#(that's more or less on their side at least)

[vickymura]

PAIRING ~ bf!nrk x gf!reader

SUMMARY ~ when you visit your boyfriend to spend time with him, he downright ignores you and continues gaming leading to a grumpy play fight which soon escalates into something not so playful.

GENRE ~ fluff, suggestive.

WORD COUNT ~ 1.485k

ᯓ★ i had fun writing this ngl.

when you giddily turned the doorknob to riki's bedroom in his dorm apartment, your face rotted into one of disbelief. the room was dark, except for the large, obnoxiously bright tv screen near one wall of the room, with riki sitting across to it on a small black leather couch, a warm lamp lit on his side. he had a pair of gaming headphones snug on his head, one which had a mic to convey his less than clean exclamations of frustration at his teammates. there was a controller in his dexterous hands, his tongue darting out ever so often and teeth sunk into his plump bottom lip in focus. he didn't seem to have noticed you were even there, and to make things worse, he wore just a thin black tee and basketball shorts. it was a simple outfit, yet effective in driving you crazy in all the right ways.

you sighed and rolled your eyes. damn it. if you didn't know any better, he had probably spent all day glued to his couch, and it was probably going to remain that way unless you did something. you rid yourself of your puffer jacket, clearing your throat as you neatly folded it in an attempt to get him to at least acknowledge your arrival. but of course, your attempts were in vain. 

you knew for a fact that he wasn't utterly unaware of your entrance, given how the corner of his lips tugged up into the tiniest ghost of a smirk. he was playing a game you were familiar with. he sensed you walking closer to where the couch was, but paid it no mind, the yelling and screaming of his other online gaming teammates ringing out through the air along with his own voice. it was only once you were standing between the couch and tv, arms on your hips, that he craned his neck up to look at you, a smug expression forming on his face. you narrowed your eyes into a glare, tapping your foot on the ground, waiting for him to take his darned headphones.  he chuckled lowly, continuing to game by peaking over your shoulder for a few more seconds out of thorough enjoyment of watching you stew and grow impatient. but, he knew he should set a limit to his teasing. he took off his headphones and leaned forward to set them, along with his controller down on the coffee table in front of him. "something wrong?" he teased, his tone all too playful for your liking. “oh, don’t give me that. and quit smiling.” you almost immediately responded, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s cold as balls outside, but i still came to see you. you didn’t even look my way!” you scolded, but it came off more as whining to your boyfriend. 

he held his hands up in mock surrender, a small smirk still tugged at his lips at your pouty expression. he had to admit, you were pretty cute when you were mad. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry." he chuckled again, patting the empty space next to him on the couch. "come, sit. i'll make it up to you, yeah?"

you felt your irritation slowly but surely subside, but kept your expression indifferent. with a petulant ‘hmph!’, you looked at the spot riki patted at, and then at riki. you dodged the edge of the coffee table by the couch, deciding to climb up onto riki’s lap, straddling his thighs instead.

he could only shake his head fondly, his soft and deep laughter ringing in your ears. he was more than happy to indulge you. he leaned back against the cushions of the couch, gaze never leaving yours as one hand found a place at the small of your back.

“pay attention to me.” you whined, rather demanded, nudging your scrunched nose with riki’s. he chuckled to himself and hummed playfully, landing a gentle pinch on your hip and watching your reaction with sheer amusement. your demand earned a huff from him before he replied, "you're literally sitting in my lap right now, baby. how much more attention do you want?" “i don't know, i don’t care..”, you continued, wrapping your arms around his torso in a firm grip and burying your face into your neck. as much as you tried to act bratty and annoyed, you couldn't deny how flustered amused smirks made you feel.

he wrapped his arms around your waist in response, keeping you firmly against him, your small form pressed up against his much larger frame. your neediness was only driving his smirk to widen. "needy baby." he teased, one hand finding your hair and gently running his fingers through it. a frown of irritation formed yet again at his little tease. you further dug your face into the crook of his neck, your mind working overtime on how to reply. when you couldn’t, you decided to land a bite on his neck as ‘punishment’. he let out a slight huff in surprise at the feeling of your teeth against his skin, his grip around your waist tightening somewhat as he did. "little brat." he muttered under his breath, lightly tugging on a few strands of your hair as a 'punishment' of his own. “oww..” you pouted, dramatically massaging the spot on my scalp. you pulled your face out of the crook of his neck, announcing your irritation with a frowny face. apart from irritation, there was a certain flare of competitiveness in your eyes. oh, it was so on. the pads of your fingers and palm made contact with riki’s chest as you landed a slap on it in return.

"hey-" he cut himself off with a scoff when you slapped his chest, the expression on his face growing into a smirk once more. he knew all too well about your playful tendencies, and his competitive nature was beginning to be triggered now. without a word, he suddenly hooked one arm leg under your thighs, the other near your waist and lifted you up. with a few long strides, he carried you to his bed before you could even process what was happening, unceremoniously dropping you onto his bed. your eyes widened, and before you could even try shouting at him or wriggling out of his hold, you landed on the black duvet covering his twin bed with a bounce. dumbfounded, you exclaimed, “did you just body slam me, riki?!” he chuckled as he crawled onto the bed between your legs, hovering over you on all fours. his smirk grew as he watched you pout up at him, clearly not too happy about the way you had landed on the bed. "i guess you could say that. did you like it?" he asked in a teasing tone, one of his hands going to tease under your shirt. “i- wha-” butterflies. god, butterflies had likely colonised your stomach over his stupid smirks and how he could easily manhandle you into doing essentially anything. but, you knew better than to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you were. you concealed your feelings with a grumpy pout and maybe just a little genuine embarrassment of your own lack of strength. “you can’t just do that!” he chuckled yet again, his hand still exploring your exposed skin under your shirt, slowly making its way up to your ribs, right under the lacy edge of your bra as he continued to look down at you. your bratty behavior amused him, and he was always fond of how easy it was for him to tease you. "i just did, baby. it's fucking adorable how easy it was to." he cooed, his hot breath fanning against your neck, his nose nuzzled into its subtly fragranced skin. if you were standing right now, you were certain your knees would've given out. there was something so attractive about riki's confidence, not to mention his little cuss, that it turned you on in ways almost embarrassing. you shakily exhaled and frowned in slight offense, realizing you were a gone case if you stayed there any longer. stuck under some of the weight of his larger, muscular frame, you began squirming and wriggling in hopes to coax yourself out of his grip. he simply scoffed and grinned at your efforts to escape from under him and used the hand not snuck up your shirt to pin both your wrists over your head. he now pressed his lips against the side of your neck, planting a few gentle kisses before speaking again. "stop squirming." he whispered next to your ear before nipping at the lobe. you felt your face heat up, a tingle between your legs now undeniable. you bit the insides of your cheeks and let out a silent shaky exhale. you continued squirming under him, now using a tactic of pity to get away from the situation. “let me go, you’re heavy...” he lifted his head from your neck to flash you a wolfish grin, using his knees to spread your legs apart. the next thing you knew was his very evident erection pressed right by your thigh, and his hot, deep whisper right by your lips, “nah.” (reblog and comment for part 2 ya filthy whores 😜💖)

[trainsinanime]

The electric locomotive is an SNCB/NMBS class 22, in their oldest paint scheme and still with the older single headlights. It's pulling what are probably type K (specifically K1-3) coaches from pre-war times. I honestly think the interior of the steam train fits them better than the somewhat more modern design in the lower picture. The electrification arrangement seems to be taken from a streetcar rather than reality. If you want to ride on these old coaches, the dutch museum railway ZLSM uses them on their steam trains. They're very comfy with deep seats, but sadly not air-conditioned.

For the steam locomotive, I've been going back and forth and I think it is most likely a combination of at least two different types common in Belgium.

For one of them, I believe it might be a type 29. This was the last type of steam locomotive ordered by the Belgian railroads. 300 were built in the US and Canada by Alco, MLW and CLC, in a manner similar to the well-known French 141R, though that was a different, heavier and more powerful design. The linear steam domes on top of the boiler, the ladder at the front, the vague hint of that cylindrical thing, all speak to that.

But the wind deflectors (the big vertical things next to the start of the boiler) look like they match German standards. After World War II, there were a lot of German locomotives in Belgium, and the German class 50, Belgian type 25, would fit nicely. This may have also contributed the cab. You get an oval slanted window at the front, two side windows, and the cab is tilted slightly inwards around the windows. This all matches the German design standard; any locomotive constructed in Germany in the 1920s and 1930s looked more or less like that. I'm picking the 50/25 in particular because it was the most numerous (together with the 52, Belgian type 26, which was a cheaper version of the 50, but that one has a very distinctive look).

[bbokicidal]

Railway | SKZ [B.C.]

In which you decide to give your wonderful, deserving boyfriend a show in the bedroom - to his own solo song.

Genre: Suggestive (MDNI) Pairing: Bangchan x GN!Reader Just a Drabble, nothing too long.

Once a week the two of you delved into more.. exciting activities in the bedroom.

Usually there was at least one night a week of passionate, sweet, heart-melting lovemaking where Chris would let his body drape over yours. His fingers would intertwine with your own and you would become a puddle of adoration on the sheets beneath him, chest swirling with butterflies as if it were the first time the two of you were entangled in the sheets together.

Then there was one night where everything was less romantic and more... sleepy. Nights where Chris came home from the studio after midnight, crawling into bed and peppering kisses along your bare shoulder until either you stirred or turned to face him. He'd whisper soft wants of pleasure - maybe just to relieve his stress - and you, in a tired and mind-clouded haze, would smile and nod at the invite.

And then there were the nights like this. That one night a week, usually Friday evenings so you had all the time in the world as the weekend approached, where one of you would bring up an interest or an idea - maybe something you'd seen online or in a magazine - and try something new together.

Tonight's interest was stripteasing, lap dancing. The likes.

You'd brought it up - set it up, even - as a surprise for Chris the moment he walked in the door.

He'd unlocked the apartment door with a soft smile, just ready to see your face after the busy day he'd had - but he wasn't met with you coming up to him right away as you usually would. No, as the door opened he was met with the dim lighting of your shared space - tea candles lining the floor carefully and trailing down the hallway towards your bedroom. His curiosity is piqued, naturally.

Slowly lifting the all-too-heavy backpack off of his shoulders, Chris lets the bag slump to the floor just underneath where your jackets hung near the door. The bag thunks lightly on the floor with the weight of his laptop - and other studio belongings he needed to work on-the-go if need be.

"Baby?" Chris coos, voice lighter than normal. His head had cocked down towards his right shoulder in an attempt to see around the corner and into the hallway; To no avail, of course. He's met with more candles as he takes a few lingering steps forward into the home before he remembers he had to take off his shoes - and subsequently tumbles out of his sneakers. They're left in his hastening wake, the man's curiosity bubbling in his chest like a pot of water ready to boil over. Just what had you planned?

He hums out in admiration at the way the candles flicker against the deep cherry stained hardwood of the apartment. His eyes slowly lift from the fleeting flames as he hears a soft rustling coming from your shared bedroom. "Baby?" Chris coos once more in an attempt to retrieve a reply. Again, to no avail.

As he turns the corner into the doorway of your bedroom he's met with the sight of you facing the bed, dressed in a thin satin robe he'd gifted you for your one year anniversary almost.. a year ago, now. The bed is littered with rose petals colored a deep, dripping crimson that clashes too beautifully with the cream of your sheets.

"Hi, sweetheart." Your voice lulls on your tongue, the nickname dripping like the sweetest nectar from your lips as you turn to face him. You'd left the front of the robe open, black lace scouring your body and painting your skin in a way he'd deem was the most beautiful thing in the world - the tie hanging down by your sides and brushing over your thighs as you make your way to him. Chris meets you halfway before continuing to carefully step forward, guiding you back towards the bed. If he had it his way he would've laid you down and eaten you out right there, right then; But you'd caught him short and stopped at the edge of the bed, refusing to sit when his hands lightly tighten on your hips.

"All for me?" He questions, curiosity leaking through his tone. He was excited by the image in front of him and you could tell just from the way his voice lilted with a higher pitch than usual. "Baby, you're too good to me."

But you smile, a gentle laugh escaping your lips. Your hands find his arms, gently holding onto the muscle of his bicep as you turn your bodies around - and let him sit on the bed instead. "Of course this is all for you. But it's not just.. lingerie and sex tonight."

Chris' brow cocks. "No?"

"No." You reply, smile quirking at your lips. "I want to give you a little show." Reaching down and carefully bringing your hand back up from the sheets, Chris peeks down to watch as you offer the blindfold to him. He makes no move to take it, blinking down at the fabric slowly before letting his eyes come back to you.

"A... blindfold." He chuckles. "You want to blindfold me...? Isn't the point of me 'receiving a little show' that I get to see what's happening?" His hands fall to his thighs - and as he retracts them from your body you know it's his way of giving in. Telling you to do what you want to him for the time being. He was putty in your hands from this point on.

Your arms gently wind over your shoulders and Chris sits compliant. He waits patiently as you place the fabric over his eyes, only moving once he's sure it's in place and tied tight enough to keep from slipping. He blinks a few times, sighing out.

"I think it would be a bit fun if you just.. felt me first." You murmur - and Chris jolts a bit. He wasn't aware you were so close to him now, whispering right into his ear; Close enough that he could feel your breath fanning over his skin as you moved away, lower down his body. He sat still as he felt your lips slowly ghosting over his throat - down over his Adam's apple before disappearing from his space. And he chokes on a sound that tries to escape; Something so close to a whimper.

Tunnel vision got my eyes on you.

It's only a moment later that a melody rings out that he knows a little too well by this point. You'd connected your phone to his speakers in the room - His song coming out as sultry as ever from atop your dresser.

The perfect ambiance for the show you were about to give him.

And something just gets him knowing you're teasing him to the tune of his own music. A song he wrote, he sang, he produced. A song you wanted to fuck him to.

Chris' breath comes out in a shudder the moment he feels your hands back on him. His own had fallen near his hips, fingers curling tight into your bedsheets and blunt nails digging in as if he were going to rip holes in the fabric. And he just might. "Baby..."

A soft hush comes from where you are in front of him; Hands brushing down over his chest, the black fabric of his t-shirt separating you from being skin-to-skin. It almost makes him want to rip it off but he barely has time to even debate doing such a thing when your hands move lower.

Your lips reconnect with his skin. Kissing - sucking - biting. Spit clings to the warmth of his throat, the junction between his neck and shoulder free space to claim as your own. The muscle twitches under your lips before flexing as he gets use to the sensation - the heat of your tongue lathing over honey-kissed skin.

Baby, I feel our heartbeats

He can't ignore the way your hands brush down his body. Every touch is fleeting as if it will never be promised upon him again - A ghost of your palms raking down his chest, then his stomach. Dancing to his sides and just under the hem of his shirt as a subtle tease that makes his skin tingle and yet burn in your wake.

He feels your fingertips dip into the waistband of his jeans before coming closer to his front, tugging the denim away from his hips so the button slipped free of its restraint. He feels the zipper slowly being pulled down, the ache of his cock throbbing in his boxers already enough to make him a bit embarrassed. It isn't until he feels both of your hands kneading at the softness of his sides that he realizes you had pulled his fly down with your teeth.

Shaking, Trembling

"Fuck --" A sharp gasp darts from his lips. Again, his breathing shakes. His whole body wracks with a shiver, the sensation of your lips ghosting over his cock through his boxers enough to make him practically vibrate.

Chris lets his head lean back, shoulders dropping to slouch just a bit as his body begins to fully relax under your temptation. He lets his thighs part as he feels the gentle push of your palms on the inside of the heavy muscle, giving you room to kneel between them - beneath him. The warmth of your tongue dragging over his boxers to tease the tip of his cock once, then twice, makes a moan practically rip from his throat; Low, gravelly, craving. The words are connected with the slick of sin. "Oh my God, Baby.. ~"

Yeah, this train never sleeps

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

[bloatedandalone04]

Drunk Boyfriend - Blurb

WC: 1.3k | Warnings: fluff, swearing, alcohol consumption, drunk rafe, mentions of smut.

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | THANK YOU FOR 5.6K FOLLWERS

When Topper called you from Rafe’s phone, you made a complete ass of yourself when you answered it by saying, “Hey, sexy. How’s the party? Ready to come have some actual fun with me yet?”

To which Topper respectfully declined before he informed you that your boyfriend may or may not have had a little too much to drink, and that it may or may not be best for you to come get him. 

You were still up, thankfully, since the whole reason you weren’t with Rafe like you usually always are was because you had multiple college applications you were working on. 

After both you and Topper forgot about your…choice of words you said to him when you picked up the call, you pushed yourself off your bed and threw on a cardigan to cover up your tank top and sleep shorts. You assumed you’d just be waiting in the car and Topper would come bring your drunk boyfriend out to you, but as you waited and glanced around the cup-littered and crowded yard, you grew a bit impatient once it hit the five minute mark. 

Inside was way worse than outside, and you had no idea where to even start to find Rafe or Topper. After somewhat clearing the living and dining rooms, you were about to check upstairs when you heard a multitude of laughing and cheering coming from the kitchen, so you went to check in there instead. 

And that’s where you found both Rafe and Topper. Rafe was literally standing on the counter, his head nearly grazing the ceiling as he downed one cup after the other, and Topper was standing below him, his hands placed firmly on Rafe’s knees to ensure he didn’t fall. At least Topper looked somewhat…less drunk. 

You’d only made it a couple steps into the kitchen when Rafe’s eyes met yours, and his face lit up like a kid on Christmas. “Y/n!” he greeted, not taking Topper’s outstretched hand and instead just jumping down from the counter before quickly making his way over to you. When he reached you, he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face against the side of your neck as he unevenly swayed with you to the music that was playing throughout the house. “You didn’t tell me you were coming tonight, baby. I would’ve waited for you.”

His grip on you was so tight and strong, but you were kinda glad, because he was also putting a lot of his weight on you, and you surely would’ve fallen by now if he wasn’t holding you up. You looked over at Topper, who gave you a guilty glance before he quickly turned away and busied himself with something else. 

“I doubt that,” you mumbled, unsure if Rafe even heard you as you turned with him and guided him towards the exit of the crowded kitchen. “How much did you drink, babe? Can you walk?”

“Um, I don’t know…A lot? Fuck, I can’t even remember,” he slurred, draping his arm around your shoulder as he leaned heavily against you, his other hand reaching up to adjust his crooked, backwards hat. “Walk? Yeah, I can walk. I’m walking right now.” 

He said that, but his legs looked very wobbly as he struggled to keep up with you. But before you could get him out of this packed house and into your car, he stopped and grabbed your shoulders, nearly knocking you off your feet. 

“Y/n, baby, you gotta get me out of here,” he groaned desperately, dipping his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “This place is lame as fuck without you.” he added, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips possessively as his lips ghosted over yours, and you had to ignore how good his hands felt. 

Before he could slide your tank top up even more, you took his hands in yours and pulled him along with you. “I’m trying to,” you muttered, guiding him successfully out the front door and down the steps. When he stumbled on the last one and fell into you, you couldn’t stop the laugh from tumbling out of your mouth as you held onto him. “Fuck, Rafe…are you okay?” 

He didn’t even seem fazed as he nodded his head. “I’m fine, baby. Just…I just need you. Fucking missed you,” he rasped, grabbing hold of your hips as he pulled your body right up against his. His eyes lingered on your lips for a few seconds before he squeezed you even tighter, “Wanna take you home.”

You shook your head, tightening your hold on him as you hooked his arm around your shoulders again. “Sorry, baby, but I’m the one who’s taking you home. You can’t even walk straight right now,” you mumbled, pulling him along with you to your car. “Do you have your house key? And your phone?”

Rafe nods, mumbling something you couldn’t understand as he reaches into his pockets. You unlocked the passenger side door as he found his phone and keys, “Got ‘em right here, baby,” he announced, holding both items in front of your face. When you took them from him, Rafe leaned in and nuzzled his nose against your neck as he slid onto the seat. “You’re so good to me…always taking care of me.”

You were pulled forward when his hands wrapped around the backs of your thighs and tugged you towards him, making you brace your hands against his shoulders. 

“I love you so fucking much,” he mumbled, his fingers teasing the end of your sleep shorts, “And you look so fucking hot. Makes me wanna bend you over the hood right now.”

You had to laugh, because his eyes were literally closing as he said that, and he willingly went when you pushed him back so he was sitting properly on the seat. “Let’s get you home, in bed, and sober before we talk about bending me over, yeah?” you suggested, buckling his seatbelt. 

Rafe smiles drunkenly at you, leaning into your touch when you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, and before you could pull away again, he guided your mouth to his in a surprisingly sweet kiss. “I love you,” he mumbled again, his nose bumping against yours. 

“I love you too,” you said back, kissing him one last time before you closed the door and got in on the driver’s side. Once you were behind the wheel, Rafe reached over and took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as you started the car. “Don’t fall asleep, okay? I can’t carry you, so if you don’t want to spend the night in my car, stay awake for a little longer.”

Rafe nodded, but his head was already rolling to the side. 

And even though your house wasn’t very far, Rafe was completely passed out when you got there. “Rafe,” you mumbled, giving his hand a squeeze, but he didn’t even flinch. “Seriously?” you groaned, leaning back in your seat as you turned off the car. 

You weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t carry him and that he’d be spending the night in your car, but you also couldn’t leave him. So you took off your seatbelt and reached over to push his seat back so he was more comfortable before moving to do the same to yours, but before you could, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his body. 

You thought maybe he had woken up, but when you looked at him, his face was completely relaxed and his body was still. “You’re something else, you know that?” you mumbled as you shifted into a more comfortable position on top of him. 

And that was how you fell asleep that night; laying on top of your wasted boyfriend who, even in his sleep state, couldn’t keep his hands off you.

[floweringrott]

BUG EYED

james f. potter x hufflepuff!fem!reader

summary; james fleamont potter’s less-than-normal attempts to get his other-worldly divination partner on a date.

warnings; alice in wonderland coded reader, pure! fluff!, reader is hinted at being a lovegood, reader has blonde hair, reader is described to have bug-like eyes (think ella purnell), reader being a seer, use of y/n

a/n; this is rlly shitty i just wanted to get my first story OUT! this is more a drabble tho

670 words | masterlist ☾⋆

taglist @rafeyswrd @crescentofthegods

James Potter did not like Divination. It wasn’t that he didn’t fare well in the subject, in fact, he did.

It was just terribly boring, and his Professor didn't even allow for the Marauders to sit together. Instead, each of the brothers had been scattered around the cramped, incense-filled room.

Leading to James being seated next to you.

You, who (somehow) managed to be the centre of James Potter's attention every time he stepped foot into the Divination classroom, only to subsequently lose it the moment he left.

At least that what you believed.

"Oh, and by the way," James began casually, his attention nowhere near the crystal ball in front of him, and your intense focus on that same ball.

You were sitting on your knees, your purple tights in stark contrast to your yellow and black robe and tie. "The boys were planning on going to Hogsmeade this weekend.. and I was wondering if you’d want to c—"

Shhh!

A single finger moved to James' mouth, quickly shutting him up as his eyes trailed quickly behind him to Sirius, who sat with a wolfish grin and a thumbs up.

"Do you see it?" You whispered, your voice light and dreamy, as if you were talking to the crystal itself.

James frowned, turning his attention to the foggy orb. He leaned closer, his dark brows knitting together in confusion.

Whatever you were seeing, he wasn't.

His eyes then trailed to you, losing track of the task on hand as he stared at your messy, pale blonde hair.

He didn’t know when it had started, when his feelings for Lily Evans had morphed into feelings for you.

"Right there." You murmured, leaning so close to the crystal that your nose nearly touched it.

He didn’t reply at first, but let out a yelp as you abruptly grabbed either side of his head and forced him to stare into the ball.

"I'm sorry, Y/N! But nothing is there."

You turned to him with an expression of utter exasperation, as if he'd just declared that the sky wasn’t blue. "You’re not doing it right. Look into the crystal, not at it."

To your surprise, James actually complied. But as he stared into the empty fog, an idea popped into his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

"Wait!" He pretended to be shocked, a sly smile lacing his lips from the sound of your gasp.

"I see you. In Hogsmeade."

"Me?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally." He nodded, slightly leaning into your hands; prompting you to move them away.

Ever trusting, you nodded along with his words, your bug eyes larger than normal as you urged him to continue.

James frowned at the feeling of your hands leaving, though, he quickly recovered as he let out a comical gasp. "Well, would you look at that!"

"What?" You smiled cheesily, "What is it?"

Your look didn’t flatter as James seemingly deflated into the velvet cushions behind the two of you.

"I can’t say-"

"What?"

James resisted the urge to smile at your reaction. "I can’t say, it might not come true if I do."

You frowned, your expression as serious as if he'd just insulted the art of Divination itself. "That’s not how these things work, James."

The other boy went quiet, his eyes flickering around the room for effect, then looking back at you.

"I was there."

…

"Oh." Your head tilted to the side, considering his words for a moment. "What’s wrong with that?"

"I.. nothing?"

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade?" You spoke simply, your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the butterbeer cork necklace that hung around your neck.

James didn’t take a moment to think about it.

"Yes. Definitely." He watched your reaction — which was nothing as if you had expected it.

"Okay." She nodded, her gaze moving to peer through the swirling mist, the image of lightning bolt carved into skin sending a chill down her spine.

"Next time don’t lie. Crystal gazing is a very serious study."

[fromthemouthofkings]

This can happen, and it's discriminatory and upsetting when it does, but the standard is changing, at least in the US (can't speak for libraries in other places). While it may once have been fairly widespread that sleeping in the library was discouraged, my library changed our policy several years ago to allow folks to sleep if they want to, and I've seen a lot of other places moving in the same direction. It's been great for our community—and as a side benefit, it has meant there's a lot less friction between our patrons and our staff.

Generally speaking, inclusivity, diversity, privacy, and accessibility are key values in the public library sphere. It's why we do what we do—we want to make knowledge, spaces, and resources accessibile to the whole community! At my library, we don't really give a shit what you're doing as long as you're not harassing staff or being disruptive to other patrons, and we are perfectly happy to let folks sleep in the library, unhoused or otherwise. If you've never visited before or we have cause to be worried, we might wake you up and do a brief wellness check, just to make sure you're not having a medical emergency (I have had folks straight up collapse on the floor in front of me more than once, and that's a different situation, obviously). But otherwise, we'll leave you alone.

If you'd like to check your local library's policy on sleeping, you should look at their website for their Code of Conduct or another list of expectations for patron conduct. Or look for signs posted on the walls inside the library building. It should be obvious and clearly posted somewhere patrons can see and read it.

If your local library currently has a policy against sleeping, I encourage you to find a suggestion form on their website or in person and (respectfully) suggest that the policy be changed. Unless the library director or library board/local governing body is really against the idea (which does happen), it's likely that your local librarians will be open to hearing your suggestions! Our whole job is working to support our communities. Professionally speaking, many librarians consider the public library's ability to provide our community with a warm, safe place out of the weather to be an important part of our mission. And if we can demonstrate that there's patron interest in making a change, that makes it so much easier to argue for. It still might not be possible—mainly because of wellness/medical concerns. But it doesn't hurt to check.

If your local librarians have been through library school or any additional professional development in the past five or ten years, they should be well-educated on equity, diversity, and inclusivity issues. You will still run into folks who work in libraries and have a Certain Idea of what they think the library Should Be and who it Should Serve, and it's deeply unfortunate when that leads to people being excluded from the community spaces that should by rights be theirs. But the profession has experienced a lot of growth in the past few years, and it doesn't hurt to reach out to your local library and see if there's room to make a change.

Just watched a librarian yell at a guy for sleeping in a chair

Apparently its against the rules to sleep in a library

Like sorry you have comfy cozy chairs out??? Also homeboy wasn’t snoring or anything like it wasn’t even disruptive sleeping what the fuck

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part i : you were mine but—

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤🩵

Arguably the sharpest knife in his chest about this whole fucking shitshow?

Eddie thought they were doing good.

Like: so fucking good.

Eddie thought they were on the cusp of…that they were building something.

He’s such an idiot. Such a…

A heartsick fucking idiot.

But if he’s gracious—which he’s not, least of all to himself—when he puts all the pieces together, lines the evidence up and analyzes it, thinks of it in terms of a narrative that he can understand and recognize the flaws in, where he’d rewrite the ending or tweak the rising action so everything slides into place realistically, cause and effect in balance just right: Eddie can see that the way this has all shaken out is fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Because there honestly hadn’t been any signs that they weren’t laying the foundations of something long-term, something lasting; that they weren’t in this deep and rooted, strong and committed and serious in a real, tangible way, and, just…

Forever. Eddie was…he was playing for keeps, here. He thought, he just, he thought—

Fuck.

He just…really believed he wasn’t alone in it all.

Again: idiot.

It’d started so fucking predictably, really, because if there’s one thing that Eddie clocked about Steve Harrington from the get-go of actually getting to know him versus operating on the popular-gorgeous-jock framework he’d distilled the guy down to in his head before 1986: the one consistent thing he’d figured from what he’d heard and what he’d seen put together was that: Steve Harrington?

Bastard’s protective to a fucking fault.

So when he blinked back to the land of the living with Steve goddamn Harrington at his bedside? Standing guard, looking a little haggard—like he cared, at least enough to worry—but still fucking devastatingly pretty, good god-

When he woke up to that, Eddie was surprised and also: not at all surprised.

The way he lit up when he saw Eddie was conscious, like world was less before that moment and something right slid back into place? Eddie…Eddie felt like his body was pretty wholly broken but that fucking cracked something down his middle, decimated parts of him in new ways that hadn’t been already devastated on another plane, were sitting ripe for wholesale ruin.

He’d let Steve blame the breathiness that’d overcome him on coming back from the brink of death, because Steve didn’t need to know the sensations, the emotions, that were running riot through Eddie’s veins.

But then it hadn’t stopped.

Steve standing guard at his side became a constant, like Eddie couldn’t quite comprehend save that it felt like his body was knitting itself around the fact of this more-than-good dude and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that, save kind of just…poke curiously at the new shape of everything he was for it, and once he worked through the fear of the unfamiliar in it?

To kinda…savor it. Roll around in it and relish.

Probably it was gonna be short lived anyway. Probably it was gonna go away when Eddie finally got out of here. Only made sense to soak it up while it lasted.

And it was one of those early days, where Eddie was soaking it up and before anything possible beyond the bubble of middle-space they were existing in inside Eddie’s hospital room was even hinted at. Steve had gone to check on Max while Eddie grappled a bit to look down at himself a little better under the handkerchief that the hospital deemed sufficient as clothing, and he braced for the worst because it felt like the worst and what he did remember at all from the scene of the inter-dimensional mauling definitely aligned with being ‘the worst’: but it was honestly mostly bandages and pain.

Eddie didn’t…on second thought he didn’t know if he was ready to see what was underneath just yet, so he was actually kinda grateful that his hubris about it all didn’t immediately have a chance to floor him, especially when he was alone because he’d thought it’d be easier to stomach if it was just him—but the prospect, the bullet dodged, lodged in his throat and proved him kinda instantly wrong for the sharp cut of bile rising in him, and the violent jump of his pulse right behind it.

His hand had gravitated to his chest, though, like he could keep his heart from cracking his ribs that way, and he noticed that…even the light pressure ached, so he looked down a little more carefully, didn’t think the little fuckers had concentrated their attacks on the center of his chest so he tucked his chin and tried to see what was causing the sting—maybe just like, general area tenderness after playing buffet table to fucking…flying hellspace rodents but—

No. No: even from this weird-ass uncomfortable angle, Eddie could see the outline, coukd make out the dark stain of a bruise.

In the shape of a hand.

And listen, Eddie wasn’t foolish. He knew that everyone busted ass to get him topside and to a hospital. And that probably involved…stuff he didn’t want to really dwell on too long in terms of the nitty-gritty of his own mortality. He was also very much aware that Steve had played a crucial role, even if the man himself didn’t stand up and declare it. The kids didn’t have any sense of a fucking filter, so.

Eddie knew.

But Eddie then started tracing the splay of fingers on his sternum, his heartbeat so fucking heavy under even just the brush of his nails as he followed the outline of the purpling over, and over, and over, imagined what it would take to make that kind of an impression on his skin because Eddie was fucking pale, yeah, he marked quick—but not that dark.

Not that deep.

“Shit.”

Eddie’d startled, snapped his attention to the doorway where Steve had reappeared, looking a little breathless as he took Eddie in, came quick to his side and leaned to look closer at the monitor next to him and oh: Eddie hadn’t realized that the beeping was so loud, so fast. Hadn’t realized his heartbeat had ratcheted up quite so high.

Not that he was surprised.

“Shit, are you okay,” Steve barely breathed, eyes so goddamn big about it as his hands had kinda hovered, as he’d tried to figure out what to do, how to help, because that was what he was always doing; that’s who he was to his core, and Eddie…

“Oh god, let me call the nu—”

“Don’t.”

Eddie’d half-moaned it, god: scratchy but desperate as he reached for Steve’s hand and he…

He suspected he knew exactly how big that hand was; what shape it’d make to a fucking T. But he needed to see

For sure.

“What are you,” Steve’s brow had furrowed in that way Eddie was becoming increasingly aware he wanted to kiss smooth, and he started to ask it as Eddie grabbed to uncurl his grip from the bar at the side of the bed but Steve gave up fighting quick, focused on stopping Eddie from moving at all instead, from stretching the way he was against the precarious threads holding him together as he reached for the neck of his gown again, still loose enough from where he’d pulled the back up, left his ass out against the sheets to bare his breastbone, the mess of the tattoos on his chest more grisly after everything than any horrors he’d gotten inked before but—

This was a different kind of horrifying thing. Not least—maybe most—because it was entirely possible that it was also the most beautiful, sacred thing to ever touch Eddie’s skin. To ever beat through Eddie’s fucking veins.

“You,” Eddie let go of the last breath he could wrestle out before his lungs seized up too tight, because then he was watching it happen, watching Steve’s broad palm as it hovered over the imprint, shivering when Steve’s warmth made contact: eclipsing the bruise near-perfect, just like Eddie knew deep down it fucking would.

His heart took the hint and started shivering under Steve’s hand immediately, like it had something to prove.

“Ed,” Steve’s voice was wispy, choked a little; eyes too bright and Eddie feels like there must be so many kinds of dying, because he’d felt one keenly under that angry red lightning; this was a wholly other thing.

But felt just as keenly life-or-death.

“You,” Eddie whispered, the words, the truth, the feeling of it all too fragile, too precious to disturb, and he wondered if his heart knew Steve had pushed the bruises down around it to save it, if that’s why it was so unbridled and unabashed in hammering against that touch, that touch—

“I think I heard you.”

And Steve? Big eyes framed with those feather lashes, stretched wide and all made of shine and earnest fucking feeling?

“You didn’t…want to lose me?” Eddie’s voice had been so small, so so small because he did think he’d heard that, and the wisps of recollection, of a frantic but resolute voice demanding of him: what he was able to collect and try to tie into a whole matched up when he paired it all with Steve in his head, but what if he was wrong?

What if it was all just fever dreams and wishful thinking on his deathbed, what if Steve had no investment in him beyond keeping the Party safe in its entirety, no exceptions; what if Eddie was fucking wrong and showed too much of his hand with this, with Steve’s palm pressed to his thrashing heart and—

Then Steve was brining his free hand to Eddie’s cheek, fucking…cradling it like it fucking meant something, like he could matter and—

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

“You,” and so many possible ways to end that thought had swam through Eddie’s head—you barely know me, you can’t possibly care if I live or die, I cannot matter one fucking bit in your universe, so why would it matter but Steve’s hand was warm under his, and Steve didn’t pull away, only leaned in, only stayed close enough that Eddie could feel his breath on his skin and Steve could chart the way Eddie’s heart took to pummelling his already-taxed ribs but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because Steve held there, so careful of the pain but nothing short of steady, devoted, a soul-sworn guard of that heart under his hand like it did matter, like Eddie did…

Like Steve ever could—

“Stevie,” Eddie would probably have flushed if the situation had been anything but what it was. If his heart wasn’t racing into Steve’s touch at the chest and just under the jaw where Steve’s thumb pressed almost proprietary, almost like a shield but also like a welcome, like the idea of Eddie’s heart beating into him wasn’t a dealbreaker, and fuck, fuck—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve breathed out against him, prickling dangerous across his skin and Eddie’s heart leapt a little, fuck; more than a little and Steve felt it, front-row-center, couldn’t not feel it but he just leaned closer still, and Eddie was front-row himself to the catch in Steve’s inhale, undeniable and unapologetic as he murmured low, turning into Eddie’s cheek a little and Eddie maybe resented how it forced him to pull away,until his lips brushed the tip of Eddie’s jawbone and drew a whole ass shudder down his goddamn spine.

“Just know,” Steve gasped there, fucking…panted and hell if it didn’t catch in Eddie’s blood like pure bliss; “just know why.”

And fuck, but Eddie could only press in to the warmth of Steve’s lips where they moved for the words alone, let alone what words; what Eddie thought maybe they meant—

“Me too,” Eddie rasped a little, because fuck him, man; this was something…something else, swelling up in his chest so strong and Steve had to be able to feel it where he still held against him, palm to his galloping pulse at the source, feeling the life he coaxed back into the world.

“Does it have to make sense just yet?” Eddie asked, knew he sounded too hopeful, too desperate, more than he’d earned, than was safe but his heart kept knocking against that hand, so fucking insistent and who was he to deny it, to try and wrestle in into being less when he couldn’t even hide it, when it was evident to the man it was leaping at; for.

“I don’t think so,” Steve mouthed more than spoke where his lips dragged wet across the stubble on Eddie’s cheek.

“Then,” Eddie tipped his head, tried to catch Steve’s eyes, aimed to reason, to convince but the moment he moved, Steve dipped his chin just so to take Eddie’s lips, to kiss so hard, so complete with what felt like it couldn’t even be reasoned as less than all of him, because how could less than all feel like this—

Fucking impossible.

And Eddie couldn’t shy away—as Steve kissed him breathless, left him gasping; Eddie couldn’t shy away from the sense that he was being killed and revived all over again, endless and unbreaking, and it was perfection.

Jesus fuck.

And the kicker was that…weeks passed. A whole month, close to another. And if anything changed it was all for the better, for the more and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, if he was entirely honest. He…the bruise healed, y’know? That brand above his heart but—

He didn’t need it anymore. That was the thing. He didn’t need to see.

He was very fucking aware. Every minute of every day. He was…so aware. It could kill him better than those bats, it was so big and so much, and so quick, but with all that, probably because of all that: Eddie’d never felt anything even remotely like what it meant to shake off sleep and have Steve Harrington kiss you to wakefulness, to hold you for the nightmares as much as the news of small victories on the road to recovery: never wavering.

Never leaving.

When Eddie got the go-ahead to continue his rehab outpatient-style, his original conviction that all of this ended at the latest upon discharge was immediately challenged, because Steve had become so much more than he’d started as, but Eddie still worried. Made himself sick over it.

Felt like an indefensible monster as Steve rubbed his back, brought him soup, tended him like Eddie didn’t cause his own suffering, and all for the terror of losing the very man who was there, without question.

Then he signed himself out, and Steve drove him home.

Save that Eddie recognized where they were headed and…he only knew one person in Loch Nora.

“Your uncle’s still in the motel by the plant,” Steve had explained what Eddie already knew but hadn’t put together when Eddie raised an eyebrow in askance, wholly unsure how to process any of this, any of this; unsure how to hope in the face of what he was seeing, held against what he was wishing.

“Government’s being fucking assholes about setting you up with someplace appropriate,” and something in Steve’s tone had made plain that he was not just very clear on what constituted ‘appropriate’, he was probably actively involved somehow in holding the people in question rightly accountable for appropriate, and nothing less.

And Eddie…he did say he didn’t need a mark you could see on his heart, didn’t he.

“You need the room while you get better,” Steve murmured as he killed the engine, and lifted Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressed his mouth on the knuckles, nuzzling a little, eyes closed and Eddie…Eddie didn’t know what to do.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a monitor to rat his ass out when his heart started trying to escape orbit—fuck just his ribs, how pedestrian—this time.

They sat in a living room that looked like it was once absolutely pristine and still was, mostly, but up close Eddie could see little snags on the sofa, could feel the texture of the fabric different under his fingers for scrubbing out a stain. He suspected four infamously unmannered teenagers were the culprits. The remaining stiffness of the cushions was good for the way his body was still working through being gnawed apart, but he was gone far enough to kind of immediately hope he’d see how they wore with love and use and maybe something more once they got there, once Eddie’s body cooperated again, because he…Steve brought him home.

And maybe they didn’t have to stop when Eddie left the hospital. Maybe he didn’t have to lose.

He’d only made it shortly past the best fucking grilled cheese he’d maybe ever tasted, and he didn’t think it was only because it was his first meal without an aftertaste of sterile in too fucking long—but he only lasted a little more than an hour before Steve’d helped him to a guest room on the first floor that’d obviously been reworked for him, from the way he could reach the bed from just inside the door, to the fucking posters that he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t have had on hand, and Eddie’d giggled a little wetly at the Ozzy one, because he figured the man steadying him at his side would never be anything but intertwined with the Prince of Darkness in his mind, now—but Steve, who’d more than proven he was so far beyond any kind of king, won hands down. By a landslide.

And who could have seen that coming?

“Careful,” Steve chided him gently as he guided Eddie slowly down to the mattress and made to tuck him in, and the word was so warm, so warm but Eddie had to…

He had to reach. Again. He needed Steve, he…needed.

The handprint on top of his heart didn’t need to be a thing he could see, but he needed Steve to…know some level of what he was feeling, of how much was inside him already, and growing, the momentum building and he didn’t want to feed it, didn’t want to let it run if he wasn’t going to have someone to catch it, to run with him but he also didn’t think there was any chance to stop it, now, he didn’t think he could trim it back or tame it from consuming him and he wasn’t sure he’d even want to if he actually had the power because it was the best feeling he’d ever known, even if it was terrifying, even if it could hurt him more than anything he’d ever known and—

“I don’t want to be alone,” was what spilled from his lips with Steve’s hand above his heartbeat as it pumped so goddamn hard it couldn’t be denied, it couldn’t be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to lose what he’d rebuilt himself around all these weeks, he—

“Good,” and Steve leaned down, cradled Eddie’s face and tipped him up to kiss him full, hard, one hand still on his chest because that was the mark, the promise, the fight for all that this was and all it could be like a fucking vow and Eddie melted for it on sight, on contact.

“Because I’m not leaving,” and Steve brushed the tip of his nose back and forth against Eddie’s, his smile like honey in his tone as he pecked Eddie on the lips one more time before stretching his hand to follow him across the bed, to crawl to the other side and slide in next to Eddie, to carefully arrange him against Steve’s body, to wrap around him with so much care, to touch nothing too tender and everything safe to hold as Steve tucked his face against Eddie’s neck and kissed behind his ear as he breathed:

“Never gonna leave you all alone again.”

And Eddie believed him.

Eddie believed him.

And when, weeks later when Eddie was hurting less and moving more, perched in the corner of the couch that was starting to give a little under persistent weight, starting to feel like it was meant to be used and lend comfort; as Eddie was poking at campaign notes for the gremlins, pen caught between his teeth, he only paused when he felt the gravity of a familiar gaze settle on him—not immediately, because he liked just existing in it, feeling its heft, but after enough moments to satisfy him he looked up, met those eyes and felt them in his goddamn soul as he asked:

“What?”

And Steve had just kept on staring, the bare hint of a quirk at the corners of his lips spreading to the full sunrise of his smile.

“You fit, here,” and he’d said it so simply, so…much like a truth, a fact of the universe—Eddie Munson fits, belongs in this place, this space, this home, this life—and then the smile dimmed ever so slightly, cloud cover across the shine as Steve shifted a little, crossed his arms loose but still as a barrier over his chest: “if you want to, I mean—”

And Eddie sat up straighter, and he reached both his hands out to Steve because:

“I want to,” it was all he wanted, really; it wasso far beyond his wildest dreams but it was real, Eddie could see and touch it, taste it, feel it through his blood when it pumped, tracking through his whole body, filling up his heart overfull and magnificent and he as just…

“Sweetheart,” he took Steve’s hands and tugged him down to sit next to Eddie, settled him so close; “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want that.”

He leaned back, wholly prone and never once letting go of Steve’s hands, never once doing anything but keeping them laced together and anchored, locked tight and Steve matched him, followed him as Eddie drew him to his healed-enough chest to settle right at the center, to hear Eddie’s heartbeat for the declaration it was, it already was in its entirety:

“You fit here.”

And he did. They both did. Their worlds had shifted, grew around the shapes they made together and after not-long-at-all, they fit so fucking well that it was bespoke to their cells, they’d never fit anyone else. It was quick and it was heady and it was fucking right.

For months

And then it all went to shit.

Because Steve decided what should have been expected, honestly—that Eddie wasn’t worth the hassle, that he wasn’t right for Steve, that Steve’s staggeringly-expansive capacity for love was wasted to hell on this low-life dipshit who couldn’t even graduate on his third try at high school, who maybe didn’t have a murder charge anymore in the legal system but would never wash it clean from the court of public opinion, who was…trouble. Always trouble.

Not fucking worth it.

It’s just…Eddie never thought Steve would stop wanting him. He maybe went in reticent at first, but Steve had loved so hard out the gate that as soon as he knew he was allowed, and welcome? Eddie didn’t hesitate to meet that love beat for beat.

He just never imagined his love would ever be unwelcome; that that's how his heart would break.

What breaks in the moment, though—the heartbreak is constant, and unfortunately proving to be kinda fucking unending, really—but what breaks now is…possibly the handle on the front door for the way someone’s banging and jiggling it back and forth like the first time it didn’t give against the lock was just a fluke.

He frowns, considers waiting out whoever’s enough of a dick to knock like that but apparently not so witch-hunty to throw a brick through the window—which: Eddie will take progress, he guesses—but when a concerning creak sounds from near the hinges, Eddie thinks of Wayne, and how his uncle doesn’t deserve a broken front door, so.

Heartbroken or not, Eddie has to drag himself to deal with…this.

Then he’s throwing the door open and…this is—

“We need to talk.”

This should have been expected. There’s really only one little asshole who’d assault his door with that much…determination.

“Henderson—” Eddie huffs, because he knows he needs to set a date for them all to get together, he left the campaign they were in kinda dangling on a thread when he didn’t hold the gatherings at St—

Well, when their regularly scheduled venue became too much for Eddie’s heart to handle.

Which: okay, fine, he gets it but like, he can’t care as much as he maybe should when he feels like this, and the kids need to fucking take a chill pill and if they can’t understand, then at least they can just shut the fuck up for at a couple more weeks while Eddie licks his wounds and sees if they decide to finally scab over enough that he doesn’t keep with busting them back open every time he breathes—

“About Steve.”

Eddie’s heart shudders just to hear the name. He’s avoided hearing it for weeks, now; it hurts too much.

He hears it enough in his own head, in his dreams, in his nightmares when he see the worst, in the cadence of his fucking pulse because his heart doesn’t know how not to be Steve’s, kinda feels like it’s not interested in learning, will never be anything other than what it is now, forever, and—

“We need to talk about what you did to Steve.”

Wait.

Wait, what he did to—

What?

for @kultiras🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts @bumblebeecuttlefishes @shrimply-a-menace @wheneverfeasible @1-tehe-1 @themoonagainstmers @dreamercec @ravenfrog @live-laugh-love-dietrich @stealthysteveharrington @tinyplanet95 @theohohmoment @samsoble @tinyloonyteacups @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @pretend-theres-a-name-here @dragoon-ze-great

divider credit here

[zvdvdlvr]

Do I Look Scared? + Silco

Synopsis: You’re Silco’s bodyguard. Nothing more, nothing less. Until you heroically take a bullet for him.

You and Sevika had grown close during your time working for Silco. So close, in fact, she considered you blood: and having a bond so tight in a world so cruel meant everything. Tonight was one of the only slow-paced nights at the bar, which gave you the rate opportunity to snatch a bottle of bourbon and have a ‘gossiping session’ with Sevika about the scandals, murders, and secrets you’d encountered on the job.

“I’m not telling him anything,” you say with finality as you pass the bottle to the other woman. “Emotions only get into the way of the job.”

Sevika clucked after taking a swig of the alcohal. “Yeah, but have you considered that he reciprocates your affection?”

You scoffed. Tracing the edge of your bloodstained finger with your blade, you let your head thunk into the wall behind you vibrating with bass from the music below. “No. He does not. Besides, I do not care at all. I do my job and I get paid,” you explain. Sevika shoots you a glare over the rim of the bottle. “It is better this way. Everyone I get close to dies or leaves anyway,” you drawl, grasping the neck of the offered bottle.

From across you, the other woman sighed. “You meed to pull your head from your ass and see what’s right in front of you. If you don’t make a move now, there will be a day you can’t.”

“Sev,” you say. “I don’t care about anything except my money.”

Sevika lets you shove the bottle into her chest as you check your watch and stand up. You’re on your way to get paid, no doubt.

As you make the trek to Silco’s office, Sevika shakes her head. She knows you’re lying- you do care about Silco. But she also knows you want to remain as detatched from everything as possible so it’s easier for you to leave when you make that decision. Sevika just wishes you knew that Silco doesn’t let his eyes stay glued to just any bodyguard.

Oh well, she thinks, letting her eyes flutter shut.

“Good morning,” you greet.

Silco looks up and watches you slide into your designated spot on his couch. “Good morning, y/n. I imagine you are mentally prepared for the meeting later?”

A sly smile pulls at your lips that pulls at your one dimple. “I’m prepared for anything, Silco.”

The man told his head up and leans back in his chair. “I know,” he says. He can’t count how many times you had jumped into action to protect the Eye of Zaun. Too many times have you put yourself in front of bullets to prevent them from reaching their tatget and each time grew harder for Silco to tolerate as he grew more amd more fond of you.

Though he had the solace of knowing none of the bullets had ever buried themselves in your flesh, his fear was that one day you would be hit. Fatally.

“I understand you are aware of the repercussions of your actions,” Silco spoke to the three of trenchers in front of you.

You stood beside Silco, to the right of him with your hands at your side. The group in front of him had broken the deal Silco had offered- choosing to disregard his warnings of provoking the other dealers under Silco’s protection. An exhausting, stupid, and uninteresting experience overall, you conclude boredly. Until-

Click. Your left eye twitches as you focus your ears for the-

Click. Again. Realization flashes in your eyes at the same time the third gun cocks. “Guns,” you bark out, stepping forward with your gun drawn.

You fire two bullets at the two mutated men on the left as you shove Silco down behind the wooden chair. As two bodies fall, it seems at least ten more burst through the doors of the abandoned building chosen for the ‘meeting’. “I’m hungry,” you mutter absently as you drop three more lackeys. You duck under the fist of a stocky man. You sweep his feet from under him and bring your steel-toed boot down onto his head without glance as you send a bullet straight into another woman’s head.

“Are you seriously thinking of food while my life is in danger?” Silco asks dryly.

You scoff. “Do I look scared?” You leap at a pair of legs and bring down the lackey. Holding his body in front of you as a shield, you easily take out the last four shooters. Dropping the body riddled with bullet holes, you rush to Silco.

“No,” he answers quietly. “You don’t look scared.” He lets you pull him to his feet and examine him closely. “Y/n.”

You are still determining if the bloodstain donning his leather jacket is his or not when he steps closer to you and hesitates before placing his hands on your face. You feel his thumb rub gently at the dripping blood from your face as his eyes search yours. “Boss?”

“You… Y/n, I don’t know how to say this,” he starts. His feather-light hold on your complexion tightens as his breath shakes.

“Am I fired?” You ask, dread filling your face as you attempt to step back.

“No, y/n, you-“

On your right, you see movement concealed by the table. As you reach from your gun, you realize you missed one of the lackeys. “Fuck,” you curse, wrapping one arm over Silco and falling to the ground as the random fucking machine gun the idiot lackey somehow acquired fires. You shoot, but miss and hit the wood.

Silco groans under you, arms tight around your waist. You don’t realize his lanky legs are wrapped around your legs as you wrap your arm over his head for protection.

For a split, weak second, Silco’s eyes close as his limbs tighten around you for the illusion, that maybe you could be his and he, yours. You smell like gunpowder, the jasmine and saffron perfume you always wear, and the familiar iron fround in blood. Silco hears his ears ringing but if that’s the price he has to pay for your hand in his hair, then that shall be what he pays.

Silco is still zoned out when you flinch violently on top of him. You squirm to the other side and tighten your hold on him like a boa constrictor on it’s prey- and even though Silco is used to being the predator, he doesn’t mind. And then finally, he stops hearing the gunshots and his ears stop ringing. And when his ears stop ringing, a… longing fills his senses as you pull your protective hold from his head and roll off of him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, sitting up with a wince. “Silco?” You wince as you sit up, grabbing his chin and turning his head back and forth looking for blood or injury.

“I’m fine,” Silco answers. “Let’s go.”

As he brings himself to his feet, he gathers his senses and pushes his disappointment of not having your touch down to the bile in his stomach for the acid to dissolve. When you are not immediately at his side, he sees you sway on your feet and press sharply on your side.

“Y/n.” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet as he watches your chest heave as you fumble to put your gun into it’s holster.

“I’m fine,” you tell him. “I need to get you-“

“Y/n.”

Silco easily beats your limp with his long strides and pulls your hand from your side. Thick, dark blood stains your hands and bleeds into your shirt. “You cannot think I would not find out about this,” Silco informs you with a reprimanding tone.

You throw your hands up and immediately wobble. Silco reaches out to steady you as you answer: “As long as you are safe, I couldn’t give two shits if I got shot between the eyes,” you rasp. “This is what I’m paid to do,” you remind him.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line. “Do not ever say something so careless about yourself again.”

You look at him in confusion as he wraps your arm over his shoulder and takes a step forward. “Okay.”

Silco finally scooped you into his arms and started the trek to The Last Drop- which, was luckily only one block away. “Keep your eyes open,” he told you.

If you weren’t so lightheaded you would have thought he cooed at you. “Okay, boss.”

“Tell me something, y/n,” Silco said, glancing down at your crumpled form. He felt his jaw tighten as your face screwed up in pain as Silco took a step. He felt guilty for jostling your injured body around so much. “Tell me anything.”

Your breathing has slowed considerably. “I…” your hand reaches up to trace the curve of Silco’s nose as you fail to gather your thoughts. “I used to dance. Ballet. My mama… she was a dancer. My papa was a fighter. When I told my pa I wanted to start boxing like him, he told me I had to dance if I wanted…” you yawn and feel your head grow heavy. Your arm is too heavy to lift. Normally, that would bother you but you’re in Silco’s arms. “If I wanted to be ‘swift as a fox and precise as a snake’.”

Silco’s hard eyes soften. He quivers as you run you knuckles over his chest. “Do you still talk to them? Your mama and papa?”

“Nah,” you drawl. “Papa, mama, and Derri are dead. They… I don’t want to talk ‘bout ‘em.”

“Who’s Derri?” Silco asks.

You answer despite your ‘I don’t wanna talk about them’. Silco feels his heart beat irregularly as you burrow into his body as he carries you home. “My brother.”

Silco stays quiet. When you don’t elaborate further, he looks down and sees your eyes closed. “Y/n. Y/n!”

You blink owlishly. “Silco.”

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply. “My side hurts really bad and you’re carrying me. That’s not… Am I fired?”

Silco turns the corner to the main street and sees the familiar sign. “No, y/n. I would give you anything- even a job- should you ever need it.”

“I’ll be okay, right?” You ask, blearily examining Silco’s eyes for any sign of lies.

“Do I look scared?”

Blinking, a small smile pulls at your lips at the words you spoke earlier. “No,” you yawn. “You don’t look scared.”

You can’t hear Silco’s next words because you are too preoccupied with falling unconscious.

Silco shifts in his seat when he hears you cough. It’s when you try to pull your hand from his does he open his eyes. His mouth opens and he feels a wave of relief crash into him because you’re awake. “Hello, y/n.”

You shoot him a wry smile and attempt to sit up. When Silco wordlessly pushes your fatigued body back to the bed, you decide it better to lie till and be a bad bodyguard. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

“What? Shouldn’t have done your job flawlessly and get yourself injured saving my life? Y/n, darling, do not apologize for things that are my fault,” he tells you, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “Forgive me if I’m reading the situation wronf, but… I care for you. More than necessary. I will be here for you unless you tell me to walk away and leave you to your life. But believe me when I say: thank you. Thank you y/n, but never do that again.”

You blink. “Silco,“ you begin with a raspy voice. “Slow down… for my sake. Just, be here. Or,” you shrug. “I know you probably have work to do. If you want to leave and work on that, I won’t be offended-“

“Let me be here for you.” Silco finally asserted.

You just smile and look down to see his nimble fingers tenderly tracing your veins and occupying himself with you. “Okay.”

[stayteezdreams]

Ghost of Christmas Past

Plot: Due to circumstances neither of you could control, you and your first love were forced apart, never to see each other again. Or so you thought. Until one Christmas, years later, when fate decided to cross your paths again.

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Gn!Reader *no specific age is mentioned but the reader and Hongjoong are referenced to be within the 26-29 age range.

Warnings: Shitty parents, mainly shitty father. Both on Hongjoong's side and readers side, but Hongjoong's father gets better in the end.

Words: 4.5k

With all the strength you had, you tried to pull yourself away from your father's grip. You needed to get to Hongjoong, you knew you couldn't stop them from taking him away, but you needed to try.

At the least, you needed to say goodbye. To tell him you loved him one more time.

Seeing him being forced into his father’s car, your chest ached painfully as tears poured from your eyes.

"Hongjoong!"

As Hongjoong struggled with the man forcing him out of his home, his head snapped in your direction at the sound of your voice.

You were trying to get away from your father, who was holding you back. Your eyes were desperate, as tears streamed down your face.

Hongjoong pushed the man in front of him as he called out to you. "Y/n!"

"Hongjoong!"

Almost getting away, but being pulled back again, he cursed at the man, "Let me go! Y/n!"

As Hongjoong was forced into the car, he pushed and kicked, calling out for you again and again. His eyes burned as his heart broke. The car sped away, and he could do nothing but press against the window as he got one last look at you as you finally slipped from your father’s grip and you ran after his car.

You chased after the car until your lungs burned and your legs gave out. Watching as it disappeared, taking Hongjoong with it. His desperate pleading eyes from the back window being the last time you saw him.

As your alarm blared, your eyes shot open, the memory of Hongjoong being torn away from you fading as you rubbed your eyes. A familiar ache sat in your chest as you let out a sigh and turned off your alarm.

Sitting up on your elbows you thought back on your dream, well, it was more of a memory. In your dreams a few things often changed, sometimes your mother was there, sometimes Hongjoong broke free from the bodyguard and ran towards you, but never reached you. Sometimes you caught up with the car, but Hongjoong was no longer inside.

This time, it was almost exactly as you remember, though it had been nearly ten years since it actually happened, so it was all a bit fuzzy, though the pain of the moment forever remained.

Climbing out of bed you wondered why you dreamt of it, of Hongjoong. Maybe because it was nearing Christmas. It was around this time of year that he was taken away. You had a lot of plans for that Christmas, but you were torn apart instead.

As you slowly made your way through your morning routine, you couldn't help but relive the past. Your dream bringing forward the familiar ache of heartbreak.

You and Hongjoong were like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, with a little less death of course.

Your parents hated each other, well, your fathers hated each other, your mothers were just along for the ride.

You and Hongjoong were taught from a young age that you were rivals, enemies, that you were to never be in the same circle. But that didn't last long. The second the two of you were able to think for yourselves, you realized just how stupid their rivalry was. Based solely on business and money.

In Middle School, you and Hongjoong ended up bonding over your annoyance at your parents. It turned into a friendship, which turned into a relationship a short time later.

By the time you were in High School, you and Hongjoong were in love, planning to run away together as soon as you were old enough. To live your lives together, away from your father's control.

Your relationship was held a secret until your third year of High School, when one of your fathers’ colleagues saw you together on a date. Once your father found out, all hell broke loose. You were forced to change schools, but that didn't keep you apart.

So lost in their own rivalry and hatred for one another, Hongjoong's father, when learning that you two would not be easy to separate, and growing more irritated with your father’s anger, decided to send Hongjoong away to attend school abroad.

That was the day you lost him once and for all.

One day, Hongjoong and his friend Seonghwa went back to his house after school. They were blind-sided when they arrived, finding all of Hongjoong's possessions packed up.

After learning what was happening, Hongjoong told Seonghwa to come get you. He wasn't sure he would be able to stop his father from sending him away. But if he failed, he needed to see you, he needed you to know he wasn't giving in without a fight. That he didn't want to leave you. He knew it would be his father's intention to make you think he left you.

You tried to get to his house to see him in time, but your father chased after you, stopping you just before you got there. So, all you saw was Hongjoong being shoved into a car and whisked away to who knows where.

For months you hoped you would see him again, find out where he was so you could call him, write him a letter, anything to get in contact. But your father's made sure no information about Hongjoong got to you.

Eventually, your father made a deal with another company and got transferred to another city. So, your whole life was packed up, and whether you wanted to or not, you were forced to leave the one place Hongjoong would know where to find you.

You spent hours trying to find where he ended up. Finally contacting Seonghwa, but learning his father even kept him in the dark. So, you never found him. Eventually, as time passed, the heartbreak faded into a dull heaviness in your heart.

When you eventually moved back to Seoul on your own, you found yourself outside of Hongjoong's childhood home. You weren't sure what you were really doing there. Nothing good could come of it. But you thought, maybe, just maybe, Hongjoong might be there.

But he wasn't.

The man living there ended up coming out to see what you wanted after he saw you staring up at his house from the road. He informed you that the family that had lived there before had moved a few years earlier, to where he had no idea.

Without any hope left, you gave up on ever seeing Hongjoong again. But Hongjoong was, and would always be, your first love. And whether you knew it was there or not, the hope that you might cross paths again one day would remain with you forever.

You had been in relationships since then, but none ever lasted very long. Even though you were an adult now, and knew your relationship with Hongjoong was founded out of childhood friendship and bonding, you didn't ever doubt, had you not been separated, you would have been together forever.

Stirring your coffee, you smiled softly as you looked out at the cold winter sky. Ever since you moved back here after college you had been alone. Your father remained harsh and mean, your mother uncaring. So, you spent most Christmases alone.

A familiar sense of melancholy and loneliness rested in your chest as you finally shook yourself from your thoughts to get ready for the day. Getting dressed; your eyes kept drifting to a red scarf in your closet. Giving in, you pulled it from its hangar and wrapped it around your neck. You ran your hands over it as you smiled at the memory it came with.

A scarf given to you by Hongjoong during the first Christmas you were dating. Yours and Hongjoong's initials were embroidered onto the ends. You wondered if he still had the matching one, he got himself.

Did he still think of you? Did he try to find you?

You sighed as you allowed the melancholic nostalgia to take over, knowing it would sit with you all day, just as it always did when you thought of Hongjoong.

As Hongjoong walked down the once familiar streets of the city, he felt an odd sense of melancholy. Many of the buildings and shops he knew were changed or demolished. The faces he once saw every day were replaced by strangers.

Stopping by the park he used to frequent; he looked around with a nostalgic warmth washing over him. He smiled as he saw the snow-covered roses. The snow was sudden, catching everyone, even the flowers by surprise.

He wasn't sure why, but they reminded him of you.

Beautiful, bright, but repressed under something so cold.

A melancholic yearning filled his chest as he thought of you.

A couple years after he was sent abroad, his father began to relax in his stubbornness. Maybe it was because he was aging, or the way Hongjoong shut him out after he sent him away, but he started to regret hurting him.

After he saw how heartbroken Hongjoong was, how distant he became after he lost you, he finally saw he was wrong. He apologized for forcing the two of you apart. For forcing a petty rivalry that went too far onto the two of you.

As a way to make amends, Hongjoong was allowed to return home when he wished. But unfortunately for him, it was still too late. You were gone. Your father whisked you away one summer, moving you to another city, and ending the connected rivalry between your families.

By the time Hongjoong's father found out where you were moved too, another way to try and make amends, you were gone. You had moved out of your family’s home and gone off on your own to only God knew where.

As sad as this made Hongjoong, he was also glad. Glad you were able to escape, glad you were able to be brave enough to leave. You deserved to be free. He only wished you found happiness along the way, even if it meant he wasn't a part of it.

Recently, he got a job back here in his hometown. Even though his family moved out of his childhood home some years ago, the area still felt like home.

Though he had no idea where you ended up, he had a hope that one day he might run into you on the streets you used to stroll down together.

You might not have any feelings left for him, you might be in a relationship, you might even be married. But he still hoped that he would find you again, if only to learn that you were happy. That would be enough for him.

No matter who he dated or for how long, you seemed to be the only one who would ever hold his heart. And he knew it would remain with you forever.

As Hongjoong looked across the park, his breath caught. He must be imagining it. It must be because he was thinking of you so much that he imagined it.

Even with this thought, Hongjoong's legs moved without hesitation. The hair color, the height, the scarf, the scarf. His quickened pace turned into a run as the figure disappeared into the crowd of passerby’s.

Your name was on the tip of his tongue, desperate to be called out, but forced into silence out of doubt. His eyes darted from figure to figure, but you were nowhere in sight.

He let out a shaky sigh filled with an ache he didn't know he still held so deeply.

"Y/n." Your name left his lips like a fading dream he was desperate to cling to.

It wasn't you. It was just his imagination. You weren’t here.

Taking a few deep breaths as he tried to get rid of the painful ache in his chest, he crossed the road, aware his eyes were still searching for you, though he knew you weren't there.

Absentmindedly he grabbed onto the embroidered scarf around his neck, gripping the soft fabric tightly as he walked down the sidewalk. Not knowing that if he had just looked back one more time, a familiar face would be turning back at that exact moment.

A tingle on the back of your neck told you to look, though you weren't sure for what. You had the most peculiar sensation that there was someone behind you, someone you knew. You turned expecting to see a friend or coworker, someone whose familiar presence you sensed. But none of the faces behind you seemed familiar.

Furrowing your brow, your eyes cast over the people walking around you, your eyes lingering on one figure for a moment longer than the others.

Shaking your head and deciding it was nothing, you turned back and continued to head to work, forgetting about the feeling almost as quickly as it crept up.

No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, Hongjoong's thoughts kept finding their way back to you. So lost in these thoughts, he continuously zoned out instead of working.

Jumping as someone smacked his shoulder, his eyes met Seonghwa's as he chuckled. "Why are you so distracted today?”

Hongjoong sighed as he spun back and forth in his chair, "I thought I say Y/n earlier, but I think I just imagined it."

Seonghwa let out a soft sigh, the memory of the day you last saw each other passing through his mind. He was just an onlooker, a friend with no power to intervene, but the scene hurt him. He knew how in love the two of you were, seeing you forced apart stuck with him all these years. Ever since he and Hongjoong agreed to work together here in their hometown, he knew Hongjoong had been looking for you.

He wished he knew where you ended up, but it was a mystery to him as well. "Are you sure you imagined it?"

Hongjoong leaned his head back, "I think so. I was thinking about them right before it happened. And I didn't see their face, I think they just reminded me of Y/n."

Seonghwa nodded softly as he gently patted Hongjoong's knee, "You're still in love with them, aren't you?"

Hongjoong looked back at Seonghwa and nodded, "We never had an ending. We were forced apart, the pain of that never allowed the feelings to die naturally. I can't help but hold onto them."

"Who knows, maybe Y/n will make their way back home one day. You did." Seonghwa said somewhat passively, not sure if the comment would help or not. He turned back to his own work, leaving Hongjoong to wonder if you hadn't already returned.

You stretched as you finally finished work, looking out at the soft falling snow. Taking out your phone to order an Uber, you hesitated before putting your phone back in your pocket. You would walk home. A walk in the snow might do you some good.

Your feet took you down a once familiar path as you set your eyes on the park you used to frequent. The slide and swings were covered in snow, no children in sight. It was out of the way, the opposite direction of where you lived, but you frequented this path on purpose many times. Just to remind yourself of the past.

The sky was a dark grey, the sun hidden behind sheets of clouds and snow. Kicking the snow from one of the swings, you sat down, swaying gently as you looked around the park.

You and Hongjoong had come here often in the past, it was your hide out spot to be together in secret. Youd bring snacks and stare up at the sky for hours.

'Why am I thinking about him so much today?'

You had an odd feeling in your gut ever since you had woken up from your dream this morning. Assuming it would fade you continued on with your day, but it only got heavier. Did something happen to him? Was your connection still so deep that you felt it?

Your wandering thoughts caused the pit in your gut to grow as you began making yourself worry about something you couldn't know the answer to. Sighing as you looked around, your eyes paused on the snow-covered roses. You smiled at the sight, finding it both sad and beautiful.

Hearing footsteps crunching in the snow, you began to look for the source of the sound, your heart leaping as a voice called out right as you spotted the person approaching you.

"Y/n."

He hadn't imagined it, it was you.

After work, Hongjoong declined Seonghwa's offer for a ride home, deciding he wanted to walk back home for some reason.

Wanting to walk through the park again, maybe to bring back some fond memories of you. The last thing he was expecting was to actually see you.

But there you were, sitting on the same swings the two of you used to frequent years ago. Your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck as you swayed gently back and forth.

As he approached you, his heart was pounding so heavily he feared it might stop all together. You were older, obviously, but he could tell it was you from a mile away. You were the same, you were Y/n, his Y/n.

Your name left his mouth like an unspoken secret desperate to be told. "Y/n."

How was it possible? How could he be here? Right now, at the same time as you? Was it really him? Of course it was, he looked the same. It couldn't be anyone else.

"Hongjoong?" His name was barely audible, but just loud enough that the sound of it made his heart jolt painfully in his chest. He had dreamt of hearing you say his name again for so long.

Suddenly, standing from the swing, your heart was beating wildly as your stomach fluttered nervously. The two of you stared at each other, as if afraid you might disappear with the slightest movement.

"How- Why are you- What?" Your voice was bewildered as you tried to put together what was happening.

Was this why you were thinking of him so much today? Could you feel that he was close by? That he was here. Was that even possible?

He took a tentative step towards you, his breath shaky. "I thought I saw you earlier today, but I convinced myself I imagined it, but you're here. You're right here."

He seemed just as perplexed as you, as if seeing you was the last thing he expected, but far from the last thing he wanted.

Thinking back to earlier in the day when you felt as though someone was looking at you, you wondered if that was what you felt. Had he been so close without you knowing?

"How long have you been back?"

You asked, nervously filling the silence as a thousand questions and words filled your brain.

"A couple weeks. You?"

"A few years."

He let out a sigh, he should have come back sooner.

His eyes scanned over you as familiar emotions washed over him again. He let out a soft chuckle as he couldn't help but grin. He met your eyes, and you saw them shining a bit brighter as so many emotions passed through them.

"You look good. Are you? Doing good, I mean?"

You nodded softly, letting a smile form on your face as well. "I'm..." you hesitated, even after all this time you felt like you couldn't lie to him, you never could. But you should. This wasn't the same anymore, was it? "I'm good."

Hongjoong's heart dropped at this. The tone of your voice so familiar to the childhood sweetheart that hid all their hardships as to not worry him.

His smile turned sad as he walked closer to you, stopping a few feet away. "Liar."

Taken aback by the sudden familiarity of his reaction you let out a sharp chuckle before covering your mouth. His smile turned into a grin again as his heart fluttered. Your smile was something he feared he would never see again.

Before you could speak, his arms were suddenly engulfing you. You caught your breath as you froze in his embrace.

As the smell of his cologne washed over you, you felt a familiar warmth and comfort you had long since forgotten.

"I missed you." His voice was soft, but burdened with emotions you felt the familiar sting of.

It had been ten years, but he still felt like home.

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him, tears stinging your eyes as you whispered back. "I missed you too."

Hongjoong felt a heavy weight in his chest disappear as he tightened his arms around you. He finally found you again, he finally found his way home.

You weren't sure how long you stood there in each other's arms before you finally pulled away from each other. You swallowed nervously as he stared at you, studying your features.

He placed his gloved hands on your cheeks as he wiped away a stray tear. "We have so much to talk about."

You nodded in agreement, excited that so many questions could finally be answered.

"I have a question first though." He said softly and you rose your brow. "You aren't dating anyone are you?"

You paused for a second before you laughed. That was not what you were expecting his first question to be. You shook your head. "No, I'm not."

He grinned, a familiar mischievous twinkle you used to swoon over. "Good." Taking your hand in his he squeezed it before he met your eyes again. "Come with me."

Taking the lead, he led you out of the park and down the street. Even though you didn't know where he was taking you, you didn't care. In the past you would have let him lead you to hell and gladly follow him, and you learned quickly, those feelings hadn't really changed at all.

Sitting at Hongjoong's kitchen counter, you held your hand up, "Okay so, basically, your dad felt bad about what he did and let you come back home, but by then I was gone. Then, he tried to find me, and when he did, I was already gone again. And then by the time I came back here, you had left again??"

Hongjoong nodded and you let out a soft sigh as you spun your mug of cocoa around in your hands. "I wonder how many other times we missed each other that we don't know about." You mumbled and Hongjoong huffed softly as he sat back down in the chair beside you.

“Considering what happened today, probably a lot.”

You chuckled, "It's like fate was playing with us."

As you took a sip of your drink, Hongjoong admired you. You were still you, he was still him, it still felt the same, though the feelings in his heart weren't so childish anymore.

You and Hongjoong had spent the last couple of hours talking about what happened since the day he was sent away. And just as quickly as you met again, any awkwardness between you seemed to fade away.

Leaning back in your chair you let out a soft sigh, "I'm glad your father changed. He always seemed to love you but had such a weird way of holding it against you."

Hongjoong nodded with a soft smile, glad too, that his relationship with his father had changed for the better. He couldn’t help but wonder how he would react to learning the two of you had been reunited.

"What about your father? What's he like now?"

You shrugged, "No idea. When I chose to go to university for what I wanted instead of what he wanted, he basically disowned me. The last time I talked to him was about a year ago, and all he said to me was 'Don't spend all your time with friends, do your job since you were so determined to leave for it.'" You scoffed after you mimicked your dad’s tone.

Hongjoong frowned at this, "And your mother?"

"She texts me occasionally asking how I am, but I don't know how much she actually cares. I was in the hospital a couple months ago and when I told her she just told me to be careful not to miss too much work."

Hongjoong sat up quicky, "You were in the hospital, why? What happened? Are you okay now?"

You stared at him with mild shock before you laughed and waved your hands, "I'm fine! I just had a really bad fever and passed out at work."

His eyes widened even more, "'You just had a fever and passed out'? 'Just?!' That's not fine!"

You laughed again before you felt a sudden wave of emotion causing you to look away from him. You giggled softly, and Hongjoong heard a hint of sadness behind it.

"You needed me, and I wasn't here."

You looked back at him with a questioning gaze, and he looked at you with a sense of guilt.

"I was the only one who made sure you took care of yourself. You always get so caught up in what you are doing and trying to be what your parents told you to be, that you forget about your own health. And your parents still don't give a damn. You needed me, I'm sorry."

You tilted your head as you smiled softly at him, "It wasn't your fault Hongjoong. And besides, it was just one bad moment. I'm a lot better at taking care of myself, you'd be proud of me!"

His frown became a smile at this. Reaching out he gently caressed your face. "I am. I'm proud that you didn't let them tear you down. That you didn't give into your father's wishes. That you took your own path even if you were alone on it."

Turning in his chair so he was facing you, he gently grabbed your legs and turned you to face him as well.

"But you aren't alone anymore. I'm here now. And if you want me, I'll stay. I'll be by your side again. There's nothing that could take me away from you now."

Memories of Hongjoong leaving flashed through your mind. Mixtures of hurt, relief, heartbreak and joy washing over you.

"Of course I want that Hongjoong. You were my first love, my home, and those feelings never went anywhere. They were still here, in my heart. They were just staying dormant until we found each other again."

He cupped your face again as he smiled, his voice was a soft whisper "My first love. My only love. I'll stay with you forever this time."

You felt tightness in your chest as your eyes brimmed with tears. "Promise?"

Leaning closer, he nodded softly as he whispered "I promise" just before his lips met yours in a kiss both of you had been waiting ten years for.

No matter how long you would have had to wait, ten years, twenty, fifty, your heart would always belong to Hongjoong. Even if the wait was painful and long, fate was kind enough to bring you back together. And nothing would separate you again.

xx End xx

I'm pretty happy with how this one came out, even if I couldn't get it down exactly how I wanted.

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@demonlineslut, @vnessalau, @dancinglikebutterflywings, @tunafishyfishylike, @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

[purpamint]

Even after two years this is still one of my favorite comics I’ve made, and since it’s the holiday season, here’s the text version of it I wrote for it today that has some fun bonus details that I’m pretty happy with:

Back when Kris and Noelle back were both kids, they were opening presents while sitting by a Christmas tree. Kris is wearing their red horns that they supposedly wore a lot as a kid. Kris opens their present and reveals a green and yellow striped sweater. After Kris opens their present, Noelle cheerily says, “Merry Krismas! Dess and I worked together to make you this sweater!!”

Kris looks in awe, exclaiming, “WOAH!! so cool....”

Noelle gives Kris a thumbs up with a happy expression, saying “why don’t you try it on?”

“ok!”

Asriel and Dess are both looking at Kris now that they’ve tried on their new sweater. The sweater is visibly way too big for Kris.

Asriel is smiling, but his expression betrays the fact that he is a bit worried that the sweater doesn’t fit Kris, however he is still trying to stay on the bright side.

Asriel expresses, “It’s a bit oversized…”

Dess, focusing more on Kris’s enjoyment of the present than the size, looks to Asriel and assuredly states, “They seem to like it!” She proudly stands with her hands on her hips with a satisfied smile.

Kris wears their sweater with a delighted smile as if they were as content as one could be. It was as if in nothing the world could be better than as small as sweater made just for them. It was as if they would be fine if this one moment lasted forever.

Dess, continuing what she was stating earlier, laughs, “Hah! It doesn’t matter if it fits as long as they like it!” Clearly pleased at how much Kris seems to enjoy their present, she remains unbothered by the minor issue of the size. Asriel, less concerned after realizing Kris’s genuine joy at the sweater, finally agrees with Dess, albeit still reserved “I guess so!”

Many years later…

The world is completely black. It feels as if so much time has passed. The darkness only brings back those warm distant memories. The darkness feels like daydreaming with eyes closed. Those dreams feel real yet so fragile…

Noelle sees Kris while at school

Casually starting a passing conversation with an old friend, she laughs, “Woah Kris… talk about a flashback!! Fa-ha!”

It was like she was suddenly propelled millions of years back in to the past, reminded of both the embarrassing and the bittersweet moments.

Caught up in the moment of remembrance— almost as if all the years of distance between the two teens had suddenly melted away to potentially forge some sense of reconnection— she continues, “You haven’t worn that since…” Quickly trailing off.

Reality comes back like a tsunami of ice water over a blacksmith’s freshly re-heated piece of iron. The once re-shapable metal is now chilled and harder to change.

Now, the darkness has faded out.

Noelle couldn’t help but wonder about Kris sometimes. Why wear that sweater…? Not that it’s a bad thing, but it hasn’t been worn in ages…

With an inquisitive expression, she politely asks, “Any reason why you’re wearing it?”

Kris sits at their school desk slightly leaning forward laying their chin on their right hand. Their other arm lays on their desk as if they were partially crossing their arms. They do not look directly at Noelle. They almost appear as if they are not looking at anything at all— or at least not towards anything in particular. They have an introspective expression. Like they are thinking about old friends, old memories, old dreams… at least that’s what it seems.

“I guess I have been feeling nostalgic lately…” Kris replies. An indirect response like that from them was not unusual.

…but…

It seemed like that they were being honest.

It’s generally hard to read them, it was even hard to read them back when they were more open…but Noelle is so familiar with them that it is almost natural, even if the skill has a little bit of rust.

Kris looks softly at their sweater. It’s been so long since they’ve worn it, but they still remember the day they got it. They wished that day would last forever back then. Sometimes they still do. It felt so big back then, but now it matches their size much closer, even if it is a bit baggy in some places. But it’s honestly more comfortable that way… they never minded oversized clothes anyways.

They loved it so much because it was made with care, just for them.

It’s their favorite sweater…

It fits almost perfectly…

Little deltarune comic for the holidays! (About the Holidays too, wow) This took a bit longer to make than expected because I chose to make it on paper, so I had to do a bit of color adjustments to make it look right in the photos. Despite it’s lateness hope y’all like it! :D

[ak-vintage]

Stay Right Here

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You never had a problem getting out of bed in the morning until you started sharing one with Joel. A Secret Santa gift for my dear friend Britt @pedroswife69 <3

Word Count: 2.3K

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, post-season 1/game 1 established relationship, SMUT (groping, fingering, P in V sex, praise, heavy emphasis on Joel’s broad, sexy, manly hands, Joel’s filthy mouth)

Thank you to @shchristine for the beta read and to @pr3ttynpiink for organizing! Shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

Read on AO3 | Main Masterlist

You never had a problem getting out of bed in the morning until you started sharing one with Joel.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been an early riser. Up before the sun most days, you’re showered, dressed, and fed before the sky can fade from inky black to rose gold to blue. It’s made you a great candidate for the breakfast shift at the dining hall and an eager volunteer in the barns and stables. You’ve become accustomed to tending to sheep and cattle or cracking eggs and frying bacon before most of the rest of Jackson have even blinked themselves awake, and really, it’s been no trouble. That was, of course, until you agreed to gather up your modest possessions and officially move across town.

Into Joel Miller’s house.

Now, as early-morning light filters through the thin curtains of his bedroom – your bedroom – you find yourself tucked snugly against his broad chest, his legs intertwined with yours, and one long, thick arm draped across your waist, keeping you close. He smells like sleep – warm and woodsy and painfully masculine, and though he holds you tightly, he shows no sign of waking. Even in his sleep, he can’t seem to get close enough to you. It would be inconvenient if you didn’t find it so endearing.

You twist in his arms, craning your neck awkwardly in an attempt to spot the little analog alarm clock Joel keeps on his bedside table. When you finally manage it, you balk at the time staring back at you in the dimness. You’re due in the kitchens in less than 30 minutes. If you rush, you’ll make it, but only just.

Your touch is delicate at first, gentle and soft as you try to extricate yourself from his grip without waking him. With a few wiggles and a scooch of your hips, you manage to work your legs free, but by the time you’re reaching for his arm to peel it off you, it has become like a clamp around your midsection, and you are being drawn back into him, back into his warm, bare chest as he grumbles, “Jus’ few more minutes, darlin’.”

With a shake of your head, you sigh, peering up at him through your lashes. His eyes are still closed, his weathered face relaxed, and you feel a pang of fondness tighten in your chest at the sight. He does this to you because he knows you can’t resist him when he’s like this – cozy and sweet and soft, every barrier collapsed and every façade shattered. You’re one of the few who gets to see the true face of Joel Miller, and the privilege is not lost on you.

Still, that does not change the fact that you have never once been late to a shift since arriving in Jackson, and you are not about to sacrifice your perfect record for a few extra minutes of cuddling. Moving quickly, you roll onto your other side and make for the edge of the bed.

But even wrapped in the warm cocoon of sleep, Joel is still faster and stronger than you. You make it only a handful of inches across the mattress before his vicelike grip is back, bracketing around your belly and hauling you – a bit less gently this time – back into his embrace once again. His face ends up buried in your hair, his front molded to the contours of your back, and you feel it along every nerve ending as he rasps, “Quit your squirmin’. M’sleepin’.”

Except Joel isn’t sleeping. Or, at least, there is one particular part of him that appears to be very much awake. You snort softly into your pillow. You should have known.

“Joel,” you hiss, wriggling against his grip. “I’m gonna be late!”

He does not dignify your protests with a response. Or, at least, not a verbal one. Instead, he simply shuffles so he is pressed even tighter against you as his broad-palmed, thick-fingered, heavy hand begins lazily stroking every inch of you he can reach.

He’s unhurried in his perusal of your body – from the dip of your waist to the flare of your hip, from the soft give of your stomach up to the plush fullness of your breasts. His caress is familiar, soothing and inflaming in equal measure, and your muscles melt so readily – eagerly even – under his attentions that it almost steals your breath away.

You are putty in his hands, and he knows it, so when he tucks his fingers under the neckline of your sleepshirt and tugs down the worn material, you make a fatal mistake, and Joel simply grins.

As his hot, dry palm skates over your rapidly-hardening nipples, as his grip swallows the pillowy softness of a breast and massages firmly, you let out the softest, breathiest sigh and arch into his touch. Your ribs surge forward, seeking more of that calloused, work-roughened hand, and in doing so, your hips curl back, and you unintentionally welcome the long, thick, throbbing press of his cock between the globes of your ass.

Joel groans into the back of your neck, the sound tripping down your spine in deep, rasping shivers as he noses your hair out of the way. The second enough skin is exposed, he latches on and drags the warm slickness of his tongue along it, drawing the vulnerable little patch of softness into his mouth and sucking. His rough fingers tighten around your nipple, plucking and teasing as he works your neck, and the sensation has your throat gasping, the arch of your spine deepening.

Low and ragged in your ear, Jackson’s top patrolman chuckles and grinds his hips into your ass. “That’s it, baby. You got a few minutes for this, don’tcha?”

“I – my breakfast shift, I have to – ” Your words are interrupted with a moan, the sound wrenched from your chest as the hand on your breast slips down to the apex of your thighs, pressing firmly and steadily against your mound through your cotton panties. His name is a whimper on the back of another deep, urgent breath, and you grit your teeth against the urge to wind your hips against the friction of his fingers.

“Shhh,” Joel soothes, mouthing at your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair as it catches in the uneven whiskers of his beard. “Just relax, darlin’. The kitchen’ll keep for a bit. Lemme feel you a little.”

In the end, you find that you don’t have the strength to protest any more. His hands are everywhere – tucking under your neck from behind to settle across your throat, slipping into your panties, snaking under your shirt, tangling in your hair. You’re surrounded in him, swaddled in his thick, strong arms, trapped against his front, your body unable to choose between chasing the tease of his fingers against your slippery clit or grinding back against the enticing hardness of his cock.

He doesn’t let you choose, though. Instead, he strokes and plays and torments until you are ready to beg for mercy, and then he flips you onto your back and clambers on top of you. All finesse is gone as he shoves his pajama pants just far enough down to pull himself out, as he reaches down to tug the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, as he drags his soft, plush cockhead through your wetness. You can feel his desperation in the tension of his muscles, can see it in the deep frown tugging at his brow, can hear it in the curled-lip, gritted-teeth groan as he notches himself at your quivering entrance. It takes your breath away, makes you shudder and gasp as you stretch around the tip of him.

All the countless times you’ve taken him, and you’re not sure you will ever get used to that first breach of your body, that first trembling submission to the heft of him.

He fills you in one slow, inexorable thrust, and when your dripping pussy has swallowed every inch of him, when he finally seats his pubic bone against yours, firm and inescapable, he threads his fingers with yours and pins both of your hands above your head.

You can’t remember why you protested anymore, why you ever attempted to keep him at bay. He has driven every other thought from your mind and replaced it with himself. There is simply nothing else that matters.

He keeps you there as he takes you apart – thighs spread achingly wide, knees hitched up at his sides to take him deeper, ankles locked behind his back to keep him from retreating too far. Mouth on your neck, tongue on your tits. Teeth scraping across your jaw, tugging on your earlobe, sinking into the flesh cushioning your collarbone. Big, thick, rugged hands gripping yours, driving the backs of your fingers into the mattress. You are entirely at his mercy, and it makes your cunt drool for him.

“There ya go, baby, I know. Can feel how bad you need it,” Joel growls, making you shiver. “Gonna give you what you need. Just gotta take it.”

When he can feel that you are on the ragged edge of your climax, so close to soaring right over that edge you can almost taste it, he gathers both of your wrists in one hand and drops the other to your gaping, whining mouth. His thumb – huge, tasting of salt and musk and man – sinks between your lips and presses down on your tongue, and when you come, your cries are muffled in the suction of your mouth around the intrusion.

“There she is.” His words are syrupy-slow and sweet in your ear as you clench down around him, as you writhe and whimper as he fucks you through it. “That’s my good girl.”

Somehow, Joel manages to hold out for his own pleasure until you’ve come down from your high, until you’ve returned to your body and to the present moment. You are just lucid enough to watch him as he rears up on his haunches, withdraws his dripping cock from the clutch of your body, and uses one of those broad, heavy hands to jerk himself off over your belly. Your eyes can’t look away as he strokes himself, quick and firm, your gaze heavy-lidded and hungry as you watch.

“Come on,” you whisper. The words leave your mouth thoughtlessly, eyes glued to his flushed, angry cock as the tip weeps glistening pearls of precum. Fuck, he’s so breathtaking like this. “Come for me, Joel. Come all over me.”

It doesn’t take long with your encouragement. When he falls, it is with a ragged groan and a curse. You watch as thick, white ropes paint his scarred knuckles, and you can hardly stand to wait for him to stop before pulling that hand from his cock and dragging it to your waiting mouth. You clean his fingers with an eager tongue, lapping every drop from his skin as he catches his breath.

It isn’t until he collapses back onto the bed next to you, winded and sweating, that you happen to catch a glimpse of your bedside clock out of the corner of your eye. The sight is like a bucket of ice water in your veins.

“Shit,” you groan, rolling over to bury your face into your pillow in denial.

“S’matter?”

Your words come out muffled, smothered against the pillow as you hide from the accusing glare of the clockface. “I’m fucking late.”

Joel snorts a laugh. “Ah, well. Not the end of the world, darlin’.”

“I’m never late, Joel!”

You feel the mattress shift behind you as he rolls up onto his side, then the warm, heavy weight of his palm between your shoulder blades as he rubs your back comfortingly. “All the more reason why one time won’t hurt anything. Ain’t no reason you gotta be up at the ass-crack of dawn every damn day. Now…” He lands a quick swat to your butt, aiming for the bit of bare cheek left exposed by your twisted, dripping panties. “Why don’t you go hop in the shower, and I’ll make you a cuppa coffee for the road. How’s that sound?”

At first, you say nothing, keeping your face pressed into the pillowcase and your eyes hidden from him. What you really want is to stay irritated. You want to hold onto your annoyance at the ease with which he distracts you, the speed with which your mind and body succumb to his advances. But at this point in your relationship, you know better than to try. Joel has a frustratingly boyish charm to him when he wants to, can be playful and impish when the mood strikes. And when he lets himself loosen up.

Today? With unplanned morning sex under his belt when the sun has barely risen? The man is downright giddy in this moment, and you know the second you see his face, any bitterness you may be attempting to cling onto will dissolve like sugar on your tongue, and you will be left with nothing but affection (and an absolutely spine-melting orgasm) in spite of your ruined schedule.

“Darlin’?” he murmurs, that soft, warm touch returning to your back. “You really mad at me?”

Releasing a sigh, you roll to face him, let him see the wry smile you can’t suppress as you take in his dark, earnest eyes. “No, Joel, I’m not mad. But – ” You jab a finger into his bare chest, the pointy blow landing right on his breastbone. “ – I want the good coffee. Not that instant crap. If I’m gonna be this late anyway, I can wait for the pour-over to brew.”

Joel’s weathered face splits into a grin, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as huffs a laugh. He chuffs you gently under your chin with the side of his knuckles, those beautiful hands ready to have you melting all over again, and you can already feel it – the warmth of it settling in your chest, softening your heart.

“Got yourself a deal.”

[spnbabe67]

Just a Note

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of a little spicyness, mentions of injuries

Summary: When you start receiving little notes around the Bunker, you go on a hunt trying to find your secret admirer.

Word Count: 1600

Authors Note: This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa for @kazsrm67. This also fulfills squares for @jacklesversebingo and @anyfandomgoesbingo Happy Holidays everyone!

Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: Secret Admirer

Any Fandom Goes Bingo Prompt: Head Wound

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @king-of-milf-lovers

It started out as sticky notes placed strategically in places across the Bunker where only you would find them: on the mirror in your room, or on the stack of books you kept sequestered to a table in the corner of the library room. Various colors of square paper with little compliments, albeit a little awkward, scrawled across them. The first time you’d found one, a blue square tucked into the cubby where you kept your bug-out bag in the armory, you’d been caught off guard. The neon, stark against the muted brown and black and grey tones, had caught your eye as you went about replacing and checking the supplies you kept within your duffel. You plucked the paper from where it was nestled amongst the various weapons and supplies kept within, sitting in wait for the next hunt. As you gingerly pulled the sticky note from your bag, you noticed the scrawling words written across it in black ink. 

You look sharper than these knives.

Your head cocked to the side, face contorted into a mixture of confusion and amusement. Was that meant to be a compliment? More importantly, who was it from? Aside from yourself, Sam and Dean both took up permanent residence in the Men of Letters Bunker. Charlie, your childhood best friend and the person who introduced you to the Winchester brothers and the hunting world in general also lived here 90% of the time. It could be here playing one of her many pranks. A few other hunters used this place as refuge between hunts or came here for the endless trove of supernatural knowledge archived within its walls. You’d even convinced Dean, despite his best efforts to ignore your pleas, to host a couple seminars and training sessions for newer (and seasoned) hunters using the knowledge you and Sam spent hours upon hours organizing. 

“When I was first introduced to this world, I wish I’d had this kind of training available to me,” You’d reasoned with him one day in the kitchen. “I’d have a lot less scars and a lot less near death experiences if I had.”

The eldest Winchester, whom you’d grown close to in the months you’d worked with him, Sam, and the cabal of supernatural beings that they considered friends or at the very least occasional allies, leaned against the island with a mug of freshly brewed coffee in hand.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, Sweetheart.” Dean placated you, setting his mug on the counter. “All I’m sayin’ is that there’s more to it than just puttin’ flyers on the street. How would we even advertise somethin’ like this?” 

You shrugged. “You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”

And figure it out he had. With the help of Charlie and Sam, the four of you managed to create a strategically worded ad, spreading it to known hunters who would even be remotely interested. It had spread like wildfire from there. So it was very possible one of the hunters passing through had put it in your bag. Even that explanation didn’t quite fit, but at the time it was a one-off, a fluke to never happen again.

That was until another one showed up. You’d taken a blow to the head when a rogue shifter slammed you back into a wall, knocking you unconscious. Blearily you opened your eyes to the dim light of the Bunker’s infirmary. A dull ache throbbed at the back of your head as you looked around. The room was kept mostly dark save for a lamp in the corner. I must have a concussion, you thought as you sat up, the crisp white sheets crumpled on your lap. You had reached over to check the clock on the table next to the bed when you saw yet another Post-it stuck to the top of it. The paper was red this time, but the writing held the same characteristics of the first one. 

You take my breath away.

Your eyes must have read the sentence a hundred times over, wracking your brain trying to figure out who in the Hell is leaving you these messages. Some rational part of you whispered there were really only two options. Sam or Dean. You knew it wasn’t Sam; your relationship with the younger brother was strictly familial. You’d never seen him as anything other than a younger brother, despite his protests that he was only 6 months younger than you. 

Dean on the other hand was a different story. Sometimes he acted like you were another younger sibling for him to be responsible for, other times the tension between the two of you could be cut with the dullest knife. Lingering eyes as the three of you changed between or after hunts, his fingers trailing over your hair and tucking it behind your ear when he assumed you were dead asleep. You’d be lying if he was the only one giving mixed signals. It made sense. To anyone who didn’t know him, Dean was a casanova, a womanizer who took what he wanted and offered nothing. And sure, maybe he was that way in his early 20’s, but life and the work of a hunter had taken a toll on him. So while you and Sam partook in one night stands, it was Dean who usually ended the night alone. 

You found the notes enduring, actually, and very in character for him. So from that moment in the infirmary, you compiled the notes and the occasional small gifts left for you. Once you were sure it was, in fact, Dean showering you in corny one liners and sweet nothings, you hatched a plan. You figured there were a couple ways to go about it. One: confront him head on, which he very well might deny all together in embarrassment. Two: let the notes continue to pile up, hopefully bottlenecking Dean into coming to you personally. Or three: beat him at his own game. Out of all of them, the third sounded the most fun.

Like a game of tag, the next time it was your turn to go on the supply run, you stopped by a Dollar Tree and grabbed a stack of Post-its. Unfortunately, they only had the plain and frankly ugly yellow ones, but they’d do. If you played your cards right, you shouldn’t need too many of them anyway. You snuck around the Bunker for nearly a week, leaving the Post-its in inconspicuous places as Dean had. The first one you’d left next to the decanter of water he kept by his bedside, calling him a tall drink of water. The next one was slid under his disassembled 1911 when he went to take a break. You giggled to yourself as you positioned it, reading the line you’d printed on it. Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

On the 7th day with no response from Dean, no change in behavior when the three (or four when Charlie came for dinner) of you went on hunts or stuck around the Bunker, you had started to lose hope. Maybe it was someone else and you’d read into the situation completely wrong. But something in your gut told you that you were barking up the right tree. Give it one last try, it seemed to say. So one last try it was. You’d know once and for all if it was Dean. You wrote the message that started it all on a sticky note, making sure Dean was in the kitchen before slinking off to the armory. All of you kept at least one bingo bag here, the main thing was finding which one was Dean’s. He kept his main pack in his room or in Baby’s trunk so it took some rooting around until you found the right one. 

Just as you unzipped the bag, poised to place the sticky note against the blade of one of Dean’s hunting knives, a voice called out your name from behind you. You froze, your lips pressing into a thin line as a small cheeky smile started to form. You stood up, turning around to see Dean leaning against the door jam.

“Whatcha doin’ Sweetheart?” He asked innocently, but his tone and the smug look on his face was anything but.

“Nothin’.” You mumbled, suddenly a little sheepish. The plan didn’t involve you getting caught red handed. “You weren't supposed to catch me.”

“Figured as much.” He joked, crossing the space between you, plucking the Post-it from your hand, his fingers brushing against your own in a way that made your heart flutter a little faster than it already was. 

“Asshole.” You huffed equally as teasing,watching him look at the sticky note, reading your chicken scratch. 

You were both silent as Dean’s eyes met yours, his cheeks tinged a bit pink. You were sure your own were as well as you suddenly felt the urge to hide from his observing gaze. 

“So,” Dean breathed. “What now?”

Ever the gentleman, you thought. Giving you the option to back out, to deny this thing between you both even though he’d quite literally caught you leaving a flirtatious note in his bag. You let your hand drift forward, hesitantly finding his own. You intertwined your fingers, feeling his callouses brush your own as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I think now, you need to start sayin’ those things to me in person, not just on paper.” You gave him a small smile.

“Sounds like a plan, Sweetheart.”

[videokilled]

“If you say so- but if we’re breaking in anywhere.. there’s not even a dirt road to it?? Mm.” He said trying to hold his tongue at least partially. He would have to learn how to shut his big mouth up at some point.

Walking into the room was- lacking. It looked like a room describable as functional and clean and nothing else. Which he supposed was all they were going for. (It wasn’t like Vox had seen the other rooms for comparison, and his lifestyle had been nothing short of penthouse for the last century or so.)

Of course he had opened his mouth to make a comment until Alastor had made his. Then his mouth shut, pushing to the side into his cheek. One could imagine the wrinkly line his tv mouth would be. But as a human he was a bit less expressive. Most notably without the antenna on his head.

He tossed his jacket on the bed carelessly and started to take another sip but paused on its way to his mouth when Alastor just blurted out the admission.

Alastor was not one to crave sex- but also seemed to want a distraction just as anyone would while nervously awaiting a mission.

Vox’s first thought knowing the other though- was not that.

He moved the glass back down toward his own chest and looked at the other more seriously. Unsure if he was being asked for…. Support? Or reassurance? They had both threatened to abandon the other. Maybe his own comment had rattled the other? That seemed uncharacteristic.

“I’m not leaving without you.” He said carefully trying to hit a chord of reassurance or seriousness without pitying or being annoying. The whiskey was making him feel stupid. And he was trying to pace himself on the rest of it. But the other two drinks weren’t doing his critical thinking any favors.

“I put too much into this little renegade of sorts to turn back at random.” He would start to put the drink to his mouth again- before it lowered once more mid thought.

“Unless.. you mean..” he clarified his eyes doing a subtle peripheral once over of the other man in front of him.

The man stood there and stared at Alastor. Trying to thread back the conversation in his head because his jest was not met with jest at all. It was actually met with some alarming realism that he had been trying hard to avoid. Mostly just the obvious.

He moved his tongue in his mouth a bit and swallowed hard as he recentered a bit.

So obviously Alastor was nervous. It didn’t do anything to calm his nerves. He had left his company just hours ago. It had been hours since he checked his cameras. It had been hours since he had heard from Voxtek or seen its workings. This was the longest he had been away from his brick and mortar ego since he had birthed it.

Everything was going fine in all likelihood- no one even realized he was gone yet probably. Except Valentino who knew. Unless he went around yapping it to everyone. Unless everyone got it in their big heads that now was a time to take advantage of. Val was smart- in a lot of ways- but he didn’t understand the stakes of a lot of things. The priority hierarchy. Velvette would though.

Velvette would keep whatever Val couldn’t at least stable. It had only been a few hours.

It had only been 6 hours.

That’s not even a full time shift.

Oh god. So much could take off in a shift.

And then the silence was done. Vox’s eyes moved up to Alastor’s again- looking a bit more distant and alarmed slightly, but trying to keep a pin in it. He couldn’t do anything about it now.

Vox nodded and sipped at his new drink now. He couldn’t manage. He just needed- to not- think about it. At all.

He looked up at the bartender in a bit of a sly way- then just looped his arm around the space around Alastor. Just sort of gently scooping him without touching, and started toward the door with the tumbler.

He wanted to walk and drink. And this bar was getting loud. They wouldn’t miss two cups anyway.

“How did you get a room..?” He asked, his voice predictably softer and less demanding than it had been most of the day.

[bcacstuff]

Sunrise somewhere near the east coast of Brazil.

I’m not sure what time it is, or really where I am. Somewhere near the coast of Brazil, I know that; sometime during my birthday - I know that, too. I've flown past the Hindu Kush Himalaya, Pamirs, Caucasus, and Atlas Mountains, and will soon cross the Andes. I'm headed to Chile to meet my family after a long time away. A blessing, to be sure, and made even more sweet coming as it is on the heels of an incredible adventure in Nepal.

I’ve spent much of the 12 hours since Istanbul sorting through photos, visual portals into experience far away yet close at hand, pixel-born reminders of a trip, a trail, impact and experience and immersion.

I’m never quite sure how to share tales of any adventure, less so one with such meaning (to me at least) as this past one. The standard travelogue seems too mundane, too pedantic, to capture it all. Some deep and philosophical tome equally missing the mark.

So, perhaps neither, maybe some of both, a hope of struck balance, or at minimum translation of time and place and experience and people. And not all at once: Like any expedition, these things must be savored, a bit at a time, building and percolating and settling and expanding yet again. So, first, the beginning…

Me on the Kongma La back in 1993, wondering about remote valleys less-trodden than Khumbu.

I guess it was about 31 years ago - December 1993 - that Stuart Sloat and I bashed our way across the lower Khumbu Glacier from Lobuche and, laden with heavy packs, made our way to the Kongma La. We had no map, just a vague point from locals and the knowledge that there was a lake up there somewhere. We found only a puddle and a frigid night, but awoke to a splendid sunrise and the Star Wars zaps of sun-warmed ice cracking, alerting us to the real lake on the east side of the pass (as opposed to our mud wallow on the west). Glorious views, backlit Lhotse and Nuptse and countless more unknowns behind, peak on peak and valley on valley leading who knows where. I knew someday, maybe, I’d get into those valleys, wander the paths away from it all.

Thirty years later, I sat in a teahouse in Chheskam, the northern triumvirate of Mahakulung, with Jhanak Karki and Harka Kulung Rai, talking about opportunity over a steaming mug of tongba. We had just trekked parts of the Mundum Trail from Phedi over Silicho to Mahakulung visiting dZi Foundation work and communities; and then we went up above, following the Hunku Khola just enough to get a taste, an idea of what may lay above. The townspeople and government were excited as we were, having had the same idea for years: create a trail up the Hunku, connecting Chheskam to Kongme Dingma and the quite-popular Mera Peak trek.

It was all possible, all doable, but like the proverbial tree falling silently in the woods, this new trail would be all for naught if no word got out about it. But, I had an idea, and it seemed possible.

Two months before, I shared coffee in a small cafe in Glasgow with Sam Heughan. We’d “met” months earlier on Zoom calls for an ill-fated film project, and then I stalked him down in Scotland; he was, as is his manner, kind enough to indulge me rather than call the cops. I mentioned this idea, going to Everest Basecamp, but doing it the back way, the hard way, the way no one would know or understand or really care about, but the way that would be far deeper, more profound, more meaningful and purposeful and fun. He was game, but I needed to see some of it, understand it more, before committing to guiding anyone up there.

Tongba steaming and heads spinning, Jhanak, Harka, and I knew now it was doable. A route possible, something that promised to bring meaningful tourism and tourist dollars to this long-forgotten part of Nepal, so close to Khumbu and yet utterly left out of the economic boon of the Everest economy. Now I just had to convince Sam.

Trekking to Basecamp is not for the faint of heart, even doing it the standard way from Lukla up the Khumbu Valley. There’s long days, cold nights, high altitudes and dry air and new foods and more. It kicks people’s butts with glee. But this route? It promised much more: camping rather than lodges; an unknown trail through unknown country (How steep would it be? How long each day? Would we find water where we needed it, flat ground?); a 19,000-foot, semi-technical pass to cross into Khumbu; and more.

As I thought and hoped, though, Sam took little convincing. An adventurous soul with a heart of gold, he was excited immediately about it all and was on board. And, to be honest, my little coffeeshop meeting was both to suss out his interest and let him meet me (and judge me) in person, but also, more importantly, to feel him out. Guiding for me is not simply an economic thing, transactional, but about time and people and experience. I’ve done too many “off-the-shelf” trips in the past to have zero tolerance for sharing the mountains with people whose goals and values are misaligned with mine. It took but minutes with Sam to know our worlds, while vastly different, were built upon similar ideas and ideals and approaches.

And so, on December 3, we met in Kathmandu, a year’s planning finally coming together.

Unfortunately for Sam, I don’t really believe in the sugar-coated version of Nepal; fancy hotels and windowed views of life are little more than television with smell. I want people to see the real Nepal, wander the back streets, immerse in the smoky incense of dawn on cobbled streets, bells chiming and dogs barking, ambling through the visceral reality that is Pashupatinath, taking in the respite of Bodhanath, embracing the comforting chaos of alleys and backways of Lalitpur.

Sam rose to it all, never flustered or bothered, always interested and engaged and inquisitive. We had but 24 hours in the Valley, but Sam saw and did and digested a lot.

And then we were off, an Altitude Air B-3 piloted expertly by Moreno whipping us up and out of Kathmandu, through the clenching smog of the city to sprawling views of the Himalaya: the Ganesh and Langtang ranges, on to Dorje Lhakpa and Gauri Shankar as we fluttered high over Kavre Palanchok. Then the jumbled jags of Rolwaling and behind, finally, the Everest range, giants piercing the morning sky, Cho Oyu, Nuptse, Lhotse, Everest. Makalu behind, hiding a bit, masked by multitudes, a distant Kangchenjunga almost a mirage eastward.

Before long, some 40 minutes, the show was over, the reality about to begin. We dropped down, our mark Chheskam, a small village clutching the flat ground hundreds of meters above the Hunku Khola, a river raging and carving down from above. Moreno, Swiss to the core, politely but abruptly ushered us out with our duffels and, counting fuel minutes, was off in a jiffy.

We were here, and town was ready.

Going into this trip, I knew Chheskam was excited. A new trail represents economic possibility for the village, the chance to not just be small pawns in the bigger Khumbu trekking economy, but rather to capture some of that themselves, to control it, to reap the benefits and build it out in a way that fits and flourishes.

I guess, though, I didn’t know how excited: We were met at the chopper by many, locals and officials, all adorning us with kathas and warm welcomes. We then walked around the village, Sam getting to see firsthand the impact of dZi Foundation’s work here, projects like one house-one tap, one house-one toilet, kitchen gardens, and more resulting in a very self-sufficient, healthy, clean, place with relative prosperity. Thanks to Jhanak’s connections, we met the oldest man in town as he demonstrated traditional weaving of nettle fabric, sipped raksi in our friend Prashanta’s house, and briefly sat with wedding guests tipsy from revelry. And then we were summoned to the local school for a bigger gathering.

Our team ready to leave Chheskam for the Hunku Khola valley and the new Muddhi-Kongme Dingma trail.

It was huge, much of the town was gathered, hundred of school children, the local government officials, and more, all in the school grounds. We were run through the welcome gauntlet of ceremonial recognition, our necks strung with dozens of kathas and marigold garlands before being treated to local cultural dances and speeches of excitement and gratitude and welcome. Gratitude and ceremony are big in Nepal, and it was strong enough in Chheskam to feel a bit awkward: after all, Sam and I and our team were here just to walk up the valley. We had no guarantees of success - for us or for the future trail. But, the point I think was far bigger than either of us, any of us; the celebration on that day was one of excitement for the future, of possibility, of potential signified by the two of us being willing, caring enough, to come and do this and see where it leads, literally and figuratively.

Thirty-one years before I stared off into these valleys, selfishly hoping that one day I’d wander them, filling my personal cup with some adventure. It took a long time, and was beyond gratifying to finally be here, but doing so with great people, a great team, and a goal beyond anything personal.

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓜𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. DR. RATIO ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 0.8k ノ gn reader — suggestive. mentions of last night’s activities. nothing explicit. established relationship. domestic sleepy flirting. reposted from my old blog!

The morning sun seeps through the linen curtains, the entire room illuminated in the pink glow of the upcoming day. But it’s still too early for you. Not when your whole body aches from the nightly pleasures, rendering you soppy and melted under the bedsheets, with only your thigh peeking from under covers in the most comfortable position to nap through the remaining hour or two.

Veritas, on the other hand, feels like his routine cannot be interrupted no matter the circumstances, no matter how long he kept you both awake and active the evening before — this, however, he still finds extremely pleasurable and worth the little cost of a shorter sleep.

And so, with his mind refreshed from the quick trip to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, he starts to stretch softly to wake his body, too.

Watching him through the half-closed eyes has become your favourite part of the morning. Once woken up for the first time after falling asleep on your belly, you raise your head only slightly to watch the man doing his exercises in absolutely nothing that could cover his bulging chest muscles, hands crossed above his head as he breathes steadily with each inhale and exhale. It’s fascinating to observe his toned stomach flexing each time, muscles rippling under the creamy skin sensitive to the sun’s warmth.

It was so much to look at, but today you decide to just admire quietly without disturbing Veritas’ routine, even if he already notices your satisfied gaze peeking from the side. With one last move of raising both arms up while taking a deep breath, he puts them down slowly to rest, looking at you with an amused smirk.

“You’re staring,” he points out gently.

“Sorry,” you reply with a light yawn, rolling over to lay on your back. “I really enjoy watching you do this stuff in the morning. Maybe I should start getting up earlier too.”

Veritas scoffs playfully, coming closer to kneel above your legs as he reaches out his hand to place it right behind your nape to push you gently against the sheets. “We both know there’s no way you’ll get up on time. Don’t be silly now.”

His face hovers above yours for a moment as you swallow hard. So handsome and so close to you.

“Don’t put those kinds of ideas in my head!” You protest in return, more worried about your thoughts getting less pure with each moment, brushing your nose against his in a flirty manner before adding. “My body aches all over. I need another day in bed… or two, at least.”

He blinks, hearing you out silently. Then he closes his eyes and laughs wholeheartedly, retreating from your embrace only to straighten his back while sitting above your thighs still, yet this time lifting both arms to rest behind his head, purposefully making it too dramatic for a normal relaxing after the exercise. It was the perfect view — showing off each muscle beautifully and without any shame whatsoever, although his sharp golden sight never stops studying you curiously, reading into every microexpression on your face.

And you were burning.

With a fierce blush blossoming on your cheeks as you let out a soft exhale, raise both of your hands to place them against his hard stomach, unable to not touch him any longer. He is still hot after the workout, fresh sweat dripping down his hairless skin, but it just made him more attractive, rather than disgusting, if someone had to ask you.

It was your little guilty pleasure.

“You’re doing it on purpose now…” you mutter while feeling his abdominal muscles twitching under your fingertips with each move and breath. Your gaze traces up slowly as you look at Veritas again. “I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t say anything to keep you from getting a bigger ego.”

With an amused huff, he finally relaxes his arms, stretching them both out on each of your sides as if he wanted to hug you, leaning towards you.

“But you haven’t said anything untrue so far,” he replies simply, lips pressing a tender kiss against your jawline, his voice lower as he murmurs into your skin. “Am I distracting you with this? More than the last night?”

Your throat goes dry, and your breath is held in for a second. Before you can answer, utterly dumbfounded, he slides off the bed, only to go right to his fresh clothes laid out neatly on the chair by the small table on the other side of the room.

Veritas could read you like a book and loved to tease you even more. He just enjoys how your gaze follows after him with a pout forming on your lips, not so pleased about being left alone, until he disappears behind the bathroom door to clean himself up and get ready for another day full of work and studies.

[silkendress]

A Space Barely Lived In

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Long Distance Relationship, Civilian Reader, Domestic Fluff

-ˋˏ➛ 3k Words

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After almost a year of long distance, you finally meet your boyfriend in person.

As planned, you will be spending the remainder of your visit in his home, of which you’ve never seen before.

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Read on AO3

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This story was a suggestion i received on my tumblr! (My first one, actually!) The tone of the story wasn’t specified so i just went with whatever came to mind. Hopefully i did alright!

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You were alight with excited nerves.

It was your first time flying, and it would also be your first time seeing the man you loved face to face.

Of course, you exchanged pictures—multiple, even—but you were always miles upon miles away from each other. The only points of contact being the screens on your devices.

Video calls couldn’t compare to seeing him, and touching him, in the flesh.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of him; both excited and anxious. Such thoughts only doubled when you finally landed at the airport, your eyes sharpened to any male silhouette which vaguely resembled your Simon.

You walk hesitantly, yet swiftly, your luggage rolls behind you in a single hand, your heartbeat pounds frantically.

It is then you hear it, an all too familiar gruff voice calling your name over the chatter and commotion of people coming and going.

Your feet carried you rapidly to the source of the sound, breaking out into a jog when you saw a towering figure dressed in all black with blond hair.

His strides are long and determined, and before you realize it he has pulled you into his arms.

He squeezes you so tight it’s almost uncomfortable. You only nuzzle further into him. He could hug you until you were sore for all you cared.

Simon was far taller than you were expecting, and just as solid and broad as you observed through your phone.

Big and safe.

He lowers his head, his nose nudging against your hair. You feel each heavy, steadying puff of breath leave his nostrils—it’s the only discernible indication of his elation.

You, however, were more inclined to wear your heart on your sleeve. Joyful tears were already rolling down your cheeks, your hands clutched at him.

It is only when you sniffle that Simon seemingly sobers, he pulls away only just enough to see your face.

He tucks his head down, his chin almost tapping against his chest. You blink rapidly, your lashes fluttering in an attempt to get the blurriness out of your eyes.

A single, broad palm comes up to cup your damp cheek, his eyes soft and drooping. You realize just how far your neck is straining just to meet his umber eyes.

He wipes a tear away with his thumb, then leans down to press a his lips against yours; chaste and no less sweeter for it. Then he pulls away only just enough, your foreheads still touching together.

You smile at him, still sniffling.

Simon’s lip twitches upward, a muted smile of his own.

Simon takes your luggage, you only brought one suitcase and a duffel bag, but he still takes both from you despite your insistence that you could hold at least one for him. He silences you with a single stern, yet soft, look.

He opens the car door for you with his free hand, once you get in he pushes it shut and loads your things into the trunk of his car.

Simon opens the driver’s side door and slams it behind him with a tad more force than he did yours—not recklessly, or even consciously, but in a way that suggested he was being more careful with you than he typically was. You beam at him. He simply stares at you with a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

“Ya cold?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, he’s already turning the heat on in the car.

The drive had been comfortably silent thus far. Simon had his large hand resting over yours while his other was on the steering wheel. It wasn’t as awkward as you were fearing to share a physical space with him, you think the frequent video calls helped a little with that.

“Want to get somethin’ to eat?”

You feel pleasant butterflies in your stomach from how he was already mildly doting on you.

“Maybe after I get settled in?” You honestly just wanted to change into pajamas and bury yourself in blankets with Simon as soon as possible.

Simon nods and gives your hand a single, affectionate squeeze.

The building he parked in front of was plain, but not wholly unwelcoming.

You unbuckled your seatbelt the same time he did. “I’ll get it.” He mumbled. You were momentarily confused until he came around to your side and opened the door for you.

You feel your chest tighten with affection, and trail behind him as he opens the trunk to retrieve your luggage.

Once he slings the bag over his shoulder he slams the trunk shut and nods his head in the direction of the building, wordlessly beckoning you to follow.

You follow him up the short steps, hovering behind him momentarily as he fishes his keys from his pocket and jams it into the lock, twisting it and opening the door.

He holds the door open with his thick arm, staring down at you expectantly.

You thought you got used to the intensity of his stare by now, but it was like you had to reacquaint yourself with it all over again in person. You give him a sheepish smile and shuffle inside. Simon follows in behind you.

The first thing you do is take off your shoes, holding them awkwardly in your hand for a moment while you think of where to put them. Simon lets your duffel bag slide off his arm and land on the hardwood floor temporarily while he unlaces his boots.

“Next to the others is fine.” Simon tells you in a low mumble, seemingly catching your conundrum. You turn around in the narrow hallway and see that Simon had his shoes—of which there weren’t many—stacked up in a little two tier storage cabinet by the door. He had already put his boots away.

Simon picks your bag back up and tugs your suitcase along with two of his fingers hooked into the handle. You find yourself unable to look away from the casual way he ambles out the entryway, a quiet confidence in everything he did.

You decide to place your shoes on the upper rack and follow suit behind him.

Your eyes squint to adjust to the dim lighting inside—there were windows but the curtains were shut, save for one in the left-hand side of the room that you have yet to see.

You blink once, then again.

The entire space was barren, devoid of any personal touches or decoration. It was utilitarian—almost brutally so.

You think this was the living room because there was a single seat sofa situated in front of a television.

Your eyes flick around the space, searching for any personal possessions you’d expect in a home. Photographs of family or friends, little baubles or knickknacks that told you about the person who resided there. The walls were just as bare; no art or posters hung up.

Just grey, monotone.

“Alright?”

You flinch, looking to the source of the sound to see Simon leaning against one of the walls connecting to an adjacent hallway, his arms crossed. He had taken off his jacket at some point, leaving his well muscled arms on display—as well as his tattoos. Your bag and suitcase were gone, you assume he put them away. You’d have to ask him where.

You feel your face grow hot with embarrassment—you were so preoccupied with examining his living space that you didn’t realize you stopped in your tracks in the living room.

He cocks his head at you when you don’t immediately answer, and eases himself off the wall to come up to you.

“Homesick already?” He catches your chin in his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting you up to look at him. Your heart beats faster from the tender gesture.

‘No, far from it,’ you think of telling him as much; but the words die in your throat with the realization that you’d have to admit you were scrutinizing his living space.

His home wasn’t even bad, per se. But it was oddly…Cold. Distant. The fact that he only had a single seat sofa implied he barely, if ever, got any visitors.

You never pried about Simon’s family or youth. The few times the topic came up he would respectfully change the subject, and you never pressed him to talk about something that clearly made him tense. You weren’t sheltered; you knew not everyone had happy or healthy families. You left it at that.

You didn’t want to outright lie to him, so you end up saying; “My place is cluttered compared to yours.”

Simon’s brows twitch up imperceptibly, his eyes still held that muted look he naturally had, however.

“Not fond of the place?” He cocks his head at you, a mild curiosity in his tone.

You consider your response. Simon had thick skin, so offending him wasn’t something you were worried about. However, you still didn’t want to come off as rude.

“Wherever you are, I’m happy.”

Simon’s eyes go soft, it’s slight but it’s there. Your heart melts.

The gentleness is gone by the next blink, replaced by his usual stoicism. “So you think it’s shit.” He suddenly remarks, voice flat.

You sputter out a laugh, Simon scoffs and leans down to kiss the top of your head.

You feel warmth pool in your belly. It turns into an inferno when Simon shifts his hand to give your waist a gentle squeeze before pulling away.

You have to roll your shoulder to shake off the pleasant shudder that rolls up your spine from the brief contact.

You wonder if Simon notices, but before you can ponder that you hear a phone ringing. Simon looks mildly annoyed, but reaches into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve his phone anyway. His eyes only thin out further when he sees the caller ID.

Your curiosity gets the better of you. “Who is it?”

“Work.”

‘Ah. Work.’

You knew Simon was in the military, of course. You didn’t know much else about it. Not for lack of trying—it was just that Simon always shut the topic down whenever you made an attempt to. You acquiesced and accepted the fact that some things were just beyond what you or any average not-in-the-military person should know.

“Gotta take this.” He murmurs, stepping around you and going out the front door, but not before sliding a pair of slippers on his feet.

A realization hits you. Just before the door shuts behind him, you call out, “Where’s the bathroom?”

“First door on your right, in the hall.” He hollers over his shoulder.

His bathroom was both oddly empty yet strangely cluttered. Perhaps due to how cramped the space was.

It was clean, at least. You didn’t see any grime or stray hair strands in the sink from where Simon would shave. His toothbrush is in a single glass cup, a plastic cover over it. There’s a tube of toothpaste laying beside the faucet controls. A large bottle of almost empty mouthwash on the opposite side.

There was only a single door, mirrored medicine cabinet over said sink.

You stare at your own reflection for a moment, briefly wondering what was inside before shaking the thought out of your head.

You were staying at his home, sure, but that didn’t give you license to pilfer around his things.

Still, you can’t help but think about how a man as large as Simon going about his daily routine in here. The space was small for you, it was probably nigh claustrophobic for Simon.

You’re sure he made enough money from his job. Maybe he just found his current living situation to be the most convenient, maybe some part of this minimalistic space was comfortable to him, familiar, perhaps.

You’re not sure. It felt beyond rude to ask, so you won’t.

There’s a bathtub with a shower attachment to your right, the shower curtain is stark white—clean. New. You wonder if he replaced them in anticipation of your arrival. The thought is an endearing one, it makes a smile twitch at your lips.

The toilet was thankfully just as clean. Then again, you weren’t sure why you were worried about his cleanliness—or potential lack thereof—to begin with. If there was one thing you deduced about him through your various calls and texts was that he was rigid with routine and remarkably strict with himself. It made sense that it would apply to hygiene as well.

You wash your hands and dry them off with the towel hanging on the door, hung up by a command strip.

When you exit you find the house is extraordinarily still. You note that the slippers haven’t been returned to their rightful place by the front door, which meant Simon was still on the phone.

Directly in front of you, across the hall, was another door that was slightly ajar. You might as well search for your luggage, now.

You pad over to the door, tentatively pushing it open and peaking your head inside.

Simon’s bedroom is just as plain as the rest of his home.

The bed is nice, with a thick and soft blanket neatly tucked and a single fluffy pillow at the head. ‘A large bed for a large man,’ you muse. The thought of sleeping arrangements cause your face to grow warm. It was more than big enough for you to rest comfortably with him on it.

You step into the room slowly. There wasn’t much to examine. You’ve seen slivers of it from video calls before. His bedroom was far larger than the bathroom but substantially more empty in comparison. There is a single medium sized window over the foot of the bed, the curtain is open so you don’t have to strain your eyes at all to see.

To your left is a closet in the wall with a plain white sliding door. You don’t see your luggage in plain sight, so you assume he placed it in there.

You open it carefully, for some reason you didn’t want to cause too much of a disturbance in his room, despite the fact you would be sleeping in here tonight. Maybe it was because some part of you wanted to observe his space before your presence got all mingled in it.

Once you open it, you see a bunch of jackets, coats, and hoodies hanging up. On top of the hangers was a rack, you saw a an old, once white shoebox shoved up there as well as some other miscellany you couldn’t make out. The shoebox catches your eye. You squint, standing on the tips of your toes to get a better look, you make something out on the side of it, scribbled in faded, black marker.

You think you see the letter ‘R.’ You wonder what’s in it, but get the feeling it’s not for you to see.

You rip your attention away to look at the floor, it is there, tucked in the corner of the closet, where you find your luggage.

“Lookin’ around?”

You yelp and practically jump out of your skin.

You had no idea how a man of his stature could be so quiet, you didn’t even hear him come in.

“Looking for my things.” You affirm, gesturing vaguely to your duffel bag still sitting in the corner with a hand.

Simon hums in acknowledgment, a low, deep sound. He goes over to his bed to sit down on it, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

You turn back around to kneel down and unzip the bag, searching for your pajamas. You can almost feel Simon’s eyes on you.

When you stand with your clothes crumpled in a heap in your arms, Simon tilts his head at you, his eyes watching you with severe precision.

“You can change here, if you want.”

You learned that Simon could be rather blunt at times, and typically wasn’t one to hesitate with making his thoughts known. Still, your body goes hot regardless.

While Simon has sent you photos of himself shirtless—including one instance where upon asking he sent you a photo of himself in the shower, with his intimate lower half purposefully out the frame—You’ve never sent any such pictures in return. You knew he was interested, considering he has asked you before, but you always politely declined and he never pressured you.

You knew that he was simply telling you that he wouldn’t mind it if you changed in front of him, not that he expected you to.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You manage to reply. Simon eyes you curiously, the implication of your response had his interest piqued.

You scamper out of his bedroom to get changed in the bathroom, feeling pleasant goosebumps go up your back from the intensity of his gaze.

After you’re done, you return to his room, your face awash with heat the moment you enter.

Simon is in the middle of tugging a different, less form-fitting shirt over his head. He has changed out of his denim jeans and into loose sweatpants instead. You catch a glimpse of golden hair starting from under his navel and disappearing under the waistband of his sweats.

When he catches you in his peripheral, he tips his chin over his shoulder to his phone lying on the bed.

“We’re gettin’ takeaway. Get what you want.” Is all he says.

You nod wordlessly, not trusting your voice at the moment.

After selecting what you wanted Simon placed the order. It wouldn’t be arriving for a few minutes. You were quick to crawl under his blankets afterwards, resulting in Simon shooting you a somewhat amused look.

Your suspicions of his bed were correct—it was very comfortable. Even more so than your bed back at home, you breathe out contentedly, sinking deeper into the covers.

“Tired?” He asks.

Instead of answering, you tell him; “Come cuddle with me.”

It was one of the things you told Simon that you were most excited to do once you finally met him in person. Recognition flashes immediately in his eyes.

He ambles over and lifts up the blankets to crawl in with you.

You shudder a little when his limbs brush over yours, his fingers and toes had yet to warm up from being outside on the phone earlier.

You nestle into him anyway.

His arms still momentarily from your shiver, but then wrap tightly around you once you nuzzle in his chest. He pulls you close and shifts to roll on his back, easily positioning you to lay your head on his chest.

You allow your eyelids to droop, comforted by the muffled sound of his heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest.

Simon’s hand glides up your shoulder to mess with your hair idly, affectionate. His other lays relaxed over his stomach. The callouses on his hand had brushed over the bare skin of your arm earlier, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

His arms are thick and muscular, his torso firm and trained from persistent physical exertion. Yet despite that, he felt comfortable to lay on. He had a healthy layer of body fat on top, and while he was far from soft, he was warm and nice as a human pillow.

You liked how small you felt with him.

“What’re you smilin’ about?” Simon remarks. It is only then you realize your lips weretugged up a little.

You answer honestly. “You.”

Simon hums, gruff and thoughtful.

“What about?”

You think of how best to answer that. “You’re nice to lay on.”

Simon huffs a breath through his nostrils, his way of scoffing. You don’t need to look at him to know he rolled his eyes—albeit in good nature.

The room falls into comfortable silence, your eyes don’t fully shut but they are close to it. Simon’s thick fingers keep messing with your hair; it’s soothing, gentle. His touch was featherlight, which was remarkable considering how large his hand—and by proxy his fingers—were.

With the way you were angled you could see the overcast sky out the window from the foot of the bed. It only served to make the space even more monochromatic. You wondered how his home would look during a bright, sunny day with all the windows open.

You also think of what decorations you would put up around the place.

“A coffee table would be nice.” You suddenly say.

“Context, love.” Simon reminds you flatly. At this point he was used to your habit of saying things that in your head made perfect sense, but was borderline incomprehensible once spoken aloud.

You shift around a little on his chest to get more comfortable, Simon stops fiddling with your hair to hold you still. “In your living room, it would be nice to have one.” You elaborate.

“Oh, and a full-length sofa, too. And a bookshelf.”

“Fancy yourself an interior decorator now?” Simon deadpans.

You snicker. “Maybe.”

A moment ticks by, Simon returns to messing with your hair. “Why the bookshelf?” He eventually asks.

“For all of my books.” You reply absentmindedly.

A beat passes. 

“Plannin’ on moving in?” Simon questions flatly, a small twinge of dry wit in his tone.

Your face burns hot. You didn’t stop to think about the implication in your earlier answer.

You think of his empty canvas of a home. You really think.

You imagine a nice, big sofa in the living room. A bookshelf to your collection of fantasy novels in, photographs of you and Simon could decorate the walls and coffee table. Souvenirs, too. You’d have your toothbrush next to his and his 2-in-1 body wash would be replaced by your floral scented soaps and shampoos.

You imagine hanging up dainty little lights for the Christmas time, a seasonal wreath on the front door. You think of plastic pumpkins with those fake LED candles in them for Halloween. You think of waking up in Simon’s arms becoming your new normal. You realize, then, that you’d want to be here, wherever Simon was—barren or not.

“Maybe.”

You feel it against your cheek, the small hitch in his breath.

He recovers instantly. He tilts his head so he can narrow his eyes down at you. “You’re takin’ the piss.”

“Not at all.” You admit.

For a moment, Simon says nothing. Then he murmurs;

“Next time, book a one-way.”

He kisses your forehead and cradles you further into his chest with his hand.

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It was nice to just write something really quickly without thinking too hard about it! I wrote this in about two sittings ;; and i think it shows, but i had fun.

While writing this i got oddly attached to the long-distance-relationship concept, i may add on to this or make something else in a similar vein that’s more fleshed out at some point if inspiration strikes!

Thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed! I deeply appreciate any and all likes or reblogs!