#damn Red really did suffer so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beneathashadytree · 3 months

Text

JUST A MAN - ZAYNE LI X READER

Warnings : mentions of death, anxiety, and loss, Zayne is bad with grief and feels responsible for everyone, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : hurt/comfort (for Zayne)

Word count : 2.2K words (oops)

Additional notes : Zayne was the reason I started playing this game in the first place. I love him dearly, and think he really deserves to be comforted. Like, a LOT.

Tip jar!

Masterlist

The click of the door closing was so careful that it was almost inaudible, and they would’ve missed it had they not been eagerly awaiting his return.

Before they had a chance to jump up and properly welcome him home and take his jacket from him, Zayne had already walked out of the hallway and into the living room where they were sat, resting on the sofa on their day off.

‘That’s… unusual,’ they thought to themself, furrowing their eyebrows as he only grunted some sort of half-hearted greeting, before slowly trudging up the stairs to their shared bedroom without so much as a word. ‘Very unusual.’

After a few minutes had passed—maybe quarter of an hour or so; just enough so as not to overwhelm him all of a sudden—they followed after him and carefully knocked twice on the mahogany door of the bathroom. “Zayne?”

A grunt came from behind the door, which they took as an invitation to enter. Once they did, they were greeted by the sight of him with furrowed eyebrows scrubbing furiously at his hands, the scarred skin nearly raw and bright red with each hard scratch of his blunt nails against it. The smell of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic permeated the air and stung their nose.

The whole scene felt like it had tugged at their heart and dragged it through their chest, leaving a bloody mess in its wake. A sigh of helplessness almost escaped them, but they knew better than to let it slip.

It was better to pretend that their very being wasn’t aching to soothe the agony translated onto his hands; the pain he’d inevitably try to mask. After all, Zayne was a man of many talents, and that included putting up a brave, fierce front when the man behind the mask was close to crumbling.

But what he seemed to forget at times was that they knew him better than anyone ever could, save maybe himself—and sometimes, it felt like even that was questionable. After all, with unconditional devotion came understanding tucked between lingering moments of silence.

Pulling his hand out of the scalding running water, they turned the faucet off. “You’ll hurt yourself like that,” they gently chided him, though not unkindly. Looking up, they found him to be blankly staring at his hands. With great care, they patted down his inflamed skin with the soft hand towel that had his name embroidered in wonky characters; a testament to them adding a little color to their shared life.

And a shared life entailed tending to each other at their lowest points, like they were determined to do now.

Now dry, they took his hands in theirs, reaching up to press gentle kisses to his palms. Maybe they hoped their lips would act as a soothing balm; some wishful thinking that he would normally fondly call childish. But now, all he did was inhale sharply at the contact, tensing up a little and growing stiff. Patting the backs of his hands, they guided him out of the stifling bathroom. “C’mon, let’s get you in bed.”

The prolonged silence was unlike any they’d ever shared before. Sure, Zayne had never been particularly talkative, and more often than not seemed all too happy to listen to them ramble on, his light-hearted quips the only thing interrupting the flow of their stories, and soft sounds of encouragement and amusement littered in between.

However, this was the sort of unnerving silence of words being tied back and shackled to one’s ribcage; of a burden weighing down and threatening to suffocate oneself. And they would be damned if they let him choke on his own words all alone. Not when he’d refused, over and over again, to let them suffer in solitude.

In their bedroom, they both sat down in the middle of the neatly-made bed. Reaching over to their bedside table, they took a small bottle of moisturizer they’d bought a couple of weeks ago. Zayne wasn’t the biggest fan of heavily scented products, so they’d taken care to buy something that smelled fresh but not too overwhelming—and the jasmine-scented cream fit the bill perfectly.

Small, gentle circles drawn onto the backs of his hands, thumbs running over every taut tendon and every protruding vein… with utmost care and patience they rubbed the cream into his skin. Using antiseptic and alcohol always left his hands a little on the dry side, and with such aggressiveness and intensity he’d no doubt have damaged his skin. It was a small gesture, but they hoped it showed that they worried about the littlest things concerning him.

The usually-perfectly-poised doctor looked so unbelievably tired, down to his bones. His verdant eyes, normally so sharp and expressive of his every emotion, only showed bone-deep weariness, and a slight chill climbed up their spine at how faraway his gaze seemed to be. His lips were pressed into a thin line, the corners of his mouth completely and utterly still. It was a far cry from the way they’d curl upwards just at the sight of them; he looked as though he were sealing his own mouth shut for fear of words tumbling out against his will.

It would’ve been far too easy to coax him into speaking. Zayne could never fully ignore them, no matter how much he wasn’t feeling up to engaging in conversation. With a chisel and a hammer in hand, it was all too easy to send his walls crashing and crumbling to the floor, forcing out a flood of words—but that wouldn’t do. If nothing else, they wanted to offer a safe space.

He’d come to them. He always would.

So they began to remove his crooked tie, loosening the knot and gradually tugging it off, looping it just the way he liked to stow it away in their closet. Button by button, they went down his rumpled white shirt, until it was fully opened.

Red splotches painted his neck and chest, a tell-tale sign of his tumultuous emotions. He always flushed deeply when he was in anguish, no matter how hard he tried to hide it; no matter how much his gaze avoided them at all costs. A set of his favorite cozy pyjamas (cotton, because he liked the crisp, clean feel of it) was soon placed on the bed beside him.

One of his hands reached out for it, the first indication of him being mentally present. He was grabbing it so hard that the darker skin of his scars stretched with the firmness of his hold; expressing some sort of insistence. They nodded, showing that they’d leave that to him, and began readying for bed themself, leaving him to his devices.

Unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, he was quick to dress himself in methodical, concise steps, as though it was a chore that he needed to get done with as soon as possible. By the time they were done with changing and tidying themself up for the night, Zayne was already settled underneath the covers, stiffly leaning against the headboard.

When they joined him between the sheets and snuggled into him, they hadn’t expected him to be the first to speak. “One of my patients died on the operating table today.”

A sharp tug at their heart had them swallowing thickly at his hoarse voice. Ah. That explained it. Granting him their full undivided attention, they twisted in their seat and entwined their fingers with his, thumb gently drawing circles at the back of his hand. Just like he liked it.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you know them personally? Or were they referred to you?” Small talk. It was just small talk. Anything to get him to say what was on his mind.

Zayne tensed his jaw, shaking his head and momentarily closing his eyes. Too much. Maybe they shouldn’t have said anything. “Doesn’t matter.” A slight crack in his voice, and then he cleared his throat. Perhaps unconsciously, he squeezed their hand as a tortured expression flitted across his features. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I couldn’t save her.”

A sick feeling twisted in their gut. What impossible standards was this man trying to hold himself up to? “Zayne, my love. You can’t save everyone. That’s… that’s impossible.” Their tone was as gentle as could be, trying to get their point across. “I know you want to, but you can’t.”

“It’s my job,” he whispered, sheer agony lacing his words as a hand reached out to clutch his chest. Zayne, sweet Zayne, who felt everything too deeply and spoke so little of it. Zayne, who could probably physically feel the crushing weight of misplaced guilt on his soul. “I’m a doctor, for god’s sake.”

“A doctor, not an invincible savior.” Their words might’ve seemed cruel, but perhaps there was some cruelty to the truth; truth that he had to hear. “You’re not some omnipotent being. You’re burning out your own life force for the sake of everyone’s. It’s your job to try your best.” Determined eyes met a pair of troubled ones. “You go above and beyond your obligation.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” he choked out, twisting his neck as his face contorted in pain. “How does trying matter, if it’s all in vain?”

“You try when everyone else has lost hope. You cling onto every possibility and do your damned utmost for every life whose burdens you choose to carry. No one else does this, Zayne,” they quietly said, trying to point out just how incredibly he stood out in the field. “You’d lose not just sleep but even limbs, if it meant you could have a shot at saving someone. You’d carve your own heart out for someone else’s. Isn’t that sacrifice?”

“It’s all I can do.” A trembling hand left theirs, and both reached up to rub at his face. His expression hidden for a few moments, it obscured him enough to leave them wondering what was on his mind. “I have nothing else to offer.”

“It’s more than anyone else would do,” they repeated, their voice so achingly gentle that it threatened to tear him apart from the very core outwards. Just as tenderly, they pushed his hands away from his eyes, and brushed back his silken strands of hair from his forehead. “You’ve saved thousands. I know you have. You’ve saved me.”

Zayne squeezed his eyes shut once again, and though he seemed to be avoiding the confrontation of what bubbled underneath his skin, his body betrayed him. He couldn’t help but lean into their inviting palm cradling his cheek. He ached for their touch, but punished himself for every second he reveled in it. Taking a rattling breath, he managed to ask, “And how long will that last, before you’re taken away from me too?”

Something clawed at their chest and burst through. “I’m not going anywhere.” Firm, unyielding; like they were swearing an oath bound between their souls and bodies, tied with a knot by their searing skin against each other. “I’m yours in defiance of anything that dares to rip us apart. Do you hear me?” It took all they had to fight back the tears that welled up in their eyes at the sight of him so defeated by fate’s cruel hands. Ironic, when his own hands were the harbringer of life and compassion.

All energy seemed to escape him as he slumped forward, resting on them entirely as they caught him in their arms. Whether it was the heaviness of a burden shared or his weight taking them down, they both fell back onto the pillows. Was the shattering sound that of their heart breaking into a million pieces at such a sudden display of defeat, or was it that of decades-old walls crumbling into a heap on the floor?

Was the price of his vulnerability the destruction of his façade of indomitable strength?

It hurt. God, it hurt.

They didn’t know if that was something Zayne had said aloud, or if their own thoughts were ringing in their ears. In all cases, all they could do was collect his shards—every jaded piece of him that almost crumbled to dust—and pray that their embrace was enough for now; enough to put him back together again, if just for another day.

Caressing his back and nestling him into their chest, they wished they could tuck him away into a corner of their heart, and hide him between their ribs. They’d breathe for him and love for him, and he’d never have to worry again. But in the real world, they were just two adults, lost in a sea of tangled limbs and worn-out souls, desperation coating their every move. Love, after all, bore torment.

Kisses, feather-light and brimming with affection—and maybe tinged with the saltiness of tears—rained down upon his weary head. “Rest, my love,” they affectionately mumbled against his hair, pressing their lips in two sweet kisses upon the crown of his head, sealing things with a simple promise of everything they could both ever want. “I’ll still be there when you wake up.”

Time could only tell if their vows were to be fulfilled in spite of all the odds.

Taglist: —

277 notes · View notes

rainylana · 1 year

Text

“Yeah.”

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: eddie calls reader a b*tch

warnings: language, angst, tears.

a/n: i know these past fics have been short, i’m sorry, but i’m still trying my hand at getting back into this! they’ll get longer, i promise! feedback is appreciate!! :)

Eddie was not in a good mood. You knew this the moment you saw him through the window of his van when he came to pick you up for school. He ranted all morning about how he needed money for new tires, money he didn’t have. Work was cutting him hours and he couldn’t afford it. He was tired of not having money, tired of not getting what he wanted. He was having a damn bad day.

And of course, you listened graciously, but after four hours of watching him sulk in class and be a dick to his friends, it was starting to take it’s toll. He was pouting and you understood why. He came from a poor family and he wouldn’t let you help out financially in anyway whatsoever, no matter how hard you begged. You didn’t want to seem rude and make his bad day seem unappreciated or invalid, but he was treating his friends, and you, poorly to a degree. Not so much you.

Lunch was almost unbearable. Everyone walked on eggshells. Eddie was one of the most dramatic people on the face of the earth and everyone had to suffer for it. Hours past and he’d taken you home from school. Your plan was to go over to his house for a movie night, hoping that a few hours apart would help him settle down and cool off. It done no good. He was absolutely enraged when you got there. The hood of his van was up, smoke flying overhead and his dark curls pulled up away from his face. You didn’t even really know what was wrong with it. It didn’t make sense when he told you. Cars were his detail.

Dinner was no change. You sat and listened to him complain about how none of the guy’s were apparently taking the new campaign seriously. He had a hole in his last pair of good jeans. You felt guilty being annoyed by this, but he hadn’t once asked you how your day was or even kissed you! You were going to loose your mind. Without thinking, you snapped.

“Oh, my god!” You wailed, throwing your silverware down. “Jesus, christ, Eddie, take a breath!”

His eyes were round and wide. “Pardon me?”

You took a breath yourself, forcing yourself to not snap and say something you’d regret. You placed your elbows on the table and rubbed your face. “Baby, I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day, but holy shit you’ve not stopped talking for one second!” You really did have a pounding headache. “You’ve been talking about money all day! Can’t we just have a change of topic, please.”

He looked taken back. Shocked. “Oh, I see. It’s all gotta be bout you, right? Fucking forgive me for having a bad day!” He threw down his fist, clinking the dinnerware together.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Eddie.” You sighed tiredly. “I’m saying that you’ve not acknowledged me at all today. You’ve not kissed me or asked how my day was. I’m sorry you’re stressed out about money, but you’ve been taking it out one everyone, Eddie. You need to calm down.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Calm down? Well, last time I checked you were living in a grand castle on daddy’s money, right? You have no idea the kind of shit Wayne and I have to got through to make ends meet, y/n.” He stood abruptly and yanked open the fridge for a beer.

“Hey,” You raised your voice. “I’m not trying to belittle you, Eddie. All I’m saying is that you don’t need to take your frustration out on everyone, out on me. I’m sorry I snapped at you, okay-”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He took a long swig after he threw the tab in the sink. “You’re my girlfriend! You’re supposed to be supportive and shit. Only thing you’re being is a bitch.” He sneered like a snake, pointing at you like you were his worst enemy.

Your face dropped at the curse, and as stupid as it felt, your heart sank. Eddie had never said anything like that to you before. Your face burned red and the room got eerily quiet. You felt your eyes immediately blur with tears of embarrassment and humiliation. You had tried to help him, offer solutions. You tried to lend a hand, offer him money and look for jobs in the newspaper at lunch. He acknowledged none of this.

You bit your lip to keep from crying, a lump building in your throat that made you feel sick. You had your head turned to the wall so he wouldn’t see you, but you couldn’t keep it in. You let out a quiet sob, tears falling down your face as you looked down. Your face was red hot, and you brought up your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” You cried. “I’ve been t-trying to help, I-” Your voice broke and you couldn’t speak as tears escaped, your face twisting into tears. You sat there and cried for a few minutes before you felt the seat dip next to you.

“Hey,” His voice cooed softly, turning your shoulder to pull you toward him. You allowed him to, and you looked eyes briefly before climbing into his lap, wrapping your legs around his torso, your feet dangling off the bench. Your arms were tight around his neck, your face buried in his shirt where you sniffled. He smelled of cologne and dirt.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, voice low and sad. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He rubbed your back up and down, kissing the side of your head when you let out a whimper.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” You said tearfully, holding him like a teddy bear. “I wish you didn’t have to worry about money.”

You felt him sigh heavily. “It’s okay. I got the most important thing in the world right here with me.” He pulled you away so he could look up at you. His eyes were brown and full, his lips pulled into a frown at your tear stricken face. He took his thumbs and wiped them. “I’m sorry I called you that. You know I didn’t mean it, right? You know I didn’t.”

You nodded slowly, wiping your nose with your hand. “Yeah.” You creaked.

He tapped your chin. “Yeah.” Then your nose and to wipe away another tear. He leaned up to plant a tiny kiss on your lips, then one on the corner of your mouth. You leaned down to kiss back, deepening it with your tongue and a hand locking in his curls. Your noses pressed together like puzzle pieces. Perfectly fit.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb

1K notes · View notes

lxvvie · 6 months

Text

On today's episode of Pranks R Us: It's that time of the year when we're inundated with Christmas carols and movies. All. Damn. Day. Hallmark. Here's a scenario for you: How would your faves react to you purposely, horrendously serenading them with Christmas songs that... they don't like? 😊

Capt. John Price - He's nursing his cuppa because he knows for a fact that the boys put you up to this. He feels it in his bone marrow for Christ's sake. Price likes to think he's smiling behind the mug but his cheeks are hurting a bit too much for it to be genuine which really means he's gonna give the rest of 141 hell when he sees them the next time.

Gaz - Went from raising a brow to his cheeks being puffed the hell out because he's trying his best not to laugh in your face. When you're done, you have the biggest shit-eating grin... which devolves into laughter from both you and him. Tears are rolling down your eyes and he's clutching his stomach. God, he loves you, darling.

Soap - Soap is currently the Soapurrito™ with Whiskey (referencing this post) when you decide to randomly serenade them both. Not only do you have Soap looking confused but the dog keeps tilting his head as well, too. Then you hit that one note and they tilted their head at the same damn time and you just fell out laughing.

Ghost - (Referencing this post) Ghost was having a smoke and knit session and then you barged in and began singing. Not only did you sing the absolute worst fucking Christmas song to ever exist to him but you decided to channel your inner Luciano Pavarotti and make it classical for him. You thought you ate that shit but Ghost was staring at you in Say Sike, Mate the entire time while still knitting. You winked and blew him a kiss and if 'Why are we here? Just to suffer?' was a person.

Roach - He, like Price, was smiling a bit too brightly which means that he's crying on the inside. The one who gets up and gives you that reassuring squeeze because you got the spirit. Not everyone is meant to be a singer but he thanks you and revels in the holiday cheer! ❤️

Alex Keller - Was watching TV and not really paying attention to it and then BAM, you popped up! The more you sing, the more you realize his thighs are slowly but surely closing together and LIKE HELL YOU'LL CLOSE SHUT THE JAWS OF SWEET KELLER LOVIN', ALEX.

Alejandro - Alejandro looked up from his work, leaned back in his chair, and just stared at you with a furrowed brow. Rudy and the others are in earshot and are quietly, collectively laughing their asses off. You actually do a couple songs (per the bet) and Alejandro... has a stiff drink in the meantime lmao.

Rudy - Actually does laugh in your face, even though it's Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Apologizes while laughing in your face. Because laughter is contagious, however, you, too, start laughing.

König - König gets incredibly excited because Schatz, he didn't know you liked to sing horribly! And when you're done, he, too, chooses to serenade you, and holy shit, König actually can sing!

Horangi - Horangi has the most deadpan expression on his face. He's the one that promises you you can sit on his face all day long if you'll promise him to never sing again stop singing.

Graves - Graves was on a conference call with the boys when you busted in and started singing. The entire time, he's rocking the Zoolander grimace and when you're done, you hear someone give their best Simon Cowell impersonation and then it turns into Shadow Company's Got Talent and you're being judged. 'A' for Ass effort, darlin'.

Valeria - The one who rolls her eyes and massages her temple. May or may not put your ass on the couch tonight for this. Or, better yet, you wanna sing? Put your mouth to good use and sing on her pu—

Keegan - Is the epitome of lost as hell. Keegan is the one grimacing with every high note you, er, try to hit. He can't even bring himself to smile but his eyes are somewhat comically wide, made more so after you kiss his cheek, take the piss out of him, and ask him how you did.

287 notes · View notes

digitalagepulao · 9 months

Text

Prodigal son terror

Li Jing in a fury grabbed his halberd, leapt on his horse and galloped out of the headquarters. He was astonished to see Nezha with his Wind-Fire Wheels and Fire-Tipped Spear. He swore loudly, "You damned beast! You caused us endless suffering before your death, and now that you've been reborn, you're troubling us again!"

"Li Jing! I've returned my flesh and bones to you, and there's no longer any relation between us. Why did you smash my golden idol with your whip and burn down my temple? Today I must take my revenge!"

since I'm on a Nezha streak, might as well do my design for him on the Expedition AU! given that i've chosen to give characters a closer likeness to their region, it's only fitting i do the same with import deities like Guanyin, Subodhi and Nezha.

he's a complicated figure to place in the timeline because he gained popularity as a deity much after, only really arriving in China by the time the Journey would have been set. FSYY was written closer to when JTTW was written down, and he was retroactively inserted on the Zhou Dynasty period.

so deciding what to even do with him is dicey. but then i said fuck it, mythological rules apply here, he was around for the events of FSYY, and it and JTTW are set in the same universe. and for the sake of having some fun, i decided to get funky with his concept.

Nezha had the likeness of his family when he was alive, as described in FSYY, but once he was reborn with a lotus body he gained Indian traits instead. this is to be a nod to his status as an import deity and his origin as Nalakubara, and as the centuries roll by he may present himself to mortals closer to the locals' appearance wise.

as for his looks, i drew inspiration from multiple sources. read more for my rambles <3

his armor is closer to reconstructions of Zhou dynasty-period armor, skipping over extra parts simply because his lotus body is so indestructible, there's no need for a full set;

there are two red Chinese knots with jade beads dangling from the armor ties. they are said to ward off evil spirits, which felt like a good fit for a guy known to banish demons. i picked a six-petal flower pattern, which represents reunion, unity and a bright future;

i included lotus petals and leaves on his outfit as they are common in Beijing Opera outfits for him, and his makeup is a call to it as well;

The pink from the cheeks and eyeshadow seeps into his ear shell, as to convey the way sometimes, you get so angry even your ears blush;

Another thing i referenced from Opera is the two red ribbons on his sidelocks, though I changed them to two bulbs of lotus roots;

Four petals drawn close to his urna as both to make it look like a lotus but also form five petals, which is an auspicious number;

His hair crown is a fancy princely [knot] with a lotus motif and a pearl in the center, as he was the Pearl Spirit before becoming Nezha;

I was going to go with elf-like ears but I thought I could do better, so I went for stretched earlobes instead. you can't see it that well but hopefully the very large golden earrings imply it well enough xvx;

His cheek dimples are common sight on religious images of him and it was a cute touch imo;

Younger Nezha wears a golden robe because of his title as General of the Central Altar in Daoist belief, and the center direction is connected to yellow or gold, and yellow robes are usually meant for emperors and their sons, which is a minor nod to his self-assureness and boldness;

The Cosmic Ring has spiralling grooves on it both to catch blades on it for defense but also as a callback to Opera props;

On his waist is the embroidered ball weapon he was attributed with in earlier myths, he was also meant to have the leopard skin bag Taiyi Zhenren gave him, bjt it was going to be obscured by the text so i omitted it;

A few depictions of him gave him a halo of fire, which was real cool so i added it as well.

#fengshen yanyi #investiture of the gods #fsyy #iotg #li nezha #nezha #third lotus prince #third prince nezha #expedition to the west au #bell dragon art

329 notes · View notes

koolades-world · 5 months

Text

Behind the Scenes

All it took was the watchful eye of your best man.

“How was yer day?” Mammon took your bag from you as the two of you began the walk home from RAD together.

“Uneventful mostly, but not bad. The fact that you were there during Seductive Speechcraft today was more than enough to turn my day around.” You turn and smile at him.

“What’d ya mean?” He glanced over at you.

"Just a bad day. Having you at my side make it better." You try to deflect.

"What happened?" He reached out to grab your hand, which you took.

"A couple things." You avoid his gaze.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Mammon stopped you in your tracks by standing in front of you. He looks right into your eyes, and holds your chin in his hands.

“You’re so caring Mams, but I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” You place a hand on his arm, trying to continue walking. He stops you, holding you close.

"Ya've been havin' bad days for a while now. What's the root? Ya can't hide this from me." You sigh, realize the jig is up.

"There's been this demon at RAD who's been picking on me. Today he stole my Potions homework, shouldered me into my locker, and almost drowned me in the bathroom. Thankfully the professor let me off since I never forget my work at home, but next time I might not be so lucky." You admit.

"He what? Forget the whole homework thing, I'll kill the bastard. Who did this to you? You gotta tell me about this stuff. Where does it hurt? Tell me the truth." Silently, you lift one of your sleeves to reveal the bruise you got from being slammed into the locker and pull down the collar of your uniform reveal the outline of fingers on the back of your neck. You wince at the memory. “What were ya planning to do? Suffer in silence? Mc, I don’t tell ya enough that I love ya.” He cupped your face in his hands, speaking to you gently.

“Usually when this happens, I just use a spell to cover it since I'm not good enough at healing magic yet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you and I’m sorry for worrying you, but he…” You trail off, glancing around. “I don’t think I should even be telling you this.” Mammon looks at you, then around the both of you as well.

“Ya know damn well ya can tell me anythin’. Fuck him. If ya want, ya can wait until we get home.” Mammon knew whoever this demon was wouldn’t dare to both you while he was around.

“I want to wait until we get home.” You said. That was the only thing you had been sure about that entire conversation. Mammon, instead of letting you walk, opted to carry you, insisting it was for your own good. You couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia, that he was somehow listening and that you said too much.

One you both arrived home, Mammon sat you down in the living room and called over everyone that was home. In a matter of minutes, Levi, Satan, and Asmo were gathered around you, concerned at how oddly serious Mammon had approached them. While you sat silently, Mammon explained. You could see the rage blossoming on Satan’s face, and the horror on Levi and Asmo’s.

“Sweetie, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Asmo cuddled you in a similar way that Mammon did when he found out.

“I was afraid…” You search their faces for their reactions.

“What did he say to you?” Asmo asked.

“He told me he would hurt my family if I told anyone. Not you guys, my human family. I haven’t seen them in so long and I didn’t want anything to happen to them. I really miss them. He said it would be fun to…” You couldn’t continue. A silent tear makes its way down your face. Mammon wiped it away.

“You don’t have to continue.” Asmo pulled you in closer to him.

“What’s his name?” Satan speaks up for the first time. His face was a little red and his eye has begun to tick, but looked eerily calm otherwise. To the untrained eye, it may have looked like he was calming down, but that couldn’t be more wrong.

“Please don’t hurt him.” You begged them.

“Why?” Levi, who had also been silent, nervously asked.

“He must have a reason for acting the way he has been. He probably has a family, and friends. I don’t think he deserves to be hurt, just maybe talked to.” Asmo gripped you hand tighter at your words and swept some hair out of your face.

“We’ll see what we can do, honey.” Asmo exchanged glances with his brothers. “How about this? We take you to Purgatory Hall to spend time with whoever’s there right now while we go talk to Lucifer, Belphie, and Beel.” He asked you.

“Can’t it wait? What if he’s listening?” You pleaded.

“I can assure you if he is out there and dares to act on his threats, I will see to it personally.” Satan’s tick was stronger and more noticeable.

“Anyways, I trust Sol with my life! If there’s anyone I would let look after you, it’s him.” Asmo told you.

“Ok, if you’re really sure. I trust you. Thanks guys. Can I have a hug?” You rose from your stop to be swarmed by the four demons around you. They took care to not hurt you more. You felt safe in the middle of them.

All of them personally went with you to drop you off at Purgatory Hall. Simeon answered the door, and as soon as he took in the scene, his usual smile faded and called for Solomon. Mammon explained the situation, to which they promptly agreed to help. As Asmo transferred you to Simeon, you heard Solomon asking them to save him a piece. It send a sharp shiver down your spine. As soon as the door shut, their facades dropped.

“They never told us his name. Even if it means I have to check every student at RAD, I will. After all, there can only be so many who meet his description.” Asmo chuckled. Satan was still doing his best to hold in his explosive rage until they were far enough from Purgatory Hall.

“Levi, take Satan somewhere to decompress for a while. We’ll reconvene here once we find the others.” Mammon took out his DDD and began making the calls he needed. Asmo also took out his DDD to check as many Devilgram accounts as he could to see if anyone looked particularly guilty.

As soon as Lucifer found out, he practically flew out of the place to meet up with his brothers. It was easy to see the similarities between him and Satan at this point. Belphie and Beel weren’t far behind. It was rare to see them both so agitated. The three of them quickly went in to see you, to see for themselves that you were ok, and to ask for the name of who has been bothering you. After much coaxing, they finally got it. Lucifer made Simeon promise to heal you, and with that, they vanished again. You didn’t know what to think, and hoped they would adhere to their promise.

Once they found him, they didn’t know what to do first. Question him or get straight to what they were there for: to make him pay for what he did. Each of them had their own idea, that they would never dare tell you. While you were safe and sound at Purgatory Hall, the brothers were having the time of their lives. It was a side of them they would never let you see; the side of them that truly reveled in misery and pain.

That demon vanished.

About a week and a half later, he reappeared a changed demon. He apologized for everything he did and remained out of your way from then on. He seemed physically fine, but was a different demon altogether. He was much nicer, and quieter. His friends avoided you like the plague, afraid of something you didn't understand. In fact, after that, everyone treated you like gold if they didn't already. You weren't stupid. You knew the brothers did something but nobody dared tell you. It was a little uncanny as everyone outside your household was pretending nothing had happened in the first place.

But the brothers were kinder, if possible. They kept bringing you small trinkets and gifts, like flowers and anything they thought you would like. They checked up on you more frequently and took you out more frequently. They always made sure you had everything you wanted even if you didn't ask for it. They even arranged for you to see your family in the human world with one accompanying you, although you suspected the others were watching from a distance. It was still chilling to think about what they did to that demon to make them stop so suddenly upon their return, or where they even went, but you settled on never knowing what they did. You just took their gestures at face value and appreciated them for it.

The brothers were glad you were recovering from everything. Anything you refused to tell them, they got out of the perpetrator. Simeon was an amazing healer, and even Lucifer wasn't sure how he brought him back together, mentally and physically. You could never find out.

errrr i don't really like this </3 the concept was more fun but I can't scrap it after how much i put into it

i kinda wanted it more ominous with less words but i think I need more writing practice for that lol

#obey me #obey me!#obey me satan #obey me x reader #obey me asmo #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub

280 notes · View notes

brucewaynehater101 · 14 days

Note

Hi! I have a writing idea, but I neither have the skill nor the motivation to turn it into a full story, so I thought of sharing it with you because *grips you by the shoulders with tired eyes* you have soooooo many writing ideas, and most of them inspired this brainrot in the first place

It all starts with Tim Drake living the good life. He's married, he has an aquarium full of fish, he's Aquaman's No. 1 Rival in being loved by fishes, and he's a mentor of most Young Heroes of that generation.

He's literally a grandpa (grand-uncle? grunkle?) with a good relationship with his brothers and Bruce, and a loving and spicy relationship with his partners (I can't choose between Kon and Bernard so they're poly)

He dies of old age with no regrets, content with his life and full of hope for the future.

And then he wakes the fuck up.

What. Was. Was none of that real? Did everything good that happened just a dream? A figment of his imagination?

Because not only did he not wake up, he woke up in a pool of his own blood within Titan's Tower. Jason was still there, painting on the wall with the blood that Tim spilled, still wearing that laughingly atrocious costume.

This.

This is bullshit.

Was his life too good that the universe decided "Ha. Fuck you. You need to suffer more, Bitch," and chucked him all the way to the past?

Jason notices him awake, picks up Tim's bō, and prepares to whack Tim.

But Tim barely cares. He's hurting in so many places. He misses his husbands. He just wanted his forever vacation.

He closes his eyes and just waits for the unconsciousness to happen.

It happens, and the next time he wakes up, Nightwing is hovering over him, and Batman is walking away to hunt Red Hood down.

Tim takes in a deep breath. Exhales slowly.

And then, he screams, "GET THE FUCK BACK HERE, YOU GODDAMN FURRY."

Bruce pauses in his walk, Dick is gaping, and Alfred simply blinks at the side.

"YOU GONNA GO SEE JASON? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO? SLIT HIS THROAT? YA BETTER STOP WHERE YOU FUCKING ARE BEFORE YOU DECIDE TO CONFRONT HIM, BECAUSE BY DIANA, YOU'RE MESSED UP IN THE FUCKING HEAD, YOU KNOW THAT?"

Dick tries to placate him. "Tim, calm down--"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, DICK! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS FUCKER DID ON MY BIRTHDAY?! ASK ALFRED BECAUSE HE WAS IN ON IT, TOO!"

Tim was panting now. But he didn't care. He remembered heart to hearts with Jason. He remembered how he and Jason had matching neck scars, and how much pain Jason's face was in when he shared what happened between him and Bruce.

"We need to restrain, Bruce. He's going to kill Jason. He's going to put Jason back in the grave if we let him go out."

Everyone pauses, Dick and Alfred's eyes widened in horrified shock. Bruce's face paled.

Tim may have exaggerated a bit, but they don't know that. Because Jason still died. His heart restarts later, but it really doesn't erase what happened.

"I don't kill."

Tim scoffed.

"Just because a man doesn't die at that moment, doesn't mean he won't die later if he's left for dead.

"Jason is going to make you choose between him and the Joker. You're going to save the Joker. And Jason? Because he's no longer how you remember him? He's going to be left with so many injuries caused by you. And you'd want no one helping him, because you don't believe that the Jason that came back is even him anymore. Ergo, an indirect killing, Batman."

Tim glares at Alfred. "I don't fucking care if you're on Bruce's side." Then, he snarls at Dick, "And I don't fucking care if you know Bruce more than I do!"

"I don't give a damn that Jason hunted me down for some twisted revenge or some shit.

"But here's what I do care about: I worked too hard in making sure that the idea of Batman doesn't get tarnished. I'm Robin now. I'm here because I believe you need a Robin. And I'm going to do my fucking job of being your leash if it's the last thing I do!"

Bruce is just fucking standing there.

Tim wants to rip that cowl off.

He already went through sooooo many heartbreaking conversations with Bruce in his old life. Why does he have to go through this again?! Did Jason and Bruce not talk about this with each other in the other timeline?! Does Tim have to bridge their relationship and mediate like he does when Dick comes to visit?

Fuck this life.

Ahhhh, Tim misses his husbands so much, why couldn't they regress back in time with him?

After a few moments, Bruce.

Fucking.

He fucking leaves!

Tim gapes, he glances to Dick with his disbelief clear on his face, and then he grabs a pillow and screams into it.

Fuck. Fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck.

Tim is soooooo not doing this anymore. He's 16 again, c'mon! He doesn't even feel any of his joint pains (which may be because of the anesthesia, but whatever.)

Tim turns to Dick with a grim expression.

"Call Superman," he says. "And Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter. Heck, even call Green Lantern and Flash."

"Why?" he asks.

This motherfucker even had the gall to be confused.

"Because you're the Justice League's eldest child that they raised together as a village," Tim says slowly, as if he's talking to a preschooler. "Let's not give a fuck about the 'no metas in Gotham' rule, and start giving a fuck about all we could accomplish by letting so many adultier adults help us."

Thank Billy Batson Dick nods.

"We're gonna save Jason?"

Tim shrugs, lies down, and tugs his blanket over his whole body. "I don't give a fuck about Jason, Dick."

"Wha--"

"I just care about making sure that Batman doesn't turn into a villain to his own children. He's already fucked up so bad with you, Dick. We gotta make sure he doesn't fuck up any more, especially when Bruce wants to bring Jason home some time later when he stops being an ass."

Tim makes a mental note to make sure that Bruce doesn't get any mind control technology on his hands either.

He hears Dick sigh, slide his chair back, and probably stand up.

"I'll be back," he says softly.

Tim grunts like the true bat-child he is.

Finally, Dick leaves.

Unfortunately, Alfred was still here.

In the previous timeline... Tim never got a heart to heart with Alfred about all the things the man did and didn't do. And he thought he moved on but...

This is the man who gave him the Robin suit first. This is the man who he helped take dishes away from the table every time Dick and Bruce gets onto their violent screaming matches. This is the man who everyone put on the pedestal, but is Tim's equal in everything regarding Bruce's wellbeing.

And it hurt. It hurt so much when only Tim is witness to all of this man's flaws.

°°°°°°°°°°

Aaaaand then I got nothing else to add. I have no idea where I was going with this but here is the culmination of my hatred for Batman, my disenchantment with Alfred, and my need for Tim to scream his heart out because, no. Tim did not die contentedly. He did not actually die a natural death of old age. And the only hope for the future he has is of him meeting up with Kon and Bernard in heaven while everything else on earth can crash and burn for all he cares.

Hello!!!! I'm so glad you shared this and for the compliments. It makes me really happy to see people sharing their AUs. It kind of feels like a community project? People will reblog or do asks for different AUs, so lots of people end up contributing. I love that this is the direction this blog has taken.

As far as what you've shared? Positively beautiful. Fuck Bruce, Tim deserves the chance to scream, and I agree about Alfred. I love that man.... but only some versions of him. What he did to Tim was foul, and his tendency to just stand aside (to not stop Bruce) is horrid. Fuck that bystander shit.

For your time travel AU, I love that he died peacefully and old before being thrown into the hell that was his childhood again. Even worse, it's during Titan's Tower, so he can't change anything that leads up to that. He's thrown smack into the thick of all the drama and bullshit.

Also, rip Tim's relationships in the AU. Unless his husbands got transported back in time with him, he wouldn't be able to fall in love with them. He'd look at their younger selves and see them as the children they are (and the kid he no longer feels like).

To add onto that, he might feel older than Bruce too. If Bruce is 35 ish in this and Tim was like 70, he probably sees Bruce as a grown adult who's also a baby. That man needs to get his shit together, but gods is he so fucking young and stupid.

Special parts I loved:

Fish loving Tim more than Aquaman

Tim going from hard-earned decent relationships with his family to the sewage of his Robin years

The acknowledgement that Tim was Alfred's equal on taking care of Bruce (and how much that betrayal hurt)

Jason actually dying when his throat was cut (that's my hc too)

Tim immediately getting the JL involved

I would so be down with exploring this AU more. Your writing is also fantastic!

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #dc au #bruce wayne #thank you for the ask!!!!#jason todd #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth

120 notes · View notes

dmwrites · 7 months

Text

It had been long enough now that the pattern was familiar. It started as a gnawing emptiness, looking for something that wasn’t there yet. It was apparent on every face, the need for a task, the greed and satisfaction that came with reward.

The rules were simple- Grian had explained them when they had all shown up in this new world. Get a task. Keep it a secret. Do the task. Succeed. Don’t die, even though you will. The feeling of incompleteness while waiting for a task hasn’t been in the explanation- or, at least, Martyn hoped it wasn’t just him who felt this way.

Martyn kept to himself a lot this season, and it was in a cave that he received his next secret task. Martyn often wondered how the book that held his task got to be in his pocket. The tasks were delivered timely every week, with no apparent source. Martyn suspected that whatever, whoever was giving them these tasks did not appreciate people dwelling on the source, as Martyn always got a headache when thinking about it.

Martyn felt a heaviness in his pocket- a new secret task delivered. He stepped back, finally striking down the zombie that had climbed quite a distance to get to him. Martyn went into a small alcove in the cave, well-lit already from his exploration. Just to be safe, he boarded up the gaping opening in front of him, so no mobs could possibly do a lick of damage to him. He’d already suffered so many hearts lost with his recklessness.

Martyn opened the small book, which glowed a slight purple, held it up to the torch light to read his task.

Find RenTheDog

Martyn’s breath stilled in his chest. It was two words, two very simple words, and he read them over and over again like they were a hymn, a passage he failed to really comprehend.

“He’s not-”

Martyn hit a button on his communicator, scanned through the names listed, every participant in this game. Ren was not among them. Martyn knew that. Martyn knew that. This was the second game in a row the dog had been absent from, which tore Martyn’s heart in ways only Ren could, but it was fine. Or, it had been, until now, until this task stared him in the face.

Martyn let out a choked laugh.

“It’s… this surely would be a hard task, first of all.” The hollowness in his voice kind of dulled the joke into nothingness. “He’s not here. Ren is not… here.” He tried to emphasize his point, put his finger to his name, but it ended up being more of a caress of the name on the page.

No one answered his open-air monologue, which he’d expected. So, with nothing to go off of, besides those two taunting words, Martyn dug his way to the surface.

He soon stood before the secret keeper, before that damned mark that he knew, by god he knew none of it was just mere coincidence.

“So I’m guessing you just want me to have to pick a harder task, is that it? Hoping I’ll fail big time and you can get me out of your hair faster?” Martyn snarled at the stone before him. “Well, baby, I’m a cockroach, so good luck with that.”

He pressed the button before him, with the sign under that read “reroll for a harder task”. There were whispers, some kind of poem that Martyn, in his anger, didn’t bother reading, and then a book appeared in mid-air, a deep red this time. Martyn caught it before it fell, ripped the cover open.

Find the Red King.

“Fuck you!” Martyn yelled, outrage and mourning and yearning pouring out of him all at once. “I can’t… why? Why on earth are you doing this to me? I can’t do this… I can’t-”

He could see people coming, whether to complete their task or to see what the yell had been about, and he ran. He didn’t know the land, having spent so much time underground, so it was a blind dash towards the tree line. His heart was thudding, his mind a mess.

There was, however much he tried to tamp it down, a blossom of hope. He slowed down eventually, when he hit a world boarder, thinking hard. Twice now, the secret keeper had told him to find Ren. They must know who Martyn was, who had held the axe. No one better to find him.

Martyn looked for RenTheDog. He built a tower of cobblestone to the sky, scanning the land far below. He ventured into the deepest caves, calling out Ren’s name and hearing it echo back to him with more and more desperation.

But the day was only so long, and, eventually, Grian’s message in chat confirmed what Martyn had already known.

“So, did anyone fail their tasks this week?” Grian asked to the gathered group.

Martyn strode forward in the silence that followed, hit the button that said “fail”. He bit back a pained moan as a row of hearts was taken from him. He could hear sympathetic groans and gasps behind him, others trying to share in his pain. But they didn’t know, not really.

“What was the task?” Grian asked curiously.

“I’d rather not say.” Martyn said. He turned and walked past his friends, out towards the setting sun. It hurt. It all hurt.

#secret life #inthelittlewood #trafficblr #renchanting

192 notes · View notes

respectthepetty · 4 months

Text

Pit Babe Jeff x Alan & Kenta x Pete Colors Ep. 11

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here.

Disclaimer: I've been listening to Drake's "You Broke My Heart (Fuck My Ex)" on repeat for over two hours, so I'm *in* my feels, and all of them are salty.

Jeffrey, the red? Really?! Is it because you are looking at Barbie suffering and know the truth?! YOU KNOW, MOTHERF*CKER!

Love that Pete's side starts with the blue-est drink because he is a GOOD MAN, while Waymond's side begins with the non-blue side since he cannot pick a side in this color war!

Peter, I know you were a red, but I also notice you in that blue blazer, and the way you look at Waymond. I wish Waymond could see that no matter how much the red may linger, he NEEDS to make a choice. Be blue. Commit to it, Way Way.

Babe is back in black, Alan is blue, and Jeffrey is a LIAR!

"You broke my heart. I had my doubts about you from the start! I swear you're dead to me. Does Mercedes make a hearse? FUCK MY EX!"

All I'm getting out of this is Jeffrey and Charles have a dad and Decanus was the fall guy for this very-dumb-plan. I am not a Dean apologist, but I am very much on his side, without a doubt, no hesitation.

Alan Scale - 12/10. Why?! WHY?! It's not even the damn outfits. IT'S THE RED TUBE OF PRODUCT PLACEMENT Y'ALL ARE SHARING! Are y'all secret agents?! Do y'all have superpowers? What in the hell is y'alls deal?!

KIMBERLY! Not wearing red. I wouldn't either. Fuck them hoes. You're a free man now. I love you and I like you.

Alan, you have never done anything wrong (expect apologize to lying Jeffrey), and you using the blue tube of product placement is healing my soul. I love you. I like you. I respect you.

Pete in the blue shirt too! My holy trinity is coming through. Kimberly, Alan, and Peter, you are good men, and I have never doubted you. You three will save the day like the PowerPuff Girls. Sugar, Spice, and Chemical-X. Beat the hell out of Mojo Jojo Big Red. And in case it's not clear: Alan = Buttercup, Kim = Blossom, Pete = Bubbles

Kentana, why do you have spies at Bubbles' place?! You were spying on him in the woods, and y'all had that moment. Why are you so obsessed with him?

Jeffrey, in the blue. Better be telling Buttercup you're sorry for LYING and that you love him. You will never find a better man. NEVER!

Oh, are you telling him that?!

I think you are! There is pink!

Buttercup, these was cheesy af, and I'm disgusted at myself for smiling when the hearts connected.

POP OFF, SIR! Sex on the blue bed!

Sex in the blue shower!

Cuddles in the blue bathroom! Jeffrey is gonna be blue one way or another, even if Alan has to -redacted- it into him.

Big Red did wear red once?! Color me shocked, but who are these kids in the past? A blue kid and red kid? Which one are you, Kentana?

I love that the blue is *right* there next to Kentana, yet he stays in the black. He is a Black Brooder, but he is blue-adjacent, and I just do not understand why he can't be loyal to the blue instead of the red.

Oh, wait! Was that them as kids?! Pete, in his red pants, emerged from the blue (because he has always been a GOOD MAN!), but . . . that means Kentana was the little blue kid? Kentana, what made you go black? The abuse? The manipulation? You and Barbara are the same text, but different font, and I just need you to be better. Kiss Peter and let him heal you because this is the second time you have pushed him against a wall, and I think you want any excuse to be on him.

Waymond, I'm stressed over your ass. Color-coded boys in love get happy endings, and unlike Kentana who is color coded black and Southwest Airlines and Vegas' Hedgehog who are just pure color chaos, you refuse to pick a damn color. And do you know what that means? No happy endings. You are paired with Peter, and he is trying with you, but it's episode 11 and you haven't solidified your color. Are you black? Are you blue? Are you red? Are you gonna kiss Peter because if not, Kentana sure looks like he will? ARE YOU GOING TO GET A HAPPY ENDING?!

Peter, always in the blue! ALWAYS! Give that blue to Waymond. Give that blue to Kentana. And kiss them! I cannot support Waymond and Kentana's wrongs if they don't kiss a boy (with consent, Waymond!)

KENTANA! In the dark, again. Pete is always coming from the blue, and you are always in the dark. SEE THE LIGHT, KENTANA!

Oh my god! The dark versus light. Y'all were best buddies since childhood. Quit your shit, Kentana. You are a good guy in there. I saw it in the beginning when you looked sad that Barbie was being hit, but I need you to act! I need you to do something, and I'm hoping it won't be sacrificing yourself. Kiss a man! Kiss Kimberly already! You and Waymond are scaring me!

OH SHIT!

Pete. Liked. It.

Waymond. Waymundo. Way. I thought you were supposed to be with Peter and Kimberly and Kentana would be the new Kardashians, but . . . are you going to be the sacrifice? You cannot settle on a color. You haven't kissed a man (with consent). You are drinking all the time. You were taking pills to cope with life. Kiss any man so I can know you are safe.

FUCK!

Way, please touch Whiny Winifred and convince him not to do shoot. Way, please do not take a bullet for Barbara to atone for your sins. Barbie can fix himself if he is shot. Way, please do not do this to me. Please. I'm begging you.

Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

#pit babe #pit babe the series #the colors mean things #and they will guide me the whole way through #color coded boys in love #episode 11 #way is gonna do it #he is gonna break my heart to redeem to himself #It's because I like Nut that I cannot be rationale about this #I'm gonna be stressed all week

114 notes · View notes

jakeyt · 2 months

Text

Covet: Chapter 11 (Sneak Peek)

a/n: this is only half of what this scene is in chapter 11... buuuut, this is a scene that has been imagined for a hot damn second... and i kind of went crazy with it when it came time to write it. soooo, here's a (long ass) sneak peek of the scene that's been planned as a reunion of sorts for our two (angsty) romantics <3

i hope it's enough to tide you over until chapter 11 drops. and, ohhhh friends.... chapter 11..... it's a doozy (that includes something that many have been itching for... what could it be?)

buuut, until then, here is your little taste (🤭) of chapter 11!!

Warnings: smut (18+ MINORS DNI); oral (f! receiving); pregnancy; insecurities; anxiety; slight jealousy, i guess?; pregnancy hormones out the wah-zoo lmao (emotions, libido, etc)

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Oh, so you didn’t get it out of your system with Maya that night?” You clipped, not ready to just ignore the fact that you’d had to suffer through that shit. How damn livid you’d been.

“I was angry, and she was there for me,” he explained, before sighing deeply. You could imagine he was shaking his head with the action. “But I was thinking of you. You and your beautiful fucking body that’s growing my kid.”

God. You felt your core flex and continue to drip with arousal at his words. You were not in the mood to be the one in the right anymore. You didn’t want to be smart about your choices. . . you wanted his mouth on you and you wanted to let him do whatever the fuck he had in mind.

It would be one time.

And. . . . it would technically be him helping you to benefit the baby. . . the less stressed you were, the less stress the baby felt. And God only knew how fuckin’ stressed you were lately.

And there was only one way–one person–you wanted to relieve that right now.

Fuck morality.

“Who’s to say you’ll want me when you actually see me like this?” You genuinely wondered.

You couldn’t believe you were actually giving this fucking idea any substance. There really was no way it could end well.

But your thoughts just kept trailing to how it could end well. . . very well. . . With you moaning his name as you finished against his tongue or around his cock . . .just for tonight. And, dirty as it would be to her, technically Maya did tell him to help with whatever you needed, so it wasn’t entirely against her wishes.

Although, you were one thousand percent sure this was not what she meant. . . . at all.

“Try me,” he challenged, voice rasping with the two daring words.

You were in no place to turn him down for such a thing. Your body was in no place to deny his help much longer. So, with wobbly legs and weak knees, you stood up. Your ass tingled, hurting just a bit and you were trying so hard to not somehow slip on any water on the shower floor. You decided to lean against the opposite wall, holding on to the plastic bar built into the middle of the longer wall, adjacent to him.

It was clicking that he was about to see your naked body in a way he’d never seen it before. . . you needed to make sure you looked as good as you could with puffy eyes from crying and a red face from the heat of the shower.

So, you did what you could and bent one wet leg at the knee, thankfully feeling silky smooth from your shave. You worked to accentuate your curves, in a body that didn’t always feel like your own anymore. You wanted to cross your arms over your chest, but knew the pressure would hurt like a bitch if you did that. The other option was tucking them behind your back, so that was what you did, holding the plastic bar in the wall with both hands, pushing your chest up a bit with the action.

You couldn’t conceal the whine that slipped from your lips when you crossed your thighs, pushing them together, adding a little bit of pressure where you needed it so badly.

But, no matter how much your body felt literally pulled to him, you couldn’t help asking. . . “Are you sure about this?”

“Um, yes,” he said, no doubt in his tone at all. Though, after he said it, he paused, ready to await your words. “. . .Are you?”

Guilt was what you should’ve felt in this moment. But, right then and there, guilt was as far out of the window as it could’ve possibly been. This felt real. Natural. Nowhere near wrong any longer – only right. So fucking right.

So, if he thought it was okay, so did you.

“Yes,” you breathed, whining on the word without warning, your legs having rubbed together once more. Your swollen chest was heavy with each breath you took, waiting for him.

“Let me see you,” he beckoned.

Needing the curtains gone from between you, but scared to move and end up falling, you huffed, snorting a bit at the thought of falling again. Pregnancy and POTs were not a good combination for a clumsy-ass like yourself.

“I’m afraid I’ll land on my fuckin’ ass if I move,” you explained, a little giggle following the words. “Um, c-can you–?”

And before you could even finish the request, the thin barrier between you suddenly vanished and. . . standing before your naked, wet body. . . was him.

Your eyes didn’t instantly find his face, suddenly shy in front of the man who’d seen you naked so many times before. So, you focused fully on his body. He was still fully clothed, but completely there, right in front of you.

And, from what you could tell from the outline of his dick in his dark jeans, he was definitely wanting you. He wanted to help in this special way. . .

“Oh my god,” he rasped, so low in his throat.

Instantly, you snapped your glance from where you’d been eyeing his body to see his face. He was staring at your legs, which still looked as they had before the baby, for the most part.

But, very slowly, his eyes trailed from your legs, all the way to your midsection – a part of you that had definitely changed. Round as could be at 17 weeks along, his expression became primal; his stare, so hungry for what his eyes were feasting on that you felt it with every harsh beat of your heart.

You felt extremely vulnerable in his presence, under his gaze. Felt weak at the sound of his voice. The way you were bared completely to him, and him liking what he saw. . . made the blood in your veins red hot.

The blush crept up on every part of you – your cheeks and chest, burning. You felt yourself becoming restless for him, your heart beating so quick you felt almost nauseous at the way his eyes had darkened. His lips stayed pursed as his jaw flexed. You felt your chest react further, as your nipples peaked at his nearness. As if sensing it, his eyes moved to watch your fuller chest, your breathing hitching on each breath.

Time was moving in slow motion.

And the way he bit his lip, as he finally locked his dark eyes with yours, would forever be etched in your memory.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed. “You are so—.”

The heavy beat of your heart was lodged in your throat, your breath catching. “Kiss me, Jake.”

And without question, he was stepping over the ledge of the bathtub, still fully clothed, until his boots were sloshing in the shallow puddle of water that swooshed to the drain. His hands found your body soon, chilly against your heated skin. He held your waist the best he could with the new addition of the baby bump, but still managed to hold you in such a way that you felt like he was in charge. The way he held you reminded you that you were nothing more than putty in his strong hands.

He started leaning in, his grip on you, so firm, steady, sure. . . .

The last time you’d seen him so close to you had been far too long ago. The night in the kitchen when you’d spilt the water, it had been too dark – and you’d been turned away from him. But, you were not turned away right now. Quite the opposite.

No, right now, you could see every detail of his plush, pink lips as he leaned in further to you. Your heart fluttered in your chest.

You were ready to feel his lips on yours.

He was close enough for you to see the stubble coming in above his lip. Though, suddenly, his hands dropped from around your waist and his eyebrows dipped as he started backing away.

No no no no no please –.

“I–I can’t–,” he shook his head, now drenched from the spray of the shower. You followed his action, backing up, too, your eyes looking over his body as he stood before you, unmoving. Just far enough away to not touch each other.

He wasn’t getting out completely, but he’d distanced himself.

Was he already regretting this? God, your heart started to split in your chest. . . you’d opened yourself completely up, only for him to decide against this – against you.

“Do you not want me?” You asked, voice mixed with hesitation and hurt. Your line of sight landed on your own feet, refusing to look at him. “Because, fuck, Jake – I told you! I told you we shouldn’t have– but now you have me fucking shaking and — goddammit, Jacob! It’s not fair for you to get me to admit those things and then bail as soon as you–!”

“Y/n,” he growled your name, commanding your eyes to land on his. His stare was no different than before. The irritation was flaring, again, though. Just a bit. You could tell. He stepped closer by one step. “I’m not going to fucking bail. I told you I wanted to please you and I plan on keeping my damn promise. I want to taste you so badly. . . I just– ugh.”

Your pulse was pounding in your ears, your chest hot and your heat clenching at nothing. . . You didn’t know how to respond.

You continued to buzz with anticipation that wouldn’t dissipate in the dense, humid air of the shower. Doing the only thing you could do, you decided to admire what was in front of you.

His shirt was opened to the middle of his abdomen on what you knew to be a chilly December evening, daring him to catch a damn cold.

But. . . the sight made you anything but cold–no, seeing his perfectly toned chest heaving and soaking wet. . . it made your entire body flame. His shirt was light blue, the water soaking through the material to make it nearly transparent. It gave you a glimpse at everything beneath his shirt. . . You saw his toned pecs that you needed to put your hands on again. You needed to feel the smooth skin of his chest–with your hands, tongue. . . anything.

Needed to feel him.

So, you did what your body told you to do at that moment.

Taking one wary step forward, you reached your hand out slowly, letting him stop you if he needed to. But, he didn’t stop you. When you glanced up at his face to read his reaction, he was watching your hand move, mouth agape at the action. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek as you took one more step towards him. Without any more thought, you placed your delicate hand on the exposed part of his tanned chest. And, daring to feel more, you slid your palm underneath his button-down shirt to feel one of his toned pecs.

His breath caught at the motion.

It felt like home to be touching him like this again.

His chest flexed under your hand with the sharp intake of breath. Your breath was choppy, too, not daring to breathe too harshly to scare him away. This moment felt so eerily similar to a moment so long ago – that damn game night. The moment you’d been dared by a stupid ass card game to touch him.

But this time–this time felt worlds different.

There was history–a baby–between the two people in this moment of time and you knew how to read his body.

So, it was no surprise to you when he took a step forward, nearly meeting the front of your body with his. You knew it was going to happen before it did; you knew that his hand would reach up to touch your chest as well.

You watched his hand as he followed through. Though, he didn’t touch your breast like you expected. No, he balanced his hand right above your heart, where it beat furiously for him.

“Jake,” you begged, his name saying everything you couldn’t say. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, desperate. “Please.”

And there it was. His hand immediately went to hold your full, sore breast. It was like a weight was lifted off your chest, literally. You were finding that the only relief your chest could find was from his touch.

Your legs continued to work at creating friction with every movement of his gentle massage on your breast. The way your chest heaved, nipple so sensitive and taut beneath his palm, your body was pleading for more. Still. You needed more. His hand moved away from the nipple and he held the underside of your left breast.

“Jake,” you were whining, outright. It was pitiful as hell. But – you couldn’t give two flying fucks.

“I–I can’t kiss your lips,” he explained, voice gravelly and low above you, floating directly to your ear. You looked up, waiting for him to continue. There was more he wanted to say, it was obvious. “That’s–I have to keep something that is unique and sacred to my relationship. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did. It made complete sense and you admired his feeble attempt at saving something for her. . . but, you couldn’t help that it cracked your heart the slightest bit that you weren’t able to feel his lips against yours.

The tears were welling in your eyes all on their own–couldn’t stop them if you tried. Although, you couldn’t tell if they were from baby hormones or an honest result of the new crease left in your heart at him so obviously not being yours.

He belonged to her – not to you. And the lack of kissing was a painful, blatant reminder of that.

Kissing him had been something so normal and familiar only a few months ago, you could have kissed him any time you wanted (well, almost any time. . . but still). And . . . you’d given that up.

Given him up.

So what could he do?

“What can you do?” Your voice broke with the wetness in your throat, a tear stupidly trickled down your face.

His grip on your breast stayed firm, his hand kneading the supple flesh just right. “You okay, honey?” He asked, meeting your question with his own. He reached a hand up to hold your cheek and swipe a few more stray tears. “Shhh,” he hushed gently as his hand still worked to soothe your heavy chest.

You sniffled, body sparking, growing goosebumps rapidly at the way he was stimulating you so deliciously. Your thighs worked hard to ease the throb between your legs. Playing it off the best you could, you offered him a half-assed response. “Don’t ask me why the tears are happening–it’s–it’s the baby hormones,” you sniffed again, willing the tears to go away.

Thankfully, they did. And, after they’d subsided, he went to touch your other breast, your hand still on his chest, now clawing at his skin with each measured press of his hand at your aching breasts. Your hand trailed up to hold his neck, thumb smoothing at the flesh behind his ear. God, you’d missed holding him and you really loved that spot behind his ear. . . couldn’t explain it.

“How does it feel?” He soothed, licking his lips once at a sigh you emitted with one particular graze to your tight nipple.

“So fucking good,” you grit out, your hand gripping gently at the roots of his long hair, darkened and soaking wet from the water flowing from the showerhead. “How do you know how to–? They hurt when anyone else holds them. . . but not with you– how?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a hoarse chuckle. “I have been doing research on how to–,” he coughed, his other hand coming to join the one on your chest, doing his best to give equal treatment to both of your tits. And dammit if he wasn’t doing the best fucking job at it.

You gasped a whine at the additional pressure, his dark eyes finding yours as soon as you’d made the sound. The smile you gave him was bashful, cheeks flaring a deep pink in the soft moment.

He continued his words as he worked his hands so intentionally against your swollen, aching chest. ��I’ve been reading on how to pleasure pregnant women– what to do to make them feel better. . . since your body’s changing and shit. And you told me that your tits have been sore, so I’ve been reading on how to help that specifically. I didn’t think I’d get to try it out on you – but, here we are,” he smirked, his eyes connecting with yours once more as he raised a brow.

Didn’t think he’d ‘get to try it out on you’.

You blushed, his eyes going back to watching your tits as he softly swirled a thumb on your nipple, you moaned, following his eyes with your own. God bless America. Watching him do it was worse. Your nerves were on fire and you felt your muscles tighten at your core, needing his touch in a million places at once.

“And, when pregnant women have sore tits, it apparently helps to massage them,” he continued, informing you of his research. “So, I thought I’d try that.”

“What else did you find in your research?” You asked, watching his hands move just so, his thumbs rubbing purposefully light circles around and over your nipples. Fuuuck yes.

“For sore tits or overall pleasure?” He pondered, eyebrow raising again as he caught your line of sight.

“Pleasure,” you breathed, feeling his hands come to a devastating halt on your chest, smoothing over your sides before he dropped them.

Goddammit, Jake. Don’t stop.

“Well, I know that some pregnant women really like being touched and have a pretty high libido,” he paused, bringing his hands up to push his soaking wet hair back. Your hand dropped from behind his head. “But I also found that other pregnant women experience the exact opposite – have an aversion to sex.” He eyed you, squinting with a knowing smirk. “I could probably guess which type you are by how much you loved that just now, but . . . I want you to tell me. High libido or low?”

“Well,” you paused, your legs suddenly feeling like Jell-o. So, not wanting to fall or some shit, when he’d successfully pushed his hair back, you reached both hands up to wrap around the base of his head, your fingers working at your own massage on him. “I–I haven’t really felt a high libido for anyone but you. . . I don’t think I’d want it from anyone else right now. . . So, I don’t know what that makes me. High, maybe?” You pondered aloud, wanting his opinion of your predicament. “. . .If I only want you, a high libido for you?”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” You watched one hand reach between you to rub against the strain at his zipper. The other hand came to your hip, pulling you into him further.

He brought you as close as you could come with a new belly in the middle. He glanced down at the growing bump, his eyes gazing at it, so gently. He didn’t reach to touch it—not yet. . . Seeming to wait on you for permission, but not saying it. But. . . you just felt now was not the right time.

So, instead, you surveyed him.

The sight of him admiring your belly was almost too much to process. . . He was looking so carefully and affectionately — he got it. He felt it.

You sniffed, biding your tears the best you could. And at the sniff, his eyes flicked to you. . . His stare said something you thought daily.

That’s my baby, he seemed to say with only a simple twinkle in his eye. His dark irises became so light, his under eye circles seemed to disappear with the wonder in his stare.

He winked at you and sent you into a minor frenzy. As your heart worked to pick back up, he began moving his hand down to your ass to pay attention to the muscle you’d told him was sore earlier.

Your sighs filled the air, your senses overwhelmed by him. He rasped his next question, back on the topic from earlier, voice so low between the two of you. “You only want me?”

“Only you,” you confirmed, the honest words brushing against his face with your quiet, sighed response.

“So, if I were to be wanting to. . . help you, you know. . . you’d say you have a high libido?”

“So fucking high.”

“Thank fucking God,” he growled. And with one more push of his hand against himself, he moaned under his breath, and with one more squeeze to your ass, he grasped both of your hips, holding you to him tightly. Your belly, pressed between the two of you, still so foreign in a moment like this.

“Well, there are countless positions to try, but right now I can’t really–.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cut it off at all of the other shit, too,” you said, backing away from him, his hands dropping from you as you let go of his neck. “No kissing, so what’s next? What can’t you do? You never answered that.”

He started unbuttoning his sopping wet shirt. And when it was finally completely off, he reached up to drape it across the bar of the shower head. Your eyes tracked every. single. movement. The way his bicep rippled slightly with the stretch, the way his tanned abdomen flexed. . . every muscle, so beautiful in its prominence beneath his soft skin.

When he was back from his task and looking at you again, shirtless and solid as a brick wall, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander. He cleared his throat, bringing your attention to his face once more. The smirk on his lips and the way his eyebrow was arched pissed you the fuck off. Was this amusing to him?

“You think it’s funny? How turned on I am and you can’t do a damned thing about it? Even though you led me to believe you could?”

“Who said I couldn’t?”

“You just said you can’t–.”

“You didn’t let me finish, y/n,” he reasoned. “I was going to say I can’t do that right now because I need to focus on you before we get to sex.”

‘Before we get to sex’. . . was he planning on . . . more?

Deciding to ignore that dangerous train of thought for the time being, you huffed, your arms still crossed at the top of your slightly rounded abdomen. “Well, I’m just confused.”

“The only thing I told you I can’t do is kiss your lips,” he reminded you, the calloused pad of his thumb coming up to briefly touch your plush lips. His eyes followed his action, your lips still pursed in annoyance as you challenged him with your expression and stance.

But you were wavering by the second, especially any time your eyes followed a drop of water from his shoulder, all the way to the waistband of his dark jeans. And every time you caught sight of the raging erection in his jeans. . .

“Y/n.”

Embarrassed and flushed, you flicked your eyes back to his face. You covered it up with indignance and frustration, your arms tightening in their position. “What, Jake?”

“I will do anything else you need,” he reassured, taking a tentative step towards you, boots clicking against the floor of the tub – where you’d managed to press yourself against the opposite wall of the shower. Your body betrayed you, your nipples once again peaking at his proximity. “And. . . I never said I can’t kiss other parts of your body. I can very much kiss you. . . elsewhere,” his eyes trailed to where your thighs were still pressed to relieve the persistent pulse of your center.

“Goddammit, Jacob,” you breathed with a roll of your eyes, arching yourself off of the wall towards him, just in time for him to meet you halfway. “You should have said that.”

His eyes bugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips until a bright white smile appeared in a laugh. “I tried! You didn’t let me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly to him, your belly between you not letting you get quite as close as you used to.

“Then do something–please.”

He leaned forward, kissing behind your ear, right where you liked to kiss him. Then, he trailed his mouth down the column of your throat. He alternated pecks and open mouthed kisses, all the way to your shoulders, collarbones. . . You sighed, completely at his mercy. When he found your left breast, he gave it the most attention.

He licked around the sensitive nipple of your left breast, mirroring it with the right. At which, he elicited a moan from you that quickly progressed into a very whiny wail. “Fuck! Fuck, yes!” You cried, grasping his wet hair, not sure how to stop yourself if you fell – your shaking knees were bound to betray you, you could feel it. “This is so fucking wrong.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” he growled against the wet, supple skin of your breast. Every word, emphasized with a lick around your tender, hardened flesh.

Your train of thought was halted as you lost all thought in your brain at him full-on kissing your nipples, rather than giving them little kitten licks. No, now he was giving them kisses just like he would your mouth. Tongue and all. You were going to finish from this alone. . . You watched him in pure astonishment, his eyebrows knit in concentration. Then, as if things could get any worse (better?) he moaned – the action vibrated against your skin.

Your hips jolted up into his. Both of you groaned in unison at the contact, his hard dick enticing you as you felt it, only a thin barrier of clothing between you. . . You felt yourself flex at nothing, your thighs feeling the wet result of your arousal.

You knew you were damn close to finishing.

“Don’t cum yet,” he commanded, mumbling around your nipple.

Of course he knew you were on the verge.

Your nipples, usually so fucking sore, felt like they were made of sparklers, electric under his soft mouth. “‘M not done yet.”

“But– I can’t– a-ah-ah!,” you moaned, your body beginning to lose its fight to stand up straight, near to giving out. “I can’t hold on for much longer, Jake. Please. I promise I’ll cum again for you,” you swore, your fingers lacing tightly into his long, chestnut locks. “Please, baby.”

The pet name slipped from your lips without thought of repercussion. But, you didn’t really care that you’d let it slip since it didn’t seem to deter him. In fact, it had spurred him on even more.

“Not yet,” he bit out, his dark eyes meeting yours from their place at your full breasts.

Then, he winked, making you throb from that gesture alone. Fuck. You were a goner. You weren’t sure you could do as he said.

He went back to giving your body kisses, this time trailing back up to your face, little pecks covering every expanse of skin on your flushed face. Then, with one gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, he reached a hand up to hold your cheek.

His eyes held yours, open and vulnerable under his stare. So soft, he spoke to you with fervor in his tone. “I promise it’ll be better if you just wait, baby.”

Him returning the pet name didn’t help matters and only made you more desperate to fall apart.

So, rather than saying anything in return, you decided you’d try your best to follow his instructions. The only thing you could think to do was pinch your eyes shut and lay your head against the wall in frustration. “Fine,” you griped, hands tightening in his hair.

His mouth worked, venturing down once again, giving sloppy kisses from your collarbones all the way to your hips.

Once there, his hands replaced his mouth and started kneading at your hips as his mouth kept moving downward. His hands did a stellar job at holding you against the wall to prevent a fall.

His hold on you was strong and intent. And, while holding you, as he simultaneously massaged your hips. . . it was fucking heaven. His thumbs moved and pressed with purpose, working the tired muscle at your joints.

Fuck– he really had done his research to know that your hips could hurt like a bitch. And God knew yours did.

“My hips– Jake, god. . . thank you,” you sighed, your eyes closing at the way your body felt weightless under his hands and mouth.

Suddenly, his mouth was on your thighs, going back and forth between each leg until he reached your calves, his hands having to move down your legs with the action, still holding you upright as he knelt before you.

You opened your eyes, suddenly desiring to see him again, and you watched as he gave your legs unrelenting attention.

You watched in wonder as he very slowly started to work his way up to where you needed him most. But, once he got there, he gave you a look that made your knees buckle. . .

Then, he began on you, wasting absolutely zero time. There was no warning for his mouth meeting your searing hot, wet heat.

“Oh-oh-oh, J-Jake, f-fuck, yes!” You were nearly incoherent, but who would expect any different when you had Jake Kiszka making out with your wet and waiting pussy.

You’d been aching and waiting to have this again for so fucking long. . .The slew of curse words and moans that escaped your lips were useless, as they all came out as jumbled non-words. Utterly incoherent.

He was doing figure eights with his tongue, inching closer and closer to your opening, not even daring to edge towards your clit yet. Didn’t want you to fucking finish yet, goddammit.

You clenched your jaw, a growl coming from your lips, unable to do anything but watch him. Your eyes couldn’t dare leave the sight in front of you. He was taking his time to lap at your folds, soaked and fluttering for him. Your hips jerked forward, not able to stop the way his lips and tongue were setting you on fire to the point of retaliation.

You were trembling, your body not working on its own at all to hold you up. You were dependent on his death grip, now back on your hips, steadying you. He was pressing you so hard to the wall – you fucking hoped that he left bruises in the wake of his fingertips.

He kept on with his work for a bit longer before the water started turning cold. Fuck no.

And, of course, as if on cue, Jake backed away, wiping the corners of his mouth with the pad of his right thumb, his left hand still holding you to the wall.

“I swear to god, Jacob Thomas, if you fucking stop because of some cold wa– oh!”

He was back to licking up every bit of early release at your heat, flattening his tongue against your slit. You couldn’t catch a breath to finish what you were saying as he replaced his tongue with his fingers. He twirled his pointer and middle fingers through your soaking folds, until he met your entrance.

But, he stopped there.

And you knew why. He could tell you were cold – obviously shivering from more than his mouth and hands.

He could read you so well. You didn’t know if it was because of the connection you had to him by carrying his baby or what, but his instincts of your impending reactions came incredibly quick in recent days.

As he spoke, he kept his fingers at your core, spinning them to continue eliciting stimulation. The calluses of his fingertips were the perfect addition of friction to your swollen heat. . . you bit your lip, your head laying against the shower wall. You could barely concentrate on the fact that he’d begun talking.

“You’re shaking, y/n,” he clarified, as if you didn’t know.

Which, in true fashion, pissed you off. But, still hazy from his ongoing touch, you closed your eyes to center yourself.

When you leaned off of the wall the best you could, you opened your eyes. Instantly, it felt like you were going to slip with the movement. But, just when your foot dared to lose balance, his hold on your hip tightened. His fingers were still spinning against you, just on the precipice of entering you. So, you were sure he’d felt your walls flutter at the way he grasped you.

But, he didn’t say anything. He was too focused on your chilliness and your center, your body straight-up shaking from the now-cold water. Turning around, fingertips still tucked between your folds–still not fucking inside of you yet–, he switched the shower off.

“Jake!” You complained for no reason whatsoever. Well. . . you knew why you were complaining. You were worried. “Please, don’t let this be the–.”

“I’ve kept my fingers where they are to show you I’m not fucking done,” he responded, tone equally lacking tolerance for your attitude. “Can you just be fucking patient?”

“You’re not being patient!”

“How in the hell am I not being patient?!”

“Your voice tells me so,” you argued, hearing the way it sounded ridiculous as soon as you said it. You shook your head, body shaking from the cool nip of the bathroom air and your soaking wet body. He was also trembling, his body nearly as wet as yours.

He removed his fingers, further aggravating you. . . but you couldn’t stay mad for long as he was eliciting a gasp from you, yet again, within seconds. You watched as he removed his fingers from you, bringing them up to his mouth to suck your arousal from them. Closing his eyes and moaning in the process, his opinion of the way you tasted apparent.

Holy fucking hell.

“Taste good?” You asked, trying to sound snarky, but failing from the way your breath had escaped your lungs.

When his fingers left his mouth, he slowly started to stand, eyes connecting to and never leaving yours. His grip on your hip not giving up a single bit in the process. Once he was standing at full height again, he slid the shower curtain open, eyes staying hooked on yours.

He grabbed the towel hanging on the wall rack, momentarily leaving your gaze. But, as soon as he had the towel in his hands, his eyes snapped back to your waiting stare.

“Fucking delicious. You taste better than anything – always have. . . No other woman compares. But. . . it’s–it’s even more-so now,” he paused, releasing your hip and motioning for you to come towards his arms with the fluffy, waiting towel. You turned your back to him, his breath sliding through his teeth. “Your ass. . . Fuck it all.”

You giggled, feeling so incredibly wonderful for the first time in so long. Holding your arms out a little, he wrapped the towel at your back and handed you the rest to finish wrapping yourself.

He kept talking as you cinched the white towel around yourself, your breasts not appreciating the way you tucked the material tight around your chest. You winced at the feeling, pissed with the fact that your body was so sore.

Jake’s eyebrows knitted together in worry. “You okay?”

You nodded grumpily. “Yes,” you grumbled. “It’s my boobs. They just hurt.”

There was no missing the way he bit his lip, licking them soon after before he responded. “I’ll help you feel better, baby. Don’t worry.”

The buzzing in your veins was impossible to ignore, and you didn’t trust yourself to give a valid response with how lightheaded he was making you feel.

All you could do was nod, eyes hopefully communicating your excitement.

“Anyway, I read about the taste of a woman’s release, too. . . when women are pregnant, they have the tendency to taste sweeter than usual. And I can safely assure you, it’s the motherfucking truth,” his voice was hoarse with the last sentence. He kept on, locking his Amber-brown irises with yours. “And it’s fuckin’ erotic that you taste like the sweetest thing while you’re growing my baby. . . I can’t even explain it, y/n.”

You were positively twitching, your body threatening to unravel at any given moment. Now warm from the towel, you knew most of your shivering was solely from him.

“You don’t have to. I get how hot it is. Trust me,” you assured, your mouth dry from it hanging open at his words.

Swallowing purposefully, you shook your head before stepping out of the shower. And, once you’d towel-dried your body enough, you bent to tie the towel around your hair, turning away from him. As you made your way to the mirror, leaving him to check yourself, you realized just how red your face was. “Ah! God, Jake, I look like fuckin’ Elmo.”

He belly laughed at that, the sound making your tummy ignite in a swarm of happy butterflies. “No you don’t. Trust me,” he said, still giggling at what you’d said. “. . . ‘look like Elmo’. You’re fucking hilarious.”

Not able to help the laughter bubbling in your chest either, you turned to face him to enjoy the moment together.

Well—.

You first saw all of his soaked clothes, in a neat pile ready for the laundry, next to him. His belt, rolled tight on the toilet seat.

And, Jake, completely naked.

Your body reacted immediately, suddenly ready for the most. Your tone was way too eager when an inward ponder was spoken aloud. “Are we going to have sex?”

Dear God, y/n.

He smirked, shaking his head as he leaned past your naked body to get in the cabinet under the sink for the spare towel you kept underneath the sink. His fingers brushed your ass in the process and you didn’t want to discuss how quickly his touch heated your skin. You turned away from him, leaning towards the mirror to check out the two pesky spots on your face that threatened a pimple.

“Was that on purpose?” You shot the other question his way, followed by a statement of your own. “My ass has increased in size, just like the rest of me, so . . . wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t on purpose and just because it’s huge.”

“It was most definitely on purpose,” he replied, causing you to lean back so you could give him your full attention. The response made your cheeks blush crimson red, barely visible through your slowly lightening skin.

When you swiveled his way, you found him towel drying his hair, his dick still fully erect and tempting the fucking hell out of you. You bit your lip, and he continued on, eyes closed as he focused on drying his hair. God, he was so handsome. “And I don’t know what you mean by the rest of you increasing in size or huge. God. You aren’t huge by any standard, and all I’ve noticed increase in size are the three things I enjoy watching as they get bigger.”

You flushed, turning away once more to work on towel drying your own hair before you left the steamy room. You’d want the towel to wrap up in the chilly hallway.

Suddenly intrigued by the fact that you were talking so openly with him, you kept going. “The Three B’s? Boobs, belly, butt?”

Jake was laughing again at that, his snort unmistakable, even as you were bent awkwardly at the waist to towel dry your own hair. “Yes,” he chuckled, lighthearted. “That is correct. Did you make that up?”

Damn, I missed this, your mind absently trailed. He was everything wrapped in one.

“I don’t know,” you smiled, your body buzzing with all things him. “You didn’t answer my sex question.”

“No sex,” he promptly replied. Your heart fell, but obviously being oblivious to it, he kept on. “I’ve got a job to finish tonight that doesn’t include my dick.”

“What if I want it to include your dick? Aren’t you doing this to please me?”

How had the conversation just picked up like you’d never stopped being the two of you? The awkward air that had persisted, on and off since the wretched day in the kitchen in August — it was seeming to float away day by day with his knowledge of the baby in your belly.

But, before that line of thought could run off, he was responding to you.

“Are you saying you weren’t pleased with what I started in there just now?”

“Of course I fucking was, Jake,” you rolled your eyes. “But, still–.”

“You just answered the question yourself.”

You huffed with a roll of your eyes.

“Would you just finish drying your fucking hair so I can continue eating you out?”

The way your body temperature rose inexplicably at his words was not something you wanted to admit to, so you went with a simple response to keep you on level ground with him, rather than a quivering mess.

“Aye aye, captain.”

Another snort, followed by a chuckle. “Shut the fuck up.”

“We’re not naming our baby Black Beard,” you stated jokingly, standing up to full height, eyeing him. “I know you love pirates and I love watching the documentaries with you, but. . .,” you grinned at him.

“God, fuck no,” he wrinkled his brow, shaking his body in an air of distaste. “We don’t hate the baby. We love the baby.”

And, for the umpteenth time that evening, your heart rate spiked ridiculously high.

He loves the baby.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: hmmm... Reader is convinced it’s a one time thing. buuuut does Jake? how do you think things will go in the bedroom once we've left the bathroom? ;)

Taglist:

@joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles, @builtbybrokenbells, @sacredtheslay

(please remind me that you wanna be tagged if i forgot to tag you!)

#hehehehe #jake is such a good helper huh #;)#doing exactly what maya told him to do #LMAO #covet #sneak peek

118 notes · View notes