Latest Posts by moth-in-a-mason-jar - Page 3

I find it so fucking funny how I've managed to amass a friend group of nearly all neurodivergents. Like-

There are about 3 people in it that have no chance of getting into the grippy sock vacation.

And the other 17?

Well.

There were about 10 of us going to Home Depot cause we're helping one of our group to get stuff for their new deck and just. We're in the outdoor garden part and one of my friends just slaps my arm and points at 2 crows and the only word that leaves their mouth is

"Crow"

I turned and saw the crows and just even louder stated "CROW" and everyone in our group just turned and stared bug eyed at the crows in pure silence for a solid 5 seconds before another friend piped up and said

"Those are some nice birbs."

And we all nodded and mumbled our collective agreement.

Following IMMEDIATELY

I JUST REALIZED I HAVEN'T BEEN FOLLOWING U ON UR MAIN AND I AM

A S H A M E D of myself.

Gear n' Go is literally so cute oml

My redemption arc starts now lol.

PFFFT PLEASE

You're okay moth, it's completely fine! Yk I love you ♥️

And omg Gear n' Go 💀💀💀 thank you! But that's something I want to FORGET LOL but honestly I may just revamp it (cause I'm doing that anyway with the webcomic) ALSO-

If you want to follow my OTHER OTHER blog about my webcomic that I'm making, it's-- you know, it's there! 💀

Ya'll know who you are <3

THANK YOU PARENTAL FIGURE

*raises hand*

I HAVE A QUESTION PARENTAL FIGURE

Mayhap would you bestow unto thee the glorious knowledge of what the 1fae1 would dress like?

Not because I'm drawing fae!Price right now. Definitely not. :]

I don't think they dress any special way but I can try!

Soap and Gaz dress the "best", more in line with current fashion trends. I think Soap is a muscle tee kind of guy, fitted shirts to show off his muscles, and in my mind he has those slick tech wear cargo-pants that he trades out with dark jeans. He's meant to look pretty but I don't think he puts a lot of effort into his actual clothes.

Gaz is practical but definitely on top of current trends since he dies a lot of hunting at clubs. I think streetwear is a good bet for him. I think of his hoodie look in the games, that sort of casual but put together vibe. He absolutely isn't putting a lot of thought into his appearance, he has this vibe for me that he just throws clothes on and the fit always works for him.

Price is easy. Dark warm jumpers or button downs, Witch's handmade hat, a nice warm scarf, dark jeans and a leather jacket. There's a feeling about him of quiet luxury. Cashmere and leather, good cologne and hand rolled cigars(thank you Witch). I think he dresses the same as he does in the games just without the tac gear.

Ghost wear what Love tells him to, but I think it's very military, leaning into the aesthetic of his mask. Cargo pants, neutral tone tees, heavy boots and a bomber or dark leather jacket. The man will always grab a jacket and heavy boots, maybe a zipup hoodie if he's dressing himself. Strikes me as a layers "always cold" sort of guy. I think he likes stupid tee-shirts, and has a lot of hand embroidered patches on his jackets from Love.

That last sentence is fucking delicious. Absolutely scrumptious. On my way to grab the adoption papers.

To be honest, I would want to be Price and Witch’s kid instead of fuck them idk why. I have mommy and daddy issues I guess lol.

Yeah I can do that, Witch adopts a lot of people and Price... also adopts strays.

"Do you want some tea darling?" The Witch asks, crouching to be on your level, "or maybe some hot chocolate? Could perk you right up."

You think for a moment before nodding your head. You're not supposed to talk to strangers, but you've seen this witch in the neighborhood and there's something comforting about her. Her concern seems genuine as she fusses with the copper pots in her kitchen. And you really can't complain about the rich dark liquid she pours neatly into a mug for you. It certainly looks, and smells, like a melted chocolate bar. Far flung from the powdered stuff you expected.

She frowns at you for a moment, plucking at the space around you with purposeful fingers. You sip your drink, and try not to watch her too closely. She may feel warm, but her movements are alien to you, and strike at your stomach with a strange primal fear. You think it's fear, you don't quite have the word for this feeling. You're sure it will come to you.

The chocolate coats your tongue, thick and viscous, you think you can taste cinnamon under the cocoa. The Witch taps her finger against her cheek, watching you, she seems ill at ease. Obviously concerned over the strange child that's made themselves comfortable in her home. She seems to come to some conclusion, holding her hand over her mouth as she whispers something. It's inaudible and yet it fills the room, dissonant whispers echoing off the walls and collecting in a swirl of smoke.

A man steps out with a roll of his shoulders, and almost as quickly as he lays eyes on you, he's looking back at the witch.

"Where'd you get the changeling?" He asks with a raise of his brow. The Witch lets out a breath.

"Oh good, knew they felt fae," She goes to the kitchen while the man takes a seat next to you, "they just showed up, I assume they're one of the neighbor's kids."

"Is that right?" The man smiles at you, it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, you smile back with all your teeth. He seems to like that, poking his fingers against your sides to make you giggle. "Where's your mum, hm? Can't have wandered too far off."

You shrug and the fae man nods. You like when adults don't make you talk, sometimes talking is too much. The witch taps her fingers together, thinking, while the man lets smoke swirl off his fingers. It makes little shapes and animals in the air, elephants and lions dancing around your head, butterflies flying over to distract the witch. You hold your hand out for one, and watch a lion burst into a flock of penguins to waddle across your palm.

"I can run a trace, I suppose," The Witch sighs walking closer, she crouches to be at eye level with you, "Can I have a pinch of your hair darling? I promise it won't hurt a bit."

You don't know if you want to give a witch your hair. It seems dangerous, that's how witches take control of people. You look at the man for help, surely he knows how witches work and won't let this one puppet you around. He chuckles, leaning his elbow against the table to rest his head against his fist. He nods at you.

"Go on then, I'll make sure she doesn't do anything nasty." He assures you. You look back at the Witch, who's glaring at your new friend.

"Don't make me sound so wicked," She scolds him.

"Don't need my help for that sweetheart," There's something warm in his voice, something that makes the whole house light up with warmth as the Witch bites down a smile.

She's very careful with you, pressing her fingers against your scalp as she twists hair around her fingers, plucking a few stray strands before pulling away again. She's right, it doesn't hurt. You rub your head, and she turns it back towards your mug of liquid chocolate. You think that's payment enough.

You don't watch what she does with your hair, but you feel the shiver of it. It's like a little zap of electricity, a stray shock from rubbing your socks against carpet. You wrinkle your nose at the feeling, it's not unbearable, but it's unpleasant. You consider peaking at what the Witch is doing, but you catch sight of your new fae friend first, and watching him watch her is much more interesting.

His eyes spark, and you mean that literally. There's a fire behind them that traces its way around his iris each time he blinks. A spark of gold against ice blue. A shooting star in a snowstorm. His eyes smile, and even though his fingers stop you from seeing his lips you assume they're smiling at well. You glance at the witch and see her hold up a vial of black powder to the light, her eyes studying it as she tips it one way then the other. It's not anything interesting, you don't see what's worth staring at.

"Can you make a bear?" You ask the man, he hums questioningly before looking at you. "They're my favorite," You explain.

"Can I make a bear?" He scoffs, swirling his fingers to collect the smoke. The wisps of it draw together and burst with a spark into the silhouette of a brown bear. It plods along the table top before sitting down to look around. It's a good bear.

"I know a good story about a bear," You tell him. He raises a brow, and doesn't stop you as you chatter away telling your favorite fairy tale. In fact his smoke seems to act out the scenes for you, stopping and restarting as you try to remember details. By the time you finish there's no more sound coming from the witch's work, and you're starting to notice the "lovely princess" and "handsome prince" smoke figures look a lot like your hosts.

"I called their mum," The witch tells the man, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "She should be here soon." The fae man snaps his fingers and the smoke disperses.

"One of the neighbors?" He asks, and she hums in confirmation. He tugs at her hand, pulls her down to perch on his lap with a quiet word.

"Are you alright to go home dear?" She asks you, and you think she means it. Sometimes people ask you things but they don't really want an answer, they just want to ask. You nod after a moment's thought. She looks relieved. "If you ever get lost again, you can call me,-" she hands you a little black card with gold lettering, it looks very official, "-I'll get you back home."

You turn the card over. There's no name on it just a phone number, an address, and one word, "Witch." You're studying one of the gold stars on the corner of it when there's a knock at the door. The Witch stands to answer it, and the fae man's touch lingers on her hip before she moves away. He gives you a wink as she pulls the door open, as if his affections are a conspiracy between the two of you. You hop off your chair and he catches your arm.

"Price," He tells you quietly, it feels like an important word so you nod solemnly. He smiles, "Go on back to your mum, and don't go spreading my name around."

You hold onto your mother's hand as you wave good-bye. She thanks the Witch profusely, though she waves all of them off. You watch the gold slip off of her like water, humans are so funny like that. They never hold onto heavy ties, kind only for the sake of kindness.

"Do you know how worried I was?" Your mother scolds you, "You're lucky someone dangerous didn't find you."

NAH BABES I JUST GOT BACK FROM WORK AND YOU HAVE NO. IDEA. HOW THIS HAS BEEN SWIRLING AROUND THE BACK OF MY HEAD MY ENTIRE SHIFT. FUCKS SAKE. PLEASE FLESH THIS OUT EVENTUALLY (only if you want to though-)

Can't stop thinking about an all woman Task Force coming to SAS and helping Task Force 141 + Kortac for a mission

Can't stop thinking about the male team waiting for the women to get here, expectations all different for each of them

Can't stop thinking about a huge, futuristic transport plane coming down to land, and Soap wondering why they don't have one that cool (And Ghost telling him to shut up)

Can't stop thinking about two women jumping out of the jet and play fighting, chasing each other and one pinning the other one down in a chokehold

Can't stop thinking about the absolute shock the men have on their faces when they see how fast they are, and how tall and big and pretty these two women are

Can't stop thinking about the giggling women standing up but get pushed forward by another girl, even taller and bigger than the other two, frowning at them and snapping at them to 'keep the line moving'

Can't stop thinking about more of the female team coming out of the plane, some with headphones on, some talking to each other, and some straight up ignoring the male team as they carry heavy cargo like it weights nothing

Can't stop thinking about how there's a K9 handler on the team and brought out these big ass wolf-dogs with spiked collars and one of them scares the shit out of Soap because it barked at him and she apologizes to him with a nervous smile (he's already in love)

Can't stop thinking about how the males can't stop goggling at these absolute beautiful women that pass them by who look like they're from the fucking island of Themyscira

Can't stop thinking about how Capitan Price and Ghost almost pass the hell out when they see the last two women get out of the plane, the tallest person they've ever seen in the front and a bit shorter one in the back

Can't stop thinking about how all the women have to bend down to go through the doors

Can't stop thinking about all the women finally introducing themselves with their call signs and the tallest one in the team (who almost broke their doors because she cant get through them) is the Capitan and her second in command is behind her

Can't stop thinking about the second in command giving Ghost a small nod with a soft smile, sending him in a spiral

Can't stop thinking about some of the girls crowding the men, cooing down at them about how cute they are and how muscular they are, pinching their flustered cheeks and curiously groping their overwhelmed bodies

Definitely can't stop thinking about how the men know they're absolutely fucked for these few months.

Can't. Stop. Thinkinnggggg.

HUNT. HUNT YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO MY GAY ASS. YOU CAN'T. THIS PANSEXUAL IS PERPETUALLY PANICKING. GAY PANIC. AAAHHHHH

Can't stop thinking about an all woman Task Force coming to SAS and helping Task Force 141 + Kortac for a mission

Can't stop thinking about the male team waiting for the women to get here, expectations all different for each of them

Can't stop thinking about a huge, futuristic transport plane coming down to land, and Soap wondering why they don't have one that cool (And Ghost telling him to shut up)

Can't stop thinking about two women jumping out of the jet and play fighting, chasing each other and one pinning the other one down in a chokehold

Can't stop thinking about the absolute shock the men have on their faces when they see how fast they are, and how tall and big and pretty these two women are

Can't stop thinking about the giggling women standing up but get pushed forward by another girl, even taller and bigger than the other two, frowning at them and snapping at them to 'keep the line moving'

Can't stop thinking about more of the female team coming out of the plane, some with headphones on, some talking to each other, and some straight up ignoring the male team as they carry heavy cargo like it weights nothing

Can't stop thinking about how there's a K9 handler on the team and brought out these big ass wolf-dogs with spiked collars and one of them scares the shit out of Soap because it barked at him and she apologizes to him with a nervous smile (he's already in love)

Can't stop thinking about how the males can't stop goggling at these absolute beautiful women that pass them by who look like they're from the fucking island of Themyscira

Can't stop thinking about how Capitan Price and Ghost almost pass the hell out when they see the last two women get out of the plane, the tallest person they've ever seen in the front and a bit shorter one in the back

Can't stop thinking about how all the women have to bend down to go through the doors

Can't stop thinking about all the women finally introducing themselves with their call signs and the tallest one in the team (who almost broke their doors because she cant get through them) is the Capitan and her second in command is behind her

Can't stop thinking about the second in command giving Ghost a small nod with a soft smile, sending him in a spiral

Can't stop thinking about some of the girls crowding the men, cooing down at them about how cute they are and how muscular they are, pinching their flustered cheeks and curiously groping their overwhelmed bodies

Definitely can't stop thinking about how the men know they're absolutely fucked for these few months.

Can't. Stop. Thinkinnggggg.

*incomprehensible screaming*

ANOTHER ARTIST HAS ENTERED THE ARENA. PREPARE FOR A FIGHT TO THE DEATH.

Lmao but honestly gimme your art I'm gonna eat it ITSSOGFUCKINGGOODOMLLLLL

I would 100% let Sweetheart do this to me frfr

100% gay intended please tall queen step on me lmao

Helloo!! I love your writing and especially your sweetheart series that has really brightened up some of my days! I recently started to get into anatomy again soooooo, here's sweetheart!

Take care of yourself! ♡♡

YEEEAAASSSS

THIS IS IT YALL. THIS IS A MASTER AT WORK

yesyesyesyesyes always happy to inspire your writing

did you get the fae tapping from that one magician guy from season 9 supernatural? when he taps dean in his zoo to make him like compliant i mean

Nope! I get it from my brain. I saw it in the dream fae!Ghost first appeared in.

It's the quickest way for magic to get into the brain. And for me it feels like an unnatural gesture for people to make. How often does someone touch your forehead? It's an unexpected gesture(the element of surprise can be an important part of hypnotism) and because of that it's one that people can't guard against. Or don't think to guard against until it's too late. It's also a touch that could be sweet! Your partner brushing your hair off your forehead suddenly is much more sinister when it's a ruse to tap you.

So that's where tapping came from

I fucking love that

The false safety of a loved one being near you, running their hand through your and over the curve of your head, how their hand could drift lower just so their fingers run over your forehead. Oh, the underlying tones that are so dark compared to the loving embrace of safety. The lie of it all.

I am stimming because of this, you write this type of unsettling horror so damn well.

did you get the fae tapping from that one magician guy from season 9 supernatural? when he taps dean in his zoo to make him like compliant i mean

Nope! I get it from my brain. I saw it in the dream fae!Ghost first appeared in.

It's the quickest way for magic to get into the brain. And for me it feels like an unnatural gesture for people to make. How often does someone touch your forehead? It's an unexpected gesture(the element of surprise can be an important part of hypnotism) and because of that it's one that people can't guard against. Or don't think to guard against until it's too late. It's also a touch that could be sweet! Your partner brushing your hair off your forehead suddenly is much more sinister when it's a ruse to tap you.

So that's where tapping came from

Whelp, I was bored :3

I have literally no mutuals on this hellsite, no one to tag :')

GO MY SMALL FOLLOWER LIST! TAG YOUR MOOTS. DO THE THING. HAVE FUN.

this picrew was just so cute so I'm starting a picrew chain :) (it has the best outfits I'm not even joking)

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2073318

no pressure tags (i don't know enough people for this so sorry if we never talk and I randomly tagged you lmao) @rissslays @qwerty-keysmash @tulips-best @medicine-and-molly @octoberconstellation @loveution @dianneorshirbert @august-taylors-version @everycornerofthishouseishaunted @yarkayaslava @ikinregulusblack @ghwoust @nessasluhvs @waitingforthesunrise + anyone else who wants to join :) <3

YOU FEED OUR BRAIN WORMS SO WELL JFCBJNVRSKNVA

Yes- hi- hello, tis I, the moth that will ram into your window :3

Anyway

My brainrot for Fae!Price is so hhhhhgggnnnn and I've backed myself into a corner by crafting the idea of Witch Darling trying to fluster Price in return for all the times he's done so to her. Like- they're just doing their daily thing and Price pulls out a cigar but Witch just snaps her fingers and lights it for him and he's like "Why'd you do that?" And Witch immediately follows up nonchalantly "Pretty boys shouldn't have to light their own cigars."

And Price is fucking floored

Like- he's had experience with people flirting with him, especially debtors trying to get a better deal when talking to him, but when it's coming from Witch?

GOD DAYUM

Okay back to lurking for me, take care of yourself and drink water if you haven't already. I will find a way I to your house and bring you water if you don't <3

Hi, hi, hello! I am taking care of myself! Had a good birthday and didn't write anything which was very weird but very nice to have a break. I return with Witch and Price because I desperately miss writing for them.

I've had this idea of Witch showing up at the 141's usual bar and causing trouble and this is the perfect ask for it. Here's Witch being well... far too pretty for her own good, and Price being a terribly weak man for her. Witch's dress is based on one from 1964's "What a Way To Go" which has some of the most spectacular textile artistry I've ever seen.

Price's knuckles drag up your back as you lean against the bar to order a drink. You're not used to this many eyes on you, but it's worth it for the single pair of cool blues that study you like they've never seen you before. His fingers hook in the double line of pearls that trail down your spine to your skirt, thumb counting over every one before his fingers reach the sleek silk of your dress.

"Can I buy you a drink?" You ask him, Price's eyes follow his hand where it hovers over your bare skin. More than you think he's ever seen of you. You like throwing him off, it's rather fun seeing him at a loss for words.

"Fuck sweetheart, buy the whole bar for all I care," he presses his hand against you, spreads his fingers wide against the small of your back. Each one a threatening display of his adoration. "What're you doing here?" He can't ignore the stares anymore than you can. A witch in a fae bar, your back exposed, vulnerabilities on display, you can feel the hunger that rolls through the room. You're not as easy a target as they'd all like to think.

"Good looking guys like you shouldn't buy their own drinks, so here I am."

"Here you are," Price breathes, you like the heat in his eyes. It's hard to match him, you aren't exactly flirty. Not by nature at least, and you don't have his easy self assurance. You're confident in yourself, but not quite in the same interpersonal sense. Still, if anything was going to set you up for success it would be Price. His eyes, his touch, there's something to having his attention so fully focused on you. A room full of people and yet you're the only two in it that can touch each other.

You signal the bartender for two of whatever Price drinks, watching him pull a cigar from his pocket in your periphery. You snap your fingers to conjure a flame and hold your hand out to him. The little red flame flickering on your pointer finger dances happily as he takes your hand and holds it to his cigar. You try not to be too flustered when he moves his cigar to extinguish your flame on his tongue. The slick muscle curling around your finger, making a heat coil in your stomach. He settles your hand on his shoulder, forces you to turn on your stool to watch him press his lips to the inside of your arm.

"You almost make me wanna wear a suit," he sounds, hm, it's an admission, but not one that lines up with his actual words. Not a lie, never a lie, a rephrasing of a truth. He almost makes you want to ask.

"You'd look good in a suit," is all you can think to say.

"You look good in white," he responds, the hand on your back tugs you off your seat. You do your best to avoid stepping on his toes as he pulls you to stand, turns your back against the bar, and boxes you in. A physical barrier between you and the open room, Price's strong arms rest on either side of you, his fingers tapping the bar as you stare up at him. You're supposed to be making him flustered. You really have to up your game.

You slide your hand from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the firm muscle there, the slight give of his skin and the tension your touch brings to him. There's a tightness in his jaw when you look up at him, a flinty edge to his eyes as he watches the bartender.

"What're you thinking about pretty boy?" You ask. He blinks, surprised, and looks at you. His eyes trace over you, gaze sliding like magma over your form. You try to keep your breaths even, try not to be affected by him. When he looks at you like that you can't help wanting more of him.

Your fingers slide down his chest to hook in his belt loops, and Price draws a shuddering breath. He cannot talk to you like this. Whatever has gotten into you is bad for his health. Whatever has gotten onto you as well. He takes a long drag of his cigar, tries to keep his eyes off the cling of silk against your chest. Made much more difficult when his smoke takes it upon itself to fall over you, slide down the soft curves of your body so he can feel the shape of you.

What's he thinking about? You, always you. In every position, you.

The bartender sets two whiskey glasses between his hands, behind you. Their eyes rest too long on your exposed shoulders. Price gives them a warning growl, enjoys the way it rips from his throat, the way your fingers tug ever so slightly in response. You tip your head back to see what he's growling at and- God you are just- a tease, that's what you are. The way your neck stretches for him, the way your lips part, your back arches. He tips your head forward again, keeps your pretty little self contained and off the bar.

"Are both of these for me?" He rasps, God he hopes so, could use all the liquor he can get.

"One's mine." Are you keeping your voice low like that because you want to drive him mad? It's working.

"You even like whiskey?" He's never seen you drink, but he would bet you're preferential to something sweeter.

"I can drink it, if that's what you're asking," you twist to grab your glass, and quickly tip its contents into his. Price takes another long drag of his cigar watching you raise the glass to your lips and take a sip. You lower it with a sigh, your lipstick staining the edge. You hold the glass out to him, or up for him, as he exhales.

Oh you are sweet the way you breathe in his smoke.

Price takes the glass from your fingers and keeps his eyes on yours as he takes a drink. He savors the way you watch him, how focused you are even with your eyes lidded. He hands the glass back, and watches you swallow a pull of the amber liquor as he smokes. When you lower the cup from your lips he tips your head back with a gentle finger under your chin, leaning down to hover his mouth over yours and breathe. He feels you pull his smoke into your lungs, feels where it escapes your lips to curl over your cheeks, your jaw, soft magic to make your head spin. His favorite kind.

"You're awfully forward tonight little Witch," he hums, feeling you tilt your head, just barely brush his lips with your own.

"Trying to give you a taste of your own medicine," your honesty always hits him between the ribs, Price smiles, "is it working?"

"Perfectly," he feels your tongue flick against his lip, catching a last hint of whiskey, and his hand wraps around your neck. God what you do to him. "The things I would do for you," he breathes, you're testing his resolve. Lucky he hasn't spun you around and pressed you against this bar. It wouldn't be the first time someone had gotten what they deserved in here.

"Don't you mean to me?" You smile, he can feel the curve of your smile, so tantalizingly close.

"No," he takes a half step closer, feels you press yourself top to toe against him, "I mean on my knees, with my tongue, with my fingers, with my cock, with whatever you asked for. For. You."

You shudder against him so nicely. A valiant effort, he thinks, but how could you ever think you could beat him at his own game?

HHHNNGGGHH

141 + the others reacting to sweetheart in tight pants or short-shorts that leave nothing to the imagination?

Ugh G O D YES

(The Krueger imagine)

141!Sweetheart is getting really comfortable around the boys, enough to wear shorts that look like underwear on her. She has embraced her past and new scars and now wants to wear whatever she wants around the people she loves (platonically?idk LMAO) although she whines about it being too tight around her hips, she wears the black spandex shorts that ride up way too much on her thighs and ass. Fat jiggling while she walks, hypnotizing the men she works with. Price bites into his cigar, Ghost spills his tea as Gaz and Soap choke on their breakfast. König had to shuffle down in his chair to hide his groin under the table, while Alex and Roach just freeze and stare. Horangi had to go... clean up, as he brushed past a lightheaded Rudy and a grinning Alejandro.

She smiles at them and says, "Good morning!' Like she always does, innocent to their hard gazes. But she knows.

She knows hunger when she sees it, and she likes to keep them starving for more.

@hunterbunter3000

I'm so fucking feral right now.

(ง •̀ω•́)ง✧ Don't mind me just reblogging this for reference

Heyyyyyy

Did a little sketchy sketch of our favorite girl :]

Are there any other tattoos you can clue me in on besides the womb and the back tattoos? (Yes, I'm drawing the back tattoos as well because you've infected me with massive brainrot). I was reading that one Gaz fic you made a while ago (the spicy one) and I haven't read it in a hot moment, but I think it alluded to more tattoos? I'd like to include those as well :]

Oh by the way I heard you've been pretty busy lately so I'm manifesting all the good vibes to be sent your way ✨️✨️

Stay strong pookie <333

SHHAHAHAAAAAHSH2J187EHAFBSJWKEK

What the HELL-- moth blessing all of us with amazing art once again. LIKE THE HIP DIPS??? YES MA'AM???? OMG IM FROTHING RN I WANNA EAT THIS SKETCH

It's so perfect- it's so damn perfect what the hell. ARE YOU POPULAR YET??? IF NOT, THEN WHY????? TF-- ANYWAY

I fucking adore this moth!!!! Thank you thank you thank YEEWWWWWW AAAHAHEHAH IM FREAKING OUT

And with the other tattoos-- she has one on her back (I think you already know about that one) and she has a right forearm one, a collarbone one, one on her left thigh, and both her ankles! (It can be whatever honestly- but the back one has already been established!) THATS PRETTY MUCH IT

Thank you so much for the support and patience ❤️ I'm still on vacation, and it has been absolutely wonderful and relaxing! Hopefully I'll get the energy to write again. But I have officially moved as well!! So now that's taken care of, I will also have time to do more art as well!

Thank you moth once again!!! Please keep doing art (in general, your art style is so amazing) and take care!

HAHAHAHAHA THE TAGS IM FUCKING DEAD

But seriously, I'm like- giggling, twirling my hair, rolling around and kicking my feet. I'm glad you like it! :D

And I'm not even done with all of them yet

TEEHEE

As you can see, I got kinda carried away with the rendering :3

ANYWAYS

If ya want me to add anything like scars or more tattoos just ask and I'll get on it :D

Now it's time to do the other pieces and further my brainrot

This is me rn:

It's cause I'm fucking dead.

@hunterbunter3000

Eyyyyyy

I'll update this post once I finish the other tattoos :]

Don't mind me, just cruising through with another art idea :))))

Womb tattoos are just hhngggg✨✨✨

SWEETHEART HAS A WOMB TATTOO????!!!!

YUUPPPPP

Womb tattoos are my everything. I want one EXTREMELY badly, so Sweetheart has one LOL

I got an example that show yall what I'm talking about!

I'm in love.

Tw: talk about scars (under the cut)

Omfg Soap was so shocked when he saw it. (He was the first one to see it) and he's been in love with it ever since. Like-- it's an obsession LOL

He bugs her about it CONSTANTLY

Soap: You sure I can't see it?

Soap: Maybe I'll finish my task if I could take a peek at ye tattoo, eh?

Soap, panicking: Is your tattoo okay?

Sweetheart: Suds, I got shot.

Soap: Yeah but is the tattoo okay?

Soap, laying on her lap: Y'know if I got a lil' peek at your tattoo, my crops would be watered.

Sweetheart: WOULD YOU S T O P WITH MY TATTOO

Soap, whining: I WANNA SEE IT AGAAIINNNN

Sweetheart: NO ONCE WAS ENOUGH

Soap's outbursts about Sweet's tattoo has been making everyone SO CURIOUS like what tattoo are you talking about

So she sighs and shows them, pulls up her shirt and they see THAT PICTURE

AND THEY SEE THAT PICTUUUREE

Babes, Roach and Horangi pass out. HA

Ghost and Price were so bug eyed omg

Krueger broke his glass- like it SHATTERED in his hand

Rudy and König got nosebleeds and Alex turned so red he looked like he exploded

Gaz and Alejandro are no where to be found (they just left and took a breather) and Soap is fucking TAKING PICTURES

Price: You have a womb tattoo.

Sweetheart: Yup.

Price: A Succubus. Womb tattoo.

Sweetheart, smirking: Honestly surprised y'know about that, Cap.

Price, turning red: I--

Ghost: Is that the only one you have?

Sweetheart: Nah, I have more

Soap: WAIT YOU HAVE MORE

Sweetheart: YES I HAVE MORE-- But you aren't gonna see 'em. All of them cover alot of scars I have. Especially this one.

Her hand goes over the womb tattoo and Soap now notices the long horizontal scar that lays on her brown skin. It's a lighter color, and you can see the small hump of new skin.

They all saw the far away look in her eyes, and made themselves a goal to appreciate her body HEHEH (and try to see the rest but that's a side mission)

And now they're all obsessed with that tattoo- I WOULDN'T BLAME THEM

So when König sleeps on Sweetheart, he would peek under her shirt and just stare at it with heart eyes until he feels a slap on his head and sees Sweets frown at him

And then she would grit out "put my damn shirt back down and go to sleep" like a mom telling you to back that candy LOL and he would whine and be all sad like a PUPPY

And Krueger-- so disrespectful 😒

Krueger would feel her hips and then lift up her shirt and just stare at it while Sweetheart would yell at him. He would chuckle and sigh "You know you don't have to hide yourself from me. Meine kleine Göttin, you're perfect inside and out." He lays her down on his bed and his thumbs caress the tattoo. Her breath hitches, "Krueger--" He hums, pulling up his hood to his nose, showing off his pink scarred lips. "My words aren't getting through you." He bends down and kisses the middle of the heart. Sweetheart flinches from the soft feeling, especially from such a low area. Krueger has a job to do, and he's gonna do it right. "So how about I show you instead?"

Uhm- 🧍‍♀️yeah LMAOO

The others just stare and sneak in some touches alot. Like passing by her, especially Ghost omg he would shimmy behind her, rasping out " 'cuse me" and his hands would slide to the middle of her womb and caress it-- and then he would leave 🧍‍♀️BITCH--

Rudy would subconsciously rest his hands there. Like if she's cooking, he would come behind her and ask questions, not knowing that his hands found their way to the tattoo 💀 OMG he would become so damn red when Sweetheart points it out. He doesn't mean to do it, it just HAPPENS (he's so cute tho)

Roach would wait. Like- he would wait until she's comfortable showing it to him. Since he knows she has a soft spot for him, it won't be that long 💅✨️ And she would pat his head while rubbing his face into the tattoo 💀

Horangi and Alex would ask about it more than wanting to see it. (I mean ofc they want to see it-- it's fucking hot) Alex would have sad eyes, listening on how she got the scar and try to cover it, and Horangi would trace the tattoo while Alex would trace the scar. Ugh they make me weak

Gaz would be too flustered to even ASK about it-- if he saw her shirt ride up he would immediately look away and clear his throat (he would have to go to the bathroom LOL)

Price would just stare at it, fantasies going wild 💀

Soap, OBVIOUSLY, would still be obsessed with it. Ugh he would gush about it and ask questions while tickling Sweetheart

Soap, smug: When d'ya get it done, eh? Hm?

Sweetheart, getting tickled: HEHEHEH I-- ACK- I GOT IT DONE AT MY H-HOME TOWN

Soap, grinning and still tickling her: Oohhh, and where are your others? Tell me tell me

Sweetheart: SOAP YOU-- FILTHY BITCH IM NOT- AHHAHAHA IM NOT TELLING YOU

Soap: You will soon, Bonnie!

And she would just show it to Graves. Like legit, he just asked him if he wants to see something and then shows him the tattoo. And she's so MEAN- telling him that no one would believe him that he saw it, and would just walk away while he's still processing what he just saw

OMG AND KEEGAN

He's so-- I love him too GOD he honestly saw it accidentally, he saw all of them accidentally 💀 he walked in on her while she was changing and he wanted to die. They were both freaking out, Keegan apologizing every second and Sweetheart saying it's okay while frantically getting dressed and trying not to fall (his favorite is her sleeves and the womb) no one knows this happened

Keegan, still flustered: We bring this to our Graves.

Sweetheart: Agreed.

"I hope this fic doesn't awaken something inside me."

It did in fact, awaken everything inside them

HOLY FUCK

𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚'𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲

❀ character(s): könig x reader

❀ word count: 5,265

❀ cw/tw: AFAB reader (AFAB anatomy, femme pet names and pronouns), sub!könig, dom!reader, mommy kink, edging, dacryphilia, praise, nipple play, body worship, face sitting, protected sex, obsessive thoughts/tendencies, hints of könig being co-dependent, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cowgirl + mating press positions, mentions of aftercare

❀ a/n: after teasing it for far too long, i finally present the fic everyone has been waiting for: könig with a raging mommy kink. it has taken every single ounce of self-restraint i could muster to not snap my laptop in half in a flurry of horny rage while writing this. i hope it makes you as feral as it has made me &lt;3

König is a man made of far too many scars and not enough introspection to understand why he’s so good at his job. A trained and skilled fighter, after taking one too many hits, vowing to himself to never ever be on the receiving end of them anymore. Constantly bloodied knuckles and split lips to serve as a reminder of how dangerous he is, how deadly, as if his mountainous height weren’t enough. Red was never his favorite color until he saw how good it looked on his own skin.

König is someone who demands control—sometimes with his words, mostly with his actions. For as anxious and silly he may come across as, there’s something undeniably intimidating about him most people are too scared to try to decipher. As soon as his boots hit the battlefield, he’s arrogant, condescending, confrontational, and the worst perfectionist to ever grace the German armed forces.

König is the face of the best insertion specialists, a name whispered on base that is often praised for his dedication to his job. Often begrudgingly named the best of the best. Pointed out with trembling hands as being a model soldier, even if he gets a little sloppy at times. 

So to be the person to break him down slowly piece by piece until he’s a babbling mess underneath you is the greatest honor you could ever ask for.

His fingers are clutching the bed sheets, strong brow furrowed, sharp incisors digging into his swollen lip, a blanket of sweat clinging to his skin, love bites scattered across his board chest, and he looks up at you through thick lashes like a starved man in love with the meal sitting on his lap.

“Schatz,” he pants. “Ca-Can’t take much anymore...”

You run a gentle thumb across his cheek and smile sweetly at him. “Just a little more, sweetheart? For me? For mommy?”

Before he can answer, you lace your fingers through his hair and tug at the ends, eliciting a groan from his parched throat and a buck of his hips. Glistening tears fill his eyes, nearly spilling over his puffy cheeks, but he only barely manages to hold them at bay. His neglected cock throbs between your bodies, but his attention remains on you. Nodding his head, he leans his forehead against your shoulder and groans when you run your fingers down his spine.

“Good boy, König,” you murmur against the shell of his ear, and he whines at the praise, hips trembling as he fights the urge to buck them.  “Good boy. You’re so pretty like this, you know that? My pretty, good boy.”

He preens under your saccharine words, hot mouth filled with whimpers and moans, scarred knuckles bone-white and hands nearly numb, chest heaving as he tries to maintain control. “All I ever want to do is be good for you...,” he mutters.

Unsatisfied with his sudden shyness, you pull at his hair again, rougher this time, demanding his attention. Though he hisses at the pain, melted sapphires flicker up to meet your gaze, and you're pleased to see submission shining through the tears. “Hm? What was that, baby? Didn’t quite hear you.”

Another whimper and he licks at his dry lips. Oh, he's in it deep now. “Jus’ want to be mama’s good boy,” he mewls, eyes pleading with yours, hands at his side no matter how much they ache to touch you and, judging by the steady pulse of his cock, you're driving him to the brink of sanity. “‘s all I want to do.”

Your fingers stoke his cheek, and he nuzzles against your palm, mouth catching your fingers and kissing the tips.

A dangerous mixture of adoration and submission swims in his eyes, causes his pupils to swell until they're nearly consuming his shining irises. And he looks so enamored with you, so sickeningly in love and obsessed despite the ache in his cock and the tremble in his hands that it's difficult to keep yourself from consuming him completely. Devouring him until he’s a lovely stain on your lips and kept safe in the deepest depths of your stomach. All yours, yours, yours. Your good boy, your pet, your peace and sanity, your love and irrationality, all of it, encased in the ribcage of one of the most deadly soldiers seen in recent years. It makes you dizzy with control.

Humming with approval, you drag your digits down to the valley of his chest, nails grazing the skin enough to make him shiver. And right when he begins to lean into your touch, you lightly twist his nipple. He hisses with pain and screws his eyes shut, but you can feel his cock harshly throb against your thigh. You give his other nipple a twist for good measure. This time, his head lolls back and a low moan crawls its way out of his throat.

“That feel good, baby?” you ask. When he doesn’t answer, you pinch his chin between your thumb and pointer finger and force him to look back down at you. He appears to be stunned, surprised, as if you just pulled him out of his favorite dream. “I need you to answer me, baby boy,” you remind him gently.

He blinks a few times and nods. “Y-Yeah. Feels really good, mama.”

Too good, almost. The places where your soft skin is pressed against him feels raw, sensitive enough to bring tears in his eyes and cause his chest to ache. The legs wrapped around his waist weigh him down as his heart slams up into the ceiling, taking his rationality and any hope he had of maintaining control with it. Even after all of this time, you still manage to turn him into a puddle of love with a few kisses and honeyed words dripping from a sweet tongue. Keeping his head clear is becoming more and more difficult, and your sparkling eyes are beckoning him to allow himself to drown in the safety you provide him with.

Just do it, he tells himself. Just let go. You're safe, you're safe, you're safe.

A welcomed sharp pain blooms in his nipple again, but this time is soothed with your tongue after, teeth grazing and lightly nibbling. His knuckles might split if he keeps clutching onto the bed sheets so tightly. He might not care if they do. It if means you'll keep doing whatever it is you do to make him feel so vulnerable and exposed, he'll do it again and again until his hands are full of stitches and he can't move them anymore. Even then, he might find a way to keep doing it, even with all of the familiar gore.

“So handsome.” Your warm breath fans across his chest, and he shivers under it all. “My handsome boy. So special and sweet. So good for me, hm? Are you my good boy?”

He lets out a whimper when you brush your lips against his neck. “J-Ja! ‘m your good boy!”

“Maybe even my best boy. How does that sound, sweetheart? Do you want to be my best boy?”

“Always.”

It’s hypnotizing watching his head loll as you continue to tweak and play with his nipples, how his Adam’s apple bobs whenever you drag your tongue across his jugular, feeling his thighs twitch with every little movement from you. He’s putty in your palms, allowing you to manipulate him any way you wish, trusting you to handle him with clean hands, and you’ve learned how to mould out his best curves over the months you’ve been together. Thick fingers dig into the fleshy parts of your hips when you grind against his cock, and his brows pinch in concentration to keep his inevitable orgasm at bay.

You pout up at him. “I thought you wanted to be my best boy. What’s the matter, darling?”

König looks down at you with bashful eyes, a heat rising to his cheeks again and bringing out the freckles splattered on his nose. “I do! But I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

And, by god, when you tilt your head to the side, he thinks he might melt into a puddle. “Hm? What’s the problem with that?”

“It’s embarrassing, cumming so early...”

“You think mommy pleasing you is embarrassing?”

This time, König shakes his head vehemently and tightens his grip on you, voice cracking with panic. “No, of course not! Just…” He looks down at where your bare pussy brushes his hard, weeping dick. “You’ve only just played with my nipples and grinded on me a little, and I’m all riled up and aching.”

You cup his warm cheeks in your hands and guide his eyes to yours, and you can feel him melt underneath you. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with that. We can take a break if you really need one, but you don’t need to worry so much about cumming early. I like getting you off. That’s the whole point of doing what we do. So don’t worry, love, okay? If anything, you cumming early is a compliment.”

After a few shaky breaths, he nods along with you and loosens his hold on you. Take control, shiny sapphires say. Fuck me, break me, make me yours. And Heaven help any man who tries to compare himself to König because he’s so fucking pretty–all blown pupils and swollen lips begging you to toy with him however you wish. There’s nothing in this world that even comes close to him; nothing that can capture your heart the way he does; nothing that gives you the same high he does.

König looks up at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, but little does he know they were hung in his image.

And so what if you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips a few more times. So what if you suck and nibble on his neck so anyone who looks at him knows he’s loved and fucked properly. So fucking what if you swirl your tongue around his pebbled nipple until he’s rutting against you again. Sharp fingernails drag down a muscular chest, and König cries out your name as thick white ropes spurt from his cock.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, eyes screwed shut and cheeks flushed. “‘m sorry, mommy, didn’t mean to cum without your permission.”

“Shh, shh, ‘s okay, König,” you reassure him and plant a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. When he comes down from his high and peeks his eyes open, you push on his chest a little and shimmy your hips down. “Lay down, baby boy. Can you do that for me?”

And just like a rubber band, König snaps back into the fuzzy headspace that makes listening to your every command the most imperative thing he can do. Your glistening cunt is hovering over his face as soon as he gets into position, and he doesn’t need to be told twice what it is you want him to do. Large hands grip the fleshy parts of your thighs and pull you down until his nose is brushing against your soaking slit, electricity dancing across where your hot skin meets his. Blue eyes peek past your mound, searching for the unspoken permission he longs for, and when you run your fingers through his dark hair, he knows he has it.

König is almost certain he’s addicted to the taste of your essence; honeydew on a parched tongue and bringing every nerve in his body to life. There are clouds in his head, stars dancing behind his eyes, sunlight coming out of his fingertips and splaying across your skin, and he has an angel sitting on his face and moaning out his name. He swirls his tongue around your clit, sucking and licking and nibbling in ways that has your thighs shaking around his head.

“O-Oh, König,” you moan out and dig your fingers into the headboard in front of you to regain your balance. “Oh, baby boy, just like that. Fuck, you’re so good.”

A groan reverberates in his chest, and you grind your hips when the vibration hits your cunt. All he can possibly think about is pleasing you, lapping at your pussy until you’re creaming on his tongue and screaming out his name, praising him for doing such a good job—because that’s all he needs, really. In a world full of deceptive words meant to inflate fragile egos, all König has ever wanted is someone to love him for who he is currently, not who he could be.

As if you can read his mind, you card your fingers through his thick hair, eyes full of unadulterated love and unabashed pleasure, and contently sigh. “Pretty baby boy. Look even prettier with my pussy in your mouth. Do I taste good, baby?”

He answers by burying his face even more into your heated core, tongue lapping at your puffy folds before latching onto your swollen clit. Expert fingers ease into your tight core, and he whines at how much you’re clamping down on him. He’ll never get over how reactive your body is to his touch. You might be the one sitting on the throne, but he’s the one making sure it’s the best throne to sit on.

“König, sweetheart, you make mommy feel so good. Fuck, such a good boy.”

Flowers begin to bloom in his chest, and he thinks he might be capable of more than just burying bullets into skulls. He’s surrounded by love, reminded of how precious it is and how fragile it can be if handed by rough palms. He can hear how much it causes your voice to tremble and shake, how it grows peonies and tulips until his chest is a garden and petals sit on the corners of his mouth; can see how your eyes overflow with it until he’s almost certain he’s drowning in it.

Never did he ever think of himself as someone worthy of the sweet words tumbling out of your lips, but you make it so easy to swallow them down and keep them locked behind his ribcage. An odd sort of guilt attempts to burrow  itself in his guts, as if trying to starve him of the affection he so hopelessly craves, but it’s quickly washed away when your eyes find his and he sees the same flowers that rest in his lungs. He’s allowed to be and feel loved. He’s allowed to indulge in the blanket of security you provide him with. He’s allowed to be something other than König: contractor for Kortac and insertion specialist for Kommando Speziälkrafte. He’s your good boy, and he thinks that’s the highest honor he’s ever received.

And, oh god, does he make you feel good. Good doesn’t even begin to describe the sunlight flooding your veins right now, the fire burning in your guts, the twitching in your thighs. König has become an expert in the matters of your pleasure, quickly learning how to curl his fingers inside of you and at what rhythm. He might be known for his petulant attitude and glass ego, but he’s a perfectionist down to his core, and every time he finds himself with his face buried in your heat, he takes notes of how to improve his technique.

It isn't long before you can feel yourself clamping down on your partner’s fingers, hips grinding in tandem with his tongue and shaky fingers pulling at his hair. And König drinks it all in, half-lidded eyes watching your jaw slacken and chest heave as your body shutters above him, drunk off of the reassurance that he’s good for something other than murder. Your orgasm washes over you as subtle as a tsunami, juices flowing out of you and coating his face until it drips down his chin. He doesn’t bother wiping himself clean. He likes having the reassurance that he makes you feel good enough to unabashedly release all over him.

König is high on carnality and voracity, submission and dominance and the freedom it gives him to love and be loved with every flaw but on display for prying eyes. He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe, and safety is such an indulgence in a life spent on a battlefield. Open-mouthed kisses are pressed against your twitching thighs, and König smiles against your warm skin when he hears you mewl.

“Did I do good, mama?” he asks and has the audacity to sound bashful.

A chuckle slips past your lips. “So, so good. Mommy’s good boy, remember? And my good boy makes me feel the best.”

“Always want to be your good boy.” It’s his personal mantra at this point; the thing that plays on repeat in his ears while he’s losing himself in all of the flowers you plant in him with delicate hands and a soft heart. For no one could put such gardens together, tend to them and keep them as flourishing as you do, flowers overflowing until they’re crawling out of his mouth and spilling onto the floor. He’s full of love, full of life, full of beauty and colors that you’ve been kind enough to offer him. He can only hope to be the best vase he can be.

Somewhere along the way you’ve crawled onto his lap and dug a condom out of the side dresser, opened wrapper laying useless on the bedsheets and the latex rolling over his half hard cock. He hisses as your palm grazes over his sensitive head, but swallows down any whines when you place a tender kiss on his chest. It’s obvious he’s completely lost himself in his favorite headspace—swollen lips slightly agape, watery sapphires being swallowed by blackholes, hands trembling as if it strains him to not touch you, and, somewhere in the mix of all of the obedience and passion, you swear you see a flash of sunflowers.  

Gently, tender for the man who feeds off of your affections like a starved animal, you lace your fingers through his and place them on your hips, steadying yourself and finally giving him the touch he craves. “C’mere, baby. Gimme a kiss, yeah? Do you want to give mommy a kiss?”

“Please,” he whines out. “Want to kiss you so bad, mommy. Please lemme kiss you.”

“So cute,” you coo, tracing your finger over the outline of his lips, “when you’re so desperate for me. Are you desperate for me, baby? Want me so bad?”

König is babbling incoherently underneath you, begging and panting to touch you, begging to kiss you, begging to be worthy of such things. And yet, despite how much he whines and pleads, he remains with his hands by his side and his back against the headboard, because, above all else, he’s obedient, waiting for your permission, waiting to hear you tell him how good he is and how he deserves a reward. “Need you, mama,” he slurs, light eyes peeking through dark hair and pleading. “Need you feel you. Please, mama, let me feel you. I’ll make you feel so, so good! I’ll be the best boy! Just need to be close to you. Just need to love you. Please, mama, let me love you.”

You bring your lips close enough to ghost over his, close enough that you can feel his minty breath fanning over your face, close enough that he remembers what love tastes like and his tongue is yearning for it. “Kiss me then, König. Kiss me and touch me and love me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With shaking hands, he cups your face in his palms and slots his lips against yours gingerly. In a world where König is known for being aggressive and abrasive, he’s gentle with you, lips slowly sliding over yours and memorizing how sweet love tastes when swimming across his tongue. His hands drift down your shoulders where they trace all of the bumps and outlines of bones and muscles, before sliding down to your breasts, grazing over your pebbled nipples and goosebumps, and then finally resting on your hips, rough palms massaging the plushness of your body. And, just like every other time you’ve allowed him to love and be loved, he kisses his way from your mouth down to the hollow of your throat, your pulse thumping against his lips and reminding him of how fragile you both are.

Your pussy slides against the underside of his cock, and he whines into your mouth, nails digging into your hips and muscular thighs twitching. He’s insistent on kissing you, however, insistent on sliding his tongue in your mouth and committing obsession to memory. Because all he can do is obsess—obsess over you, over the way you make him feel, over how your hands trace the planes of his body, over every sound that falls from your mouth and nestles into his ears, over how sweet you make submission feel. He’s in over his head, he knows it, but as long as you continue to hold his hand, he thinks he might be okay with it.

And maybe it was you shifting your hips, or maybe he bucked his up at just the right angle, but somehow you’ve wound up impaled on him and moaning out his name, and König is certain he’s died and gone to heaven, pretty lilies and orchids laid out on his tombstone.

His cock stretches your pussy so nicely, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to feeling so full, feeling his veins drag against your plush walls and his head nearly kissing your cervix. Even with a condom on, everything about König’s cock is deliciously addictive. You give yourself a breath of a moment to adjust to his size, and right when his eyes flicker up to meet yours, you begin to rock your hips.

König loses all semblance of control at the sudden feeling of your warm walls around his shaft, babbling nonsensically and pathetically whimpering your name over and over, hands shaking and chest heaving. If you thought he was on the brink of losing it before, he’s absolutely gone now, not a trace of constraint or control to be found in his pleas for, “More, mama, oh bitte, can’t get enough of you. Never get enough of you.” Part of you suspects he’s still sensitive from his first orgasm, but that part is quickly crushed when König wraps his arms around your waist and begins to buck up into you.

“König,” you pant. “You’re such a good boy, oh my god! Fuck, keep fucking me like that. Oh, you’re so good!”

Tears poke at the edge of his eyes, whether it’s due to overstimulation of his body or mind, you’re unsure, but you keep bucking your hips in tandem with his, careful to match his distraught pace as you both chase your highs. And, oh, he’s so beautiful like this; all blown pupils and parted lips as he tries his damndest to make you feel a fraction of what he feels, terribly hopeful that you feel for him what he feels for you.

“F-Fick, mama, you make me crazy,” he moans out, “Making me so insane and needing you. Ich liebe dich zu sehr.”

Desperate doesn’t even begin to cover how he feels towards you and all of your flowers, though it’s often a sentiment used. Carnal, obsessive, incapable of thinking of anything or anyone else in your presence, willing and wanting to do anything just to see a glimmer of joy on your face, so fucking consumed by you he’s learned how to keep you in his ribcage.

The sunlight in your veins has broken through the surface, basking both of your bodies in warmth and security you couldn’t possibly find anywhere else. With his fingers creating crescent moons in your skin and his cock hitting all of your favorite spots, it’s impossible to not lose yourself in the greatness of it all. Your arms are wrapping around his neck in an attempt to bring his body—no, his heart—closer to yours, and König buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“So good,” you cry out, and you can feel him moan into your skin. Your bouncing is getting sloppier and sloppier by the second as the coil in your abdomen tightens, and König’s thrusts and whines are becoming more feral. So close, so close, so close. “König—”

“Ich komme gleich, Gott,” he manages to slur out, the English language a nuisance to try and translate to. “Komm mit mir, mama, bitte! Ich flehe dich an, cum with me, mama!”

After a few more messy thrusts, König’s hips stutter to a stop as your pussy milks him for all he’s got. Exhausted, your body falls apart on his, all lead muscles and rubber bones, and he catches you before you slide off of him. He mumbles something you don’t catch, and right when you lift your head up to ask him, he’s sliding his still-hardened dick out of you and tossing the used condom in favor of a new one.

“König?” you question. “What are you—?”

“Not enough,” he states adamantly. “Haven’t loved you enough. Bitte, mommy, let me love you s’more.”

He should be tired. He should be worn down to the bone. After two orgasms and being in this headspace for such an extended amount of time, he should be outright exhausted and ready for a bath. But König is looking up at you with a hard cock, blown pupils, and hungry lips ready to devour as much as you will allow him. He’s pleading all but with his voice and, like the obedient boy he is, eagerly waiting for your answer. Even with so many flowers in his body that they’re beginning to pour out from him and petals scattered across the bed, he still wants to prove he’s worth it all.

You can feel a monster start to stir in your chest—a monster starved of all affection and ready to feed on whatever scraps are tossed its way, sharp claws delicately caressing the very same plants you presented him with. You want to devour him piece by piece until your lips are stained with his blood and all of his shards are protected in your stomach.

And the worst part of it all is you both know he would let you. He would absolutely allow you to eat, eat, eat! Sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want! You’ll never go hungry as long as you’re with me! Just eat, goddammit, eat, eat, eat! Eat all of me until we aren’t sure where you end and I begin! Eat until I’m swimming in your veins! Just fucking eat!

Hunger is such a hard thing to ignore, especially when you have such a pretty meal right in front of you.

Rather than answer him verbally, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in for another soul-crushing kiss. He has you underneath him before either of you have time to grasp the consequences of obsession and infatuation. With an ease that onlyKönig could possess, he pins your knees up to your chest, lips brushing against the length of your calves before he begins a steady rhythm of thrusts.

“Baby boy,” you mewl. “You’re so good, you know that? So, so fucking good. Your cock is amazing, darling. Keep fucking me just like that! O-O-Oh, König!”

With claws as sharp as diamonds, you dig your nails onto his back, and he cries out your name until it’s all he dares to think about. “F-Fick, mama,” he swears, and throws his head back, “du bist schön. You know that right, mommy? Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

His skin is on fire, a beautiful display for you to drink in as he brings himself to the brink of sanity. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts; he’s so overstimulated that there’s tears burning behind his eyes and his legs feel as if they may give out any second. But you’re looking up at him as if he’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen and he just wants to be able to say he’s worthy of it all. He’ll keep feeding the monster growling in your chest until he’s just a sad pile of bones. He’d burn himself down to ashes if it meant keeping you warm. He’d rip out his own vocal chords if you woke up one day and decided he talks too much.

Anything, anything, anything to love and to be loved. 

His whines and moans become more and more warbled the closer he gets to his orgasm, and you’re drinking every ounce of his submission. Unable to maintain self-control in the face of greed, sharp teeth pinch his nipple, the swell of his pecs, his shoulder, his neck, his jaw—anywhere you can feed and hear him cry out in delight, just so long as you eat, eat, eat. Every time enamel pinches plush flesh, you can feel a piece of him slither down your throat and land in your ever-growing stomach—somewhere he’s learned to consider home. Whispers of praise and love dance across his skin, your hands running up and down his spine as if coaxing him to give you just a little more of himself, just a bit more so you can sedate the beast and continue to be the practical person he knows and loves.

“Mama,” he pants out, “ca—oh gott—won’t last much longer!”

“So fucking good for me,” you moan and can feel his cock beginning to throb with the need to release. “There go you, just a little more. I’m so close, darling.”

Shaky hands claw their way down a broad chest, and you dig until you can hear a hiss leave his lips. “Bitte, mama, komme mit mir, bitte!”

“My baby wants me to cum with him, hmm?” you tease, albeit weakly. He’s losing control, you both know it. His abs flex with strain, his brow is shining with sweat, and his lips wobble with weakness, and yet he’s fighting to have you cum first just so he can taste how sweet you are on his tongue before the guilt washes it all out.

“Ja, bitte! Ich flehe dich an, mama, komme mit mir!”

“O-O-Oh, fuck...” The monster in your chest is roaring so loudly, you can hear the echoes of it ringing in your ears. “I’m cumming, sweetheart, cum! Cum with me! You deserve to, baby boy, deserve to cum with me.”

And he does so, embarrassingly quick, your name a prayer on his lips and your voice crying out his. For the fourth time that night, you’re both left panting and clinging to each other. He collapses on you, careful as to not crush you under his weight, burying his face into your chest and struggling to catch his breath.

“You did so well for me, darling,” you mumble against his shoulder, your lips fumbling to kiss everywhere your teeth sunk into. “I love you so much.”

“Ich liebe dich auch.” Voice muffled by your skin, but you still hear him nonetheless. “Ich liebe dich so sehr.”

“C’mon, let’s get you in a bath and I’ll cook some food for us, yeah? That sound good?”

He whines out and nuzzles his face more into you, hands pulling you closer to him and refusing to let go. “In a little bit.”

You smile down fondly at him, though he can’t see. “Snuggles first?”

“Snuggles first,” he confirms. And, for a little bit, everything feels right in the world.

Reblogs/comments are always appreciated! ♡

WHY IS THIS MF SO FUCKING PRETTYYYYYYY AAAAGGHHHHHH IJSFVIJETBBEIRVREIHVNRWOJVN

König’s face headcanon. Yes. Exactly.

HAPPY TO BE OF SERVICE BOO <33

And thanks for the compliment, I'll be here lurking for a while so if you want anything else drawn just turn on a lamp and I'll be there :))

HAHAHAHA GUESS WHAT I JUST FINISHED

M O T H

OMFG SHES SODKSNRKSSHAOLEMSJSH SHES AMAZING

IM FREAKING OUT RN

OMFG4H3I29WKAHSJAKA SHES ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUUULLLLL

This is the first time someone has drawn something for me. And especially from my writing. This is truly amazing and I'm so glad and grateful. <3<3 AND SECOND OFF YOU'RE AN AMAZING ARTIST???? HOLY SHIT

@hunterbunter3000

GUESS WHATTTTTT

Here's my heart and soul while I'm at it. This feral ball of sunshine has me in a chokehold and honestly, I couldn't be happier.

Worth it

HAHAHAHA THE CURSE OF BEING A WRITER

None of your characters can escape the mighty gift of trauma

N o n e

i fully believe the reason sweetheart has a problem with the cartel is because her family has some type of connection to it in the past and something happened :)

And you are correct! It's not the whole family, it's just the Mad Scientist brother. (Whose name is now Torrance, thank you anon for the lovely name ♡) He had connections with the Cartel, he didn't level with his side of the deal, and Sweetheart got kidnapped and stuff happened-- I don't wanna go too much detail into it unless people actually want to know, cause it's pretty messed up 💀💀

Tw: drugs

BUT YEAH she hates the cartel, her relationship with Torrance isn't... the best. And she's HIGHLY uncomfortable with Valeria. She feels sick if she's around drugs, cocaine to be precise. She will legit throw up if she sees any type of cocaine. If she hears the word cartel she would turn on her fight or flight mode so damn quickly.

MAN-- WHY TF DID I GIVE HER TRAUMA?!?!? THIS WASNT THE PLAN AT ALL 💀💀

HAVE A HAPPY GO LUCKY READER INSERT? CHECK

HAVE A GOOD HEALTHY FAMILY? CHECK

MAKE THE READER NOT HAVE TRAUMA?? NOT FUCKING CHECKED

CAUSE I JUST DID IT. AGAIN.

Why do I do this to any character I make. Why.

@hunterbunter3000 You've trapped me in a 141 sweetheart brain rot I will draw them for you now :))

My interpretation of 141 Sweetheart by @hunterbunter3000 please check her work guys its ✨MWAH✨.

I hope you like this moodboard/whatever this is… as you can see i got carried away hehe. Enjoy!!.

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲”

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 :

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 • 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

/ˈswētˌhärt/

noun

𝟏. 𝐀 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

𝟐. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

𝟑. 𝐔𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝟒. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝.

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐫 :

𝟏. 𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐧 - 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥

“𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲. 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.” [ 𝟏:𝟓𝟕 - 𝟐:𝟎𝟒 ]

𝟐. 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 - 𝐉𝐨𝐣𝐢

“𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧’ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧’ 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞.” [ 𝟎:𝟒𝟔 - 𝟎:𝟓𝟓 ]

𝟑. 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐤

“𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞? 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲.” [𝟎:𝟓𝟕 - 𝟏:𝟎𝟖]

𝟒. 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 - 𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐬

“𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧’ 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐓𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥.” [ 𝟎:𝟐𝟏 - 𝟎:𝟑𝟐 ]

𝟓. 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝

“𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝'𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.” [ 𝟎:𝟐𝟏 - 𝟎:𝟑𝟎 ]

𝟔. 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 - 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫

“𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐃𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝.” [ 𝟎:𝟑𝟗 - 𝟎:𝟓𝟎 ]

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐄𝐑𝐀

𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃, 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄

𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

In her bad bitch era but sweetheart is sweetheart-ing

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝟏 :

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧’ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐞?”𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐥𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭. “𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐡𝐮𝐧. 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤.”𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 “𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭.”

𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲...𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐈 𝐚𝐦. 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭..𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠-“

“𝐌𝐚’𝐚𝐦-“

“𝐎𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐃, 𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘. 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆-“

“𝐍𝐎 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐌𝐀’𝐀𝐌-“

“𝐍𝐎-“

𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐰.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝟐 :

“𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 *𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐏* 𝐚𝐦 𝐈... 𝐎𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐃... 𝐀𝐦 𝐈 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐫𝐚?” 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝. “𝐀𝐀𝐊𝐊𝐇𝐇 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎.” 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

“𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭? 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦. 𝐈 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮.” 𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬. 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦, “𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭? 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐨, 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞-“

“𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤.”

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

“𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.”

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𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞. 𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐋𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. 𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

𝟏. 𝐎𝐌𝐆 - 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬

𝟐. 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐄𝐦 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥

𝟑. 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 - 𝐊𝐧𝐱𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞

𝟒. 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 (𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐭) - 𝐒𝐳𝐚

𝟓. 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 - 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐬

𝟔. 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 - 𝐑𝐢𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚

𝟕. 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 - 𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧

𝟖. 𝐇𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲 - 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬

𝟗. ’𝟎𝟎 𝐍𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐢𝐚 - 𝐀𝐲𝐮̈𝐮̈ 𝐟𝐭. 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞̨ 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

𝟏𝟎. 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬 & 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐀𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜

𝟏𝟏. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐧, 𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐜𝐑𝐚𝐞

𝟏𝟐. 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - 𝐍𝐀𝐕 𝐟𝐭. 𝐋𝐢𝐥 𝐔𝐳𝐢

𝟏𝟑. 𝐔𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫 - 𝐂𝐡𝐥𝐨𝐞 𝐗 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞

𝟏𝟒. 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 - 𝟓 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟓. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐞 - 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐆𝐚𝐠𝐚

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the photos are all from pinterest. None of this are mine.