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#and also like. get out alive by three days grace.

clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 months

Note

F***ing FINALLY!!! I've been looking for stuff with a Reader saving Dogday since he's been introduced and I've only got like, three so far-

And I want this Reader to be resourceful, using anything to patch Dogday up(including scraps of Miss Delight's dress)

I hear your calls <3

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

"You're wasting precious time, angel. Poppy needs you. I'm only gonna slow you down. Just leave me here, and tell her I'm-"

"You'll get to tell her that yourself, Dogday. Because I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna help you whether you like it or not."

With a huff, you used the grabpack to wheel in a cart filled with an assortment of items you picked up around the Playcare area: doll parts, plush felt, metal bars, and even Dogday's other missing leg, which you have miraculously found in the playhouse.

You did your best to stitch them back onto his body, although the real challenge was fixing them up first--considering how badly they got mangled by the smaller Smiling Critters. Through sheer luck, you were still able to recognize them as his legs.

And conveniently, you've retained some of your craftsmanship skills from your days working with Playtime Co.

You were given some praise for being able to speedily patch up broken and torn-up toys, but you've never touched upon any of the "Bigger Bodies" despite seeing similar injuries on them. They simply never gave you that clearance, and dealing with blood and organs (and possible death) was something way above your paygrade.

But with Dogday, you were able to apply similar techniques you used in doll repair. You made patches out of Miss Delight's polka-dot dress to cover up any tears, and you created small mechanisms to put inside his legs that would (hopefully) enable him to walk again.

It was like you were performing a surgical operation..

Except, well..that's exactly what was going on.

Despite your unwavering determination--and the fact that you succeeded in reattaching one leg to him so far--he insisted that you were only putting yourself at risk trying to help him.

Hell, you nearly got torn apart by those little Smiling Critters who chased you both down, being scared off by the flares you shot at them. He didn't think you'd have enough..but by the grace of god, you did. And you escaped and found a safe place where Kissy Missy and Poppy were also hiding out.

Not only did you finally get a breather, but also a chance to help one of the few toys left here who somehow didn't lose their humanity.

Even so, Dogday still feared for your safety.

"You know..this will only enrage Catnap, right?" He rasped, choking out a wet cough. "He'll know that I'm missing. And he'll know you have something to do with it.."

"Wait.." Pausing in your work, you glanced up at him with furrowed eyebrows. "Why would he care about where you are? Or better yet..why would he keep you alive at all?"

"...because I was his favorite."

"Huh..?"

"Before the Prototype became his sole focus, we did everything together." He explained somberly. "We helped the others fall asleep, stayed out of trouble. Catnap and I..we were like day and night. Two peas in a pod. He brands me a heretic now, but...somehow, I don't believe he likes doing so. Maybe..he hasn't forgotten our friendship, after all."

'Well, stringing someone up by belts and ripping off half their body doesn't sound like something a good friend would do..' You thought to yourself, although you understood where he was coming from.

Yet it didn't change the fact you still wanted to kill that stupid purple cat. Especially after he gave you that hellish nightmare of Huggy crawling out of a television.

"I know you wanna believe there's still good in him, but..he's long gone." You shook your head. "Those critters..they tried crawling inside your body, and he was just gonna allow it all because you didn't wanna follow the Prototype's will."

"........"

Silence was your only reply, but you decided to shift your focus back on repairing the other leg. Dogday allowed you to work, no longer protesting as he instead looked at the stitches on his arms, feeling grateful yet unworthy at the same time.

Him and the others...they were all monsters. He never killed a single human in his existence (or at least none that he could recall), but he felt like he was just as terrible as those who did.

Eventually, you finished, and his ears perked up at your sigh of relief as you set down your tools and pushed the cart away. "There we go. Try to stand up, but take it slow. Okay?"

He nodded, feeling quite nervous as he looked at his legs, before he slowly pushed himself off the ground. For a few moments, he was able to stand, but he wobbled a little and had to hold onto the nearest wall so he didn't lose balance.

'When was the last time I had my legs? It's been so long...'

Then he felt your grabpack's hands gently steady him, and soon enough he could stand on his own without their support.

You smiled and retracted them. "How do you feel?"

"Much better...thank you, angel." Dogday looked down at you, the corners of his wide smile turning further upwards. "You truly are something divine. You've come to heal us, mend all of our broken pieces, even when we do not deserve such kindness. How could I ever repay you?"

Right as you were about to respond, you heard sounds of plush feet moving and turned around, seeing Kissy and Poppy entering the room.

You didn't really he'd nearly be as tall as Huggy's spouse.

"You fixed him! What can't you do?" The redhaired doll gasped in awe, hopping onto Kissy's hand before she was carefully transferred over to Dogday's paws, stepping into them.

He held her gently, smiling. "Poppy."

"It's so good to see you, my friend." She smiled, although it was quick to disappear. "I thought all of you were gone."

"It's just me now, and...I'm....I-I'm...." He began to sniffle, his voice breaking as the weight of everything that's happened came crashing down. "I'm so sorry...I tried so hard, but...I-I failed! I couldn't protect them!"

Thin streams of tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, darkening the fur along his cheeks. "Kickin'...B-Bobby..they all died because of me! I was supposed to be their leader, but all I did was lead them to their demise! I-I should have joined them in-"

"There, there..it's going to be alright." Poppy softly hushed him, patting his arm in comfort. "You did your best to protect them given the circumstances. I promise we'll have our chance to avenge them. But you must live, for their sake..and for [y/n]'s sake, too. They went through a lot to fix you up."

"I know but..I-I'm so scared. I don't wanna face him alone-"

"You won't be alone, because I'm gonna take care of him."

With another sniffle, Dogday looked down at you, feeling you gently petting his ear as another comforting gesture. Your eyes held nothing but sympathy and heartache for this poor creature. "I'm sorry, but we have to put him down. It's the only way we can move forward."

"Are you sure?" He mumbled. "He's gotten more powerful, and hungry-"

"So were Huggy and Mommy, but I saw how [y/n] dealt with them..and they're more than capable." Poppy remarked. "But now that Catnap's onto them, they'll need all the protection they can get."

"Then..I'll do my best to help." He finally declared, smiling at you.

You blinked, surprised that he was willing to stand up against the one who tortured him. But you simply nodded and smiled back, watching as he returned Poppy to Kissy, before he turned back to you and crouched down.

He enveloped you in a warm hug, the vanilla scent still seeping from his suit and helping you feel more at ease.

"Thank you, Dogday." You chuckled, hugging him back.

"No..thank you, my guardian angel. I will follow you to the ends of the earth."

#clanask #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime dogday #dogday x reader #poppy playtime poppy #kissy missy #platonic #poppy playtime spoilers #hurt/comfort

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jaeyunluvr · 2 months

Text

she loves me, she told me

his palm felt warm, wrapped around yours as you walked through the chilled evening air. jaeyun looked majestic under the dim moonlight, and you couldn't help but stare at him.

it's been almost three months since you've been spending your time as his lover, and you couldn't help but fall head over heels for him, every single day. he was the sweetest man alive, and utterly adorable. you didn't think you'd get this lucky.

despite the blissful existance of your love for him all hidden in your heart, you never told him that you loved him. of course you've showed it in subtle ways like that one time you bought a puppy plushie just because it reminded you of him. like that one time you made him a scented candle with a scent that made you think of him.

but there was something about this moment that made you want to say those words to him. the way his eyes sparkled as he spoke, the way his brunette hair strands graced the side of his forehead, the way he held your hand with utmost care like you would disappear into thin air if he ever let go.

he made you feel comfortable in your own skin, he made you feel like you were worth everything. he wouldn't trade you for the world.

you were walking towards his home, as you begged to walk him home for once and he let himself be your princess for today, only because you were so desperate. jake was talking about this and that you weren't even paying attention to him. you couldn't handle the commotion in your head and heart. you had to tell him.

you were almost at the door of his house, which also meant you had very little time to talk to him.

"jaeyun?" you spoke. he hummed in response, raising his eyebrow at you because you just interrupted him.

you felt your heart beat against your chest, you swore to god he could hear you. he turned to you, holding your face in his palms. he bent to reach your height, locking his eyes with you. you could see the concern on his face. to him, you seemed like you had a lot on your mind and it bothered him.

"what is it, princess?" he asked in the most gentle tone ever. guilt crept over you as you realized you had worried him within the span of seconds.

"i love you." you let out the breath you didn't notice you were holding in for so long.

"huh?"

"i said i love you." you said once again.

jake let out a gentle laughter, both filled with happiness and the heart flutter you just gave him.

"i love you too sweetheart." he inched towards you, engulfing you into the warmest hug. you could hear his heart beating out of his chest and you let out a giggle. he was just so adorable, it made you feel all fuzzy inside.

you both pulled away from the hug and you gestured for him to head inside. jaeyun didn't want to leave at all. he took a few steps backward, his hand still holding yours. he paused and looked at you with a-few-more-minutes-please face, a little pout gracing his lips. you shook your head indicating a no and told him to get inside before it gets too late. for a matter of fact, you didn't want to leave either.

jaeyun dramatically fell to the floor as soon as he closed the door behind him. heeseung raised an eyebrow at him and uttered a 'what the fuck', slightly concerned at his friend's actions.

"she told me she loves me." heeseung rolled his eyes in annoyance as he walked past jaeyun, continuing to munch on the macaroons he was earlier having.

just then he heard a knock on the door. he was clearly confused but opened the door to find you there. concerned flashed in his eyes again. why did you come back?

"baby what is it? did something happen?" he looked around to find some creepy guys but found none. his hands were on your shoulders and he looked at you worriedly.

"jaeyun it's nothing, relax." you smiled at him.

"then what is it?"

"i just..." a little blush crept up to your cheeks. you felt a shiver through your whole body, you were so nervous. you took a hold of his jacket as you gave him a little pull so he can reach your height. your right palm rested on his cheek as you leaned in to press your lips against his soft ones, leaving a tender kiss onto his lips.

jake's breath stopped. quite literally he was gone. you just kissed him? on the lips? he wanted to do this for so long but he was so nervous. he didn't find the right time nor the right place. his heart was beating out of his chest, he absolutely had no idea what to do.

the incident started to sink in as you pulled away and the cutest smile spread over his lips, his pearl white teeth in display. jaeyun was stagnant for a bit too long and you wanted to run away cuz no way in hell you just kissed the love of your life for the first time. you knew he liked it but you were too shy to stay there so you took a few steps back to indicate you were leaving.

jaeyun reacted way to quickly to this and pulled you back onto himself by your hand.

"y/n oh my god. do you want me to die?"he breathed out with a little chuckle. you raised a brow at him as you smiled with utter adoration for your boyfriend in your eyes.

"you should've given me a heads up, i need to prepare for that."

"you're being so cheesy right now." you laughed at him, while you hit his arm a little, the blush on your cheeks getting more and more evident.

your laugh. he loved it.

jaeyun couldn't do it anymore. he was melting into a puddle at this moment. he physically couldn't anymore and he threw himself at you, hugging your body like it was a plushie. he felt like a little kid. you hugged him back, running your palm up and down his back to soothe his excitement down.

"yn i love you so much! i love you! i love youuuu!!!"

"oh i love you too, jakey!"

jaeyun pulled away from the hug and despite his will, he told you to leave because it might be dangerous for you to get home if it's gets too late. you walked away with the widest smile, turning your head back once again, only to see your puppy boyfriend, jumping slightly as he waved his hand to you with the most adorable smile.

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nattikay · 4 months

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...hmm...just thinkin' about an Avatar "no angst" AU, y'know, like an AU where the characters who died in the first movie just...didn't? For example...

• Tsu'tey and Sylwanin are both alive and well. They officially tied the knot not long after the point when Sylwanin would've died in canon, and already have a child together by the time Jake arrives on Pandora.

• Eytukan also lives and therefore he and Mo'at are still leading the clan, though of course Tsu'tey and Sylwanin are next in line.

• Because the schoolhouse incident never happened in this AU, Grace was never kicked out of the village; her school is still running and she is on good terms with the Omatikaya.

• The RDA is overall less psychotic than they are in canon, and the Avatar Program has been largely successful in establishing diplomacy with the local clans. There is still some level of tension between the humans and the Na'vi of course, because the humans are ultimately still there to mine unobtainium and the Na'vi would prefer there was no mining at all, but in this AU the RDA is at least principled enough to not do things like bulldoze the Tree of Voices or bomb Hometree etc. (so, Hometree is still standing). Jake was never asked to spy on the Na'vi.

• Grace is actually the one to introduce Jake to Neytiri when she brings Jake and Norm along to the school one day. Neytiri is intrigued by the goofy non-scientist "warrior" dreamwalker and Jake finds himself equally intrigued by her; they begin spending more and more time together, and when Jake expresses curiosity about her way of life Neytiri just naturally kinda takes it upon herself to teach him the ways of the clan.

• Because Neytiri is neither tsakarem nor engaged to Tsu'tey in this AU, her romance with Jake is not quite as ~forbidden~ as it was in canon (and honestly they make zero effort to hide their feelings; the whole clan knows lol). The only remaining barrier is the fact that he's a dreamwalker and how that may affect things.

• Jake and Neytiri fall head over heels for each other about as fast as they do in canon; after three months Jake is already fully convinced that he wants remain with Neytiri and the clan for the rest of his life rather than ever go back to Earth, where there is nothing left for him. Even getting the spinal surgery to fix his legs no longer holds any interest for him, since of course his avatar body can walk just fine.

• By that point Neytiri begs Mo'at and Eytukan to let Jake do the coming-of-age ceremonies and become part of the clan so they can become mates. Mo'at and especially Eytukan are hesitant, but Mo'at consults Eywa and Eywa sends a sign of approval, so they allow it. Jake spends about an extra month preparing more specifically for Iknimaya and Uniltaron, and soon after completing those he and Neytiri actually get to have a proper mating ceremony. Jake does go through the permanent consciousness transfer at some point, though I haven't yet come up with the exact circumstances there...

• The Sully kids get to have more extended family! Grandpa Eytukan, Uncle Tsu'tey, and Aunt Sylwanin are all still around, along with a handful of cousins (Tsu'tey's and Sylwanin's kids).

• Quaritch never shot Grace in this AU, which means she never had to undergo the attempted consciousness transfer, which means Kiri wasn't conceived the way she was in canon. Buuuuuut I still want Kiri as part of the Sully family, so in this AU she is Jake and Neytiri's biological daughter and Neteyam's twin. She doesn't have the special Eywa powers that she has in canon, but does still have a spiritually-minded personality, and is a strong candidate for next tsakarem after Sylwanin. Grace still adores and dotes on her, especially when she shows interest in botany.

• Norm and Trudy are happy in a long-term relationship.

• There was no Battle at the Hallelujah Mountains, therefore Paz didn't die and was still around to raise Spider (undecided on how involved Quaritch was though).

• I like to imagine that in this AU Paz and Trudy are good friends, both being pilots and all. It's through Trudy that Paz and Spider become involved with folks from the Avatar program and Spider meets the Sully kids.

• Because she doesn't have the RDA-related traumas she has in canon, Neytiri is totally chill with Spider in this AU. She is mostly just curiously amused by the strange little human boy running around with his Na'vi friends.

• Spider is semi-trilingual English/Spanish/Na'vi. English is his go-to since everyone he knows can speak it, but he can also do some Spanish (Paz and maybe Trudy's influence) and quite a lot of Na'vi (Omatikaya influence, though Norm was thrilled to help when he caught wind that Spider was interested in learning). Sometimes he (subconsciously) mixes up a combination of any two or even all three and spews out mishmash sentences no one else understands immediately and has to stop and re-word.

• Because Quaritch is not the Big Bad Evil Guy the way he is in canon, Spider isn't really bothered by being called Miles. However, the nickname "Spider" somehow just stuck when he was very young so most people still call him that; it's mostly just Paz (and Quaritch) who call him Miles.

• Jake is not Toruk Makto in this AU, because with the RDA being more cooperative/less aggressive, he never needed to be. He and Neytiri are just normal (albeit well-liked/respected) hunters in the clan. Perhaps eventually a day will come when Toruk Makto is needed and Jake will have some reason to step up...but not yet. He's perfectly content being just a regular clan member.

• This has the side-effect of lessening Neteyam and Lo'ak's dramatic stunts as teenagers, because the legacy they're trying to live up to is simply "strong respectable hunter" rather than "legendary olo'eyktan Toruk Makto"

#avatar #''but without all that conflict there's not much of a compelling story so the movie would be boring'' SHHHHH #that's why this is only a just-for-fun ''what-if'' AU and not the the actual movie!!#also yes i know i said ''what if no one who died actually died'' but then Tommy is still implied to have died since Jake is on Pandora...😅#sorry about that one; tommy's death is the inciting incident for jake leaving earth in the first place so. i left that one as-is #couldn't think of a good way to work him in #maybe another time :P

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radioisntdead · 21 days

Text

Adore

Alastor x reader

Warnings:

This is short, not my best work I WILL REDEEM MYSELF. Alastor is implied to break in at the end.

Good evening folks!

APOLOGIES FOR THIS BEING DELAYED, I accidentally deleted the whole thing and then I just laid on Barnaby out of defeat and slept.

ANYWAYS HERE'S WEDNESDAY'S ANGST, or Wednesday's poor excuse for angst, the original was better.

I'll be posting another angst fic later today, hopefully, it's either gonna be with Lute or another Alastor one

Song

A-one, two, three, four

You completely and utterly adored Alastor, how could you not?

He was quite charming! Sure he was a cannibalistic murderer but that for some reason wasn't a deal breaker for you.

A side effect from being in hell probably or possibly because you were just as screwed up as he was just in a different format!

Everything you do, it sends me

You had met him while working at Rosie's emporium, Rosie had asked you to make some tea while she taught Alastor the newest slang she had gathered.

Higher than the moon with every twinkle in your eye

Turns out you both had so much in common!

Both of you had gained deer attributes after your fall to eternal damnation, had a strong distaste for the lustful cravings of the flesh, thought cannibalism was neat, Rosie was a dear friend, and held a fondness and strong preference for the years you were alive.

You strike a match that lights my heart on fire

Rosie being the matchmaker she was decided to nudge the two of you together, after all she saw how well you and Alastor matched together, and it worked! Of course it did.

When you're near, I hide my blushing face

You and Alastor fit together perfectly, like pillows and blankets, like shoes and laces.

And trip on my shoelaces

He'd take you dancing, hand gently placed on your waist when you would dance more classically, or you'd have arms and legs frailing around like a octopus when you'd give more energetic dances a try.

Grace just isn't my forté

The two of you enjoyed cooking together in the kitchen, Jambalaya, curries, biscuits and gravy, pasta, gumbo, baked breads and whatever else you could think of, you made together.

But it brings me to my knees when you say

You'd help Alastor out with his radio broadcast, by either proofreading his scripts or finding an unfortunate sinner to make an appearance with their screams.

Hello, how are you, my darling, today?

You didn't know where things went wrong, everything was going well!

I fall into a pile on the floor, deer love is hard to ignore

At least you thought so, the last day you spent with Alastor the two of you had made a lovely dinner together, you had set the table with fresh flowers, a candle or two.

When every little thing you do, I do adore

After dinner the two of you danced to some jazzy song from his era, and he twirled you around.

We're as different as can be

His hand holding yours.

I've noticed you're remarkably murdery and I'm slightly less murdery

His red eyes staring adoringly into yours.

We balance out each other nicely

You gave him a kiss on the cheek before you went to sleep that night.

You wear fancy shoes in the snow

You had awoken in the morning and Alastor wasn't there.

You assumed he had stepped out and he'd be back soon.

In mid-July, I still feel cold

But as the clock continued to tick and the red skies turned into a deeper red you were worried but you knew he could handle himself maybe he just got caught up in something? Perhaps with that TV guy he was 'friends' with?

We're opposites in every way

Hours turned into days and days into weeks,

No one had heard from nor had they seen Alastor.

You looked everywhere for him, asking around, desperately trying to find out where he went.

but I can't resist it when you say

Vox apparently tried to get him to join his little V themed posse and Alastor rejected him, rather harshly and also broke his little TV antenna while he was at it.

Hello, how are you, my darling, today?

Rosie hadn't heard from him either, and obviously you wouldn't be asking around if you knew where he was.

I fall into a pile on the floor

Weeks turned into months and before you knew it those months became years.

He was just gone, leaving only traces of his existence.

Puppy love is hard to ignore, when every little thing you do, I do adore

For the first few years you would frequently pop into his radio tower, hoping that maybe, just maybe he would be there for some reason, and when he undoubtedly wasn't, you cleaned the place up, keeping it in tip top shape.

Finding words, I mutter

Once it hit the five year mark you stopped popping in, allowing dust and whatever else to consume the radio tower untill further notice.

Tongue-tied, twisted

You stopped hoping that Alastor would just waltz on into your shared home, with that yellowed grin of his and static following.

Hoove in mouth, I start to stutter, Ha, ha, Heaven help me

You stopped looking for Alastor.

Hello, how are you, my darling, today?

Seven years, he was gone for seven years,

He was back and he didn't have the decency to even pay you a visit? You had to hear about his return from him publicly beefing with Vox.

I fall into a pile on the floor, Puppy love is hard to ignore

If Alastor wasn't going to come find you then you wouldn't go out of your way to find him either, even if that hazbin hotel where he was residing was only a 30 minute walk away.

When every little thing you do, I do adore

Alastor didn't intentionally ghost you, his absence was only supposed to be for a short while.

Unfortunately he was foolish enough to make a deal that had kept him away from you for seven long years, his dear friend Rosie had been kind enough to fill him in on your activities since his disappearance but not before scolding him harshly for not even having the decency to send a postcard.

Every little thing, ba-ba-ba-ba

He had been back for a time now, how rude of him to not pay his dearest a visit! After all you were looking for him until recent years right?

Every little thing, ba-ba-ba-ba

Alastor was someone you completely and utterly adored once.

And unfortunately he still adored you to some degree considering he was standing in front of you in the doorway of the house you had once shared, he was as smiley as ever, his grin grew larger as he saw your confused expression.

"Good evening my darl-" he was interrupted by you slamming the door in his face.

Every little thing you do, I do adore

It seems you weren't as excited to see him as he expected, oh well! Good thing for him that you didn't bother to change the locks.

Good evening folks my apologies, this is more comedic then angsty, hope you enjoyed though I will redeem myself.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you

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neon-in-the-night-time · 9 days

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we all know that canonically thalia grace likes green day... and it's basically fanon at this point (and has been for at least a decade) that nico is a fan of mcr... headcanon that all the big three kids are into alt/emo/pop punk music. percy's favorite band is fall out boy (i feel this to my core). hazel (once she gets used to 21st century technology) really likes paramore. if bianca hadn't died she wouldve been into it too

jason (doesn't know what a cd is) is the black sheep of the family and doesn't like any of them... the only music he listens to is like. whatever the fuck camp jupiter played and mario kart music

also hc that percy was the one who got nico a cd/cassette of an mcr album and that's why he's into it. and also that (going by tlt being in 2006 continuity) when thalia got un-treed percy (heard from annabeth that thalia liked green day when she was alive) tried to bond with her by getting her american idiot (which would have been released when she was a tree)

#rambles #percy jackson #thalia grace #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus

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sheisjoeschateau · 4 months

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART III

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mega plot-driven smut ahead in this part of the story. you've been warned. MINORS, DNI. 18+

***

Despite everything, you and Steve both get through battling Vecna. You both grin and bear it. You both set aside your differences when the moment calls for it.

Just like you have before. Many times.

And in the midst of it all, you can't help but wonder about your uncle. How he's doing. If he's somewhere in his bunker still, hopefully drinking less (ideally, not at all) and keeping up his phone calls with Joyce. You'd told her to keep tabs on him, and you also told your uncle to keep tabs on her. They needed each other. You had the kids and the teens, but they needed each other. And sure, your uncle has you. Always. But you have to work, and babysit, and hang around a guy who hates your guts because the circumstances won't permit otherwise.

Eddie and Robin really stick up for you. They do. They really like you. Steve can’t stand it.

Even Nancy doesn’t mind you. Honestly, she’s scared of you more than anything. Steve doesn’t care.

The kids love you. Steve won’t make them hate you. He never would. But he won’t endorse their kind sentiments about you either.

More groups are formed, along with more plans. Scary, life-threatening plans.

You stay behind with Dustin and Eddie, knowing that Steve is quietly a basket case over the concept leaving Dustin alone without having him there to protect him from all this shit, the way he has before. With the demodogs, the Russians, and everything up to this point. That kid is his brother. His son.

It’s the only time that Steve tells you thank you.

And he sincerely means it.

By the grace of some unspeakable force, you manage to not only keep Dustin alive...but also Eddie. The bats have done their damage, and you've got some damage yourself. Though not nearly as bad as Eddie. You can withstand yours with adrenaline and the sheer need to protect one of your kids and get this metalhead back to the real world so that he can get proper medical attention.

When Steve and the girls all get back to the three of you there, after all the shit hits the fan - you, Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin all manage to get Eddie back across the gate and get him majorly patched up. Thanks to Dr. Owens.

You keep Eddie hidden at Murray's bunker. You're shocked to find it empty, your worry growing more every single minute. But Steve tries to assure you that your uncle is likely fine, probably just out to eat or something. However... even he knows that is not true. Murray does not go anywhere.

"Bauman," he's saying to you, softly. So softly. Softer than he's ever spoken to you once. "He's gonna be okay. I promise. We're here, alright?"

Two days later, Jonathan and his Cali crew all show up. Nancy and him are reunited.

And you watch Steve break.

He doesn’t let it show, not really. But you see it. Both you and Robin do. You let her comfort him. He needs his best friend, much more than he needs you. Especially in this situation. You are undoubtedly the last source of comfort for him in this specific instance.

You reunite with your Uncle Murray, who has returned with Joyce and — to your surprise — a very much alive Hopper. It’s a beautiful reunion, as you all hug tightly.

You all fucking lived, bitch.

Given the new flurry of debris-snow-shit in the air, you all end up having to take shelter.

Steve volunteers his house, given that his parents fled to their vacation home and he told them he wasn’t going. They ditch him, so he has the house all to himself. This time, he doesn’t have to be alone though. He has his real family.

You all move into the Harrington House. Lord knows it’s big enough. But it’s also really tight, for two people who can’t stand each other unless there’s a really ugly monster guy waltzing around that needs to be killed along with his multi-species army of little uglies.

Given the close quarters, on top of the fact that you all can’t leave the house much unless it’s for supplies, you and Steve have no choice but to coexist.

He still resents you, especially seeing Nancy and Jonathan are now getting along again and seem to be doing better. But it's much more subdued now, and you both find a way to talk. Which happens mainly because of you, initiating.

You learn more about Steve's home life, given the pictures everywhere throughout the house. They're all pretty stiff, lacking warmth. You figured that Steve was a pretty lonely trust fund baby, and being that you're a lonely child you can relate to the loneliness that comes with that. Not the trust fund part. Just the only-child-syndrome part, which you know perfectly well forces you to either become very well acquainted with yourself...or hate yourself even more. Steve clearing did not lean into becoming his own source of reliability and companionship, the way that you did. And it made you understand him better. It made you understand why he needed to be around the likes of Carol and Tommy H. He did not know how to be alone with himself.

"I think my dad and I don't even like the same beer," Steve scoffs, allowing himself a humorless chuckle. You don't laugh with him, instead giving him a soft look. An apology with your eyes.

"And my mom, she just...I dunno. Sometimes, I wonder why she never left him."

You let Steve reveal as little or as much as he wants to. It just depends on the day.

The two of you watch out for the kids. You both go with them to visit Max in the hospital. You even initiate finding a way to get her to stay there while in a coma, thanks to enlisting the help of your uncle to help enlist the help of Dr. Owens. The kids love you for that.

Steve doesn’t love you… But he appreciates you.

A lot. He's beginning to find appreciation for you, for a lot of things.

Your uncle clocks the very niche tension between the two of you, now that you’re all under the same roof and he’s given no choice but to.

And damn, it makes him curious. He is, after all, the witch doctor of love…

Nevertheless, Murray takes his time choosing when to strike.

As you and Steve both help nurse Eddie back to health, and read to Max in her coma (which leads to both of you just simply talking), and make the kids laugh together, and even make conversation with Nancy and Jonathan (…it’s very double date ish) Murray watches his niece — and mannnnnn, is he amuuuuuused.

One night, you and Steve stay up to share some drinks with the adults. It’s the first time that the two of you actually make each other really laugh, heartily. The drinks help.

That’s sort of Murray’s plan. Vodka is, after all, the holy grail.

Even Eddie joins, along with Robin. But Steve sits next to you. Not his best friend, or the new friend he’s made in the metalhead. Nope, he sits his perfect, hunky ass that makes all the ladies drool right next to little ole you.

And damn, do you both laugh.

Murray’s never seen you laugh that hard with anyone in his life. He wonders if you’ve ever laughed that way at all.

And the way that Harrington looks at you? Especially when you’re not looking… Holy shit.

And the way you look at him the same way... makes Murray grin ear to ear like a mischievous kid with the plan to wreak havoc.

Hopper and Joyce are so settled into their relationship, and Jonathan seems to be winning back the love of Nancy. Eddie and Robin are so single it hurts, but it's legendary too. And you? Steve? Well, you guys are mortal enemies. And yet somehow, sitting here in the Harrington's living room with glasses of chilled vodka, belly-laughing over anything -- you and Steve exude more chemistry than all of them combined.

So when everyone goes to bed, and Murray catches you alone, he grills you. Not like the others. Nah, you’re family. He’ll cut you some slack.

…not much, though.

It sobers you right up.

"Do not tell me for one second that you don't think he's gorgeous," your uncle is saying in a low voice. You're both standing in his bedroom, having fetched him a tall glass of water which turned out just be a way to fucking lure you into his witchdoctor trap.

"I love you Uncle Murray. I really do. But this theory? -- is not one of your other bullseye's."

"Face it, kiddo," your uncle is smirking. "Your uncle's never wrong. You're just never the one on the other end of his lectures when he's making astute observations. You're always contributing to it. But this time? You're the leading lady, darling."

"False."

"You like Steve."

"Murray...!"

"You like Steve..."

You try to tell your uncle that everything he is saying is nonsense. Steve hates you. He absolutely hates you. Loathes and despises you, and plans to do so until you’re all particles of dust.

“Plus, he is so fucking annoying and whiny and entitled and has zero self respect unless it’s up against someone who calls him out for his shit,” you tell your uncle, gesturing to yourself on the last part. “Steve Harrington is a cocky guy who would just rather suffer in his own misery than ever see or lean into being this...this incredible man that he's...capable of being, the role model he has become to those kids, who love him, they love the human most deserving of being put first —”

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

…oh fuck.

The silence is deafening. Murray’s smirk and all-knowing glare only adds to your being aware of what you just said to him, and admitted to yourself, out loud.

“Oh…oh so we do love Steve.”

Your uncle’s words are the cherry on top of the cake you just baked, and didn’t know you had the ingredients to make.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, you and Steve both sit with Max.

"Wondering what she wrote in yours?"

Steve is nodding at the stack of letters on the bedside table. You all left them there, promising yourselves not to open them. Because she will wake up.

Lucas took it hard, Max dying. You'd been there to hold him, comfort him, along with Steve. You both watched him burst into tears numerous times, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably, despite the fact that she was somehow still here. It broke both your hearts, but you both got through it with him. Together.

And while the other kids were taking it hard too...so fucking hard...it was Steve who carried the most guilt. Remorse, anguish and guilt.

"I failed my kid," Steve had told you at the hospital once. You looked at him with a furrowed brow and concerned eyes.

"Steve, no you didn't."

His voice shook, eyes drowning in nightmarish thoughts. "I wasn't there for her. I wasn't -- wasn't..."

"You could never fail those kids. Not even if you tried."

He didn't believe you. But he wanted to. You had squeezed his hand that day, sitting in the waiting room. And to your surprise, not only did he let you...but he squeezed it back, letting your hands rest that way for an hour as you fell asleep in the seats before being woken up.

And now, sitting in one of his guest rooms while Max lay asleep in the coma still, you can see that guilt in him is spreading.

Steve is holding the letter that she gave to him, and you ask him if he’s wanting to read it.

Steve snorts. "God, you kidding? She'll wake up just to kill me before going right back to sleep."

You smirk, biting back a real laugh. “True.”

But Steve looks conflicted. He fiddles with the letter in his hands, wanting to tear it open. You know that he does.

“…want me to read it out loud to you instead? She can kill me in your place.”

Steve chuckles at that.

...but he doesn’t say no.

In fact, after biting his lip for a minute and thinking, he finds himself nodding. Yes. Please, read it to me, he’s thinking.

So you do.

You take the letter and read it to him. You read him the words that only a little sister could write to a big brother who she loves and wishes she will grow up to be like. You read him words that make him light up like a Christmas tree, yet cause him a painful ache deep within his bones. You read him a letter of love that no one ever took the time to write, let alone express, to him his entire life.

Steve fights tears. He bites them back, successfully. You’re the last person he ever wants to see him vulnerable. Hell, he can’t even see himself like that without judging his own self harshly. He can only imagine that you will, too.

He doesn’t know, though, that not only would you never judge him for that. But selfishly, you wish he would feel safe with you. Or God, someone at least. Just not Nancy. Someone who deserves him wholeheartedly.

"Steve," you speak softly.

He's staring into space, zoned out. But then, he finally looks over at you. He sees the kindness in him, and it almost takes his breath away. The way that you look at him...he just never thought you could...that you could --

"You're all of these things. Everything she wrote in this? You're all of it. And then some. You're the hero all those kids dream of being when they grow up. You're their favorite person. The one they trust, go to for everything. Even if you don't think that they do, they do."

He listens, unable to move. Speak. Breathe.

"You are...a great person, Steve Harrington."

***

That night, there’s a knock on your door. You’ve been given the guest room upstairs with no bunk mate. Unlike most of the people in the house. But given that Joyce and Hopper are together now, and El sleeps in Max’s room to keep watch, the four younger boys share a room with Eddie, Nancy is with Jonathan, Erica sleeps at her own house and Robin shares Steve’s room since she splits her time here and at home — you and Murray got the solo rooms.

Steve is now grateful for those sleeping arrangements tonight.

Because when you open the door, he’s on the other side. He looks sad, conflicted and lost. Like his mind is racing at a million miles an hour, yet can’t think of anything to say. He’s tongue tied, just staring at you expectantly…

What is he expecting?

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Is it Max?”

Something about your question makes Steve brows pinch together. Like it’s suddenly confusing him even more. But he doesn’t speak.

You wait patiently. But truth be told, you are anxious as fuck. Because damn, he’s pretty. He is so stupid pretty. And fuck it’s annoying. His lips are just the right shape in a pout, and it’s really fucking annoy —

His lips are crashing into yours before you can even finish dissecting them.

Steve is kissing you like life depends on it. Gentle at first, but eager. Determined.

And when you both pulls back -- you don’t hesitate for more than a solid 2-3 seconds, your eyes shocked while his eyes silently ask, is this okay?

Your lips crashing back against his answers — yes.

Steve is a hurricane of both madness and all things serene in the ways that he touches your body. He explores your skin with his lips and hands, as if he has all the time in the world. The curve of your jaw and neck. The jut of your collarbones. The feel of your clavicle, which leads him to the shape of your tits and nipples. He cherishes your body, hungrily exploring it. It’s heated, hot and heavy. He licks a stripe down your abdomen to the waistband of your sweatpants. The way his brown irises look up at you, all round and doe eyed, makes the back of your throat groan with need. It’s not loud or brash, nor is it strained and quiet. It’s soft but certain. Steve melts at it, his fingers curling one by one around the band of your sweatpants, his eyes still asking — please?

You’re nodding without even having to hear a word out of him. And Steve pulls.

Euphoria is the feeling of Steve’s tongue exploring your folds. It’s the sound of him sighing into your portal in pure pleasure, and the way he sucks your clit with fervency yet flicks it with supple patience. His hands knead into your thighs, one of them reaching to squeeze your hips so that he can pull himself up to you and let you taste yourself on his tongue. He wraps an arm underneath your waist, hooking you to him, asking in the breathiest of whimpers, “Please let me, angel.”

He’s getting a fistful of your hair into one of his big hands, adoring the way that you squeak a yelp. You suck on his tongue, hard, and it’s enough to drive him mad. He pins himself against you, grinding. But you sit up, keeping your bodies glued together and now using your teeth to tug on his lip and paralyze him in pure ecstasy. You take the opportunity to slide your teeth and tongue down his jaw and neck, trailing pecks and kisses along the way, and the throaty whimper he lets out makes you see stars behind your hooded eyes as you drag your tongue down his chest. The wet stripe you’re leaving glides down to his toned abdomen’s bunny trail, and as you curl your fingers around his sweatpants, you pause… letting your lips press the most fluttery of kisses to each of his scars.

Steve can’t help the shudders, sighs and whimpers that escape his lips, along with your name. It’s raw, uncensored. He clutches your hand, which you extend up to him in a greedy grab as you slowly work his pants down with your other hand. You hook your fingers onto his chin, forcing him to let go of your hand in his and look down at you. He does, and it’s game over. You watch him and never break eye contact as you use both hands to push down his briefs…

…and thank God for that — because otherwise, you would see just what you’re up against as far as pleasuring him goes.

You feel the tip of his hard length tap your chin, and you scoot farther down into the mattress — on your knees like a perfect angel. Your tongue plays with its head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum, and Steve is shaking so hard he can’t stand it. He clenches his jaw, gritting out blissful curses through his teeth. “Fuck, baby, fuck.”

You take in the intense length of him, pleasuring him until he is touching the back of your throat and nearly gagging you senseless, and the mess he is up above you — it sends your mind into a tailspin. He has never looked so pretty, eyes squeezed shut except when he’s glancing back down at you with more fondness and adoration than you ever thought possible from not only a man who hates you…but any man at all.

And when Steve is just about to cum, he begins to beg. “P-please. Wait, please.”

His hands urgently cup your jaw, forcing you to look back up at him and cease your sickeningly perfect work. He pulls, and you follow. He drinks you in with his gaze, staring into your soul, as if he’s trying to figure you out. He stares and stares, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his brown eyes searching yours like you are the most beautiful mystery he has ever needed to solve. He looks as though he might ask you something. Say something...

But he dives in to kiss you again before he lets himself.

His hand wraps around the bend of one of your knees, tugging it up so that he can hook your leg around his waist. Then he does it to the other. And before you know it, you’re straddling him.

“Fuck, Bauman, please,” Steve Harrington groans into your mouth. Then softer, murmuring against your lips as he kisses them endlessly, “please let me, please.”

And you know what he is asking. You know what he wants. You don’t have to even think twice. Lifting yourself up, lining him with your entrance, he stretches you out and the euphoric sting of it sucks the air right out of you. And Steve.

Steve is winded by the feeling of how tight your walls are, and by just how right it feels to be inside of you. You both fit. Like a perfect match.

At this point, you’re both a frenzy of fucking. You ride him – slow, hard, fast, all of it. Steve keens into your mouth, then your neck as he buries his face there — completely overwhelmed. You hold his head there, comfortingly and securely, and so fucking perfectly as your fingers tug at the ends of his perfect hair.

“I’ve got you, baby,” your voice shakes in a breathy whisper, just for him. “Let it all go.”

And Steve does. His fingers dig into the curve of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he presses the loud growl of his climax into your bare shoulder. He releases himself into you, hot and loaded, and you drip just as much onto him as he just shot into you.

As if that wasn’t enough to send you reeling — enough to make you see angels and devils and god — it’s the way that Steve shudders against you, catching his breath…and then pulls back to look at you…that renders you speechless.

His hairline leaks sweat, his face beaded with it. His eyelids are hooded, the dark brown irises dazed and daring to meet your gaze. His lips are parted perfectly — and the way he looks up at you with his tousled hair, somehow still perfect after it’s been pulled and messed with, is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Steve Harrington is so fucking beautiful. He’s an all-American boy, yet a Greek god.

The way that Steve gently brings your forehead to his, breathing against you, closing his eyes at the contact — you find yourself timidly nuzzling the tip of your nose to his. And you feel him smile against you, opening your eyes just enough to steal a peek — and that’s when you feel a deep ache in your heart and soul that might as well kill you.

Because now you realize. That is love.

Steve is love.

But you let it die inside of you tonight, not wanting to make this moment end any sooner than it has to. Instead, you let Steve entangle his limbs with yours, not daring to ask if he wants to stay. Because if you do, he’ll likely leave. He’ll realize that being in bed with you is the last place that he wants to be, and that he’s made a mistake. He’ll go back to hating you, more than he already does, and it will be the death of you. So instead, you just let it ride out however it’s supposed to.

You try not to count the minutes as Steve absentmindedly traces circles with his fingertips on your skin. Your hip bones, your shoulder blades, your spine. You tell yourself to forget that time and its limits exist as you stroke the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, your temple against his forearm, his outer arm draped over you. You tell yourself that this is it. This is heaven. This is eternity. You tell yourself even if you wake up and it’s just a dream, you’ll remember it for as long as you live. Because on the other side of death is this, and it will never end.

You let that ease your mind as he presses his lips to your forehead and you no longer fight sleep.

So when you do wake up…and find that Steve is still there…you’re shocked. But you stay that way until he wakes. He looks at you in awestruck wonder. Not confusion or regret. Just…wonder.

He props himself up on an elbow, still looking at you, deep in thought. All you can do is stare back, wishing you knew what the hell he was thinking but not daring to ask. It wasn’t worth risking this. You stay that way for a little while.

He finally breathes a sigh, whispering, “Kids will be up soon.”

You give him a soft smile and gentle nod. You can already see Dustin waking up to go knock down Steve’s door, and that’s…not gonna end well if he finds out that Steve is walking out of your room instead.

Steve contemplates god-knows-what for another long moment before pressing a quick kiss into your hairline as he rises.

You watch him stand and dress himself, your heart throbbing at the way he looks in the early morning light streaming through the windows. His body is god-like. Tall, lean and athletic. His skin has the most beautiful constellation of moles that put the entire galaxy of stars to shame. And you ache at the thought of never being able to touch them again.

He gives you a soft grin after he throws his t-shirt back on, and before you know it he’s gone.

You lay there staring at nothing, feeling yourself leak a couple of silent tears and wondering why. You find yourself afraid to get up and face whatever new reality lies ahead of you on the other side of that door.

***

thanks for reading :) comment to be added to my tag list for this series.

tags: @erastourvip @xprloki @get0ut0fmyr00m @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #dustin henderson #murray bauman #enemies to lovers trope #they're in love your honor #Murray is a schemer #sorry stancy

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 5 months

Text

Monster from the deep

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Howard Phillips Lovecraft x GN! Reader

Description: Waters of Teyvat become dangerous. Something is destroying ships. Dottore is asked to kill the monster.

Warning: OOC. Mentions of insanity, torture, religious fanaticism, animal death. Dehumanisation (Dottore refers to Reader as 'it'). Lovecraft is soft protective yandere towards Reader. English is my second language.

A/N: , if someone was waiting for full fanfic about Self-Aware! BSD X SAGAU! Imposter crossover, here we are.

______

To: Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore

Lord Harbinger,

I swear on the greatness of All Creator, if situation didn't call for that, I won't write this letter, but, I am afraid, our nations are in a dire situation.

As you must know, another ship was destroyed. Another deal fell through. Liyue will not be able to send a shipment of minerals to Snezhnaya. We lost another ship, cargo and ship's crew.

At least, until we finally have found a survivor.

He was found on a lifeboat near Liyue's shores three weeks after the ship sink. He was dying of hunger and thirst.

And he has gone completely mad.

Sailor was starting in the distance, repeating again and again.

"Ephaiagl ah mglw'nafh. C' ah mglw'nafh."¹

At first, we thought, that he was delusional, that we could save him, if we get him in better shape.

Yet, he refused to eat or drink.

He only stared in the distance. Talking and talking.

He didn't let anyone inside his hospital room.

He became aggressive every time someone tried to peek inside.

He did come out, but, always tried to return to his room as soon as he can.

We forced him to eat and drink, to keep him alive. We gave him every medicine we could think of.

He didn't become better. And he didn't become worse.

And tragedy strikes.

All-loving Creator were visiting the hospital. Their Grace light patients' mood. They felt better, after seeing Their Holiness.

One of the patients, who was staying here with his dog, feel happy for the first time in last days, after seeing All Creator. He dog disappeared, and he was feeling terrible, but, after seeing Their Holiness, they forgot their sorrows.

And All-loving Creator met mad sailor.

For the first time in weeks, he got silent.

He was staring at Creator, unblinking and unmoving.

And he committed a sin.

He dared to attack Their Holiness.

Screaming words in the strange language.

"N'ghftdrn! ah'legeth n'ghftdrn!²"

We killed sinner.

And inside his hospital room, we found a lost dog. What remains of him.

We also found this in his room.

[Photo is attached to letter. The wall of the hospital room is covered in red letters. Words makes no sense, except ones, that are written under the red drawing of an octopus-like monster. "BRING DOTTORE TO HIM"]

Lord Harbinger, It seems, that it's the monster, that destroying ships. We have heard about your victory over Ursa the Drake. Perhaps, you could try to defeat the Sea Monster as well? Liyue will send millelith and our best sailors to assist you. It will take time, because Liyue captains refuse to go to sea, so the expedition will reach Snezhnaya by land.

Wishing for an eternal reign of All Creator.

Ningguang, The Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing

_______

Il Dottore, Second Harbinger, One of the Creator's Personal Physicians, was standing on the deck of the ship. They were in the middle of the sea, moving along the trade route from Snezhnaya to Liyue.

Everything was quiet.

No signs of a monster.

Sailors were doing their job. Fatui and millelith were on observation duty, trying to catch a sign of a monster.

Yet nothing was happening.

Dottore feel anger. The damn creature asked for him, yet, it didn't show up. Cowardly vermin.

Few months ago, after the low-live Imposter disappeared, the strange monster appeared in Teyvat waters. It attacked ships, making any sort of trades not just dangerous, but straight up impossible.

Nothing could stop that monster. And no witnesses remain.

Everytime they killed another sea monster they thought, that they finally succeed.

And, in a few days, another ship got sailed.

Mora was low, and Pantalone became angrier and angrier.

The trades became impossible, and people start loosing jobs, factories started to close down.

And, finally, they have a lead, to what they are looking for. And this thing decides to hide.

Dottore clenched his fists. Everything went to Abyss after Imposter escaped.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scream.

"Man overboard!"

______

A saved man called himself Lovecraft.

And he was strange.

A tall, gaunt man, was towering above everyone on the ship. His eyes looked bored and tried. Almost empty. He hardly talked to anyone, preferring to stay on his own.

The only time Dottore saw any kind of emotion from Lovecraft, was when Fatui soldiers, after a few drinks, were discussing The Imposter.

________

"Oh, I am so jealous of Lord Harbinger! He managed to pay a part in punishing the Imposter!" proclaimed Fatui Agent (Dottore didn't care about his name), waving a mug, that was filled to the brim with alcohol, in the air. Other Fatui and millelith solders cheered.

"Yea!"

"He showed them their place!"

"Dirty parasite, how dare they impersonate Their Holiness."

The night was full of alcohol and talks.

The agent, who started talking about the Imposter, turned towards Dottore.

"Lord Harbinger, please, tell us, how you avenge Their Holiness."

Dottore rolled his eyes. The rest of the Fatui, sailors and millelith joined Agent in asking for a story. Well, one time, he can entertain them.

Dottore put down his glass of wine, cleared his throat and start his tale.

___________________________

The Dungeon was dark and dirty.

Still, too good for a creature, that were contained here.

Dottore walked down the corridor, that leads to an isolated part of the dungeon.

In the small cell, full of torture devices, it were kept.

Exact double of Creator.

A dirty heretic.

Braces on its legs had forced it to remain in a standing position all night. Its eyes were unfocused, due to a lack of sleep and enduring intense pain.

Its lying lips and mouth were now covered in burns and blisters. Before Dottore came here, the high ranking church members came, to clean its soul by pouring boiling water in its mouth.

"Well, look at this squalor. Not so confident now, are we?" with mocking concern, asked Dottore. Sinner flinched. It strained to speak with its burned throat, as it managed to croak out a response.

"want home... to friends..."

Dottore mockingly pet its head. He grabbed the fist, full of its hair, and pull. Sinner let out a cry of pain.

"Aw! This creature has friends? Well, when we are finished with it, we will go after its friends."

Dottore let go of its hair, taking a step back. He took a metal instrument from one of the small tables in the cell.

"Let me give you something, Sinner. Nice salted water for your mouth. So you won't say even more of your heresy."

_____

The crowd roared. They were cheering for Dottore.

"Hooray for Lord Harbinger! Let Creator bless you!"

"I bet, it were crying like a dirty pig, when salted water got into its mouth. Oh, my bad. I shouldn't be rude towards pigs, by comparing it to them!"

"It got what is deserved."

Dottore scoff, pleased, with the reaction.

And he felt a gaze on him.

Howard, who was sitting in the corner, looked at him.

The look was full of hate and disgust.

Howard, suddenly, became blurry.

In the next moment, the ship was cut in half.

_______

Ground was moving up and down.

The ground felt like wood.

The night was cold.

Dottore woke up. With half-closed eyes, he tried to stand up. But the ground was still moving. And his clothes start getting wetter. He felt the scent of salt.

Dottore finally opened his eyes.

He was on the raft.

In the middle of the sea.

And no ship or other crew members were in sight.

Dottore felt anger. He wasn't sure, how he got here, but, he swears to Tsaritsa and All Loving Merciful Creator, that he will find the person, who put him here, and will destroy them.

Something swam under the raft.

And someone jumped from the water, landing next to Dottore, almost sinking the raft.

Dottore was ready to curse the idiot, who almost drowned him, when he saw it.

Lovecraft was completely wet, but, somehow, dark navy, slightly wavy hair didn't look wet at all. The dull, blank, dark gray eyes met with Dottore's red eyes.

"You hurt them." there were no emotions in this voice. The man reached towards Dottore's head. A large hand grabbed Dottore's face.

A black empty holes replaced Lovecraft eyes. Octopus tentacles squeezed around Dottore.

Dottore was afraid. His fear was strange. Like it was something, that came from his ancestors. Something, that he would feel, even he was a newborn right now.

Dottore managed to gather enough power to attack.

Yet, the attack didn't do anything.

It didn't even scratch Lovecraft.

Howard put his face near Dottore's.

"You have hurt them. And I am their friend. And I will share some nice salted water with you."

Dottore was thrown in the water.

Waves closed above his head.

____

Dottore was sinking.

And a huge, octopus-like monster were circling around him.

Huge, greenish. With countless tentacles.

Monster stared at Dottore.

It became blurry again.

It changed its looks again.

One tentacle squeezed Dottore's neck and forced him to look straight at the monster.

"Ymg' lloig ah mglw'nafh.³"

Dottore looked at the monster.

And screamed.

Seawater filled his mouth.

______

After leaving Dottore near Liyue's shores, Lovecraft start swimming to their base.

To a hidden cave, where a portal, that leads back to their new world, were located.

Lovecraft reached the cave in a matter of minutes.

He took a special trap from the water, where three kois for you were swimming.

Lovecraft stepped into the portal.

_____

You were standing near a big fish tank. You carefully observed Teyvat fish, that Lovecraft brought you every time he returned from Teyvat.

You flinch, remembering Teyvat. You didn't have physical scars, thanks to Yosano, but, you have plenty of mental scars.

You heard familiar heavy steps.

Lovecraft walked inside the room. He noticed you and walked closer. He holds the trap with fishes towards you.

"For you."

You mumble a little'thank you' and took the trap, immediately releasing fiches into the fish tank.

Then, Howard hold something else towards you.

A familiar mask.

You froze, looking at it.

"For you. I made him lose his mind. He won't hurt anyone. He will never hurt you. I won't let him."

With shaking hands, you took Dottore's mask. Tears run down your cheeks.

"Th-thank you... Howard..."

A big hand carefully cups your cheeks. Lovecraft wiped away your tears.

"Don't cry, Treasured Guiding Light. No one will hurt you. And the ones, who dared to hurt you, will pay."

____

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He doesn't drink. He's only howling this words, if it's even words."

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"Let's call for the All Creator. Their Holiness might help."

______

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"Someone, put a gag in his mouth! He is disturbing other patients!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"AAAAAH!!! Dear Creator! He bit my fingers off!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"He is getting away! Lord Dottore, stop!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh! Ymg' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁵"

"He is attacking Creator! Stop him!"

_____

Dottore was standing in the middle of the same cell, where you were kept in back then. He was forced to stay in standing position. His red eyes were bloodshot. His mouth was covered in burns and blisters. He was staring at the wall.

His screams were filling the night. He doesn't care about burned throat. The only important thing in his life were the words he was repeating.

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

______

In a real world, you were sitting next to Lovecraft.

Both of you were eating chocolate ice cream.

You leaned against Lovecraft's side.

Big hand softly pet your head.

"Y' ahnythor ymg' nnn, gokar'luh. Y' ymg' ephainnn, gokar'luh.⁶"

You smile slightly.

One day, you will heal completely.

And your friends will be with you for every moment of your recovery. And for every moment after you heal.

________

¹"Future is dead. We are dead" R'Lyehn (Cthulhu language) I was using this translator.

²"Monster! Lying monster!"

³"Your mind is dead."

⁴"I must die"

⁵"I must die! You must die!"

⁶"I must protect you, treasure. I will protect you, treasure."

______

Tag list: @withered-blossoms

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #yandere #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #imposter au #Self-Aware Howard Phillips Lovecraft #Lovecraft x reader #bsd lovecraft #lovecraft bsd #dottore #il dottore

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tragedy-for-sale · 3 months

Text

Bedrock Headcannons: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Bedrock headcannons are headcannons that I regard as a fact in the personality of a character I write about. They range from small details to a huge part of a character's backstory. These headcannons are a constant underlayer in all of my fics that involve these characters.

﹄『❝ Obi-Wan ❞』﹃

He cut his hair shortly after the war begun because Anakin made a comment he looked like Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan couldn't handle it.

Obi-Wan is very quiet and not just in the sense of him not talking a whole lot. But his steps, the swoosh of his robe, the smile in his eyes. He moves with grace which results in many people being taken off guard when he's in the room, as if he just appears. But he's also quiet in the way that you'd never know he was crying if you couldn't see his face, quiet in the way of showing love through always having snacks on him for Anakin, Ahsoka or any of his men. Whoever asks him first. He's quiet in pain and agony, in love and passion.

Obi-Wan feels extremely bittersweet about Dooku. He remembered how highly Qui-Gon regarded him, how they'd go catch up at a diner and how Obi-Wan always begged to go. He never knew the Dooku that Qui-Gon did and Obi-Wan has a hard time understanding how his master was trained by someone so vile. Everytime he faces the Count, he remembers Qui-Gon, and he remembers how much his master cared for this man that is trying to kill him.

He loves Coruscant in the rain. When he was younger, Qui-Gon would take him up to the roof of the temple and they'd talk until they could see stars. But if it was raining, they'd be outside splashing each other until they were soaked.

He doesn't go up there as often anymore, but the first year after Qui-Gon's death, Obi-Wan was missing all day. It was Quinlan Vos who found him, he was the only person still alive that knew about his hiding place.

Obi-Wan's 18th birthday was spent out on the streets of Coruscant. He snuck out with Quinlan Vos and Kit Fisto. The three ran into trouble and at the stroke of midnight, Obi-Wan was in tears, desperately hoping his friends would find him.

He was sent to Mandalore with Qui-Gon soon after.

Obi-Wan will go get tea with Padme when Anakin is still out in space. He doesn't say he checks on Padme to Anakin, but he'll say he caught Padme and they chatted for a while and that she's doing well.

During down time, he wears heavy robes because Obi-Wan is cold all the time. Especially when on the Negotiatior. If he's able, he'll always go sit in the sun, feeling the warmth on his face.

As the war progresses, the toll of it starts to affect him more and more. He starts to feel things more deeply then he ever had and he finds himself drowning constantly. Fear he's never known paralyzes him and he can't talk to anyone because there's nothing anyone can do. He's going to drown and he can see all the people he loves playing in the water not noticing he's been swept up by the tide.

Dex's Diner has been Obi-Wan's place for years, he brings only the most important people in his life there. Dex basically watched Obi-Wan grow up, he knows his favorite book, his deepest pain and insecurities, and how many times he's fallen in love.

Obi-Wan takes Cody anytime they're on Coruscant for leave. One night, it was late and after close, but it was in that little worn down diner that Obi-Wan and Cody celebrated their marriage, slow dancing to whatever jukebox tune was playing and holding each other tight.

After Order 66 happens, Cody feels drawn to the diner, he sits there for hours. Dex knows better to assume the identity of this helmeted man, but he always sits in Obi-Wan's booth and watches the door, expecting the love of his life to walk right in and apologize for being late. But Obi-Wan never comes, and there is never an apology.

﹄『❝ Obi-Wan ❞』﹃

#Obi-Wan is probably one of my favorite characters to write #choosing what headcannons I think the most important was super hard #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #commander cody #ahsoka tano #star wars #clone wars #the clone wars #sw #codywan #Bedrock Headcannons

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writingbyshiloh · 1 year

Text

Cautious yet Optimistic and Graceful Part 2

Part 1 & Part 3

CW: Morally gray reader, F!Reader, John Wick-type universe (ie, killing, the reader thinks about past injuries from fights. training not descriptive). Not smut but suggestive thinking from both Vincent and the reader, mutual pinning, and worldbuilding but no description of the reader. Smoking, a nonsexual cigarette burn on the reader, brief drinking. MAYBE OCs (Fictional staff for the fictional hotel). NO BETA

Summary: The Marquis de Gramont still annoys you. But he needs help from you(r hotel). Like a good manager, you help.

AN: PART 2 everyone!!! Thank u for the likes/comments/reblogs! This takes place a few months after part 1. IDEK if this is ooc the man had like 30 minutes of screen time overall and I’ve been writing this for a week. I read it a few times for spelling but something got messed up copy and pasting and a para or 2 got dropped. Part 3 will be out ???? soon(ish)

Something about today had his words bouncing around in your head. Out of all the ways to describe someone, he narrowed it down to three (well technically he used six).

Cautious. Sure, you can see that. Out of a love of being alive, you tried not to take any unnecessary risks in your fighting days. You also tried to avoid having a marker whenever you could. There was one in existence with your blood on it. A favour for someone you thought was a friend. You held up your end, the bloody fingerprint stored in the New York Continental as proof.

Optimistic. That also makes sense. You actually enjoy what you do, loving being part of the criminal underworld before and now. You haven't been the manager for too long but would already die for this hotel.

The part that was throwing you was graceful. You didn't think you were that graceful physically. You have scars to prove that you've taken a hit, slash, or burn many times. Did he mean gracefully with people? Camille did so much for the hotel, you just deal with regular hotel things (like getting Monument Historique status for a collection of French weapons, take that, Vincent). The other part was implanting rules from the high table. Maybe just being graceful and polite when you were resisting the urge to claw your eyes out.

It could also be flirting. You felt he wasn't the type to hit on someone out of the blue. Sure he was smart and confident, but it seemed like too big a risk for him to take. Unless he is just a playboy, which is something you find yourself tempted to google twice a day.

You would rather die than admit it, but you almost like when he called you Mademoiselle. Almost. It was like a nickname, plus it brought out his accent more. When you found yourself enjoying.

To make things worse Camielle caught on to your crush immediately. While embarrassing, it did show how clever she was and you were glad she was the concierge. Her knowing also gave you an excuse to just tell Vincent your direct number, so Camille would stop reminding you how frequently he called.

You love the bar in the hotel. It is beautiful, decorated in an Art Nouveau style, with large windows allowing for the sun to filter in during the day. You were almost pleased that Vincent asked to meet you there, allowing you to subtly show off your business.

Finding him at the bar wasn’t hard, no one else was wearing a dark green three-piece suit, complete with a complexly tied tie and their coat of arms pin. He looks good but tense, one long leg crossed over the other. Plus, you could see Chidi and another guard in their gray suits keeping an eye. You were thankful that you took extra time this morning on your outfit.

You slid into the chair next to him, after shaking a few hands with other big names down in the bar for a late-night drink.

“I hear you have a problem.” You say, while not knowing the full details, just that he wanted to meet you in the bar and something was wrong. It kicked your heartbeat up, even if you only told yourself it was the stress of him being here.

“Correct.”.

“I’m sure you know because of your love of rules, but I can only help those who are using the hotel services.”

You didn't care that much, and would absolutely bend the rules to do him a favour, but couldn't resist a chance to get a dig in.

The Marquis pulls out two gold coins and slides them across to the bartender. He orders a top-shelf spirit before his eyes cut to you. Now he's buying you a drink in your own hotel. You would want him to buy you a drink in a different situation but at least he didn't order for you. That may cause you to actually kill him.

Clearing your throat you order your usual, quietly thanking the bartender when the drink was placed in front of you.

The bar wasn't loud, but he dropped his head towards you so you could hear him better and to give the conversation some privacy.

“You have a cartographer here, no?”

You nodded. The cartographer is excellent. He had blueprints for buildings past and present, as well as the catacombs. He also had knowledge and keys to abandoned buildings if something had to be desponded and not be found.

“How soon do you need him?” While one of the best, he was away for his daughter's wedding

“Tonight.”

You took a small sip of your drink. You could probably get the information he was looking but you wouldn't be as efficient.

“While we do have a cartographer, he's gone to a family event. If your plans are that urgent I can try my best to fill in.”

Content with your answers, Vincent leaned back into his seat taking a swig of his drink. You took the finishing sip of yours before pushing out of your chair.

“I have spare keys in my office. I’ll meet you back here in five.”

For how commanding and prideful he is, you never expected him to need the services from your hotel.

The maps room was fairly boring. Three out of the four walls were filled with lockboxes to various maps. Blueprints, and documents for France and even some other countries nearby.

“Are these your beloved catacombs?” The Marquis asks, studying the paper taped to the wall. You asked the map maker for more information and for ideas on what you could do with them.

You hum in agreement, deep down thrilled that he remembered such a small part of your conversation ages ago.

Your eyes jump over the numbered lock boxes in front of you, trying to find the one he needs.

You half expected him to help you pull out maps and building plans, a blend of chivalry, showing off his height, and getting under your skin. He didn’t, letting you struggle with the lock instead.

Vincent knew he should help you, but the way your back was arched as you tried to open one of the lockboxes out of the dozens was more interesting. His gaze moved over your legs, before looking at your ass in your skirt.

Feeling the lock give a turn to the side, you peek inside the box to make sure the plans were there. Hand sliding in, you pulled the thin tube out, double-checking the label on the front to make sure it is the one you need. Leaving the box unlocked you turn to face Vincent, a triumphant grin on your face.

Maybe your grin and pride in getting the correct documents were a bit unprofessional but he didn't care. Not since the small room amplified the smell of your perfume and how the spent the better part of the last five minutes checking out your legs.

Uncapping the tube, you pulled out the blueprints and spread them on the backlist glass table in front of you.

“Here are your prints,” you state awkwardly. You're not sure why he needs them, and why he personally came here. Chidi is keeping guard outside the map room, despite you repeating the hotel policy of no business.

The Marquis nods in response already focusing on the table. You flatten a small map from the tube in case he needs context on the area. Not likely since he already knows what to look for, proven by his notebook and the constant sound of his pen against the paper taking notes.

Watching him study the map may have been alright at first, but three hours later you are tired. There are only so many times you can look at his hair and wonder if he would get mad if you run your hands through, or gently tug it. Or what his hands would feel like, especially with his signet ring.

The grandfather clock tells you that it's only 2:36 am but you feel like it's later. Even Vincent looks slightly less than perfect, hair falling out of place from where he had gelled it that morning.

He is a guest of your hotel so you're going to keep helping him no matter how long he stays. Just with a bit less optimism.

“Mademoiselle?” Your eyes snap to his face at the sound of his voice, pulling you from your thoughts.

“You look tired. You should go to bed,” he comments.

Wow. Thanks, you think.

“I’m okay. I’m happy to stay here as long as you need,” you say while hoping he leaves soon. “How are the plans going? The cartographer can help you with the finer details when he gets back.”

“That is not necessary. I have all I need here.” He slowly stretches and starts to stand. You never considered it but being hunched over the table must have been hell on his back given his above-average height. Finally seeing your chance to go to bed, you quickly make it over to the door, opening it for him.

“Merci, again.” He thanks you as if this is not your job.

“Do you want me to walk you to the main door?” You have all your floor plans memorized.

“We are fine.” He replies.

He looks at you and you can't read his expression. He's less tense, obviously getting what he needed from the plans.

“The high table did a good job making you the manager.”

You feel pride swell in your chest, despite the exhaustion you feel behind your eyes.

“Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle”

“Bonne nuit. Bon matin.” You quietly wish him as he leaves, wasting no time putting the plans away and locking the map room door.

You let out another exhaust of bitter smoke, watching it curl away on the cool night air. You didn't start smoking in Paris, but dropped and picked the habit a few times.

“Fumes-tu, Mademoiselle?” a voice behind you makes you flinch. You didn’t tell anyone that you have a secret smoking place, let alone that you went out to smoke.

You spin around before relaxing at the sight of the Marquis, clad in a dark suit, his signature pin on the lapel reflecting the light.

You nod, before realizing he probably can't see you well under the lights in the alcove. He is by your side quickly, long legs carrying him the short distance.

You tip your head to the small table, where your rolling papers, tobacco and other smoking paraphernalia sit in a silent offer. Vincent looks at the table before facing you again. Guess he's too fancy to smoke you assume while taking a drag.

You turn your head to blow out more smoke, careful not to blow it in this direction, a hard feat considering he was extremely close to you. The smell of his cologne drifted under the smell of smoke.

You move your cigarette down and out to the side, fully ready to see why the Marquis interrupted you. Watching his face, his eyes dipped down to your lips and then back to your eyes almost a silent asking. The smooth and sophisticated era was still there but there was uncertainty under it.

You slowly leaned closer, not wanting to make the first move, but you want this to happen. He hand-cupped your face, the cool metal of the ring nice as he shifted closer, leaving a small gap for you to make the final push to kiss him. Just a few more inches and then -

Pain. A sharp burning pain on your pinky finger.

You jerk back, trying to examine what happened. Your cigarette slipped while you were distracted and the glowing embers of the end dropped only to land on your pinky.

“Shit. Sorry,” you apologize, letting out a nervous huff of a laugh while holding up your burn. The Marquis was unreadable, hand withdrawn. Does he think you rejected him?

He reaches for your wrist and you let him take it. Slowly he brings your hand up to the outdoor lamp to inspect your burn. The stinging has subsided but you are sure the flesh is a bit swollen.

With his free hand, he takes the offending cigarette and brings it to his lips. You can't help but stare, cigarette burns long forgotten as you watch him take a deep inhale, before exhaling over your head, so no smoke blows in your face. Part of you regret not making the final push to kiss him, while another hopes he takes another puff.

Vincent brings your cigarette down to examine it in better lighting before placing it back in your hand, still firmly in his grasp.

“It is not a well-rolled cigarette. It is too tight.”

There it is you think. The classic Vincent snark. But you secretly hope he rolls one so you can watch his hands and watch him smoke it.

“You don’t have to smoke it.”

“I just wanted to give you this.” He reaches into his suitcoat pocket, retrieving a white envelope. His hands brush yours while you grab it.

You know his handwriting from the time with him in the map room, and you could easily tell he wrote your name on the front.

“Thank you?” you weren't sure what was inside but you were being all the things he described you as.

“I will go, and let you read it.”

You watch him leave, thoughts racing too fast to try and save the situation.

Do you call out after him? Does he think you rejected him? Maybe not because he still gave you the envelope.

You ash your cigarette before collecting your things and going back to your office. Maybe things would make more sense there.

Taglist: @heartrot666

#ONCE AGAIN ITS DONE !!!!! wooohoooooo #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #Vincent de Gramont x reader #john wick movie x reader

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tired0artist · 1 year

Text

| messenger of death - banshee!jaskier |

-----------------------------------------------

That’s when he felt it.

That’s when he smelled its stench .

Death and blood .

He stopped briefly, claws digging into a tree’s bark as his lungs and throat squeezed with need.

Finally he did it.

He screamed for the first time in almost three days.

The forest echoed with the terrifying sound, making every living being within it, fall silent in fear.

Julian sighs and moves to wipe the tears that escaped his eyes, when something catches his attention. A distant shout of a panicking man.

“JUST TELL US WHAT IT WAS, YOU MUTANT SCUM!”

He furrows his brows and immediately starts moving towards where the shout came from. He remains in the trees when he sees a small Nilfgaardian camp. There are sixteen of the soldiers dead on the ground. No. Not dead. More like massacred .

There’s seven of them left standing and on guard, while one of them talks to a bound man and girl. Julian’s dead heart stops and he almost falls off the branch.

Geralt and Ciri .

He feels ready to cry in happiness at the knowledge that they’re alive and well. That is until the shithead that’s interrogating, his Witcher hits him. Geralt grunts, clearly hurt but still manages to glare at the soldier.

“Leave him alone ! Please ! He’s hurt !” young Ciri screams, tears in her eyes.

“Shut up! Or you’ll lose your tongue!”

Rage consumes him.

Julian grips his sword that he very rarely uses, as right now he can’t risk screaming with Geralt and Ciri there. Then he drops himself from the branch, landing in the middle of the camp, his hood concealing his features.

“What the fuck—?!” one of the startled soldiers curses, moving to attack Julian.

He raises his hand and grabs the blade of the sword that's aimed to strike him. Julian’s own blood paints the blade but he doesn’t care. Raising his head up, he lets the soldier see his face.

The Nilfgaardian pales and his body shakes as he asks “W-What are you?!”

Grinning madly, as the cornflower irises seem to be glowing in the pools of red that surround them, Julian responds with glee “Your destiny.”

Horror consumes the soldier, but not for long as Julian, let’s go of the sword and draws his own, just to cut off Nilfgaardian’s head with a graceful spin.

All hell breaks loose after that.

Seeing their companion dead, the others snap out of their shocked states and attack. Julian kills in the same way that Jaskier used to perform. It’s beautiful and graceful, he looks like he’s dancing . He looks like he was born to do this.

And Julian certainly was.

Jaskier not so much.

He leaves the interrogator for the grand finale.

“Please! Please, I beg of you!” the soldier beggs, the smell of piss coming off of him, irritating Julian’s nose.

Stalking forward he cuts off the man’s hand first. It was the same hand that he hit Geralt with. Ignoring the tortured screams of the man, he lifts the limb and waves it around hissing.

“Just so you know, if you haven’t hit him. You would die with it attached to your body.” then he nodded towards the tree where the two were still bound “Because you see. They’re mine . And no one will touch what’s mine . Actually. I should take your tongue as well.”

“ Please !” the man whimpered.

Julian’s eyes narrowed as he threw the hand aside, before raising his sword and only responding.

“ She also pleaded with you and I’m going to ignore you like you did her.”

With that, he buried his sword deep within the man’s chest, not looking away from the man’s dying eyes.

Silence.

Everything was silent .

Julian finally raised and fixed his hood, before glancing at Geralt and his child surprise. Only for his heart to break further.

Ciri was shaking, her green eyes wide with fear as she stared at him. The smell of fear was thick around her… and Geralt. The Witcher was glaring daggers at him, doing his best to get out of his bounds to probably do everything he could to protect the girl.

Ah yes.

He was a monster, wasn’t he?

-----------------------------------------------

PART TWO from “The Ghost of You” on ao3 by TypicalNerd98.

hi! so this is my version of banshee jaskier from my geraskier fanfiction. this was so fun to create! i’m working on adding backgrounds to my works and this was a perfect opportunity! anyways, i hope that you like it and that you check out the story, which i am officially getting back to writing <3

#geraskier #banshee!jaskier #creature!jaskier #monster!jaskier #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #netflix witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction

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electronicwitchcollection · 6 months

Note

What people in bleach do you headcannon as sugar daddy/mommy?

I. Love. This. Ask! After careful deliberation, I’ve decided on the top three!

Shunsui

If this man doesn’t just scream “sugar daddy” 😫

-Sugardaddy/baby arrangement is perfect for this man, all the perks and benefits of a relationship, romance, intimacy, and companionship without any of the commitment or responsibilities. -Has a huge fortune, what better way to spend it than to lavish you with gifts?. -Gives an allowance as well as gifting you pretty things you’ve mentioned in passing. -Loves to buy you lingerie, anything he can rip off you later -While he will take you out for meals and drinks, he prefers your company at home; somewhere private and relaxing where he can spoil you with his attention. -Hearing you call him Daddy turns him on beyond belief. -While it started as a way to get sexual gratification, Shunsui learned to appreciate your presence, and would sometimes just ask you to come over to spend time together in his garden, where he would lay his head on your lap as you run your fingers through his hair. -Jushiro knows of your arrangement and is very sweet to you when you meet. -He is very easy going and charming, he made it easy to get into the arrangement without any awkwardness. -Likes to see you around three times a week, more if he can. -when he’s called away for work, he’ll arrange flowers and chocolates to be delivered to you.

Aizen

-I think this is the only type of relationship his lordship would adhere to. -It helps him to feel superior, having you dependant on him. -He will have a list of rules for when you are in contract with him, such as no excessive alcohol, no public scenes, no other men can grace your bed -As well as an allowance, Aizen will pay for weakly maintenance, nails, hair ect. You need to always be looking your absolute best, so to fit in with his perfect image. -He enjoys taking you shopping, to only the finest high end stores. He will dress you in the finest silks, custom made to hug your figure flawlessly. -Will take you to the most expensive restaurants, in your beautiful dresses. He enjoys introducing you to the finer food and drink, showing off his impeccable taste and ability to indulge in such luxury -Is always a gentleman, will pull out chairs and open doors. -Likes to have intellectual conversations over dinner, doesn’t care much for personal tidbits and getting to know you on a deeper level. -In the bedroom he requests you call him Aizen sama, his name is the greatest of turn ons, he is far above the title of “daddy”

Daddy Isshin

-I think Isshin got into the sugar daddy/baby life when his sexual urges became too much. -Urahara recommended it one drunken night as a joke (was insanely curious and a little jealous when he heard he got himself a sugar baby, but wouldn’t pay for one himself 😂) -He felt like this was the only way to get the gratification he sought, while also not betraying his wife. -His body had needs, but his heart would always belong to her. -I think after the first few awkward meetings, Isshin discovered he was MADE for these arrangements. -Isshin as a sugar daddy would be fun. Dates would include dancing, concerts, cinema, festivals. He would come alive in your company, being funny and charming, proudly showing you off on his arm. -You would go to quaint little cafes where you could have engaging conversations. -Isshin would pay for everything, including an allowance you would get per meet. -He wouldn’t ask you to look a certain way or wear anything special if you didn’t want to, but will happily gift you spa days or pay to get your hair done if you were to mention it. -Always brings you flowers. Bought you a teddy bear with a little doctors outfit. -He would see you often, especially as his children got older and he spent more time at home alone. -Out of respect for his wife and to keep his children blissfully unaware of his social life, Isshin would pay for hotel rooms or spend the night at your home. -He doesn’t like being called daddy, reminding him too much of his young girls. He LOVES however, when you call him doctor. -Sex is just as fun. He enjoys role playing (doctor/patient is a favourite. As well as collage professor/collage student) he’ll crack dirty innuendos to get you laughing, tickle fights often lead to foreplay.

#Bleach #bleach headcanons #bleach fandom #isshin kurosaki #shunsui kyoraku #aizen sousuke #daddy shunsui #daddy isshin #Daddy Aizen #bleach fanfiction #Asks

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wheresarizona · 1 year

Text

Learning to Live Part 14

summary: Javier gives you a tour of the ranch and introduces you to the animals. It’s no surprise when you end up mostly naked in the hayloft.

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, Dual POV, Soft Javier Peña, Rancher Javier Peña, romantic comedy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), anal play, breeding kink, praise kink, some Papí’s, some spanks, multiple orgasms, so much fluff, feelings and emotions, (1) horse bite, (1) human bite, Chucho telling stories about Javi as a child, Javier being sweet with animals, Javier getting cockblocked, Javier looking like a whole ass meal in plaid flannel)

Pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 16k+ (I’m sorry! But I promise it’s entertaining)

a/n: I’m alive! Sorry about how long this took. Life has been kicking me in the ass, but I’m hoping things are settling down. Thank you for your patience! This chapter got too long, so I have one more at the ranch to round out this arc, and then we’re going forward in time to hear some words we’ve been looking forward to. I hope you enjoy! Big thanks to @juletheghoul for being by my side through all of this and @invisibleismyname for betaing! I love you both.

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They were sitting at his father’s dining room table, Javier forking another bite of pasta into his mouth, unable to stop the appreciative groan as the flavors hit his tongue. He’d never tire of Cielito’s cooking, she was too fucking talented, and he was positive she could do it professionally if she wanted. Honestly, there wasn’t anything she’d make that he wouldn’t eat, she could boil his leather shoes, and he’d happily eat them, because somehow she’d make them taste fucking incredible.

Cielito was a fantastic cook, and from how his father had gone for seconds with him, it was safe to say the older man agreed. It made him smile, watching her visibly relax, a beaming grin on her face when they’d served themselves another helping.

Chucho had told her repeatedly throughout the meal how good it was, easy conversation flowing between the three of them, his father getting to know his girlfriend better while also doing his best to embarrass the fuck out of Javier with stories of him growing up. Some of the shit he couldn’t even remember, feeling the flush on his cheeks, but it was all worth it when he saw the delight on her face.

“I should have made more garlic bread,” she said when both men reached for the last piece at the same time, Javier letting his dad have it.

“You made more than enough, baby,” he said, setting his fork down to squeeze the hand she had resting on the table beside him.

“Are you sure?” she asked with a smile. “I thought I made enough for your dad to have leftovers, but we demolished the baked ziti.”

It was true. There was hardly any pasta left in the casserole dish, and the side dishes of salad and garlic bread were also gone.

“My food has never been safe from Javi,” his dad mused, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin after swallowing his last bite, their attention turning to him. “Since he was muy pequeño (very tiny), he’s loved food—especially his mother’s. There was a dinner when he wasn’t even a year old. Antonia had made her special carne asada that she marinated for over a day and was always a special treat. She’d served up our plates, Javi sitting in my lap, drinking his bottle. We’d closed our eyes to say grace, and when I opened them, the little guy had the carne from my plate in his mouth—un pequeño ladrón (a little thief).” He chuckled. “Makes sense he’d steal my leftovers, too—un gran ladrón, ahora (a big thief, now).”

“Next time, I’ll make an extra dish just for you, Chucho,” Cielito said, leaning over to squeeze his dad’s arm.

“Thank you, mija.” His father looked delighted, patting her hand.

“Why does he get his own?” Javier asked, looking at her.

Her eyes met his, amusement etched on her features.

“I cannot believe you are jealous that I’m offering to make your dad food when you, sir,” she said, moving to poke his arm, “eat my food practically every day. Learn to share.” She glanced at his dad. “¿Cómo se dice ‘greedy’ (How do you say greedy)?”

“Codicioso,” Chucho answered with a grin.

She turned her attention back to him.

“Eres un ladrón y codicioso (You are a thief and greedy),” she said, poking him again, and he frowned. “Pero (But),” she added, eyes sparkling, leaning over to press her hand against his cheek, “me gustas mucho. Eres mi ladrón codicioso (I like you a lot. You’re my greedy thief).“

He couldn’t help but smile, turning his head to kiss her palm.

“Es que tu comida es tan deliciosa,” his words were muffled in her skin, his eyes locked on hers, “no me puedo controlar.” He kissed her palm once more before facing her again. “It’s just that your food is so good I can’t control myself,” he translated into English. “I never wanna fucking share, Cielito.”

“As the lovely lady said, codicioso, mijo (greedy, my son),” his dad said, shaking his head. “Dejar que un viejo pase hambre (Letting an old man go hungry).”

Javier raised an eyebrow at the other man.

“You don’t go hungry, Pop,” he said, picking his beer up and waving it a little as he spoke. “All the restaurants in town know your order without you having to ask, and we both know you can cook for yourself. Mamá made sure of that.” He raised the bottle towards his dad before bringing it to his lips, taking a long pull.

“That may be true,” Chucho said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d still deprive an old man of a delicious home-cooked meal? You have to learn to share, mijo. ¿Qué harás cuando tengas hijos (What will you do when you have children)?”

Javier’s eyes went wide as he choked on his drink, setting his bottle down as he sputtered, coughing into his arm while his other hand pounded on his chest, eyes watering.

Was his dad trying to kill him tonight? This was the second time he’d almost choked to death, and he was beginning to take it personally.

“Jesus, Javi,” Cielito said, looking concerned while leaning over to pat his back. “You’re just having the worst time drinking tonight. I need you alive, babe—think of the children,” she teased.

His heart clenched hard at her words, squashing down the inkling of hope that rose in his chest.

Javier wasn’t the kind of man who got the wife, white picket fence, and two and a half kids—he was already pressing his luck that he even found an amazingly beautiful woman who wanted to spend her life with him. Children? That seemed out of reach to him, a fever dream, something that popped into his head every once in a while that he immediately batted away, because who would want kids with someone like him? When he thought about Colombia, his past, the terrible fucking shit he’d done, there was no way he deserved the happiness of bringing children into this world, not when he thought about the innocent lives lost from his involvement with Los Pepes, or fuck, Helena and all that happened to her because she was trying to help him. Cielito could tell him every fucking day that he was a good man, but his mind made sure he remembered the pain he had caused, either directly or indirectly.

He wasn’t a good man. He had never been a good man. That was established before he’d even left for South America.

There was a moment when he saw Lorraine at Danny’s wedding, her picking up one of her kids, that he honest to god thought he’d made a mistake not marrying her—that maybe he could’ve learned to love her, and even though she treated him like shit, he could’ve had that American dream life everybody wants, with the house, wife, and kids. Again, his asshole of a brain had reminded him that wasn’t a life meant for him, that was never a life meant for him.

So, children weren’t in the cards for him, and he was just happy that Cielito even wanted to be with him to begin with, taking her comment as a joke because that’s all that it was.

He wiped the tears from his eyes with his hand, the coughing finally dissipating.

“Pop is trying to fucking murder me,” his voice was rough, finally looking at his dad. “Is this payback for all the shit I did growing up?”

“It was a valid question, mijo,” Chucho said, smiling and raising a hand in a placating gesture. “Lo siento (I’m sorry), I didn’t mean to make you choke. I’ll keep my future nietos (grandchildren) in mind before I speak.”

Javier’s jaw clenched, the tight feeling making itself known in his chest again.

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing his beer. “Keep dreamin’, Pop.” He took a swig, needing to do something.

“Speaking of things you did growing up,” his dad said, and Javier groaned, setting his bottle down. “Tu novia (Your girlfriend) would probably love to hear about that time you embarrassed your mother in church.”

Javier rested his elbows on the table, pressing his hands to his face.

“Which time?” he grumbled, thinking of a few different possibilities.

“When the air conditioning had gone out.” He was wracking his brain trying to remember. “You were maybe five or six, and it was during summer—mija, are you familiar with San Agustín downtown?” he asked Cielito.

“The cathedral with the bell tower?” she asked.

“Sí,” his father replied. “That’s the one. It’s been around since the 1800s—very old—they did major renovations in the 1940s, which included air conditioning, a blessing for the parish. One Sunday, Antonia, me, and Javi walked into the building, and it was warm, really warm—the air conditioning had gone out, and Javi said at the top of his lungs, ‘It’s hotter than hell in here!’” Chucho chuckled.

“That sounds like Javi,” Cielito said, laughing.

“Yes,” his dad nodded. “People laughed, but Antonia was madder than a wet hen.” His voice went a little higher, “‘Javier Jesús Peña López, donde aprendiste eso?’ Which means, ‘where did you learn that.’ Antonia dropped down to his level, and I’ll never forget his response, pointing his little finger at me, answering her with, ‘Papá! Cuando entró del trabajo!’ He threw me under the bus, telling her I’d said it when I came in from work!”

Cielito was giggling hard.

“Did you say it?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” Chucho answered. “It was summer and hotter than hell out here.” He laughed. “Mi amor always told me to watch what I said around Javi, but it must have slipped. She’d looked at me with fire in her eyes, and I knew I was in trouble.” His voice went up again, “‘¡Jesús Eduardo Peña Torres, debería darte vergüenza!’ ‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’” he translated. “I was shaking in my boots, mija.” Cielito was laughing at his tale. “Apologizing profusely, telling Javi that what I’d said was bad and not to repeat it. We’d both gotten in trouble that day—still makes me laugh how quickly he told on me, but he always loved his mom more.”

Javier’s eyebrows were in his hairline at his father’s last comment, his hands dropping as he looked at the other man across from him.

“Is Chucho your nickname?” Cielito asked, a bright smile on her face.

“Sí,” Chucho answered, nodding at her. “It’s what my family and friends have always called me—use it more than my birth name.” He shrugged. “My full name is Jesús Eduardo Peña Torres, but you can call me Chucho.” He smirked. “You’re practically family already.”

Javier’s brain was still focused on his dad saying that he loved his mom more, finding himself suddenly asking, “What?”

Chucho looked at him, eyebrows furrowing, the smile falling from his lips as he quickly started speaking in a severe tone, “¿Qué quieres decir (What do you mean)?” he asked. “Dijiste que ella era tu media naranja (You said she was your other half). Dijiste que querías casarte con ella (You said you wanted to marry her). Ella es familia y me cai bien, mijo (She is family, and I like her, my son).”

Javier’s mouth fell open, eyes widening at his dad’s words realizing his fuck up. He looked at the woman next to him, her gaze squinted as she looked forward like she was trying to put together the fast Spanish his father had said, clearly understanding it was about her. A knot was in his stomach, knowing that his delayed question and his father’s reaction probably had her feeling uneasy. Without a second thought, he grabbed her hand, watching her head snap to look in his direction to meet his eyes, seeing the trepidation, his heart clenching.

“I’m sorry for the confusion,” he said. “My brain had bad fucking timing. Everything Pop said was true.” Her head tilted in confusion, eyebrows dipping together. “You probably only caught half the shit he said with how he went off on me.” He humorlessly chuckled. “So, I’ll make sure you understand, Cielito,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You are a part of the family. You are my other half.” He watched her face slowly lighting up, making him smile. He swallowed hard before he spoke again. “And I really fucking hope you’ll marry me one day.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about, babe,” she said, smirking. “I’d be stupid to turn you down.”

He felt his cheek dimple when he grinned.

“Hopefully, you still feel that in the future, Cielito.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Come here,” he said, leaning over the corner of the table, her doing the same. His fingers slid along her cheek and into her hair, pressing his lips against hers in a tender kiss they were both smiling into.

They separated after a moment, his attention turning to his father, knowing his face was pinched in confusion.

“Pop, what did you mean that I loved mom more?” he asked.

There wasn’t a time that he’d ever thought he loved one parent more than the other. They were both so involved with his life growing up. He remembered riding horses for hours with his dad, talking about anything and everything, or sitting on the couch with his mother, learning to knit as she told him stories or helping her in the kitchen, her gentle voice walking him through what she was doing—they were there every step of the way through his childhood and teens, college, and even when he fucked off to Colombia he could count on them calling every Wednesday night.

At least until his mom got sick.

Javier found out about her illness in the summer of ‘90. He would’ve gone home, but his parents told him to stay, that he had a job to do, and at the time, things in Colombia were more fucked up than usual. He became the one to call them every Wednesday night and Friday, Sunday, too, practically calling them every other day to check up on his mom, not caring about his astronomical long-distance bill.

It caught him off guard when he got a call from his father on a Tuesday towards the end of January the following year telling him he needed to come home. He was there when she passed, he was there for her funeral, and not even two days after his mother had been laid to rest, Javier was back in South America trying to convince the Colombian government not to abolish extradition.

The Wednesday night calls ceased, neither man picking up the phone, be it from grief or guilt; the weekly calls became once-a-month calls just to check in.

The realization felt like a gut punch—he did love his mother more.

After her death, his quest for justice became personal. The desperation and grief had him making risky choices, doing things he would’ve never fathomed before, all because he had a vendetta against the people he’d spent years trying to take down.

He loved his dad a lot, and since he’d come back to Laredo, the two of them had gotten closer, having the same relationship they had when he was younger, but he missed his mom so fucking much.

His dad met his eyes from across the table, smiling softly.

“Oh, it’s okay, mijo,” Chucho said, waving away his question. “I understand. I loved your mamá a whole hell of a lot, too—still love her.” He held up his left hand, the silver band prominent on his ring finger. “I know we said, ‘til death do us part,’ but I’ll keep wearing this until the day I die, and even then, I’ll keep wearing it ‘cause I’ll finally be with her again,” he said with a sad smile.

Javier’s eyes felt like they were burning, a lump forming in his throat.

“I’m sorry if I, fuck.” He looked away, pushing his fingers through his hair. Javier sighed deeply. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you were less.”

Cielito reached over to squeeze his hand near her, still resting on the table.

“I’ve never felt like that at all,” his dad said. “I know you love me, and I love you, Javi.”

“I love you, too.”

“Well,”—Chucho clapped his hands together—“This has been the best meal I’ve had in years. You’re very talented, mija. There’s just enough left for me to have a nice light lunch tomorrow. Hopefully, next time my son won’t be so codicioso and share with su papá (his dad).”

“I told you her cooking was really fucking good,” Javier said, looking at his dad again.

Cielito was smiling brightly, Chucho meeting his gaze.

“And I meant what I said when you made me that sandwich from her recipe,” he said with a smirk. “Si no te casas con ella, será el gran error de tu vida,” he spoke the words clearly and slowly before looking over at Cielito. “Would you like me to translate, mija?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she replied, giggling.

“I told him”—he pointed at Javier with his thumb—“that if he doesn’t marry you, it will be the biggest mistake of his life.”

“Thanks, Chucho,” she said, laughing. “You’re sweet. We should have dinner every week.”

His father looked excited.

“I’d love that!” He met Javier’s eyes. “Can you stand to have dinner with your dear old father once a week, mijo?”

“Sí, Pop. Of course.”

“It’s a date!” His dad clapped his hands together again. “Now, since the two of you made dinner, I will clean up—”

Cielito interrupted, “Oh, you don’t have—”

His dad put up a hand, stopping her words. “I insist, mija.”

“I can clean up, Pop,” Javier said.

“No, mijo.” Chucho shook his head. “You gave her a tour of the inside of the house. Go show her the outside. I’m sure she’d love to see the calves.”

“There are baby cows?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes,” his dad answered with a grin. “Calving season was a couple of months ago.”

She turned to him.

“Please show me the babies.”

“Of course,” Javier replied, smiling and pushing back his chair to stand up. He held his hand out to her. “Come on, baby, I’ll introduce you to the animals.”

She squealed happily as she took his hand, getting up from her chair, and he chuckled, leading her from the kitchen and through the back hall, stopping before he opened the back door.

“I’m gonna put on my boots,” he said, releasing her hand as he toed off his shoes.

Lined on the floor against the wall below the coat hooks were two pairs of cowboy boots, the leather aged and worn, and some of his dad’s tennis shoes.

“Oh my god, you’re going to wear cowboy boots?” she asked. He could see the excitement on her face, and it made him smirk.

“Yeah,” he answered.

His were handmade in Mexico, the tobacco-colored leather embroidered in a very subtle design with the hand-laid cording, and not very showy, unlike his father’s pair that were two-toned with the long shaft a bluish-grey, while the heel and toe were a golden brown made from shark skin. Javier had scoffed when he’d seen the boots upon returning to Laredo, his dad claiming they were stronger than traditional leather and water resistant, but he knew his father just thought they were cool.

Stepping into one of his, he leaned down to hold the pull straps at the top and pushed his sock-covered foot all the way in, his jeans sliding up before he pulled the denim over the leather.

“Is one of these yours?” she asked.

He looked up to see her pointing at the two cowboy hats hanging over rain jackets—one black and one white.

“Yeah, the dark one,” he answered, getting his other boot on.

Cielito grabbed his and put it on her head.

“You wear the boots but not this amazing hat?”

He stood back up, standing in front of her, his thumb rubbing over his lip while taking in the way the hat was slightly too big for her head, the brim at her eyebrow line and making her look adorable.

Smiling, he tipped up the front with his finger. “I don’t like how fucking hot it makes my head.”

“You’re always hot,” she said with a wink, smiling.

He moved into her space, his fingers tilting her chin to look at him.

“I like how you look in it,” he rasped, ducking his head under the brim to speak near her ear. “I’d like how you’d look in only it.” His brain was conjuring up images of her riding him in nothing but the felt hat atop her head, her tits bouncing in his face. He wet his bottom lip, his jeans feeling tighter with the blood rushing to his dick.

“Javi,” she gasped softly, the visible skin on her shoulder and arms erupting in goosebumps.

He kissed her cheek, moving his face to slant his lips against hers, the hat pushing up more to accommodate him beneath it. His hands came up to cradle her cheeks, licking along her lip, and she opened for him, Javier deepening the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers in the way he knew drove her crazy. He was delighted when he heard the softest moan, kissing her harder, feeling her fingers gripping the front of his shirt.

Fuck, he loved kissing her.

Her mouth fit so perfectly with his, one of his hands moving down the front of her body to palm her breast, earning him a louder moan that had electricity shooting through his body, his cock twitching in his pants.

“I’m still here!” his dad called from the kitchen, hearing the sound of running water and the clatter of dishes.

Javier broke the kiss with a groan, resting his forehead against hers.

“This is why we stay at your apartment,” he mused with a sigh. “No one to interrupt us.”

She giggled, rubbing her hands over his chest and probably feeling his pounding heart.

“I mean, Mrs. Hernandez did bang on the wall last Saturday,” she said.

A crooked smile curled on his lips at the reminder of how they’d spent their day in bed, with Javier determined to beat his record of how many times he could get her to come before she passed out.

It happened at fifteen.

Number twelve was when he had her face down, ass up, her hands clutched in the sheets while she screamed his name. He’d been pounding into that one spot he knew made her drool, his fingers on her clit, and she was so loud when he made her squirt—her voice hoarse, his lap drenched, and Mrs. Hernandez was banging against the wall to tell them to quiet down.

It had been a really fucking good day.

He was knocked from his thoughts, air leaving his lungs in a hiss, when a hand pressed into the front of his jeans, knowing he was half-hard.

“Fucking knew it,” she whispered for only him to hear, palming him. “You’re thinking about it.”

He pulled back to look her in the eyes, seeing the knowing look on her face.

“Of course I am,” he said just as quietly, squeezing her tit. “Fucking can’t stop thinking about my dick being inside you.”

“God, that sounds good,” her voice had that huskiness to it where he knew she was imagining the same things as him, and it was making him harder. “Can’t fucking wait to get home.”

He had to keep himself from laughing, an amused snort leaving his nose.

There was no fucking way they were making it back to her apartment without her wanting him to fuck her. There was no fucking way they were making it back into this house without her wanting him to fuck her.

With narrowed eyes, she asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, baby,” he said, quickly kissing her lips. “Let me show you around the ranch, and then we can get the fuck out of here.”

She didn’t look like she believed him.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said slowly.

He pulled back from her, adjusting his dick in his jeans, seeing her amused look, he grabbed her hand to put it back on his bulge.

“This is all you,” he husked, loving how her eyes got darker, her mouth falling open. It was taking everything in his power not to kiss her again.

“We’re leaving, Pop!” he yelled.

“Have fun!” his dad answered, still doing dishes from the sounds in the kitchen.

Javier took the hat off her head, putting it back on the hook, and grabbed her hand still on him, “Come on, Cielito,” he said, pulling her behind him as he got the back door open.

The back of the house featured a concrete patio where his father’s fancy grill was set up, along with a glass dining table surrounded by six outdoor cushioned chairs.

Many family gatherings had been held in the backyard, a large patch of green grass that had an ample amount of seating for their large family. A picnic table was in the yard, plastic chairs surrounded a large fire pit, and other seats scattered about that had probably been brought over by people and simply left.

Javier could almost picture his tíos and tías and all the primos running around while music played.

He led Cielito away from the house and along the dirt path towards the barns.

The chicken coop was their first stop, the wooden structure with windows to look inside and a large enclosed chicken run that was fenced in with chain link and small mesh wire, a roof overtop to keep the animals cool during the summer months.

“The chickens,” he said, pointing at the clucking red-feathered creatures moving around their space—there were only about a dozen in their flock.

“For fresh eggs?” Cielito asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, chuckling, “and the occasional meal.” She made a face, and he laughed. “They used to roam free”—he waved his hand—“but my mom got tired of chasing them down and made Pop and me build this.” He patted the fence.

“It looks very nice and sturdy. I’m sure it protects them from predators, too.”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “That too. Come on.” He grasped her hand, taking her down the path and walking beside a large paddock that was currently empty. “We let the horses roam in here.” He pointed to the open space surrounded by metal rail fencing.

“To let them relax after working so hard.” She nodded. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, before we stable them for the night—which, speaking of stables.” They were approaching the new barn, the big doors already open.

They entered the building, a center aisle with a row of stalls on each side. Just inside, to the right was storage where they kept food and supplies, and to the left was the tack room with the saddles and equipment. There was a hum of fans running and noises of the horses huffing out breaths and moving about their spaces.

“Pop just had this built—the old one was fucking old and falling apart.” He took her into the storage area, pulling open a burlap sack. “Sombra will be pissed if we visit without bringing her una manzana (an apple),” he said, grabbing two apples with his hand. “Will you hold some of these?” he asked, looking over at Cielito.

“Gimme,” she answered, smiling and holding out her hands.

He returned her smile, handing her apples until she had four carefully tucked against her body with one arm, leaving one of her hands empty. Javier got four apples, fitting three easily in his palm, the fourth stacked on top.

When his attention turned back to Cielito, her eyes were locked on the fruit he was holding, but it was the way she was looking at his hand that had his chest puffing out a little. He knew that look, when her pupils went wide, lips slightly parted, her breathing heavier.

“See something you like?” he asked, smirking when he saw her gulp.

She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing, “You’re seducing me again,” she accused, poking her finger into his chest.

“I’m holding apples. How am I seducing you, Cielito?” he asked in an amused tone.

“You have the audacity to dress like something out of a cowboy romance novel!” She pointed at his shirt. “The plaid, with the pushed-up sleeves and those buttons undone so I can see your chest, and my god, you know how wet your neck makes me. The fucking cowboy boots and your big ass hand is holding three fucking apples. Three!” She held up three fingers for emphasis. “Javier, you are well aware of how horny your hands make me, and you’re just taunting me, teasing me, with this display.” She waved her hand at his body. “Ugh, you’ve ruined my panties again”—she poked him in the chest again—“and now I have to deal with being so fucking wet until we get home.”

His cock was throbbing in his jeans at her frustration, swallowing hard.

“I’m sorry for making you horny,” he didn’t mean for the words to come out so husky, but all of his self-control was going into not tossing the fruit and fucking her against a wall.

“You’re not sorry—not even the slightest bit,” she said, pouting. “It’s fine.” She sighed. “Just gotta stop thinking about you with a hand on my boob and your fingers inside me. God, they’re so thick,” she whined, his dick twitching. She shook her head like she was trying to make the thoughts go away. “Make me stop thinking about horny things, babe.”

That was going to be a real fucking challenge with the fact his brain was running through all of the available surfaces he could fuck her on. She looked so fucking amazing in her dress, but Javier was leaning towards stripping it off of her, sitting her on a nearby table, and fucking her while he sucked on her gorgeous tits.

There was a long pause before he realized she was waiting for him to speak, “Enrique bites,” he said dumbly.

“Enrique?” her head tilted as she asked the question.

“A big asshole of a horse,” he said, getting his wits back. “The rest are fine, but watch out for him—he’s the last stall on the right. Follow me.” He was ignoring the fact his dick was straining against his zipper, knowing she was behind him as they walked down the aisle with four occupied stalls on each side, stopping at the first one on the right. “This is Dulce. She’s my cousin’s.” The chestnut-colored horse noticed them and walked over, sticking her head out over the door, and huffing out a breath. “Hola, Dulce,” he greeted. Cielito looked hesitant. “Hold out the apple in your palm. Keep it flat.” He watched as she did as he instructed. “Pop always told me growing up, ‘feed the lips, not the teeth.’” Dulce took the apple in one bite, hearing her teeth work as she chewed it.

“Can I pet her?” Cielito asked, looking at him with big eyes.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Her name is fitting, and she likes her ears scratched.”

“Dulce means ‘sweet,’ right?” she asked, moving her free hand up to scratch behind the horse’s ears.

“Sí,” he replied, his free hand raising to rub Dulce’s neck. “She’s a sweetheart. Isn’t that right, cariño?” He patted her, hearing her nicker happily, the sound low in pitch from her nose, making him grin.

They moved from Dulce across the aisle to Fuego, a sorrel-colored Belgian draft horse, her coat a bright copper with white feet. Cielito knew what to do, the horse happily accepting the offered fruit and pets before they moved to the next stall.

Aside from Sombra and his dad’s horse, the rest belonged to his cousins who worked at the ranch, Enrique only letting his tío, Ángel, ride him. Javier introduced her to a blonde mare named Lucía; There was Churro, who had a chestnut coat with a white stripe down her face (his primo’s daughter named her); In the stall next to Enrique was Armand, a gray gelding who butted at Cielito’s hand trying to get more apples.

“Eres codicioso (you’re greedy),” she said, giggling and scratching under Armand’s chin, the horse nickering at her. “I’m sorry, buddy, Javi only brought enough apples for each of you to have one, but it was nice meeting you.”

Javier was holding the three remaining apples, allowing Cielito to use both of her hands to pet the animal.

“Geldings fucking love food. They get distracted easily,” he said.

“Well, if you couldn’t fuck, wouldn’t you be obsessed with food?” she asked with a smirk, giving Armand one last scritch under his chin before moving with Javier to the stall across from them.

“I guess so,” he said, handing her an apple.

“If geldings are neutered and obsessed with food, I’m assuming stallions are obsessed with food and sex?”

“Yeah.” Javier nodded. “That’s right. Stallions just wanna eat and fuck.”

“That sounds awfully familiar,” she purred, moving into his space, and looking up at him through her lashes. She slid a finger along the skin he had exposed from his open shirt, starting at the base of his throat and moving down, making a tingle move down his spine. “All you wanna do,” she said, her hand moving lower over his shirt, “is eat and fuck.” He swallowed thickly when her hand made it to the front of his jeans, licking his lips when she palmed his cock which was still hard. “Makes sense, with a dick like this”—she squeezed him, and he groaned, eyes closing for a moment, lips parting as he focused on breathing—“you could have any woman you wanted.” His heart was pounding in his chest, his cock throbbing under her hand—he was under her spell, watching as she leaned into him to hover her lips near his ear, speaking in a sultry tone, “But you don’t want just any woman. Isn’t that right?”

His self-control left his body as quickly as the apples fell from his hand, making Cielito gasp in surprise when he lightly grasped under her chin, moving her face to crush his mouth against hers. His other arm wrapped around her back, walking her backward, kissing her needily. His tongue pressed hungrily into her mouth, swallowing her moans as he backed her into the wooden stall wall, caging her in, the kiss a mess of tongues, lips, and teeth, unable to get enough.

He was so worked up, drunk on everything about her—feeling her, smelling her, tasting her, drowning in her, his only thought was that he needed to be inside her. She was just as ravenous, matching his energy, her fingers tangled in his hair, his hand grabbing the meat of her thigh to hike it up on his hip, the other moving between their bodies and under the front of her dress, sliding his palm over her panty-covered pussy, feeling her wetness seeping through the material.

“You,” he murmured against her lips. “Only fucking want you—need you. Let me have you, baby, please.” He sounded desperate, his cock painfully hard in his jeans.

“Yes,” she answered.

He groaned into her mouth, her answer making his dick throb. She was offering him nirvana, and Javier couldn’t move quickly enough, needing to feel her, needing to be inside her and to make her come, wanting to have her feeling as good as she made him feel.

His fingers started pushing under the waistband of her underwear—a snout nudged hard against Javier’s cheek, the horse blowing out a huff of hot air through its nostrils and making a low snorting sound, causing him to stop all of his movements, Cielito giggling into his mouth. He couldn’t help the whine of frustration as he pulled back from her to glare at the interloper vying for his attention.

“¡Por Dios, yo estoy ocupado (For God's sake, I am busy)!” He rubbed the horse’s head affectionately, it nickering in response. “¡Mierda, eres peor que mi papá (Shit, you’re worse than my dad)!”

“I have never been cockblocked by a horse before,” Cielito laughed.

Javier sighed. “Well, it makes fucking sense it's Caramelo,” he said, pointing at the golden horse, her mane white. “She’s Pop’s and a cockblock like her fucking owner.” He scratched Caramelo’s ear.

“A very cute cockblock, though,” Cielito said, holding up the apple in her palm and Caramelo taking it with a happy sound as she chewed the fruit.

“I’m gonna have fucking blue balls,” he complained, frowning.

She smoothed her hands down her dress before pressing her palms to his cheeks.

“Oh, pobrecito (you poor thing)!” she cooed, leaning in to kiss his mouth. He held her closer, a smile creeping up on his lips as she smothered his face in kisses, moving her hands to get his cheeks and low on his chin.

“I am un pobrecito (a poor thing),” he said, her mouth landing on his once more and making him moan.

Caramelo nudged against his head again.

“¡Ay!” he exclaimed, breaking the kiss to narrow his eyes at the horse. “Mala, Caramelo (Bad, Caramelo). ¿Por qué me odias (Why do you hate me)?” He stomped his foot, Caramelo whinnying in response. Cielito was laughing, and he looked back at her with a frown, sighing as he removed his arms from around her.

“I think she wants attention,” she giggled.

“Yeah.” He rubbed his hand through his hair before moving to stand in front of the stall door, the horse moving her head to follow him. Javier slid a hand along her cheek, the other scratching at her ear. “¿Estás celosa (Are you jealous)?” he murmured. “¿Es eso (Is that it)? We brought you an apple—that’s not enough, though, huh?” He got under her chin, Caramelo huffing out a happy breath.

“Well, that’s a new one,” Cielito mused.

He looked over at her, still continuing to give the horse attention.

“Huh?” he asked.

“New turn-on unlocked,” she smirked, walking up next to him. She rubbed her hand over his bicep, looking at him through her eyelashes and making him gulp. “You being sweet with the animals is really doing it for me. Honestly, if there wasn’t a risk of being interrupted, I’d let you finish what you started.”

“Baby,” he groaned, eyes closing for a second. He gave Caramelo one last pat before having to adjust his hard dick in his jeans, cursing the fact he liked them so fucking tight.

“Better show me the other animals so we can get going,” she purred, moving to kiss his cheek.

She was driving him crazy, but he had a plan in the back of his mind.

He turned his head to kiss her quickly, then moved past her to lean down and pick up the apples he’d dropped, groaning when he stood back up.

“It was nice meeting you, Caramelo,” Cielito said, giving said horse a scratch under her chin.

He had both apples held easily in one hand, grabbing one of hers in his other, and practically dragged her to the next stall wanting to get the animal introductions done as quickly as possible.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the way Javi was rushing you to the next horse.

“Hola, Sombra,” Javi said, using that calming tone he seemed to take when speaking to the animals. You thought it was sweet, all of the horses seeming to like him quite a bit, which showed that this was how he always treated them.

A big all-black horse stuck their head out over the door, welcoming Javi’s rubs to its nose as he spoke quickly in Spanish, your brain only recognizing some of the words.

“What did you say to them?” you asked, watching him seem to have a moment with the animal.

He looked at you with a soft smile.

“I told her, ‘quiero que conozcas mi media naranja,’” he said, speaking the words clearly, “I’d like you to meet my other half. ‘Ella es muy importante para mi,’ she is very important to me. ‘Porta te bien, por favor,’ behave yourself, please.”

A snort left your nose at the last bit, feeling like you were melting from the softness. You weren’t lying when you said it was a turn-on, how good he was with the animals. It revved your engines and showed you he was nurturing, compassionate, and caring, all things you already knew but seeing them displayed with these creatures did something to you. Loving him more seemed impossible, yet here you were, your body feeling all warm and fuzzy because your boyfriend was an animal lover.

Moving to stand beside Javi, he handed you an apple, and you focused on the horse because if you didn’t, you’d end up making out with your boyfriend again. Holding the fruit out in your palm, you smiled when Sombra took it immediately.

“Hola, Sombra,” you greeted. “Mucho gusto (Nice to meet you).”

She had kind, big brown eyes, the horse happily chewing the apple. You admired her shiny black coat and large ears; she’d finished eating, Javi chuckling and petting her head when she made that happy sound through her nose.

“What does ‘Sombra’ mean?” you asked, glancing at him.

“Shadow. Mi mamá named her.”

You felt your eyes widen, knowing his mom had passed over seven years prior. You figured Javi got Sombra when he returned to Laredo, but now you wondered how old she was—some horses could live to be well over thirty. “Oh, did your mom name Caramelo, too?” You pointed at the other horse next door.

He shook his head. “No, Pop named her, but he did name her after mom’s flan—you know, the sweet custard dessert with caramel sauce on top?” You nodded. “Pop loved my mom’s. His favorite dessert and a big fucking surprise he’d even share with us,” he said with a chuckle. “So, Caramelo, caramel.”

“That’s sweet,” you replied, reaching out to rub Sombra’s ear. “And your mom also named your horse?”

He gave said horse one last pat before rubbing his hand through his hair, his other holding the remaining apple and resting on his hip. His throat bobbed, Javi gulping before he spoke.

“Uh”—He scratched at his mustache—“Sombra wasn’t always my horse,” he said slowly.

Your eyebrows knit together, your fingers scratching under her chin.

“Okay?”

“She was my mom’s.”

Your hand stopped, eyes focusing on Sombra, feeling her breaths on your arm, those big brown eyes of hers watching you. She was a gorgeous horse, and much larger than the rest—even bigger than Caramelo. She nudged your hand, demanding more pets, and you smiled, continuing to rub over her cheek.

“How old is she?” you asked.

“About seventeen.”

“So, when you came back, you took her over?”

“I needed a horse, and Pop had always taken good care of her. I was lucky she seemed to like me and didn’t just buck my ass off the first time I tried to ride her,” he chuckled, reaching over to scratch her ear. “Te gusto (You like me),” he cooed. “¿No es así (Isn’t that right)?”

Sombra whinnied in response, and you saw Javi smiling when you looked over at him, your hand still petting the horse.

“I think all of the horses like you,” you said. “You’re like the horse whisperer.”

“The power of treats,” he smirked. “It’s more they want the food than like me.” He shrugged.

“I’m not too sure about that. Caramelo seemed to really want your attention.”

“Caramelo just wanted to make sure I didn’t get laid.”

“How rude of her.”

“Very.”

“Sombra seems like a very good horse.”

“She is,” he agreed. You watched as his free hand went to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, him having to do some maneuvering while holding the apple to open the worn black leather to get something out. It was a small photograph, Javi holding it out to you. “This was maybe a year or two after they got her. Mom really liked her.”

In the color photo were Antonia and Chucho on top of their horses beside each other, both smiling to the camera, Sombra taller than Caramelo, and Antonia looking so small on the back of her horse. They were both much older than they looked in the black and white photo you saw in the house, their hair beginning to grey and more lines on their faces. You couldn’t help but smile at how happy they both looked, holding their reins.

“How did your mom even get on top of Sombra?” you asked, meeting his eyes. She was a smaller woman.

“In the stable?” Javi grinned. “She’d use a mounting block, or Pop would help her. While out riding? She’d just lower the stirrups, or Pop would help her.”

You eyed the horse for a second.

“I would definitely need help.”

There was no way you could get up onto a saddle directly from the ground. She was tall; you’d need a boost. Javi carefully put the photograph back into his wallet and away into his pocket.

“Would you like to go for a ride later?” he asked.

Your head was turning towards him quickly, eyes wide.

“Like, riding the horse alone? I’ve only ridden ponies as a kid, where someone was leading. These horses are all huge—I’d fall off and crack my head open.”

“I’d never let anything happen to you,” he said, frowning. “You wouldn’t be riding alone. We can ride together, and” —he leaned in close like he was about to tell you a secret—”I’ll help you up… and down.” He ended the sentence by kissing your cheek.

Your eyebrow rose, “You do love helping me up and down, but usually it’s on your dick,” you teased, making Javi chuckle and kiss your cheek again. “If I’m with you, I’d love to go for a ride, but you have to promise that I won’t fall.”

“I promise, baby,” he said, moving his mouth to softly kiss your lips. His hand smoothed down your back to grab a handful of your ass. “You wanna meet Enrique or get out of here?”

You could hear the promise in his words, and it made your core clench smiling into his mouth.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pulling back to look at him. “I’m intrigued by this asshole horse, and it’d be mean to leave without giving him an apple.”

He sighed.

“With how many fucking times he’s bitten me, I’m not too inclined to give him one.”

You turned your body to face him, moving your hands up to cradle his cheeks.

“Did Enrique hurt your feelings?” you cooed.

Javi frowned, and you smiled.

“No,” he sniffed. “He’s just a dick.”

“Well, let’s go give him an apple quickly, and then we can look at the calves. After that, we can go for the ride, then say goodbye to your dad, and”—you trailed a hand down his front, until you were grabbing his bulge—”we can finally fuck without interruptions at my apartment.”

“Fuck, Cielito,” he groaned, leaning in to kiss you hard. “Want you so fucking bad,” he murmured against your lips.

“Same.”

His free hand was still on your ass, and he gave it a squeeze.

“Let’s get going,” he said as he separated from you. He gave Sombra scratches on her ear. “Adíos, Sombra. Nosotros volveremos (We will be back).” She snorted happily in answer.

Smiling, you petted the horse.

“Mucho gusto, Sombra (It was nice meeting you, Sombra). Eres muy bonita (You’re very pretty). We’ll be back.”

Javi led you across the aisle to the other stall, pausing before you got to it.

“Do you want to feed him?” he asked, holding up the apple in question. “Or do you want me to do it since he’s a biter?”

Thinking about it for a second, you put your hand out, wanting to be brave.

“I will feed the asshole horse.”

“Keep your hand flat,” he said in a serious tone, as he set the fruit in your palm.

“Yes, Javi. ‘Feed the lips, not the teeth,’” you repeated his earlier words.

“Exactly, and once he takes it, step out of his reach.”

“You make him sound like a dangerous prisoner who will murder me if I get too close.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he frowned.

“He’s fucking opportunistic—will bite without hesitation, and it hurts like hell,” he said. “I don’t want anything happening to you. So, stay out of his way.”

“Okay, babe,” you nodded. “It’s very sweet of you being so protective. I’ll do everything you’ve said, but I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t look convinced, nodding his head once.

Facing the stall, you could see the horse milling about, your eyes widening at just how big he was. You’d thought Sombra was big, but Enrique was bigger—a tall black mass with white markings, who, upon your approach, came to investigate. Nerves were swirling in your belly as he stuck his large head out over the door, huffing out air through his nose, almost sounding annoyed, dark eyes boring into you.

“Hi, Enrique,” you said. “You’re not gonna bite me, right?” Holding the apple in your palm, you extended your arm, and slowly moved toward him until he quickly snatched it out of your hand, causing you to jump a little. You took a step back, like Javi asked, and sure the horse was a bit aggressive, but he didn’t seem all that bad.

Enrique had finished eating and was nodding his head up and down, wanting more treats, breathing loudly mixed with high-pitched neighing.

“No más (No more),” Javi said, moving to stand beside you, with his arms crossed over his chest. “Tienes suerte de tener una manzana (You’re lucky to be getting one apple).” You could hear the horse stomping its front hooves as it squealed. Javi turned his head towards you, “We should go so he’ll calm down.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

He stepped in front of you, his body blocking Enrique while he placed a comforting hand on your back to lead you away, the other pointing towards the door. “Let’s go, ba—FUCK!’ he shouted, suddenly stumbling into you and making you step backward and away from the stall, Javi following.

“What?!” you asked, confused, grabbing hold of his biceps to steady yourself, his body pressed into yours, a pained expression on his face.

“He bit my ass!” he growled, rubbing his free hand over his injury while he glared over his shoulder at the horse. “Pinche caballo loco (Crazy fucking horse)!” Enrique whinnied proudly in response.

“Okay, so not all of the horses like you,” you said. Javi faced you again, his face pinched, clearly upset. “Why does he hate you so much?” you asked.

“He hates everyone,” he seethed. “Barely tolerates my uncle, who is the only person he’ll let ride him.”

“So, he’s just a grump.”

“A fucking asshole,” Javi corrected.

“A grumpy asshole. At least the other horses were nice.”

That made his face relax a little, a small smile turning up on his lips.

“You liked them?” he asked.

“I did,” you answered with a nod. “Very beautiful, and so friendly, except He Who Shall Not Be Named. How’s your ass, babe?”

“Fucking hurts,” he grimaced, moving his hand to rub it again.

“Need me to kiss it better?”

He looked at you with round, puppy dog eyes, pouting.

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

“Will a kiss on the lips tide you over until I can get you naked?”

He let out a long sigh, “Yes,” he replied, nodding again.

You tried to fight the smile, but your lips still lifted up.

“Oh, mi pobrecito (my poor thing),” you cooed, cupping his cheeks as you leaned in to kiss him. “That enough?” you asked after kissing him once.

“No,” he said into your lips, his hands coming up to cradle your face, kissing you harder. You let him take what he needed to make himself feel better, losing himself in your kiss until you were both breathing heavily, Javi pulling back to nudge his nose against yours as you smiled.

“Better?” you asked.

“A little.” Enrique started making noise again and rattling the door to his stall, making Javi sigh. He turned his head to look over his shoulder. “Nosotros nos vamos (We’re leaving)!” he shouted at the horse. He faced you again. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Without another word, he took your hand as he pulled you behind him and out of the stable.

Outside was brighter, causing you to squint as you exited the building, the temperature still warm. There were still a couple of hours before sunset, Javi leading you down the dirt path to the neighboring barn. There was another paddock, the space surrounded by a metal fence, and inside, you could see a handful of cows eating from a trough, their babies close to their sides, others spread out in the space.

The two of you approached the fence, Javi leaning against it and resting a booted foot on a lower rail, an almost perfect picture of a cowboy if he’d just been wearing his hat. The image made you grin, taking up the space at his side as you looked at the cattle, seeing that some were black and others red.

“I know you’re a rancher,” you started, glancing over at him. “I know it’s a cattle ranch, but I’m going to be real, babe. I have no idea what the fuck you do for a living.”

He met your eyes as he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“We’re a cow-calf ranch—we breed cows to sell.”

“Oh, okay. Tell me about it.”

His arms were crossed over the railing, his shoulders relaxed as he explained.

Their operation wasn’t too big, more quality over quantity, and the majority of their herd was made up of adult female cows and their calves, along with heifers - female cows who hadn’t reached breeding age yet. They only had a few bulls, Javi pointing behind you both at a fenced-in pasture where you could see them out grazing, used for mating. The calves were born during late spring, and once weaned, they were raised until the age they could be sold.

“Are these all the calves from this year?” you asked, pointing into the paddock.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Most are out on the land.” He pointed out in the distance. “These ones like being close to food.” He stepped away from the railing, putting his hand out to you. “Come with me. Let me show you something,” he said, smiling.

“Okay,” you replied, accepting his hand. He led you to the barn, Javi pushing the door open, hearing it squeal from age as it moved.

The ceilings were lower than you were expecting, with a good layer of hay on the floor, cushioning your steps, him taking you into a room where the floor was relatively clean. It had to be a supply room, spotting feed bags, and other things needed to take care of animals, along with a kitchen setup complete with a fridge. You watched as Javi got into the refrigerator and pulled out two large bottles, already filled with what you assumed was milk.

Realization hit you, “Oh my god, are we going to feed calves?” you asked.

Excitement was bubbling in your belly over the idea of getting close to some of the babies.

“We are,” he answered, smiling at you as he walked over to the sink and turned it on. He tested the temperature with his fingers for a minute before putting one of the bottles under the tap, twisting it in his hand, and making the milk swirl. “You don’t want it to be too hot,” he said.

“Do you feed them cow’s milk?”

“No, it’s a milk replacement—more nutritious, which is needed when they can’t get it directly from their mother.”

Your mind went to when you both were watching the cattle a little bit ago, many of the little ones happily drinking from their mothers.

“Are there other calves that aren’t outside with the rest?” you asked slowly, feeling your brows knit together.

“Yeah,” Javi replied. “Two.”

“Did… did something happen to their moms?” you asked softly, unable to help thinking the worst.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, “Their moms are fine,” he reassured. “Sometimes calves are abandoned or rejected by their mothers. In this case, they were abandoned.” He frowned, turning his attention back to what he was doing.

You matched his look as you spoke, “Oh, that’s really fucking sad.”

“It is.” You saw his head nod. “When cows have twins, it’s common for the mother to forget about one of them, and as fucked up as it is, sometimes the mothers just lose interest. We did a count, and we’re pretty sure one of them is a twin.”

He turned off the water, and you watched as he squirted some of the milk onto his inner wrist, nodding to himself that it wasn’t too hot before wiping it off with a nearby towel. Setting the warmed bottle on the counter, he put the other under the faucet, going through the same motions to get it ready.

“Luckily,” he said, “these two were found on the same day, so they’ve been together. Bottle-fed calves get lonely by themselves.”

He went through testing the temperature of the milk and, once satisfied, turned to face you, holding out the bottle, and you took it, the plastic warm under your fingers.

“Every season,” he continued, “a couple of calves have to be bottle-fed for one reason or another—it’s common. You ready to meet them?” He had the fondest smile on his face, and it made you feel like you were going to melt.

“Javier, you just told me these sweet baby cows were abandoned by their mothers. Yes, I am ready to meet them. I’m this close”—you held up your free hand, pinching your fingers close together—“to figuring out a way to take them home. I’m sure Mrs. Hernandez wouldn’t mind some cow neighbors.”

His eyebrow quirked, “Mrs. Hernandez barely tolerates human neighbors. I wouldn’t push your luck, baby.”

“Mrs. Hernandez loves me, thank you very much. She’s just not fond of the guy who makes me sound like a fucking porn star.” You paused as you thought about it. “Jesus, the noises you get out of me.” Heat started creeping up your neck, feeling hot.

Before Javi, there wasn’t a single partner you’d been with who made you scream their name. Hell, you thought loud moaning was just played up for porn, but apparently, if someone fucked you good enough, the sounds were a reality—a very loud reality.

He was smirking now, looking a little too proud of himself, as he closed the distance, his hands pulling your hips into him, Javi leaning in to kiss you.

“Love the sounds you make,” he murmured against your lips.

Kissing him one last time, you moved your head back to look at him.

“I know you do. You love them so much you never quiet me down, so really, you only have yourself to blame for Mrs. Hernandez not liking you.”

He seemed to think about it for a second.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “It’s worth it.”

That made you laugh.

“God, you’re ridiculous,” you said, playfully hitting his chest. “I would like to see the babies.”

“Follow me, Cielito,” he said, moving to grab the other bottle before taking your free hand and leading you out of the room.

Like the stable, the barn had a center aisle with stalls on each side, except where the others were fenced in with wood to make sure the horses couldn’t bother each other, the cow stalls were all separated with metal rail fencing similar to what was around the paddocks. Lights were hanging from the ceiling, and holes that you assumed hay was pushed down from, if the strands dangling from them were anything to go by. Fans were built into the walls for circulation, humming loudly as Javi took you to the first stall on the left.

Immediately, the two calves were bounding quickly toward the gate, making Javi chuckle.

“¡Hola, mis preciosas (Hello, my lovelies)!” His voice took on that sweet tone again that had you grinning. “¿Me extrañaste?” He turned his head toward you, smiling, “I asked if they missed me.”

“With how excited they are to see you, I think they did,” you laughed.

“Yeah, don’t worry if they come out. They’ll follow us back in.”

“Okay,” you replied.

He opened the door, and the calves were at his legs like giant puppies begging for attention and following you both back inside.

One was black, and the other red, neither paying you any attention, clearly over the moon to be seeing Javi—it was evident they were familiar with him.

Standing at his side, you started petting the back of the black one, and she seemed to realize there was another person, rubbing her head against your leg. “Do they have names?” you asked with a glance to the man next to you.

“Uh,” Javi leaned down, grabbing the red calf's ear tag. “Eight-Seventeen,” he answered. He looked at the other, his eyes squinting as he read, “and Eight-thirty-three.”

Your eyebrows had risen. “I’m sorry, they don’t have names?” You could hear the surprise in your voice.

Straightening up, he gave you a sheepish look.

“No? Just endearments?”

“Unacceptable,” you replied. “They need names! Look at how cute they are.”

He huffed out an amused breath, smiling.

“We can name them. Lower the bottle down. She’ll drink it.”

Doing as he said, the calf was eagerly latching onto the long red nipple of the bottle, hearing her suckling loudly.

“Both girls?” you asked him.

“Yeah.” He was feeding the other, bending slightly for the calf to easily drink.

“Is it normal for cows to be so friendly?”

“They’re just used to humans and associate us with food,” he shrugged.

“That seems to be a common thing—feed the animals, and suddenly they’re your best friend. The power of food.”

“It’s powerful shit. Have you decided on names?”

“Did you watch Saturday morning cartoons growing up?” you asked. “The Flintstones, The Jetsons, Bugs Bunny—sitting in front of the tv with your bowl of cereal?”

“My mom usually made breakfast, but yeah, I’d watch cartoons. There was one, fuck, what was it called.” His eyebrows furrowed while he wracked his brain. “It had a kid who went on adventures with his dad and a special agent. He had a dog named Bandit. I think it was Jonny, Jonny something.” He was frowning at not being able to remember the title.

“Jonny Quest!”

“Yes!” he said with a smile. “I liked that one.”

“I liked that one, too. My favorite was The Flintstones, but did you ever see Scooby-Doo?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Okay, hear me out.” Pointing at the red calf, you spoke, “Daphne, and this one’s Velma,” you said, rubbing her ear while she fed.

“Daphne and Velma,” Javi said with a nod. “I like them.” He turned his attention to Daphne, petting her head as he spoke softly, “¿Entonces es así (So, it’s like that)? Te llamas Daphne (Your name is Daphne)? Sí, ese es el nombre de mi preciosa y es el nombre perfecto, porque mi Cielito es perfecta y demasiada buena para mí (Yes, that is my precious’ name and it’s the perfect name, because my Cielito is perfect and too good for me).”

It took you a second to process what he’d said, your lips tipping down.

“Javier, no soy demasiada buena para ti (I am not too good for you),” you said. “And I’m not perfect either, so stop lying to our cow children.”

A choking sound came from his throat, Javi going into a coughing fit.

“Sorry!” you exclaimed, patting his back.

The topic of kids hadn’t been brought up since that time in the truck after going to the farmers market, and from his reactions tonight with his dad and you teasing him, it was safe to assume that he wasn’t too inclined to the prospect. It was a shame, really. From the way you’d seen him interacting with animals—the care, the gentleness, the sweet affections—Javier would be an excellent father, and he already knew how to make a bottle, which was a plus. Seeing him being so affectionate and loving to the creatures had you all hot and bothered, the cavewoman part of your brain alerting you that he was the perfect partner to procreate with.

God, you’d have his babies in a heartbeat, but like you told him that afternoon on the drive back to your apartment, kids were a big decision you wanted to make with your partner, and you were happy to be with Javi with or without them. Though the thought of tiny Peña’s, with his big brown eyes and messy hair, made you yearn.

“I’m okay,” he wheezed.

The calves had finished their bottles and were now crowding at his legs.

“I’m okay,” he said again to the cows, leaning down to pet each of them with his free hand. “A real fucking shock to find out I have bovine children.” He turned his head to smile at you.

“Obviously, they’re adopted,” you replied with a grin. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” You pointed at them, “They clearly know you’re their father.”

He snorted.

“I’m their source of food,” he said, standing back up. “It’s either me or Pop taking care of them. My mornings start by coming in here, opening their gate, and the two of them following me around while I make their bottles and clean their stall. They’ll even follow me around while I do other chores—it’s cute. They do the same with Pop. Last week he was grilling himself dinner in the backyard, and they just played in the grass.”

A big smile was on your face as you moved to pet Daphne.

“They really are just giant puppies.”

“Basically,” he nodded. “You ready to go? There’s one last place I want to show you before we go for a ride.”

“Yes. Thank you for letting me feed her,” you said, holding up the empty bottle. “They’re both so ridiculously adorable.”

“Anytime, Cielito,” Javi said, leaning in to kiss you. As he pulled back, he smacked your ass, making you squeak in surprise. “Say goodbye to our hijas (daughters).”

Laughing, you gave each of them some pets, telling them goodbye before following Javi back to the supply room. He took the bottle from you, and you stood near him at the sink, watching as he washed each of them before putting them on a drying rack and cleaning his hands.

“Will we be petting any more animals?” you asked as he dried his hands on a nearby towel.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head.

Nodding at his answer, you moved into the space he’d vacated at the sink to wash your hands, smiling happily when you dried them and turned your attention back to him.

“So,” you started, clapping your hands together. “What did you want to show me?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a mischievous smile that had you curious.

His hand was warm when it grabbed onto your own, engulfing yours easily as you followed him out of the barn and around the side, where there was a set of stairs. Butterflies started flying rapidly in your tummy, suddenly having an idea as to where he was taking you, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

It wasn’t a surprise when you found yourself in the hayloft, hay bales stacked all over at various heights. The place was secluded, that was for sure, the hay basically soundproofing the noises from outside, but did it work for the ones inside, too? The thought had your skin heating, remembering Javi telling you how he used to fuck in here. It was safe to say your panties were ruined, feeling as more arousal pooled in them.

There was a window high up on the front wall, causing daylight to spill through, while a lone light bulb hung at the center of the space from a wooden beam.

Standing in the middle of the room, hay surrounding you on three sides, Javi turned to face you, his eyes darkening in the low light.

“The hayloft,” Javi said, the words coming out deeper, raspier, causing a shiver to move down your spine.

“Where the magic happens,” you replied breathily.

He crowded into you then, taking up the space at your front with his eyes locked on yours while his big hands moved up your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they rose, skating along your shoulders, and the taut skin of your neck until his fingers were sliding along the sides of your jaw to cup your face.

“Yes,” he said it like a promise, that if you said the word, he would make the magic happen, and it had your thighs rubbing together to try and ease the growing ache.

His face was inching closer to yours, his eyes dropping down to your lips and back up to meet yours, seeing the pink of his tongue wet his bottom lip. Your heart was pounding in your chest, Javi close enough now you could feel his breaths ghosting over your lips, his hovering over your own, the tip of his perfect nose nudging against yours.

“You want me?” he rasped.

“God, yes,” you answered desperately.

The words barely left your mouth before he kissed you hard, swallowing your surprised moan. You welcomed his tongue, feeling his hunger, his need, hearing his groans as he kissed you all full of passion and desperation. Your fingers were tangled in the front of his shirt, needing something to hang onto as he plundered your mouth.

That ache had grown substantially, need burning brightly in your belly, wanting him so fucking badly, moaning as he tasted every inch of your mouth. His hands moved down your body, palming your breasts before they were zeroing in on the ties that held your wrap dress closed, undoing them while his mouth stayed on yours, getting them worked open so quickly and the fabric off your body so fast, you were making a surprised sound when his hands touched your bare skin.

“Fucking need you, baby,” he groaned into your lips, his palms greedily roving over your newly exposed flesh.

“I need you, too,” you replied, your fingers threading into the thick strands of his hair.

His mouth trailed messily along your jaw, making you moan when he sucked at your pulse point while his hands squeezed your covered breasts, weighing them in his palms until he tugged down the cups of your bra. His mouth went lower, bending down to wrap his lips around a pebbled nipple, gasping as pleasure shot straight to your cunt.

“Fuck, Javi,” you moaned, his hot tongue laving at your sensitive peak.

He moved to your other breast to give it the same attention, your fingers tightening in his hair, feeling the vibrations as he groaned against your skin.

Your body was thrumming, gasping his name as he worshipped your breasts with his lips and tongue, moving from one to the other, your skin slick with his spit. His head came up abruptly to kiss you again, the force causing you to take a step back, him following, his hands gripping your hips as he continued to walk you backward until a surprised gasp was pulled from your throat when he spun you around, pushing you forward to bend at the waist over a stack of hay bales.

The new position wasn’t wholly unwelcome, the hay a bit scratchy, but you didn’t care, not when Javi blanketed himself over your back, feeling the material of his flannel shirt and the rough denim of his jeans, his hard cock pressing into the roundness of your ass.

His head was beside yours, his breath tickling your ear, feeling as he spoke, “Is this okay?” he asked.

“It’s more than okay,” you replied. “Touch me.”

“Gonna do more than touch you, Cielito.” He ended the sentence with a nip to your earlobe.

The heat of his body left yours, making you gasp when his lips touched your spine, his fingers getting under the band of your panties. His kisses went lower as he pulled down your underwear until he was kneeling behind you, and your panties pooled at your ankles.

Anticipation was swelling inside of you, wanting, no, needing to feel his touch, something to ease the burning ache between your legs.

“Need you to spread open for me, baby,” he husked, those large hands of his finally touching you, grabbing your thighs and opening them wider, your feet shuffling apart to give him more space.

His fingers dug into the globes of your ass, squeezing the plump flesh appreciatively.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured. The sharp sting of his palm hitting your bare ass had you moaning, Javi quickly smoothing it over to soothe the pain, and you giggled when his lips pressed a wet smacking kiss into an asscheek, turning your head to try and see him behind you.

“I thought I was supposed to be kissing your ass?” you teased. “You’re the one that got bit.”

“Mmm, I did get bit—should level the playing field.”

“What—?” Your question answered when his teeth sank into the plush skin he’d kissed, causing you to shout, “Javier!” It wasn’t a hard bite; it was just unexpected, following it with another wet smack of his lips, kissing your ass one more time.

His head moved into view to meet your eyes, grinning boyishly, his cute dimple on display.

“We’re even,” he said.

Your eyebrow rose. “Does that make you feel better?” you asked.

The smile fell from his face, his eyes rounding.

“A little,” he answered.

“But you’re still upset about getting bit?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed your ass. “You make me feel better.”

“Yeah? Well,” you purred. “I am fucking dripping for you. Would it make you feel even better if I gave you free rein to do whatever you want to me?”

His hands tightened on your flesh, seeing his throat bob.

“Anything?” The word came out deeper, a flush licking up his neck.

“Anything,” you promised with a nod.

His eyes were locked on yours as he moved his hand between your legs, dipping his fingers through your wetness to get them wet. Closing your eyes, you gasped his name when he languidly swirled his digits around your clit, the sparks of pleasure making your pussy flutter.

“Look at me,” he rasped.

Doing as he asked, your gazes were locked as his fingers moved back through your folds, moaning when he teased your entrance, barely pushing in, feeling how fucking soaked you were for him before he moved further up to a place you knew he’d been dying to touch. You sucked in a breath when he circled your tight ring of muscle, the sensation new and pleasant, something you thought you might even quite enjoy.

His eyes had glazed over with want, barely any brown remaining.

“Anything?” he asked again.

“Anything.”

He growled, hands spreading you open and pulling a loud moan from you when his tongue pressed eagerly into your cunt, making you face forward again as your eyes rolled back in your head. Your fingers were digging into the hay bale, Javi groaning into your skin as he tasted every bit of slick coating the lips of your sex like a man starved, igniting a spark in your belly that was growing rapidly.

His tongue dipped in to swirl around your clit, the pleasure having you gasping his name while the tension built in your core, ratcheting up when he pulled the sensitive bundle between his lips and sucked.

The man was ravenous, licking, sucking, fucking his tongue inside you, devouring your pussy, and you were in heaven, so pent up from all of the almosts that you knew you were going to fall apart fast, the noises doing you in—hearing Javi’s hunger, his want, how fucking much he was enjoying eating you out. You shattered with a cry of his name as pleasure washed through your system, his moans muffled against your soaked entrance as he drank down every drop of your release from the source.

He didn’t wait for you to fully come down before he was working you back up again—your cunt still fluttering in the aftershocks as his tongue teased around your sensitive little clit, over and over again, until you honest to god whined, the sound turning into a moan when he gave it the attention you wanted with laps of his tongue, the oversensitivity making you keen.

You clawed at the hay, your body overcome with pleasure, chanting his name as he worked you over, his tongue fucking into you, before greedily laving back over you like he wanted to taste every last drop of your need for him. His fingers were digging into the skin of your ass, feeling as he started licking higher, moving over your entrance and continuing up, your eyes flying open at the realization of his intended destination.

“Oh my god,” you moaned as the flat of his tongue moved over your tight hole.

Oh yes, this was something you definitely liked.

You could hear and feel his groans, his pace languid as he licked all around and over before applying more pressure to gently prod at the tight ring of muscle. The pleasure was surprising, feeling it in your clit with the beginnings of an orgasm taking shape, sounds coming out of your mouth you weren’t entirely sure were human.

“You like this?” he asked, words muffled in your spit-soaked skin.

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you answered, unable to control yourself from squirming to try and get his mouth on you again.

“My dirty fucking girl,” he said, slapping your asscheek before gripping it with his big hand.

He dove back in, and this time he was relentless.

It felt like every nerve in your body was alight, his tongue all wet and warm, swiping and prodding, making you tingle all over, and driving you wild. Your forehead was pressed into the hay bale, moaning loudly as you felt the familiar heat at the base of your spine. His mouth moved, licking back down to your clit, before he went back up again, making sure he left no part of you untouched, the muscles in your belly beginning to tighten.

His face was buried in your ass, and the knowledge that Javi wanted every part of you—that you could hear just how much he wanted every part of you had you reeling and so fucking turned on you thought you’d combust. Your pussy was weeping, your slick dripping out of you, and the feeling of Javi’s fingertips pressing against your clit had you crying out his name.

That was your undoing—his fingers, his mouth, the act itself had you rocketing towards your release, it crashing over you with a silent scream. Euphoria coursed through your veins, limbs tingling as your body slumped into the hay bale like he’d wrung out every last bit of pleasure he could get, panting hard.

He helped you ride out your high this time, letting you fully come back to earth before he was standing up, his hands rubbing up your sides.

“How you feeling, baby?” he asked, his hand moving your hair away from your neck as he leaned down to kiss your nape.

“Fucking incredible,” you slurred.

His lips moved to your shoulder, his body pressed against you feeling the hard line of his cock digging into your ass.

“Yeah?” he asked, kissing your skin.

“Oh, yeah.”

You felt the breadth of his hands on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into your softness.

“Want me to fuck you?”

“Need you to fuck me,” you answered. “Your tongue and fingers are fantastic. The ass stuff? Fucking steller, a wonderful remix to a classic, but we both know I won’t be satisfied until I’m your stuffed little creampuff.”

Javi snorted, moving to kiss the side of your head, feeling him smiling.

His lips were at your ear, “Yeah, Cielito?” The deep timbre of his voice had you shivering. “Need me to fill you up? Want me to fuck you full of me? Make you drip, baby? You want my come?”

You felt your heartbeat in your cunt, arousal stirring in your belly, suddenly feeling empty.

“Yes, Papí,” you moaned. Javi’s groan was so rumbly it bordered on a growl. “I need it.”

His hand lightly grabbed your chin, turning your head to look at him, seeing your slick glistening on the bottom half of his face and mustache, your eyes meeting—his lust-filled and wanting, the adoration still evident in the dark pools.

“You can have it,” he rasped. “You can have whatever you fucking want, mi amor. Gonna pump you so full of me I’ll be inside you for days.”

And there was no doubt in your mind he’d be true to his word, your pussy throbbing in anticipation.

Javier wanted to kiss her, but he was at the end of his rope with his self-control, gently running the pad of his thumb across the plush of her lower lip before moving off of her to stand, his knees aching from being on the ground.

Fuck, he was old.

He couldn’t remember the last girl he had in here—didn’t even care to remember—all he knew was he’d been in much better shape back then than he was now.

Didn’t have sore joints and muscles.

Definitely didn’t have a horse bite on his ass.

Fucking Enrique, the asshole.

None of that mattered, though, not with the way Cielito was so perfectly on display for him, her ass begging to be touched, her pussy shiny from his spit, and her come, looking so inviting—beckoning him—and it was like he was under some kind of fucking spell, or maybe he was just so fucking hard he was running on autopilot because in the seconds his eyes were locked on her, he’d worked open his belt and pants.

A hiss slid through his teeth when he took himself in hand, pulling his throbbing cock out and eclipsing every other thought that didn’t involve getting inside her as soon as possible, the need taking over, consuming him. Quickly, he spat on his fingers, wetting his dick, getting it nice and slick with a mix of saliva and leaking precum, before pushing himself through her soaking folds.

Javier groaned, the sound bubbling up deep in his chest and rumbling out of him at the feel of her warmth.

“Fuck, baby,” his voice was rough, his free hand squeezing the soft flesh of her ass. “Are you ready for me? Or do you want me to loosen you up?”

He didn’t think he could wait any longer, feeling like he was going to explode.

“Put your dick in me,” she whined, her desperation sending sharp spikes of heat down his spine. “Please.”

His hand landed on her ass with a loud smack, hearing her moan as he started pushing inside her entrance, not needing to be told twice. He was groaning loudly, watching as he fed himself into the tight hug of her pussy inch by inch, thinking how it was impossible how hot and wet she was, her velvet walls pulling him deeper, welcoming him in its embrace until his hips were flush against her ass.

His head fell back, eyes shutting closed with a moan as her warmth soothed something deep inside him.

He couldn’t move.

He was so fucking worked up, barely hanging on by a thread, and dangerously close to blowing his load like some two-pump chump, which would be fucking embarrassing.

Javier took steadying breaths to try to calm and get himself under control.

“Fucking love being inside you,” he groaned when he could finally speak.

She clenched around him, and air left his lungs in a wheeze like he’d been punched.

“Fuck,” he panted, swallowing hard. “Baby, shit, gimme a second, or you’re gonna have this ending before it’s even started.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, more than okay. Fucking needed this—been on my mind all fucking day, and you feel so fucking good. Fuck, I can’t get enough of you—will never get enough of you.”

He’d calmed down to the point he could start thrusting shallowly, loving the little noises she made.

“Javi,” she said his name in that breathy gasp he loved, the sound that told him she was just as needy as him, and it had a sting of pleasure shooting through him.

Tilting his head down, he watched as he pulled almost all the way out, seeing his cock glistening with her arousal, Javier groaning at the sight.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasped, sinking back into her again, and setting a steady pace, soft sounds falling from her lips as he fucked into her.

She had taken up all of his thoughts—how she was making him feel, how she felt, how he needed to make her feel good. Losing himself in her hot depths and her sweet noises spurring him on, her pussy hugging him so tightly he thought she might keep him inside her forever, and how he wanted to stay there, to live within her, their bodies melding into one and never parting.

He sped up, his brows furrowing, mouth going slack in concentration, panting as his thrusts became faster, hearing the slap of their bodies connecting and the wet suck of her pussy taking him, over and over again, while she mewled under him, chanting his name.

Admiring her under him, he took in the lines of her back, the sheen of perspiration on her skin, and how she was resting her cheek on her arms, giving him a glimpse of her face, seeing it screwed up in pleasure, her lips parted.

Fuck, she was gorgeous.

He’d never tire of her sounds or how fucking perfectly they fit together, the snug fit of her cunt always welcoming, her softness complementing his hardness, taking all he had to give.

It was never just sex with her, never just scratching an itch or working out stress—it was never transactional; it was something more, something that intoxicated him and made him feel things he’d never felt before. She was practically naked under him, and yet Javier felt just as bare when he was still fully clothed, her tapping into another part of him he normally kept hidden—he could be vulnerable with her, be himself, fucking relax.

“Feels so fucking good,” she gasped, taking him from his thoughts as pride filled his chest. “You fuck me so good.”

The praise shot straight to his dick, making him shudder.

“You like how I fuck you, Cielito?” The question came out deeper, breathier.

“Yes—fucking love it,” her answer ending in a moan.

His hands gripped her cheeks, spreading her open, his eyes locked on where they were connected, marveling at how well she took him. There was something else, though, some other want that had been kept locked away until today—a desire, a need to have every single part of her. Getting to be the first to fuck her ass was a dream of his, her revealing to him one night after a few drinks that she’d never let anyone touch her there, making him think it wasn’t something she was interested in. But she let him eat it, and from those sweet sounds she’d made, she loved it and gave him hope one day she’d let him have it—have all of her.

She’d offered him free rein to do whatever he wanted to her, and without wasting another second, he spat on her tight hole, his thumb moving to stroke over it. She loudly moaned his name, her cunt clenching hard around him, feeling her get wetter. It fueled him to keep going, Javier grunting as he continued thrusting hard, his thumb breaching her tight ring of muscle.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh, fuck, that feels so fucking good,” she whined. “Gonna come.”

“Shit,” he hissed, his rhythm stuttering, almost coming himself.

Her body seized up as she came undone, crying out his name, her pussy gripping him so tight, the feeling was almost overwhelming, his pace slowing. It took a few seconds before he sped back up, fucking into her desperately to extend her high, panting from exertion, sweat on his brow, her body trembling beneath him through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

“My good fucking girl,” he groaned, grinding his hips into her. “You fucking love that.” He removed his thumb, gently smoothing it over her puckered hole. “Fucking love it when I play with your ass.”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“You’d probably even let me fuck it.” His cock twitched at the thought. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, Cielito? My dick in your ass, filling you up.”

“Yes, Papi, you can have me however you want,” she sounded wrecked, a spike of adrenaline hitting his system, a groan reverberating from his chest as he leaned over her to get his arm under her chest to haul her up to stand with her back pressed to his front.

He lightly tugged on her chin to get her to turn her head, Javier angling to look at her face and see her fucked out expression.

“You love when I fill you up,” he rasped, her eyes squeezing shut as she whimpered. “Love when I’m inside you.” He had an arm braced at her waist to hold her against him, his other hand moving to her breast, rolling her hardened nipple between his fingers as he started thrusting into her slowly, the wet glide of his cock sliding in and out of her smoothly. “Love when I touch you.” Javier was rambling in a haze of lust, so fucking drunk on her that the feelings were overtaking him. “Love a lot about me.” He swallowed hard.

“Yes, everything,” she gasped.

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, quickening his pace. His arm moved to lock over her chest, the weight of her breast held in his hand, keeping her up, while his other dipped between her legs to circle her swollen clit. He mumbled into her skin, the question swimming at the front of his mind, “¿Pero me amas a mi (But, do you love me)?”

Her hand came up, sliding her fingers into his sweat-damp hair, “What did you say, baby?” The words coming out slightly slurred.

He kissed her neck, “Need you to come again,” he answered, having a moment of clarity that this wasn’t the time or place to bare his soul, the doubt making him too chickenshit to hear her answer.

Her tight walls started spasming around him, and pleasure curled in his gut, his body feeling hot all over, Javier cursing his decision to keep his clothes on with the sweat soaking his shirt. He fucked into her harder, her moans stuttering, the breath pushing from her lungs from his cock punching its way into her over and over again.

He could tell she was close, her hand gripping his brown waves tightly, murmuring his name like a prayer.

“Come on, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, breathing hard. “Give me one more. Come for me, soak my dick, and you can have my come.”

With a handful of thrusts more, she was coming with a gasping moan, choking his dick as her body went boneless in his arms.

“So good to me,” he said, rocking his hips into her, kissing her neck. “So fucking good to me. Such a good girl.”

He wasn’t gonna last, the heat building in his belly, feeling so fucking close.

“Come inside me,” she breathed. “Let me have it. Please, Javi, I want it—want it so bad. Fill me up, Papi.”

The groan that came out of him was guttural, feeling it vibrate in his chest as he started fucking into her hard, hearing their skin colliding and the slick sounds of her pussy being worked by his cock.

There was something deep in the recesses of his mind that made him need to come inside her, quelling some dumb primal instinct when he pumped her full of himself, wanting to fill her until she leaked and have her keep him inside. He thought it was so she’d have him with her, a reminder, but it made him so fucking hard thinking about filling her over and over again, stuffing her full of his come, and keeping her full.

His balls started tightening up at the thought, the muscles in his belly coiling, his cock thickening. Pushing into her deep, he came with a loud moan, his spend gushing into her and filling her, rolling his hips to work it deeper inside her depths to fill every crevice and soothe that need of his.

He heard her sigh happily, Javier slumping into her body when he was fully spent, feeling euphoric and so relaxed he wasn’t sure if there were bones left in his body.

Nothing else in the entire fucking world mattered except for her. He wanted to stay in her warmth forever, bask in it, live in it. His nose was pressed into her neck, inhaling her scent that was comforting and smelled like home. Hugging her close to him, her body fitting perfectly against his like they were made for each other—two halves of a whole.

Mi media naranja (My soulmate).

The fucking chemicals rolling through his body had him feeling sappy as fuck, and he should feel embarrassed, but it was all true.

He kissed her skin, nosing up to press his lips against the shell of her ear to whisper, “Te adoro y me haces el hombre más feliz del planeta. Gracias por estar conmigo, mi Cielito.”

Her hand pressed against his cheek.

“‘I adore you, and you make me the very happy man on the planet,’” she translated slowly. ”’Thank you for being with me, my Cielito.’ Did I get that right?”

He smiled, kissing her ear.

“Close. I adore you, and you make me the happiest man on the planet. Thank you for being with me, my Cielito.”

“I adore you, too,” she said, “and you make me the happiest woman on the planet. Thank you for being with me, baby.”

Warmth was radiating in his chest, his heart constricting from feeling so fucking happy. He tightened his arms around her, hugging her harder.

“I really fucking like you, Cielito,” he said.

“I really fucking like you, too, Javi.”

He frowned, sighing, “We should go get cleaned up so I can kiss you how I want.”

“What a gentleman,” she replied, and he could hear her smiling, her hand lightly patting his cheek. “Eats ass like a fucking champ, then cleans himself up so he can make out with me. This is why I like you.”

Pride had his chest puffing out. “Like a champ? You liked it that much?”

“Oh, babe. That’s happening again—all the ass stuff is definitely happening again.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his cock twitching inside her. “So, you’d wanna try…”

“You can have me however you want, Papi,” she purred.

“Shit, baby, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“Sorry.”

He huffed out a breath, “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

As much as it pained him, he slowly pulled out of her heat with a hiss, his hand finding its way between her legs, feeling his come beginning to leak out, two of his fingers pushing it back inside.

“Javi,” she gasped.

“Don’t wanna lose any—gotta keep it inside, baby,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Yes,” she moaned.

Her answer made something inside his brain purr happily.

“My good girl.”

He slipped his fingers out, sucking them clean with a groan, enjoying their taste on his tongue.

Stepping away from her, he moved to pick up her discarded dress, and she turned to face him, bending down to pull up her panties, his eyes raking over her body appreciatively, loving every curve and dip, his hands itching to touch her soft skin.

Handing her the dress when she straightened, he helped right her bra, frowning as he picked off stray bits of hay.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

She looked down at what he was doing.

“What are you sorry about?”

“Bending you over the hay bales.”

He thought he’d gotten it all off, eyes finally meeting hers.

She had an eyebrow quirked.

“It was sexy,” she replied, putting her clothes back on. “And a great fucking time.” Her attention was on tying the dress, so it stayed closed. “Don’t be sorry. I loved it.”

“Are you sure?”

In the past, there was always a blanket to ensure his partner was comfortable when he fucked in here.

“Positive, babe,” she said, finally finished and looking at him again with a bright smile. “Would fuck on a hay bale again. Honestly, I’d let you fuck me anywhere because, one, you always make it really good, and two, I trust you—I know you’d make sure I was safe. So, don’t stress. It was really fucking good. Now, let’s go get cleaned up. I really wanna kiss that pretty face of yours.”

He could see the earnestness in her gaze, that everything she said was true, and it had him feeling soft, his body relaxing—three words stuck to the tip of his tongue and dying to come out, him having to swallow them down with a bob of his throat.

Just a little more time, that’s all he needed to make sure this wasn’t all a fluke. But he knew in his gut it wasn’t. He knew this was real and that by some fucking miracle, he found the person he was supposed to spend his life with—the one who completed him and made him want to be a better man.

He found his person.

His media naranja.

His soulmate.

His Cielito.

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freddie-77-ao3 · 2 months

Text

For The Children That’ll Never Grow (Hope Should Have Left Humanity)

(clips)

In the Gardens of Bacchus, long after Reyna has left them, Octavian and Jason stay, drinking cold hot chocolate. Jason is putting on a show, making lightning mimic campers. At one point, he loses control, and a grapevine catches fire. They watch as it burns to ash.

Octavian traces his spine with a finger, pulls in for a kiss, and whispers in his ear, you are capable of such beautiful destruction.

From Octavian, it must be true.

~~~~

On the way to Orthys, Octavian insists on sitting by his side. Jason leans into his touch. This may be the last time he sees his… his Octavian alive.

Jason murmurs, “What if we fail?” against Octavian’s skin, barely audible in the frenzied sedan. But the way Octavian tenses means Jason knows that he’d heard it.

Octavian swallows a lump in his throat. “It’ll end in fire. But, Jay, we won’t be the ones to burn.”

They’ll be dead. The Twelfth legion will be dead long before the mortal world begins burning. Jason’s throat bobs. “Yeah. I, uh, I love you, Tavi.”

“Love you too, Jay.” They sit in silence the rest of the drive.

They stay in silence after the drive too. When the fourteen year old is made Praetor, raised on the shield, still covered in the sticky ichor of the titans and the blood of the last Praetor.

When Octavian has to guide him away from the bunks Jason has lived in since he was five. Has to wrangle him into the shower, carefully caressing scabs and still open cuts.

Because these two boys are fourteen, and they love each other. These two boys are fourteen, and they have no idea what’s coming.

~~~

Sometimes, Jason likes it when he cries. The tears blur his sight, until he can pretend even airplanes are shooting stars across the night sky.

When he wishes on them, it’s always for the same thing. For a family. For a sister (his sister, buried beneath tree branches, untouchable and locked away). A mother and a father too if he is lucky.

~~~

Octavian lays down next to him on his bed in the Praetor’s room. He traces the nape of his neck. “You, Jason Grace, have been cursed with a great raisin d’etre. But it’s okay. You’ll live, you’ll survive.” Octavian doesn’t add that he only knows that Jason will survive longer than he will, and that Octavian will likely be dead before two years are out. Doesn’t add that from what Octavian has seen of Jason’s death, it is creeping closer, closer, close too.

~~~

When Octavian gets cold, he gets cold. He gets cold deep in his bones, where it doesn’t leave for weeks. Jason found it funny, once, back when they were ten or so, because Octavian looked like a goddamned marshmallow, wrapped up in three pairs of pants, 2 shirts, a sweater, and a jacket. (And don’t even get him started on the socks).

The point is, it was funny once, how much Octavian dreaded the cold. Once. Just not anymore. Because Octavian doesn’t care about the cold. Jason can see him shivering on his father’s altar at all hours of the day, but when Jason tries to persuade him to come down, he just… doesn’t. He says there’s no time.

Time for what? He had asked once, laughing. War’s over, Tavi. We have nothing but time.

Octavian had scowled. Had told him he didn’t know what he was talking about. Then, he had pressed a knife into Jason’s hand, and told him to go stay in his room.

Why? Tavi, we’re fine. War’s over, we survived. It isn’t over, he had responded, not yet.

~~~

"I need to sleep." Reyna admits, because she's always been able to advocate for herself. It's also her saying that she's overwhelmed, not that Octavian would judge her for simply saying it. "But call if you need me."

He won’t. Jason Grace is missing– possibly dead. But Octavian can’t tell Reyna this. Can’t tell anyone. Because that makes it all real, and if it’s real, Octavian can’t stand himself. So it isn’t real. Simple as that.

#pjo hoo toa #riordanverse #pjo #pjo series #pjo fandom #snippets #my wips #wips #wip snippet #jason grace #octavian pjo #reyna ramirez arellano #jason pjo #jason grace pjo #jason/octavian

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leiawritesstories · 8 months

Text

Varese, Reimagined

Rowaelin Month, Day 30: Alternate Canon Scene

sh*ttiest title ever, i know, and also super horribly late but we'll ignore that because....college 🙃 anyway here's a lil alternate canon scene thing based on the idea of "age reversal"

Word count: 2.3k (currently)

Warnings: swearing, bickering, fighting, weapons, sassy Rowan, snarky Aelin, mentions of Maeve

enjoy!!!

@rowaelinscourt

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

Gods, it was boiling in her cousin's useless excuse for a kingdom.

Maybe it just felt that way because the terra-cotta rooftop she was currently perched on had been baking in the sun for hours, but still…if Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was going to survive another day of waiting for her darling aunt Maeve to make a godsdamned move, she needed more wine. She reached to her left, where she could have sworn there was a glass bottle of cheap, unripened wine that she’d swiped from a vendor yesterday, but the bottle was gone.

She turned, blinking in the harsh sunlight, and found the rutting bottle teetering on the edge of the rooftop as if it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to fall. Before she could roust herself to lunge for it, the damn thing tipped over the edge and crashed to the cobbled street with a symphony of shattered glass.

Hells.

Grumbling some of the more creative curses she knew–three centuries of life had their benefits, it seemed–Aelin swung her sleep-stiff body upright, stretched the creaks and cracks out of her limbs, and darted across the tiled rooftop towards a convenient drainpipe. She wrapped her legs around the sturdy clay pipe and slid with feline grace down into the alley below.

The instant she set foot into the street, her senses were assaulted with the acrid scents of sweat, spices, alcohol, and the clamor of too many people crammed into the vendor-lined street market. Even without her Fae senses, the sensory commotion was nearly enough to topple her. She sighed, tucked her face into the shadows of her hood, and joined the throngs of people bustling through the market.

It was laughably easy to swipe some roasted meat on a stick and a flask of wine from various stalls, and she ate the food quickly, washing it down with the absolutely terrible wine. Gods above. If she happened to visit Galan’s castle like Adarlan thought she was going to, she’d need to have some words with her human cousin about the piss-poor quality of his kingdom’s wine. She dropped the empty flask in a gutter, swiped a new one from a different vendor, and sauntered back into the alley, intending to slip back up to the rooftops to watch the stars appear.

The back of her neck prickled as she turned into the alley. It took her all of three seconds to identify the presence of a male body in the shadows near the end of the alley, so she stopped in her tracks and took a long draft of the wine–marginally better than the other one, but still godsdamned awful. Then, summoning all the bravado she could, she spoke.

“If you’re here to kill me, you might as well get it over with.”

There was a rustle, and a tall, muscular, cloaked Fae figure stepped into the soft orange glow of the single streetlamp. “I’m not here to kill you.” His face was hidden by the shadows of his hood, but from the depth of his voice, she could tell he was an adult. At least Maeve hadn’t sent some quivering youngling.

“Really?” She kept her tone conversational. “Because lurking in the back corners of an alley certainly seems conducive to a friendly greeting.” Sarcasm oozed into the end of that sentence, and she waited for the male’s retort.

“I’ve been sent to bring you to Doranelle.” The words rushed out too quickly to be natural–he’d memorized that line, probably at the hand of Maeve herself. “Her Majesty would prefer to meet you alive, but she is not averse to the sight of your corpse.”

“How unfortunate that I have no intention of meeting her, dead or alive.” Aelin tossed the flask into the side of the alley.

The male strode forward, each pace eating up the distance between her and him. “It is not my desire to harm you.” Swift as the wind, he darted behind her, knife glinting in his hand, and made to immobilize her.

Centuries of training with Terrasen’s (and other kingdoms’) military and years of Arobynn’s relentless harshness had made Aelin just as swift and twice as lethal, though, and she dodged his attack, countering with a well-placed boot to his upper thigh. He grunted and lunged towards her, and she grabbed a fistful of his cloak and twisted, destabilizing him.

“Shit,” he yelped, jerking himself back onto his feet but losing his cloak in the process. He stumbled a few steps back, as if it would stop her from assessing him.

She swept a keen gaze over him, from his silvery, braided hair to his well-worn boots. “A Whitethorn, hmm?” A grin curled across her face. “I’ve never met a Whitethorn.”

“Prince Rowan Whitethorn,” the male snapped, as if her borderline-lustful comment had hit precisely the nerve she wanted to hit.

“Pleasure to meet you, Prince.” Aelin smirked, and with a tight exhale, she shifted into her Fae form. “I’m sure my lovely auntie has told you all about me.” From the poorly-suppressed flicker of fear in his emerald eyes, she deduced that Maeve indeed had. “Don’t be afraid, little prince,” she purred. “You’ll wake up a little dazed, but it will be alright.”

Rowan glowered. “Do not call me that,” he hissed. “I am thirty-four, not a rutting child.”

Aelin chuckled. “My mistake. When one has lived centuries, it is easy to forget how childish we all were for our first century.”

“You–you’re–but we thought–” He was, for once, lost for words.

“Has nobody taught you manners, prince?” She clicked her tongue. “It is terribly impolite to ask a lady her age.” Darting forward with whip-swift speed, she swung the hilt of her dagger at Rowan’s temple, aiming to knock him unconscious.

He caught her wrist with barely centimeters to spare. “No so fast, Galathynius,” he growled. “I. Am. Taking. You. To. My. Queen.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to speak down to me,” she chided, teasingly. “You forget that I have a century or three on you, young one.”

Ire flared in those pine eyes. “And I have your knife hand in a–ooooof!” He’d been so distracted trying to keep her wriggling knife hand in his grasp that he hadn’t noticed her knee gradually slipping back until she rammed it directly into his groin.

“I don’t want to do this any more than you do, Whitethorn.” Aelin set her face into placid blankness. Doubled over, clutching his manhood, Rowan wheezed, unable to form speech. “But I do so hope we shall meet again.” With that, she bashed the hilt of her knife into the male’s temple.

He dropped like a stone, unconscious before he hit the cobblestones. She held the back of her wrist over his mouth to make sure he was breathing, then swiftly tied up the slumbering Whitethorn prince, and propped him up in the same dark corner where he’d been waiting for her.

“Sleep well, Whitethorn,” she crooned, blowing him a kiss as she left.

Rowan’s head hurt worse than it had since the first time he let the Moonbeam twins take him to a tavern. The agonizing throbbing pounded insistently through the fog of his brain as he fought his way out of sleep, his memories blurred, fuzzy. What in ten hells had happened? He reached for his head to see if there was a bump or a bruise.

And found his arms bound tightly behind his back.

Hellas himself.

The memories of the night before suddenly flooded back with crystal clarity. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. Working on orders from his Queen, Rowan had tracked down the elusive princess, followed her scent into its freshest mark, hidden himself in the shadows, and waited, patiently, for the supposedly alcoholic, supposedly human princess to make her appearance.

Everything he thought he knew about her was wrong. Rutting hell, everything Doranelle thought they knew about the Galathynius princess was wrong. She was far from the lost, drunken, half-feral assassin they thought she was–not only was she perfectly in control of herself, but she was coherent, shrewd, fought with a terrifyingly unfamiliar blend of military, assassin, and unknown technique, had enough Fae heritage to shift, and was bleeding immortal. Queen Maeve would have his head on a fucking spike if he returned emptyhanded.

Muffling a frustrated scream, Prince Rowan Whitethorn started working his fingers around the ropes binding him hand and foot. He’d be rutting damned if he couldn’t get out of the bonds within an hour, and if he had to use a knife to do it, then so be it.

As he grappled with the last knot standing between him and enough freedom to move his hands properly–of course, this would be the least maneuverable knot–Rowan heard a soft, amused chuckle, and it was with no small amount of dread that he dragged his gaze up and found Aelin Galathynius leaning against the alley wall, hood tipped back just enough to partially reveal her stunning face–still Fae, he noticed–her smirk razor-sharp in the afternoon sunlight.

“Are you familiar with Illyrian knots, Whitethorn?”

He scowled and bit his tongue, forcing himself not to answer.

She chuckled. “Probably not, I keep forgetting I learned those knots two hundred years ago.” She took two paces forward, bringing herself close enough that her scent–jasmine, lemon, and the crackling tang of fire–drifted into his Fae nose. “In simplest terms, the more you tinker with the knot, the tighter and more tangled it will get.”

“Hellas,” Rowan grunted.

“No, a Hellas knot is far simpler to undo.” Mirth laced her words.

He sighed and dropped his almost-freed hands in defeat. “You’ll just abandon me in this godsforsaken alley, then?”

She hummed. “As much as I’d like to leave you to the urchins and street thugs, I believe my darling aunt is waiting, and it seems I need one of Maeve’s own to get into Doranelle.”

For an instant, hope raced through his veins. “So you’re setting me free?”

Aelin tipped her head back and laughed.

A fierce blush scorched across Rowan’s dark tan face. “Am I to be let in on this hilarious joke?”

“Respect your elders, young one,” Aelin drawled, lazily rolling a throwing star back and forth across her gloved knuckles. “I’m offering you a choice, Whitethorn. Either you stay here and rot in this pathetic excuse for a respectable street–unless, of course, you figure out how to unravel an Illyrian knot before nightfall–or you serve as my guide to dear old Auntie Maeve.” A frighteningly sweet smile curved her full lips. “The choice is yours.”

“Not much of a choice,” he snarked. Deep down, though, he had already decided.

She shrugged. “We all have to learn about one-sided choices somehow.”

He clamped his lips together, refusing to submit to the painfully obvious decision for as long as he could stand. Just say it, Whitethorn! shrieked the little voice inside his head. You know perfectly damn well you’ll be useless in an attack if you’re still tied up!

“Enjoy your new home, then.” Aelin’s voice held absolutely no shreds of emotion; she merely turned on her heel and started to leave the alley.

“Wait!” His hoarse yell cracked through the hot, still air. “I-I’ll do it.”

Slowly, with the kind of graceful confidence that only came from lifetimes of experience, she turned back around and prowled towards him, stopping when she reached the knife she’d left on the sun-warmed cobblestones. “A wise decision, prince.”

He grunted. “Get me out of these ropes.”

For the second time in ten minutes, she threw back her head and laughed. “You think you’re giving me orders?” She flicked a mirthful tear off her cheek with the point of the knife–a feat Rowan refused to admit made admiration rush through him. “Hardly, Prince Rowan.” She smirked, the expression purely Fae, tinged with just enough wickedness to make his heart stutter.

It made him wonder just how Aelin’s eventual meeting with Queen Maeve would go.

“Move, and the knots will tighten,” Aelin warned, waiting for him to still his body before she strolled around behind him and released the ropes binding his restrained legs to his restrained arms.

The ropes slackened for a moment, and he leapt to his feet, surging backwards to knock her off balance, only for her to give a sharp yank on the ropes and send him sprawling gracelessly to his feet.

“Rutting hell,” he muttered, dignity crumbling.

“Well played, Whitethorn,” was all she said in response. She knelt and held a flask to his lips, and despite his embarrassment, he was bleeding thirsty, and the water was cold and fresh, so he drank. She whistled shrilly, and there was a minute of silence before hooves clattered against the street and a horse trotted into the alley.

Rowan blinked, half convinced he was dreaming. “Galathynius, is that my godsdamn horse?”

“Is it?” she returned, innocently. “He was tethered a few blocks away and looked awfully thirsty, the poor thing, so I took care of him and here he is now.”

Rowan chose not to answer.

Aelin snickered. “Shall we?” She tugged on the ropes again, and Rowan picked himself up, stood, and faced the princess of Terrasen and her immortal, incorrigible smirk.

“Are you going to make me follow my own damn horse like a war criminal?” he grumbled.

“No.”

“Then–”

She cut off his question before he could ask it. “Mount up, Whitethorn. I’ll ride behind you so you don’t try any clever shit like shifting.”

Well, shit. There went his perfectly sound plan.

Aelin waited for him to mount, then swung effortlessly up into the saddle behind him. “Lighten up, prince,” she teased. “You won’t be able to shift for a few weeks, anyway.”

He blinked. “What?!”

She tossed a tiny glass vial over his shoulder. “Didn’t anyone teach you about nightroot tincture when you were in warrior school?”

Gods burn him, it was going to be a long ride to Doranelle.

~~~

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#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #heir of fire #heir of fire au #canon au #alternate canon #age reversal canon #because i said so hehe

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traumacatholic · 6 months

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Im on the verge of suicide and I suspect my two sisters are as well. While I don't think I will ever do it, because I'm religious, idk about them. And even if I won't do it, to live in such a torment ad the one I'm experiencing is unbearable and unimaginable. Logically I believe in the power of prayers, but on a personal level I find it unlikely anything will ever help me. But I'm still asking for prayers in the intention of us three staying alive no matter what.

I'm really sorry to hear that you and your sisters are struggling with suicidal thoughts. I don't know where you live, but please know that there will be crisis and non-crisis resources that you can access for support and pass on resources to your sisters (as well as to use for yourself). Suicide hotlines are just one form of accessing support. You can absolutely reach out to your local doctor, or see what other support services are in place. Sometimes you can access therapy groups which can often have shorter waiting list times and can often be offered for free or low cost. There are also a range of apps that are free or low cost that offer a range of coping mechanisms. I would recommend just putting in 'mental health' or 'suicide support' into your app store because sometimes it will also recommend apps that are ran by local resources to you.

As for prayers, something that you can try and do is use these prayers. You can say them when you get up in the morning, before you go to bed, or whenever you feel like anxiety/pain/etc is building up. You can pick up praying one of them a day, or whenever you're able, or using more than one. Whatever you feel is most beneficial to you (and also most achievable). I'm giving you a range of prayers under a readmore, just because some of them vary in length and you might find a certain length of prayer works best for you.

Lord Jesus Christ Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner

----

Good Saint Dymphna, great wonder-worker in every affliction of mind and body, I humbly implore your powerful intercession with Jesus through Mary, the Health of the Sick, in my present need. (Mention it.) Saint Dymphna, martyr of purity, patroness of those who suffer with nervous and mental afflictions, beloved child of Jesus and Mary, pray to Them for me and obtain my request.

(Pray one Our Father, one Hail Mary and one Glory Be.)

Saint Dymphna, Virgin and Martyr, pray for us.

----

Glorious Archangel Saint Raphael, great prince of the heavenly court, you are illustrious for your gifts of wisdom and grace.

You are a guide of those who journey by land or sea or air, consoler of the afflicted, and refuge of sinners. I beg you, assist me in all my needs and in all the sufferings of this life, as once you helped the young Tobias on his travels.

Because you are the medicine of God, I humbly pray you to heal the many infirmities of my soul and the ills that afflict my body. I especially ask of you the favor

(mention your request here)

and the great grace of purity to prepare me to be the temple of the Holy Spirit.

St. Raphael, of the glorious seven who stand before the throne of Him who lives and reigns, Angel of health, the Lord has filled your hand with balm from heaven to soothe or cure our pains. Heal or cure the victim of disease and guide our steps when doubtful of our ways.

Amen.

---

O my beloved Queen, my hope, O Mother of God, protector of orphans and protector of those who are hurt, the savior of those who perish and the consolation of all those who are in distress, thou seest my misery, thou seest my sorrow and my loneliness. Help me—I am powerless; give me strength. Thou knowest what I suffer, thou knowest my grief: Lend me thy hand, for who else can be my hope but thee, my protector and my intercessor before God? I have sinned before thee and before all people. Be my Mother, my consoler, my helper. Protect me and save me, chase grief away from me, chase my lowness of heart and my despondency. Help me, O Mother of my God!

----

Thee alone I follow, Lord Jesus, Who heals my wounds. For what shall separate me from the love of God, which is in Thee? Shall tribulation, or distress, or famine? I am held fast as though by nails, and fettered by the bonds of charity. Remove from me, O Lord Jesus, with Thy potent sword, the corruption of my sins. Secure me in the bonds of Thy love; cut away what is corrupt in me. Come quickly and make an end of my many, my hidden and secret afflictions. Open the wound lest the evil humor spread. With Thy new washing, cleanse in me all that is stained. Hear me, you earthly men, who in your sins bring forth drunken thoughts: I have found a Physician. He dwells in Heaven and distributes His healing on earth. He alone can heal my pains Who Himself has none. He alone Who knows what is hidden can take away the grief of my heart, the fear of my soul: Jesus Christ. Christ is grace! Christ is life! Christ is Resurrection! Amen.

#prayer request #prayer req #tw suicide

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