to suck as hard as he can. your vision goes black for a second as you struggle to process the sudden stimulation, and your brain can’t catch up quick enough with how fast and rough jeonghan’s tongue moves against you in unpredictable patterns and movements.

you open your mouth to tell him that you’re right at the edge, you’re close you’re so fucking close it feels like you might die, but your breath catches in your throat before you can say a word and you feel yourself start to crest into your orgasm without warning.

until jeonghan pulls away, and your pussy clenches hard around nothing but air. the sudden change in pace is jarring, but it’s already too late to stop yourself from falling over the edge; except the edge is gone, your orgasm ruined at just the right moment.

your chest tightens and your lungs burn, gasping for air as your orgasm crumbles away into nothingness. each pulse of your cunt sears through your entire body and your veins feel like they’re on fire, the usual pleasure from your high stopped short by jeonghan taking it away from you.

in the back of your mind you realize that of course he could tell you were close, of course he kept going and of course he knew exactly when to stop so that you wouldn’t get a single ounce of pleasure out of it, because he just knows you that well. even if you had tried to hide it, you wouldn’t have been able to: whatever jeonghan does, your body listens and obeys.

the tears finally spill down your cheeks, eyes squeezed shut as you scream in frustration, every nerve in your body on edge and every muscle tensed.

when you regain your breath enough to open your eyes again, you see jeonghan sitting below you looking smug. “oops,” he says nonchalantly, and if you had any energy left in your body you would’ve slapped him.

“god, i hate you so fucking much,” you rasp out, and he grins contentedly and presses a little kiss to the inside of your thigh before he sits up.

“you know you love me,” he giggles.

he reaches over to the table to turn off the camera and set his phone facedown before he moves out from between your legs. you close your eyes again and sigh, your whole body feeling like jelly as you breathe in and out, slowly coming back down to earth.

“you just wanna take a break, or are you done for tonight? that sounded rough,” jeonghan says, and when you open your eyes again he’s sitting next to you on the bed holding a glass of water. with a groan you force yourself to sit up as he holds the glass in front of your mouth to help you drink.

“if i could move my arms right now, i would splash this right in your face, hannie.”

he laughs, thoroughly used to your post-orgasmic insults by now. “and honestly, i’d deserve it. that was a little mean even for me, huh?”

you snort, leaning your head back against the headboard. “yeah, it was. asshole.”

he smiles, his eyes much softer now than before. “but it was hot, though,” he says excitedly. “i can’t fucking wait to watch that video. it might be my new favorite.”

you glare at him, eyebrows knitted into a pout. “i was literally on the verge of death and you thought it was hot?”

“oh, shut up. you thought it was hot, too, and you know it. that’s why you do your little brat routine every time i start recording, because you know you love it.”

you don’t have the brainpower to come up with a comeback for that, because he’s right. rough and nasty and fast is exactly the way you like it, maybe even more than he does at times. but once that feral side of you is satiated with an orgasm powerful enough to nearly knock you out, it leaves you to better appreciate the other things he’s good at: like holding you close and making you feel safe and loved, or kissing you all over and making sure he didn’t really hurt you with anything he did, or helping you drink water when your bones feel like mush.

you huff and roll your eyes at him. “can you just fuck me now, please? i’m still mad at you. start making up for it.”

he sets your empty glass down on the table and climbs back over you to gently kiss your lips, still dry from how much you were moaning. “mm, of course i can do that. your wish is my command, angel.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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#kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #jeonghan smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #jeonghan oneshot #svt fanfic #svt jeonghan

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donascozylivingroom · 21 days

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FEELING IS THE SECRET to manifesting WEIGHT LOSS

I've been losing weight eating whatever i want and not doing any kind of exercise.

And this time I've actually given up on robotic affirming because the pounds would not shed as fast as I wanted. I started visualizing, feeling it and believing what i see is me and it is REAL. Especially before sleeping like Neville Goddard says, but also throughout the day. It does help though to close my eyes and really feel it for 20 mins or so before i fall asleep.

The more you feel skinny, the more u become it, and it doesnt take ⭐️ving. It takes just feeling skinny, so ask yourself more like how can i make myself feel this more than 50% of the day at least? what do i have to imagine? how should i be moving my body or saying to myself in my mind about myself?

it takes discipline of course, but do u want it?

the key is persistance and not checking the 3d.

some people using subliminals lost 1-2 pounds per day, so not seeing a huge drop the first day u do this shouldn t be worrying.

as for food, i make sure after every meal i imagine and feel myself skinnier. for example although my belly might be over my jeans i visualize my flat belly underneath and keep on that thought/visualization as long as i can, or go to other parts of my body and visualize them skinny for 10-20 min after i eat.

wherever i am, i pretend i'm skinny and even though i don t feel it all the time, i choose to ignore it when i don't.

sometimes people around me would notice i'm slimmer but they don t say anything, and instead of asking them "have i lost weight?" i just tell myself in my mind: he/she noticed i lost weight, woohoo! after a few days they start telling me. because if i were to ask, my fears would most likely manifest and i wouldn t like their answer, so better keep it to myself so i don t regret it.

also, i don t have a mirror and i don t use a scale so i take pictures sometimes and compare them and i'm like wow there s actually a difference.

but then it kinda messes with my head a bit so i try to only take pics when i feel extra skinny.

i also imagine skinny girls eating and getting skinnier as best as i can. and tell myself eating makes me lose.

i still use robotic affirmations for other things, but not this, since i remembered as a child someone noticed i lost weight after feeling myself skinnier before sleep to "try it out" see if it works and i was super happy for that but i didn t know it takes persistance, otherwise i would be much further in my manifestations by now. lol.

#law of assumption #loa #persistence #robotic affirming #affirmations #weight loss #i wanna lose weight #i wanna be tiny #neville goddard #affirmdaily #manifesting #loassumption #feeling is the secret #thinspø

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bulkingjourney · 7 months

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"Bulking Up for the Game" -Pt 1

Tom had always been the star player of the high school football team, known for his incredible agility, lightning speed, and pinpoint precision on the field. But his coach, Coach Williams, had something different in mind for him. Coach Williams believed that to reach the next level, Tom needed to bulk up – not just in terms of raw strength, but also in sheer size. He wanted Tom to become a powerhouse, a near-unstoppable force on the field. At the time, Tom weighed in at a lean and wiry 185 pounds, and he had no idea just how transformative his journey was about to become.

The turning point occurred one day after practice when Coach Williams called Tom into his office. As Tom took a seat, Coach Williams leaned in and said, "Tom, you're already the best player on this team, but I see even more potential in you. We need you to bulk up, and I mean really bulk up – a dirty bulk."

Tom was taken aback by the request. He had never considered gaining weight in such a manner before. But he trusted Coach Williams, knowing that he had a reputation for turning promising players into legends. Coach Williams introduced Tom to a specialized training and nutrition program tailored to promote muscle gain. This program involved high-calorie meals, a variety of protein shakes, and grueling workouts that pushed Tom to his limits.

As weeks turned into months, Tom could see and feel the changes in his body. Muscles rippled and expanded across his frame, turning him into a football powerhouse. His teammates were in awe of his growing strength and size, and they could see his transformation taking shape.

However, there was one change that surprised Tom the most – his belly. As his muscle mass increased, so did his waistline. His once flat stomach started to push outward, forming a burgeoning belly. Initially, Tom was concerned about this development, but Coach Williams assured him it was all part of the plan. "That belly will give you the added leverage you need on the field," Coach Williams explained.

Tom embraced the process, even as he had to gradually upgrade his uniform. He had started with a medium-sized jersey, but as his muscles swelled, he progressed to a large, and then an extra-large. By the end of his transformation, he was wearing a 2XL jersey that barely contained his muscular frame.

As the big game approached, Tom's confidence was at an all-time high. He had become a dominant force to be reckoned with – a harmonious blend of strength, speed, and even unexpected agility for a player of his size. His belly, once an area of concern, had now become a symbol of his transformation and a testament to his dedication to the team and the sport he loved.

On the day of the game, Tom felt a new power surging through him. He was a force to be reckoned with, a blend of strength, speed, and surprising agility for his size. His belly had become a symbol of his transformation, a testament to his dedication to the team and the sport he loved.

In a thrilling match, Tom's team secured victory, and he had become an unbreakable wall on the field. His size had played a pivotal role in the win, and Tom's teammates couldn't have been more grateful for his extraordinary dedication.

After the game, Tom returned to Coach Williams, a triumphant grin on his face. "I did it, Coach," he said, patting his robust belly. "I never thought I'd bulk up like this, but I'm glad I did."

Coach Williams smiled, recognizing the pride and accomplishment in Tom's eyes. "You've become an inspiration to your teammates and a formidable player, Tom. That belly of yours? It's a badge of honor. You've shown what determination and trust can achieve."

As the season progressed, Tom's belly continued to grow, but so...

Read the rest of this story for free

#gainer stories #gainer fiction #gay gainer #gainer story #football gainer #dirty bulking

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ticklystuff · 10 days

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Nari's Bakery

a/n: inspo

wc: 901

summary:

nari's bakery

open: 12am - 2am (hours vary)

★★★★★ 5.0 (1 review)

It was one of those nights.

"Nari's Bakery", as Cyno liked to call it. Operating hours usually ran from midnight to two in the morning, depending on when Tighnari the baker, or Tart-nari, as Cyno enjoyed calling him, decided to "awaken". Freshly baked bread often made from, well, whichever of Cyno's body parts Tighnari could get his little hands on.

Today, Cyno's left arm, specifically his bicep, was the main ingredient. Cyno watched as Tighnari sleepily kneaded away at his arm, continuously applying pressure with a rolling motion. Behavior such as this was often mostly associated with felines, though it seemed like Tighnari's half-foxian ancestors managed to adopt similar mannerisms.

A fond smile crossed his face as Cyno recalled the first night he had met Tart-nari. It was their third night sharing Cyno's tiny dorm room bed back at the Akademiya and one moment, Cyno had fallen asleep cuddling Tighnari in his arms, but the next, he had awoken to Tighnari using Cyno's face to make biscuits, moving his hands across his cheeks and nose, except from Cyno's point of view, without prior knowledge, the whole thing felt very much like his new boyfriend was trying to smother him to death. After panicking did he realize that Tighnari was still unconscious during the whole ordeal, reinforced by the fact Tighnari never seemed to recall his actions the next morning. Even to this day, Tighnari refused to acknowledge Tart-nari's existence, brushing off Cyno's experiences with the baker as fabricated, but that didn't matter to Cyno; he loved both Naris equally.

"Psst, hey, Tighnari," Cyno called out with a whisper; Tighnari never responded to his nickname after all, "hey, watcha making?"

It was often a long shot as to whether Cyno received an answer, but tonight, it seemed like he was in luck. "Lunch.... for Collei....." Tighnari mumbled in his sleep as he continued kneading, a drop of drool falling from the corner of his mouth and landing on Cyno's arm.

Cyno nodded contently as he brushed away the bits of drool from Tighnari's mouth with the side of his finger. Collei was Tart-nari's usual customer, no surprise there. "Anything for Cyno?"

"Cyno...... no...."

Well, guess he was going hungry for the night. Although he wouldn't be able to enjoy the baked goods, there was another perk to Tart-nari that would never happen when Tighnari was around. Rolling over on his side to face the baker, Cyno slowly reached over with his other arm, making sure not to disturb the process, and gently pat the palm of his hand against the tip of Tighnari's ear, before rolling back flat against the mattress. Normally, Cyno would've received an earful from Tighnari for the forbidden deed, but Tart-nari was much more lenient. Cyno watched as Tighnari gave his hands a break to brush at his ear, twitching his nose in half-slumber, before bringing his hands back down to continue kneading.

Except this time, Tighnari's hands found themselves at his stomach.

Cyno's eyes immediately widened at the new source of dough and he shifted under Tighnari's fingers, sucking in his belly in hopes that Tighnari's hands would move someplace else, but they remained where they were.

"No, no, no, Nari, plehease," Cyno gritted through his teeth, feeling Tighnari's fingers start up again, digging and kneading into his stomach like before. He attempted to push his arm underneath Tighnari's hands, hoping to divert the attention back to his bicep, but Tart-nari was insistent, pressing his fingers further into Cyno's stomach to make the best bread possible, of course.

Cyno was.. very ticklish, to best put it, something that Tighnari felt the need to remind him nearly everyday ever since their time together in Akademiya. Surprise attacks to his sides, using his tail to brush along Cyno's back when they stood together, using his ears to get at Cyno's neck during cuddles — nothing was off limits for Tighnari. And now, even while asleep, Tighnari still somehow managed to sneak in tickles; Cyno couldn't catch a break.

"Nari, st- mmphpFFtt," he quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, dampening the squeal that threatened to ring out through the small room. As much as it tickled, the last thing Cyno wanted was to accidentally awaken the other, not because Tighnari would be angry with him or anything, nothing like that at all, but baker Tighnari was just so cute, and if Cyno had to suffer for it, then suffer he shall.

His body buckled under the other's hold, squirming in place as Tighnari's fingers kneaded and spread the dough each way. Occasionally, a finger would press into Cyno's navel, eliciting a squeak that Cyno didn't know he was capable of. One leg kicked out from under the covers and Cyno's arms gripped into the mattress, remaining resilient for Tighnari's sake, holding out till the biscuits were done and ready.

And finished they finally were once Tighnari slumped forward on both knees, his head hitting the top of Cyno's stomach, butt and tail pointing to the air. Tighnari was still asleep, or at least Cyno presumed, based on the snores that permeated through his shirt, seemingly in-sync with Cyno's own panted breath. With a tired sigh, Cyno took one hand and sleepily ran it through the other's hair, massaging Tighnari's scalp, feeling his ears twitch every now and then.

At the very least, Nari's Bakery was now closed for the night.

#cynonari #cynari #cyno #tighnari #genshin impact #tickling

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witchofhimring · 8 months

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Until there comes another

This series is being edited. I feel Alys came off as one dimensionally evil and the reader as a pretty flat character. So this will be heavily edited.

Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear

Pairings:

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Part 1: Queen you shall be

Part 3: Younger and more beautiful

Warnings: angst, cheating, mentions of stillbirth/miscarriages, death

How did it comes to this? A year ago you had been Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Now you were simply Lady Y/n, the King's former partner. By the Gods you had fought with everything you had. Your family and friends had thrown their support behind you. But it was no use against the Kings will. The High Septon and mysteriously died, some said of poison. Whether or not it was true mattered no, he was dead. Shortly after the King had a catspaw for the Septon. Then, in a trial you had been forbidden, the marriage had been dissolved. Twenty years erased without a thought.

The end was swift. They removed your title, your finery, your ladies and lastly your daughter. You cried out as Daenerys, newly thrust into adulthood, desperately clung to on. Your little girl was ripped from your arms. Aemond did not extend his mercy. Not even then. Your daughter was taken to a far off room, hardly fit for a Princess. You were not even given a place within the palace. A sept in the heart of the West was your new prison. Far away from any true help. The only one they felt you with was Floris Baratheon, who accompanied you all the way.

You tried to write to your daughter to the best of your abilities. But you never received a reply. Whether she ever got them was unknown to you. But you did get messages snuck in from the other lords and ladies who supported your cause. All loyalty to your husband must cease for the sake of your only child. Plotting did not cure the constant dreariness you felt locked in these ancient stone halls. They seemed to close in around you. The only people there were the Silent Sisters. Silent as the grave. You might have gone mad if you had not been hard at work to plan your daughters future and Floris.

The day, stuffed in an apple core, there was left a rolled up note. You made sure you were utterly alone before unraveling it.

Your Grace,

I have heard you plight from across the sea. In your position the situation is dire. But I have come with an offer that will please both parties, Gods willing. As the only surviving child of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen I wish to extend my hand to your daughter, Princess Daenerys Targaryen. This match will satisfy both parties and unite out houses. Please leave your reply under your mattress, one of my informants will receive it.

King Viserys Targaryen, Second of His Name

You new this was an incredible risk. It might not even by the long lost Prince who you had once lead armies against. But it was all or nothing.

You had wanted to leave this place for so so long. Three years inside its confinements and you would be leaving. Only it was not in the way you expected. Three months ago you woke with a great pain in your belly. It took hours to subside only to come the next day. And from then the decline was swift. You lost weight, hair thinned, your eyes became bloodshot. Still, you fought on. You stayed up conspiring with the exiled Prince. You had come to accept this was the way things would go.

Life was not easy for the royal family from what you heard. Alys, now Queen Alys, was vastly unpopular. It gave you a slight satisfaction to hear that people called your name during her coronation. She was finding out that being Queen was more than just enjoying power. It was carrying the complete weight of Westeros on your shoulders. From what you heard she no longer glided through the halls confidently. And her fertility, unfortunately, was no better than yours. She had lost two babies, finally, she had a daughter. A baby girl who most considered a bastard. You pitied this baby. This poor girl would not receive the same support your little girl would. She may receive the title your girl once, but it would never truly be hers.

One day, Alys visited you. It was not a total surprise. Somehow you knew that one day, when her hour was darkest, she would come. Whether to seeks advice or cursed you was unknown. You sipped the tea your belly would allow in. The moment Alys entered Floris hissed like a cat. She stood up but you held her hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure." The words were polite enough, however you remained seated in your chair. You felt no need to feel ashamed at your predicament. You had done nothing wrong and this woman knew it. Gone was the beautiful Alys of four years ago. You now saw something of yourself in her. She bent over slightly, a testament to how her breasts now ached. Her hair had lost its fine luster and hung lose about her like a mop. "Lady Floris, I will ask that you leave the room." "I will do so if the Queen requests it." She replied stubbornly. "And your Queen has just given a command." "Wearing another woman's things hardly makes you the Queen." Floris replied stubbornly. You knew this would not end well. Alys had guards just outside the door. "Floris, please wait outside. I doubt I shall be in danger." She looked ready to defy you. But upon seeing the resilient look in your eyes, finally departed. She knew from that look you would be fine. "So, you have come to visit." You said once the door had closed. Alys took a seat in front of you. Labored huffs escaped her. "The King has offered you amnesty and a comfortable retirement should you only deny you were ever Queen." So, she had come to challenge you. "I like to make a habit of telling the truth, Lady Alys. I do not think I will stop now." Alys's nails scrapped the wooden chair. "You are ill. I doubt you shall last much longer. If you were to die in favour of the King she would be well looked after." "Of course she will. Princess Daenerys is the next Queen." Alys sneered. "My daughter is next in line." She sneered. "As mine once was. And look where she is now." With a stumbled Alys lurched to her feet. "Is that a threat!" She hissed. You simply took another sip of tea. "When you married the King you set a president. Now any woman must watch out, for another just might take her place. And all daughters must fear for their place. Tell me Alys. If you fare no better than I what shall become of yours?" Alys was struggling to breath. You gestured to the tea pot. Alys drank before slumping back into her chair. "If I can not do this....if I can not give him at least this." She mumbled. Pityingly, you looked at her. "There is much, you will find, you can not give a man who has the world at his feet.

Your death drew closer. By the hour of the wolf you knew this was the end. They had allowed you this moment of solitude. One last meal before you were tucked into bed. Your eyes had become hazy, your belly hurt. You could hear Floris's sobs as the minutes went by. "Oh Floris. You are so good to me." Your cold fingers brushed her head. Tears rolled down her face and onto the sheets as she prayed to the Seven. Despite everything you felt as peace. You had done your best. Gods willing your daughter would be Queen one day. Queen Daenerys Targaryen. The words sounded so sweet to you. "Floris, please get me some paper." Floris protested, saying you needed to rest. You simply smiled. "My Lady, I shall get plenty of sleep soon." Paper was brought and you drafter your last note.

My beloved daughter,

I hour of my death comes I leave if the knowledge that you will be protected. For even if my woes the thought of you in despair gives me greater sorrow than anything I could suffer. Daenerys, you must be strong. The path ahead will not be an easy one and I am so sorry there was little I could do. As a mother it is my greatest wish to ensure the happiness of my child. I want you to be happy. Know that even gone I watch over you. I have always loved you, more than any worldly riches. You may feel alone at times, but I want you to know my love for you will never die.

Be Strong. I love you.

Queen Y/n

Y/n's hand slackened and took lost consciousness. And as her final moments drifted by she thought of a beautiful girl with silver hair, wearing a crown.

Floris's wails heralded a new dawn.

Note: Two down, two to go! I know this was probably not the ending you guys wanted for the reader but its a much better one than Alys will get. Also y'all comparing Alys to Rashta from Remarried Empress had me cracking😂.

Taglist:

@watercolorskyy

#alys rivers #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x alys #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader angst #aemond angst #aemond x reader angst

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la-undercover-latina · 4 months

Text

Knock me up already!! (AOT HC’s) Part 1

Requested by: @arlerts-angel

Summary: You tell your husband that you want a baby

Jean

“Hey baby,” you gently pull Jean’s attention from the people below your balcony. Jean had started people watching recently from there.

Your eyes had spotted a couple pushing a stroller down the street, stopping to take a break at the ice cream shop a couple buildings down, leaving you to be able to see the sleeping baby in the stroller.

“Yes Princess,”

“I want us to have a baby,” you came out and said it. There was no use beating around the bush. All that would do would be wasting time. Jean had started to sip on a glass of lemonade that you’d brought out for him when you noticed he was on the porch. Lemonade that he now proceeded to choke on when he processed the words that left your lips.

“I wanna make sure I heard you right. You want a baby,” Jean spoke and you nodded.

“Say no more. What my Princess wants, my Princess gets,” he smirked and scooped you into his arms and carried you to your bedroom that was just inside your balcony.

With only a few thrusts, he had you moaning his name, and that didn’t stop well into the night.

After a while, you two decided to take a break. For you both to recharge and for you to go use the bathroom.

There was just one slight problem.

“Baby? Can you help me get off the bed? I can’t walk,” you spoke, feeling how much your legs were shaking while laying flat on your back. There was no way you were going to try putting weight on said legs.

“Yeah one second honey,” he came in with a smirk on his face.

“What?” You asked and his smirk deepened.

“I came through on my promise earlier. The one where I told you that if you kept being a brat, you wouldn’t walk for a couple days at least,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Might want to call out of work Princess,” he told you as he scooped you up and walked you to the bathroom, setting you on the toilet.

The next day, while you were resting on the couch with Netflix, Jean had been all smiles and had a serious pep in his step. He was floating on cloud nine as the image of you, belly swollen with the baby you both made, was on constant replay. So much so that the first place he went to after leaving work, was the drugstore to get a pregnancy test.

When he came home, after checking on you and giving you kisses, he handed you the bag with the test inside.

“Jean, I can’t take this right now,”

“Why not? With how much cum I shot into you yesterday, there’s no way that’s going to come up with anything less than positive,”

“Baby, it doesn’t work that way. There’s a bit of a waiting game. We have to wait for my body to miss my next period, and then we can test it,” you explained, a smile on your face with how clueless your husband was.

“Oh. So when are you supposed to be on your next period?” He asked, a bit of his bravado diminished.

“A couple weeks from now. But I promise we can test every morning that week,” you gave Jean a smile and he kissed your nose.

“Honestly Princess, all I could think about at work today was you pregnant with our baby,”

“Me too,” you admitted and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Sure enough, a couple weeks later, as promised, every day that week, you’d taken the tests. Jean had went and got 6 more over the couple weeks between the first one and now.

After the waiting time for the test to read, you stared at the test, trying to look at it from all different angles because you honestly couldn’t tell. The one you grabbed at random happened to be one of the ones with the lines rather than the ones that you urged Jean to buy after the first one. The ones that will flat out tell you if you are or not.

Having heard your phones timer, Jean looked at the test himself, his head tilting and an eyebrow rose.

“Can you tell what that is?”

“Nope. Onto another,” you reached underneath the cabinet and grabbed another test.

After another ten minutes, you glanced at the test window. Jean had turned around to see your eyes watering, and you grabbed the test, lifting it up for him to see the clear word in the window.

‘Pregnant’

Armin

It came on your little princess’s fourth birthday, when the knowledge that your little girl was growing up finally slapped you across the face.

“What’s wrong?” Armin asked, noticing a frown between your brows as you both got ready for bed.

“It just hit me that Estelle is growing up. She’s not our little baby anymore,” you pouted and Armin smiled gently before pulling you to his chest.

“Estelle will always be our baby girl. She’s just getting a little bigger,” Armin tried to reason, and that was when you let the ball drop.

“What if we tried for another?” You asked and Armin’s eyes widened in surprise, before a brilliant smile crossed his lips.

“Please tell me this isn’t some TikTok prank Angel. I don’t know if I could handle that,”

“It’s not. It’s been enough time since I was pregnant last and Estelle is going to start kindergarten soon,” you reasoned. And like that, Armin’s oceanic eyes went to the lock on your bedroom door, ensuring it was indeed locked.

When his eyes met yours, your breath caught in your throat. Armin’s beautiful blue eyes were almost all black, consumed with the lust running through his veins.

Midway through, he had to cover your mouth with his hand.

“I can’t be sure to breed this pussy if you wake up Estelle. Now be quiet for daddy and I’ll make sure to knock you up Angel,” he told you in a deep voice and you nodded, needing to be tipped over the edge that you were now balancing on.

Sure enough, after a few more rounds of that every night, it was no surprise that the test came back positive. Armin swung you around in a circle and peppered your face with kisses.

“Now to tell Estelle she’s going to be a big sister,” you smiled brightly before bringing Armin’s lips to yours.

Reiner

It would’ve come after keeping an eye on the four teens that followed Reiner around like little ducklings. And you loved it. Specifically Gabi and Falco were the ones you had to really keep an eye on though, since Gabi was known for getting in trouble and Falco was so obviously in love- he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

When you both were in your apartment for the night, and you were behind Reiner giving his shoulders a massage, that was when you dropped the bomb that you knew all day.

“Reiner?”

“Alright this must be serious, you’re using my government name,” he’d turned around, instinctively wrapping his arms around your waist.

“So I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” you trailed off. Now that Reiner’s gentle eyes were on you, you didn’t know if you could go through with it. What if he stuck to his statement from a few years ago ‘I don’t want to bring a baby into a world like this,’

“What’s wrong Princess?” Reiner asked, seeing your hesitation.

“I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, but I want us to have a baby,” The smile that spread over your husband’s lips had you taken aback. You were expecting shock, not glee and excitement.

“Really?” He asked, wanting to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

“Yeah,”

“Well then let’s get started,” Reiner stood to his full height to ensure the door was locked and the blinds and curtains were drawn. Nobody was getting a free peep show.

And like that, over the next couple of weeks, you got a couple noise complaints, leading Reiner to stop at an Adam & Eve on his way home after the second noise complaint.

“A ball gag?” You asked with a raised brow and Reiner got the dark twinkle in his eyes.

“What can I say? You aren’t quiet when you’re gonna cum,”

“So where’s yours?” You teased, and suddenly you were picked up and swept away to the bedroom where you got to test said ball gag out.

No more complaints.

You were pretty convinced, with how much of Reiner’s seed was stuffed into you, that you were pregnant. Even before you missed the visit from Aunt Flo. So when you did miss it, your best friend Pieck had a pregnancy test waiting for you at her apartment when you came over for couples game night while waiting for Reiner to show up.

He had gotten some last minute rush paperwork that came across his desk ten minutes before he was supposed to leave, and after asking his boss, he found out that he couldn’t leave until it was done since it was time sensitive.

“I’m going to be surprised if it comes back negative,” they commented during the waiting period for the test to read the sample.

Once both of you looked at the test, Pieck wrapped you into a tight hug.

“I’m going to have a little niece or nephew!” Pieck smiled brightly.

“Yeah now just how to tell him?” You thought for a moment and Pieck got a mischievous look in their eye.

“I’ve got an idea,”

#aot #attack on titan #snk #armin arlert #snk armin #armin aot #moot asks #attack on titan smut #reiner braun smut #aot reiner #snk reiner #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein #jean kirsten smut #armin arlert smut

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