#alabaster x chris

[phoenix--flying]

Chris glanced up as Clarisse walked into the room. "I found a box in the attic." She told him, he tilted his head. "Oh?" She nodded. "I think it was that box you told me about, the stuff you managed to salvage from those camps you had in the army." Chris blinked, a little surprised as she sat down in front of him, holding out a photo. "Who's this guy?" He took the photo. Smiling up at him from the photo was himself, beside him was another boy, also grinning and kissing his cheek. The familiar honey brown curls framing a freckled face and nearly glowing green eyes. He couldn't help but smile a little. "You remember the kid that followed Luke around like a puppy? Little British kid?" She narrowed her eyes in thought but nodded. "Vaguely." "That's him, Alabaster Torrington." "You two, dated?" She asked. It wasn't annoyance, or anger, just genuine curiosity. He was aware Clarisse wanted to know more about his time in the army and information like this, about his friends, he was happy to talk about. "Not exactly, we never really...defined it? Y'know. Just sorta...did." She nodded slowly. "You're weird." "I'm aware, but you're the one who decided to date me."

i hereby blame pine for the ship idea/photo(it was actually an ot3 but the ot3 made me think of this and now i have three new ships in my brain!!)

anyway theres no context for this im just bored

[alyrasturnz]

can you write a biker!chris x reader oneshot about "but daddy i love him" by taylor swift?

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM {{ chris sturniolo }}

summary — in a rigid town where tradition's grip is ironclad, y/n, a scion of propriety, encounters chris, a tempestuous artist embodying freedom's spirit. enchanted by his untamed essence, she finds herself at a crossroads, her heart yearning for the wild unknown. one fateful night, she casts off the chains of expectation, leaving a life of duty for a journey with chris into the boundless night. as dawn's first light caresses the horizon, y/n embraces her newfound liberty, ready to sculpt her destiny amidst the whispers of the open road.

warnings :: a god awful excuse for a father

— angst with a happy ending

a/n ,, double update!?!?!?!?! 😮

your laughter reverberated through the narrow, cobblestone streets, intertwining with the gentle zephyrs that tousled your hair. the warm, crisp embrace of the summer air mingled with the echoes of your joy, creating a symphony that danced upon the twilight breeze.

the sun cast its golden rays upon your face, illuminating your features in a radiant glow. as your grip around chris’s torso tightened, you released joyous squeals, each sound a testament to the exhilaration coursing through you.

chris, with a wild grin etched across his face, revved his motorcycle. the engine’s roar reverberated through the night, a defiant challenge to the encroaching darkness.

the wind whipped through your hair as the two of you sped past familiar landmarks, each turn a deliberate step further from the life you had always known.

the moon hung low, casting a silver glow upon their paths, as if illuminating a nascent destiny woven from threads of starlight and shadow.

your heart pounded with exhilaration and fear, the boundaries of your world expanding with every mile

in chris’ presence, you felt the stirrings of a new beginning, a life unbound by the chains of expectation

the motorcycle came to a gentle halt, its hum subsiding as he gracefully dismounted, the machine's quieting purr echoing in the stillness.

you removed your helmet and gazed at the gentle waves crashing into the ocean, a grin slowly spreading across your face as you absorbed the tranquil beauty.

your gaze fixes upon chris as he removes his helmet, his impeccably disheveled brown locks tumbling forward to obscure his cerulean eyes, which shimmer with an enigmatic depth.

chris delicately placed his helmet on the handle of his motorcycle, then ran a hand through his hair, the motion both casual and deliberate, as if smoothing the chaos of his thoughts.

his gaze shifted to meet yours, and a soft smile slowly spread across his lips, a subtle yet profound connection forming in the silent exchange.

"staring now, are we?" he teased, his smile broadening as you playfully rolled your eyes, the banter weaving a tapestry of light-hearted camaraderie.

"shut up, chris," you retorted, placing your helmet on the opposite handle as you dismounted, your footing faltering slightly in the process.

"whoa, easy there, princess," he chuckled, his hands swiftly reaching out to catch and steady you, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the stumble.

"that's unbearably cheesy," you say with a grin, wrapping your arms around his muscular arm as you both walk off towards the beach, the sand whispering beneath your feet.

the soft, alabaster sand beneath you gradually infiltrated your shoes, its fine grains weaving their way into every crevice.

the gentle symphony of waves caressing the shore brought a subtle smile to your lips as chris settled himself onto the sand.

chris glanced up at you, a warm invitation in his eyes as he patted the sand beside him. "c’mon, don't be shy, princess," he murmured.

"my pants are hermes," you lament, a note of distress coloring your voice, fearing the potential ruin of your cherished garment.

chris released a low, resonant chuckle, the sound filled with warmth and amusement.

with deliberate care, he shrugged off his leather jacket, the material creaking softly in the evening air. he then placed it gently on the sand beside him, as if creating a welcoming space for you to join.

“better?" he inquires with a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with a blend of humor and anticipation.

you couldn't help but smile at the warm gesture, feeling a rush of warmth spread through your cheeks as you delicately lowered yourself onto his jacket.

you lean into him, allowing the weight of your head to rest tenderly upon his shoulder, while his arm sinuously winds around your waist, pulling you into an embrace that speaks of both protection and intimacy.

"I feel a twinge of guilt sitting on your jacket," you murmur, your gaze fixed upon the luminescent moon hanging in the night sky.

"It's alright, don't be," he mutters, planting a tender kiss upon your head. "after all, it isn't hermes," he adds with a playful grin.

you release a soft giggle, playfully swatting his thigh with a lighthearted touch.

you both sat in contemplative silence for a while, your gazes lost in the ethereal glow of the moonlight, as the waves rhythmically crashed upon the shore, weaving a symphony with the night's stillness.

you lifted your wrist to glance at your watch, a sigh escaping your lips. "I have to get going soon," you mutter softly.

chris glances down at your watch, a hint of reluctance in his eyes. "mmm, stay for a little while longer," he murmurs, gently resting his head upon yours.

you smiled softly, allowing your wrist to fall gently onto your lap as you leaned into chris, finding solace in his presence.

"the waves possess such a soothing cadence, don't they?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, as chris responds with a gentle hum of agreement, "mhm."

"It's as though they cleanse all our worries, if only for a fleeting moment," you mutter, your fingers absently twisting the rings that adorn your delicate hands.

"It's like a brief escape, isn't it? just you, me, and the endless horizon," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "no expectations, no judgments."

you sigh softly, lifting your head from his shoulder, your gaze falling to the rings on your fingers. a myriad of thoughts whirl through your mind, each one a fleeting specter in the vast expanse of your consciousness.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," you murmur, lifting your gaze to meet his. "just... be."

"why can't we?" Chris mumbles, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "what is it that prevents us from making this our reality?"

you sigh heavily, the weight of frustration beginning to course through your veins like a slow-burning fire.

chris would bring this up every time, and with each instance, he would attempt to persuade you to abandon your glittering life for the uncertain promise of a future with him.

"you know why, chris. my life isn't that simple," you say, shaking your head. "there's so much at stake."

"but is it worth it, n/n? all those stakes, all that pressure?" he asks, his voice tinged with concern as you close your eyes tightly. "a life that isn't truly yours?"

"you don't understand, chris! I have responsibilities, a reputation to uphold. I can't just abandon everything like you," you declare, your voice tinged with exasperation, while chris shakes his head in disbelief.

"responsibilities? or chains? you are ensnared in a life dictated by the expectations of others, rather than one of your own making. Is that truly living, y/n?" chris retorts, his voice teetering on the brink of snapping.

"It’s not that simple. my family, my future—everything is inextricably bound to this," you say, running your hand through your hair as tears begin to well up. "i cannot simply walk away."

"why not? what is the purpose of a future that does not belong to you? you are sacrificing your happiness for what? the approval of those who do not even know the real you?" chris snaps, his voice sharp with frustration, as you rise to your feet, shaking your head and turning away.

"and what would you have me do? flee from it all? confront the scandal, endure the judgment?" you retort, spinning around to face him as he rises to his feet.

"yes! face it n/n. for at the end of the day, it is your life. you deserve to live it on your own terms, not theirs," chris declares, his voice firm yet controlled. "the river shapes the stone not by force, but by persistence. be the river, y/n."

"you do not understand, chris!" you cry out, your voice breaking into sobs as tears stream down your face, mingling with the streaks of mascara. "It is not about me," you croak. "It is about my family, their expectations, their legacy—"

"and what about your legacy, y/n?" he questions, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "what about the life you yearn to live? are you truly willing to sacrifice your happiness for a future that has been meticulously mapped out by others?"

"I... I don't know," you whisper, shaking your head as chris scoffs. "it's all I've ever known, chris!" you sob out, your voice trembling. "the very thought of breaking free terrifies me."

"fear is a formidable chain, yet it is one that can be shattered," chris murmurs, drawing you in by the waist and planting a tender kiss on your lips. "I know you, and you deserve to live a life that brings you joy, not merely one that garners the pride of others," he whispers against your lips.

"It is not that simple, and you are well aware of it," you sigh, your breath mingling with his. "the repercussions... the inevitable fallout..."

chris draws away from you, his eyes searching yours with a determined intensity. "consequences be damned, y/n. at some juncture, you must decide whether you are living for yourself or merely existing for the sake of others."

"and what if I cannot make that choice? what if I fail?" you whisper, tears cascading down your cheeks.

"then you’ll never know the true essence of freedom, n/n," he says, his voice tinged with slight irritation. "but if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

chris was on the verge of walking away when you desperately clasp his wrist, your grip trembling with unspoken pleas.

"chris, please..." you implore, your voice barely above a whisper, laden with desperation and longing.

"no, y/n. I am done waiting for you to choose yourself, to choose us," he says, his tone heavy with exasperation. "I cannot continue to watch you live a life that breaks you."

with a heavy heart, chris turns away, the frustration and resignation evident in his stride as he walks away from you. he leaves you to wrestle with the weight of your choices under the dimming light, each step echoing the finality of his departure.

»--•--«

you stood in the grand library, the weight of your father's expectations pressing down upon you like an invisible shroud, each tome and scroll a silent witness to your inner turmoil.

your father, stern and unyielding, sat behind his imposing desk, his gaze cold and disapproving, like a judge delivering a silent verdict.

"but daddy, I love him," you plead, desperation lacing your voice as your father pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"love? you think love is enough, y/n?" your father exclaimed, his voice rising in a crescendo of frustration as he slammed his desk, causing you to flinch. “that boy has nothing to offer you!”

"no status! no future!" he roared, rising abruptly from his chair, his fury reverberating through the room.

"he has everything that matters, daddy," you implore, desperation tinging your voice. "he makes me happy. he understands me. Isn't that worth more than all the status and money in the world?" you continue, tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

"happiness? understanding?" your father questioned, disbelief dripping from his voice as he scoffed. "those are fleeting, frivolous things. your duty is to this family, to uphold our name and legacy."

"and what about my happiness? my legacy!" you croaked out, your voice rising with each word. "am I just a pawn in your grand scheme?" you whispered, the weight of your anguish hanging heavily in the air.

"you are my daughter, and you will do as you’re told," he hissed through clenched teeth, his cold, stern eyes boring into yours. "this infatuation will pass, and you will come to see reason."

"no, daddy, it won't pass!" you say, your voice trembling as you shake your head, tears cascading down your cheeks like a relentless torrent. "you cannot dictate my heart. I will not sacrifice my love for a life filled with empty expectations. I refuse to relinquish the one genuine thing in my otherwise fabricated existence."

"do you even hear yourself, y/n?! you're willing to throw away everything we’ve built for centuries for a fleeting romance?" your father yelled, his voice echoing with a mix of incredulity and anger.

"It's not fleeting! It's real, and it's worth fighting for!" you yell back, your voice cracking under the weight of desperation. another sob escapes your lips, your body trembling with the intensity of your emotions.

"haven't you ever loved someone so profoundly that you would defy the entire world for them?" you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet laden with an intensity that speaks volumes.

"I loved your mother, and I sacrificed my dreams for this family," your father said, his voice heavy with the weight of past decisions. "now, it is your turn to bear the mantle of sacrifice."

"that's the difference, daddy. I don't want to live a life of sacrifice and regret," you pleaded, your voice nearly breaking under the strain of your emotions. "I want to live a life filled with passion and fulfillment!"

"passion fades, yet reality endures. you will marry whomever I choose, and that is final," your father declared, his tone resolute as he turned away and returned to his desk, seating himself with an air of unyielding authority.

"no, daddy, this time, I choose," you say, standing your ground with unwavering determination. "I choose love, and if you cannot accept that, then I have no place in this house."

You begin to walk out of the library, each step echoing with the weight of your resolve.

"you are making a grave mistake, y/n," your father bellows, his voice reverberating with a mixture of anger and desperation.

you halt in your tracks, turning to face him with defiant resolve. "If it is a mistake, it is mine to make. I will no longer allow you to dictate the course of my life."

with those words, you pivot on your heel, your heart pounding with a tumultuous blend of fear and resolve, a storm of emotions swirling within you.

you stride out of the grand library, each step reverberating with your newfound determination, the echo of your footsteps a testament to your unwavering resolve.

the weight of your father's expectations still looms heavily, a shadow that has long haunted your every move, but for the first time, you feel the stirrings of true freedom.

it is a fragile, nascent sensation, blossoming within the depths of your soul, whispering promises of a life unbound by the chains of obligation and duty.

as you pass through the towering columns and intricate archways of the library, the grandeur of the surroundings mirrors the magnitude of the choice you have made.

the ancient tomes and silent corridors bear witness to your silent rebellion, a declaration of your right to chart your own course.

for the first time, you breathe deeply, savoring the taste of autonomy, the exhilarating realization that your destiny is now yours to shape.

though the path before you is fraught with challenges and unknowns, the spark of freedom ignites a fire within you, a beacon of hope guiding you forward.

the weight of your father's expectations remains, but it no longer defines you. instead, it becomes a distant echo, a reminder of the strength you have found within yourself.

with each step, you embrace the journey that lies ahead, ready to face whatever trials may come, secure in the knowledge that you have chosen your own path.

you take a moment to gather your thoughts, allowing the gravity of the situation to settle within your mind. Then, with a sense of resolute purpose, you make your way to your room.

there, you swiftly pack a few essential belongings, acutely aware that this departure may be final, and you may never return to this familiar sanctuary.

with a heavy heart, you sit down at your desk and begin to write a heartfelt letter to your mother.

each word is carefully chosen, laden with emotion and sincerity, as you explain your decision.

you pour out your love and gratitude, expressing the depth of your feelings and the reasons behind your choice.

the letter becomes a testament to the bond you share, a poignant farewell that encapsulates your appreciation and the difficult path you have chosen to tread.

with your resolve as steadfast as the ancient mountains, you slip silently from the house, the silvery moonlight casting an ethereal glow upon your path.

each step is deliberate, guided by the celestial luminescence that bathes the night in a serene radiance.

you make your way to the outskirts of town, where the love of your life awaits, a beacon of hope and passion in the enveloping darkness.

"chris!" you exclaimed, your voice piercing the tranquil night air, reverberating with a blend of urgency and hope.

chris halts, his silhouette etched against the waning twilight, with the ocean's murmurs whispering the echoes of their shared memories.

he turns slowly, a flicker of hope and disbelief intertwining in his eyes, as if the very essence of the past and present collide within his gaze.

"y/n?" chris uttered, his voice a delicate tremor that carried the weight of unspoken questions and the fragile tendrils of hope.

you stepped forward, your heart pounding with a newfound resolve. "I've made my choice," you declared, your voice steady yet brimming with emotion. "I can no longer live a life shackled by fear and the weight of others' expectations. I yearn to be with you, to embrace a life of freedom and profound love."

chris' expression softens, his eyes delving into hers, searching for any trace of hesitation. "are you certain?" he murmured, his voice a blend of caution and hope. "this is a monumental step, y/n. once taken, there is no turning back."

you nod, your voice unwavering. "I understand the gravity of this decision," you say, each word imbued with newfound conviction. "but for the first time, I feel as though I am choosing for myself. I seek happiness, and I desire that happiness to be with you."

a slow, relieved smile unfurls across his face. he extends his hand, its warmth and reassurance palpable. "then let us embark on this journey together," he says softly.

hand in hand, they traverse the shoreline, each step shedding the weight of societal expectations. the horizon unfurls before them, a vast canvas of endless possibilities. the waves crash against the shore, a testament to their newfound courage and the dawn of their shared journey.

you gaze up at chris, your heart swelling with a profound mixture of love and hope. "thank you," you murmur, your voice laden with emotion, "for waiting for me."

chris gently squeezes her hand, his touch both tender and resolute. "I would have waited a lifetime for you, y/n," he whispers, his voice imbued with unwavering devotion.

together, you disappear into the embrace of the night, your spirits unburdened and your hearts entwined, ready to write your own story of love and freedom.

[thestarstoasun]

Some of my PJO ships & why

Percabeth (Percy/Annabeth - They invented love)

Ruegard (Clarisse/Silena - THE LAST OLYMPIAN, THE PARALLELS, PLS)

Clarisse/Chris (*I do not know their ship name, my bad - The Labyrinth, need I say more?)

Silena/Beckendorf (*Idk if they ever had an official ship name - They were so tragic)

Clarisse/Beckendorf/Silena/Chris (Polycule, bc multishipper really)

Jake Mason/Michael Yew (I have a thousand reasons and I don't think any are canon)

Conchell (Connor/Mitchell - THE FANFICS PLS, but some of them need to remember these are minors pls)

Connor x Malcolm Pace (I saw really cute ship art 1 time and I was sold)

Connor/Mitchell/Malcolm (I think they'd be really cute together and I don't care if it's impractical)

Luke/Lee Fletcher (Lukelee - Honestly, its more of a crack ship for me, but some people on Tumblr have me considering how much)

Luke/Ethan Nakamura (Lukethan - I can't be alone in this, pls)

Theyna (Thalia/Reyna - They would make an awesome QPR, and I thought this even before Reyna was revealed to be aroace. They flirt endlessly if only to enjoy the confused looks on their friends faces)

Tratie (Travis/Katie Gardner - Is there anyone who read the books in the 2010s when the fandom was like super big that doesn't ship them? It's big now, but like, still.)

Tyson/Ella (They deserve the world)

Solangelo (Nico/Will - Tbf, I shipped them since The Last Olympian AS A CRACK SHIP, but A WIN IS A WIN)

Grover/Juniper (Just yes)

Sally/Paul (The King that our Queen Sally Jackson deserves)

Shelper (Shel/Piper - The plot twist I didn't know I needed)

Valgrace (Leo/Jason - When I read The Lost Hero, I just thought "these two idiots could definitely work well together.")

Jasper (Jason/Piper - It isn't my favorite, but I think they're cute together. I hate that their relationship was built on the Gods interference, because neither of them deserved that. I would probably like it more if it didn't start because of Hera.)

Ethabaster (Ethan Nakamura/Alabaster Torrington - The fandom is the reason I ship them mainly tbh. I ship Ethan with Luke more, but Ethan honestly deserves better)

Jercy (Jason/Percy - I have read a single Jercy fanfiction and its kind of growing on me)

Cecil/Lou Ellen (They are literally the idiots in love that annoy Will until he gets with Nico {personal hc}, Love them)

Sherman/Miranda (I didn't think I would like this as much as I do, but its in so many fics I've read I'm low-key a little attached. Like, yeah Sherman show off, get your girl)

Damien/Chiara (I couldn't see them with anyone else tbh, but honestly could possibly change that one day, they will always hold my heart as #1 together though)

Frazel (Frank/Hazel - They are one of the sweetest pairings in the series)

Jason/Percy/Annabeth/Piper (Yes, another poly ship. I've seen this in a few fics and honestly, I think the way its written has grown on me.)

Castor/Will (Literally, because of a single fanfic. They were probably each other's first crushes and didn't even know it)

[ataraxiaspainting]

Sweet Hibiscus Tea.

Yan Shalnark x F Reader.

Synopsis: After a day of finally trying to face your social anxiety, you walk home alone. The roads are empty, quiet, and eerie. But you are almost home now, aren’t you? You are not going to cry anymore. Just when you think life is starting to turn around for you, it goes in the exact opposite direction. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence, kidnapping, misogyny, not SFW implications, psychological horror elements, manipulation, panic attacks, Shalnark being an asshole, unhealthy relationships, and stalking.

Word Count: 5k.

Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Look Who’s Inside Again by Bo Burnham

Things She Said by Chris Garneau

Baby Bride Rag by Roar

Butch 4 Butch by Rio Romeo

Appetite of a People-Pleaser by Ghost and Pals

Valentine, Texas by Mitski

I’m Yer Dad by GRLwood

Cry Baby by Melanie Martinez

Freaks by Surf Curse

Neighbour by Mother Mother

“You stay soft, you get beaten; only natural to harden up.” — Mitski, Stay Soft

*~*~*~*

Regardless of how much time has passed, this convenience store always remains the same.

There is always the familiar, tired face of the clerk behind the cash register, her gaze never on you or any other customer who walks in and out of the doors, a simple, muted hello being the only proof that she noticed you.

The lights dim and blink without fail, fading from white to a shade of daffodil to dark flaxen before disappearing and resurfacing yet again as alabaster. No matter how black the night sky is, the less-than-bright illumination never changes.

Neither does the rest of the scenery.

Next to the payment area are two vending machines, with one not functioning. It is dead, with the glass broken by a punch that left a large gaping hole in the dead center. Once when you accidentally touched the front wall while bending down to get your can of lemonade from the working one, it left a sticky residue that had you rubbing your palm on your sweater for what felt like an eternity. It somewhat helped, you guessed, but it also stained your clothes. The vending machine to its right was always out of most sweet drinks, often leaving you with the choice of coffee, lemonade, green tea, or water.

You don’t buy any snacks aside from strawberry Pocky and, if you are lucky, a chocolate bar.

But you do buy meals here because it is cheap. Usually fish with miso or a salad, but there have been times when you can find a premade sandwich.

The total cost comes to between 500 to 1000 Jenny. There is always a poster that claims the cashier is the employee of the month, though you are certain that she is the only one who works there.

The only thing that ever changes is the calendar behind her. The past dates are crossed out in red ink that is in the form of thick, scraggly lines. They remind you of the drawings you used to make as a child when your father was too busy screaming outside your door and your mother was too powerless to do anything but cry and yelp as he hit her. One time you drew them fighting, and when one of your maids saw it, it inevitably found its way to his desk.

Needless to say, he was not happy by any means.

*~*~*~*

The calendar behind the worker reads the 17th of April, 1998. On this day in 1985, your first and only ever friend, the head gardener’s apprentice, went missing. When you eventually gathered up the courage after waiting for hours outside, you went to your father’s room to ask where she was.

“She has been removed from the premises for distracting you instead of doing her job.” The answer you got was to the point, because when has he ever been warm to you? “I made sure that she had learned her lesson before she died. She was in pain the whole time. It was a shame to put a bullet between her pretty eyes. But at least she had a bit more use to me beforehand.”

You cried and cried until you threw up.

That is when your mother, the usual bandage over her left cheek this time, came in and sat on your bed gently, sadly.

She patted the area next to her and slowly you stood up from the floor where you kneeled as you sobbed and went over. She asked you if you wanted a hug and you said no. She responded with a simple nod, respecting your answer. But then what she said next turned your tear-stricken face into a glare.

“She’s alive.” She muttered, along with thanks to God and a hold of the cross on her neck. 

“...What?”

Your mother shushed you when she heard footsteps coming to the door. When the sound eventually leaves further into the hallway, she leans into your ear while pointing to your vanity. Your gaze leads you to the dusty cat statue made of garnet.

It got shattered a little while ago when a maid cleaning your room accidentally made it fall to the floor. You felt bad for her as she was a new hire, so you never told anyone aside from your mother. You knew that if your father, the head of this household, ever found out he would punish her severely, even when he did not care for the statue at all. You got to choose, if you were lucky, which part gets whipped or cut off.

“Yes.”

Her short answer leaves you almost jumping up out of your seat. “...Huh?”

“At last week’s banquet, she caught the attention of your father’s wealthiest business partner.” She turns to the curtains covering the lone window in your room, her back now facing you. “She was tricked into boarding a car when the driver claimed you were inside waiting for her. To the partner in question, she is nothing but another pretty face to add to his collection.”

At the slight turn of the doorknob next door, you two go as still as wax people in a museum. “Why did he lie to me?”

“Why? Well, he certainly did not want you rebelling against his decision.”

“But I have never rebelled against him before.”

“I know.” Your mother lets out a sharp laugh, salty and sour. “I know you are always trying to be good, trying to stay under the radar. I know, I know because you are a lot like me. but now I am going to teach you a lesson about your father and the world at large. Remember that a man’s resentful attitude will always result in a woman’s agony, physical or otherwise, always. However, when things go right for a man, a woman is either praised like a dog or ignored until something goes wrong because it is never enough.”

You can’t breathe. “But why? Why, why, why? What did I do wrong? What could I have done right?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. There is nothing you can do or could have done. No matter what, your faults will always be found. That is how most men are raised, to find, and how most women are raised, to hide.”

“...”

“Men’s hearts are such cruel, small things. Oftentimes they can only fit themselves in them, but there have been times where even they cannot fit.” She is still holding onto the cross charm on her gold necklace, firmer than she has ever held you. “They are cold, are or are almost dead. There is no room for people like you and me. No room at all. All they see us as is something to own, something with no feelings whatsoever, and whose only purpose is to please no matter the cost. Such pigs, all of them.” She murmurs some prayers that you cannot hear. “I want you to be better. I want what is best for you, what I never have been able to accomplish; run and live.”

She opens the drawer beside your bed, and you don’t do anything to stop her. It is not like you can hide anything, from her or anyone else in this house. Whatever is buried eventually resurfaces. She pulls out your rarely used bible, a thick layer of dust on the leather cover. It smells and makes you cough. She doesn’t though.

“At least your father does not force you to read this day and night.”

“Mmhmm.”

“It is one of the few things I appreciate him not doing, I do not want you to grow up hating the church.”

“I know.”

“He has made you hate a lot of things already.”

She turns the pages, dust flying around the cold air.

“He made me hate a lot of things too. Blankets, steaks, cameras. The color white, the color black, the color red. The sounds of belts unbuckling, the sound of laughter, the sounds of doors opening and closing and locking.”

You don’t say anything, only looking at her hands. Only in the dark can you not see her scars, her blooming wrinkles, and the bruises that are always fresh. 

You don’t say anything, because you have learned from a very young age that you are her only listening ear. You are the only one who keeps her head on her shoulders. You don’t say anything, because she is right. He has made you hate plenty of things. But, but, but. But you can’t hate him, and you can’t hate your mother.

You can’t hate her, because who knows what she would do when she finds out that no one cares about her pain in this hell?

“Mother.” You mutter, putting your head on her shoulder as you scan the text on the page that she selected. She does not stop you. 

“Yes, [First]?”

“Do you hate me?” You ask, trying so very hard to not let her see the tears that threaten to come out of your eyes. “Because… because… if I wasn’t conceived, you wouldn’t be here hurting, would you?”

You could swear that you heard her heart skip a beat.

“...I would not be here, yes.”

She is honest, for once. You know at least some of this situation is all your fault.

“Do you hate me?”

“...”

“Mother, please answer me.”

You hear a sniffle as she starts mumbling the words written. “‘A gracious woman gets honor, and violent men get riches.’”

You choose not to press on the subject. You don’t want her to suffer anymore.

*~*~*~*

You buy an orange-flavored Ramune soda, a pack of pork ginger instant ramen, and strawberry Pocky.

The total would come to about 600 Jenny if your quick calculations are right. You could get something extra, like a topping for your ramen or some chips. But would it be wise? You have never been someone who finishes their plate after you had ran away, so what if you just waste your money?

So, you decide not to get anything else.

You walk to the cash register.

You hear an explosion from the back of the building. Small sparks of white and orange. The lights go off before you can place your chosen items down, and you can hear the employee cursing under her breath. The breaker. What happened?

“Damn it, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” She grumbles, putting her thumb and pointer finger on the bridge of her nose, rubbing. “No raises whatsoever. Only one here. Without me, this place wouldn’t be working, ungrateful pricks.”

Fighting the way your heart rate shoots up, you decide that talking to her would be best. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone aside from your boss, right? 

Maybe your anxieties would quell, and you can eventually graduate to talking to your co-workers, that would be a dream come true for you.

You haven’t had a friend, a real friend, ever since Rose was taken from you all those years ago. You still cry whenever you think about her. You miss her. Is she dead, is she alive?

You still blame yourself. If only you hadn’t talked to her, maybe she would still be with you. What kind of adult would she have been? A kind one, a responsible one? You would still be friends at least, wouldn’t you? Or would she grow to hate you, if she didn’t already?

You keep telling yourself that she wouldn’t and didn’t, but that is not what your mind tells you.

Is she dead?

You could picture a rotting corpse six feet under. An unmarked grave. Glassy, dead, amber eyes looking upward to anyone who looks down, helpless, pleading. You always liked them, always complimenting them much to Rose’s shy chuckles. She was so pretty, that much was true. You could only imagine how beautiful she would have been as an adult.

Her looks were a personal gift from God, the heavens, and the angels.

But if she didn’t have them, would she not have been treated like she was in the estate?

“Erm, excuse me,” You mutter, taking a few steps forward. “If you want I can go check it out.”

It is what Rose would do. She always liked helping others. You just wish that people would have appreciated it more and seen past her appearance. It was a double-edged sword. It helped her become the head gardener’s apprentice but also caught the attention of both your father and his business partners. You felt bad for her, and still do.

The employee turns around, her confusion prominent despite the dark. 

“Erm,” You mutter, looking down at your hands and entangling your fingers in one another. You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

It takes a few moments to respond. Her surprise was unexpected, as you never spoke to her outside of asking her if she had change or telling her you hoped that she had a good night. Rose would be better at this kind of thing. You once had a dream that at a fast food joint, an adult her would order for you and correct the staff when they put pickles on your burger. It’s what could have been, funny moments like that. She had always been the one to take charge, you following her like a lost puppy.

You miss her so much.

So much.

The worker slowly nods. “...Okay.”

“...It’s in the back, right? The breaker.”

This is so awkward. Rose would be better. You wish she was here. Or your mother. Anyone.

“...Uh. Um… I like your eyeliner.” As soon as you say that, you curse at yourself, not wanting to sound like a creep. The woman’s confusion becomes even more prominent.

“...Thanks, and yeah, it’s in the back.”

“...Okay.” Jesus Christ. You turn away from her, the heat on your cheeks hot enough to be mistaken for a fever. This is not what Rose would have done.

“...You can leave your stuff here.” She says, and you quickly spin your heel and put your items on the counter. “It’s not like they are going to grow legs and run off, so relax.”

“...” You both chuckle, and you feel slightly better. “...Thanks. I’ll go now.”

“...” You start walking. “Wrong way.”

You stop.

It takes you a few seconds for you to move back to first base and go off in the opposite direction. As soon as you open the creaky steel door, strong rain and cold wind greet you, along with a loud clap of thunder and lightning.

Perhaps you could go back and get your umbrella from the stand by the door. But that would be even more awkward.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

“If we are lucky, the wind simply detached it or something. Not the best at this sort of thing, though.”

“I don’t think breakers detach.” You could picture her shrugging and scoffing at your murmur. “Sorry. Sorry. Just… sorry. I’m the best at this sort of thing either.”

You close the door behind you and start looking amongst the pitter-patter of the raindrops and gusts that nearly make you fall over. 

Stupid. Why do you make everything so weird? Rose would have been so much more charismatic. It was one of her strongest traits after all.

Stupid.

It’s hard to see. Trying not to trip over stones and cracked cement, you grip onto the wall and walk forward. Soon, you feel something.

“Ew, ew, ew!” You cry out, quickly moving your hand away from the slimy slug. “Ew!”

“You okay?”

“Uh, nothing. Just a bug. Yeah, just a bug.”

You hear a chuckle. Stupid.

“Sorry!” You exclaim, almost bowing your head. “Sorry! Really!”

Making sure you don’t touch the slug again, you keep moving.

Eventually, you find the breaker. But it wasn’t what you were expecting by any means. The damage almost looks like it was done on purpose, the way it was open and covered in soot. Did something get to it?

The breaker that exploded was a mass of melted metal that had been blown apart from the intense amount of heat and pressure. It was now barely recognizable as a single unit–parts of it scattered across the cement path and others having been fused and becoming something else entirely. The metal had been melted and blown upwards in the sheer force of the explosion, coating parts of the wall, wet grass, and roof with small, solidified droplets of metal. The ground around the remains of the breaker is burnt and scarred with traces of the immense fire that had consumed it.

It seems the rain put it out.

“No hope for this, huh?”

“Hey,” The employee calls out. “How bad is it? If there is nothing you can do, come back inside.”

So, you do.

The way she turns at you is robotic almost. A smile is on her face that was not there before. She nods when she sees you. Something tells you to not approach.

“It exploded into molten metal.”

“Oh well.”

Under the stormy skies, her gaze turns pale. Her eyes, seemingly captivating, lack any hint of vitality, while her lips curve in a disarming and saccharine manner. A shiver runs down your spine as you meet her gaze, every fiber of your being urging you to flee. Deep within your primal instincts, an innate awareness stirs, recognizing the smile as a charade, a mask of humanity that ventures into the realm of unease: akin to an artificial being adorned with synthetic flesh or a wax figure encased in glass. Those lifeless, white eyes, coupled with a forked tongue and an unsettlingly beautiful countenance, leave you with an undeniable sense of mistrust.

“You’re not mad? Really? Um…”

Something is off. What happened? She looks more like an imposter than anything else. But if she is, where did the real cashier go?

“Don’t worry.” She says, her voice oddly chipper and no longer confused by your awkwardness. “It’s fine. I’m quitting anyway, so it’ll be my boss’ problem.”

You turn your head. “Really?”

She nods. Something is off.

“Like really?”

You blink multiple times and you don’t think she does. She just stands there. Slowly, she nods. Something tells you to run yet again.

“Um… um… okay. Okay. I’ll just pay and leave. How much does it come up to?”

She shakes her head.

“Um. I have to pay. It’s thievery if I don’t.” You get closer. “It’s the law.”

“It’s fine.”

“I can’t just not pay.” You say, taking out your wallet from your sweater pocket. “That’s stealing. It’s wrong.”

Every action she takes is measured and precise, and she seems to move like a machine rather than a person. It’s as if she’s been programmed to act and talk in a certain way, and she doesn’t seem to have the ability to break out of that. She simply stares at you, not speaking.

Run.

You undo the metallic button, hearing the shuffling of paper Jenny within your wallet. “Um. Let me pay. Please.”

She simply shakes her head again.

“It’s fine.” The employee says, the smile still plastered on her face. There is quite more than a hint of blankness and detachment in her expression. She speaks in a mechanical and emotionless manner, her words delivered as though repeated from a script of carefully chosen sentences. Her movements are quick and precise, putting your chosen items in a plastic bag. There is no life or energy in her actions, instead, she moves like a mindless machine, performing her tasks before her without showing any personality of her own. Is it better to just accept it?

What should you do? What shouldn’t you do? Is she joking? Should you leave?

What would Rose do?

One of her hands grasps onto the plastic handles and she holds it out before you. There is no authenticity or warmth. Her eyes are blank. What happened? Should you ask? Should you just take the bag without saying anything further?

“Okay,” You murmur, obeying her silent command. “I hope you don’t get into any trouble though.”

*~*~*~*

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Did you find anything?

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Feitan found her heels nearby along with some blood, so she couldn’t have gotten very far.

You (9th May 1996 17:45)

Nothing yet

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

Try checking the stores nearby.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

From the blood trail, she is most likely injured from running and trying to fix herself up in some sort of shelter.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:48)

She may have also discarded the rest of her clothes, not just the heels, and is currently wearing something else.

You (9th May 1996 18:15)

I found a dress and jewelry at the bottom of a lake

You (9th May 1996 18:18)

(image sent)

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

That’s it.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

Disappointing. I’ll send over Pakunoda to ask people nearby.

You (9th May 1996 18:20)

K

You (9th May 1996 18:21)

Don’t cry, I’m sure we’ll find her soon :) 

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I wasn’t crying.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I just thought she came around already.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:23)

This will set our heists back weeks.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:24)

She has planned this out for more than a year, it seems.

*~*~*~*

Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. You can’t hear anything else. The sounds sting your ears like an aggravated hornet. 

The darkness around you is solid, more so than the cracked, aged concrete path beneath your shoes. There is a tiny light in the distance; a streetlamp.

Silence.

“...”

“Have a good day!”

“...Thank you.”

Let there be light.

“Um…” You can’t see anything. The sounds… stopped. “...Time to go home.”

But the pain stays. 

It feels like a drill. 

It hurts.

“...” You feel deaf and blind. No, maybe something even worse. “...”

You turn around, to the dark convenience store, and you see the cashier still staring at you. “Have a good day!”

“...”

“[First]?”

…How does she know your name? Did you say it to her in the past?

When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

“[First], dear.” She starts waving as you look at her. “[First]. [First]. [First]. [First]. [First]!”

There is nothing but emptiness. Is your name all she can say? What happened to her? It is like she has regressed. Like a storm cloud in summer, you do not wish for this pain. Now you feel deaf and blind and mute now. 

You almost wish that you were dead. All there is is pain. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

Interruption. The sounds returned. Is this good? Is this bad? Does it matter at all? 

You walk. You don’t speak. Only walk. You can’t breathe. You can only move. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. 

Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

A hand clamps over your mouth.

You drop the plastic bag from shock, and then you finally hear something other than those sounds; glass shattering.

“Sh…” A voice, calm, along with the smell of oranges. “It’s okay.”

“...!”

“Don’t scream.”

The touch of lips, a man’s lips, on your ear, thin and hard. 

“Breathe. Just breathe for me, okay?”

But you can’t. The wind goes down your throat. It is suffocating. You can’t breathe. You smell oranges and something rotting, blood.

It stinks. It fucking stinks.

Christ. Get away. That stink. That fucking stink. Your body rejects it by continuing to not breathe.

“Sh… Breathe. Just breathe, for me, for you, for us.”

“...St… Sto-”

“Sh…” The voice is sweet, not at all sour, like candy. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just breathe. You’re going to pass out.” The lips and the scent of his breath are like salted leather in a butcher’s shop, stinky and rotting. “Calm down. Don’t worry.”

“...Sto… Si-”

“Breathe. Sh… It’s okay. Breathe.”

“...Ge… Sti…”

“Sh… Breathe. Breathe, [First]. Breathe. [First]. Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. Don’t worry about all this. Breathe.”

When you finally do, you gasp, desperate. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

Get off of me, I can smell you. 

“There we go!”

Your vision clears up a bit. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

“Just keep breathing.”

“...Huff…”

You can smell him. You can practically taste him, with his mouth so close to you.

“Whew! That was a close one!” The man exclaimed, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

Pain. Get off of me. I can smell you, I can hear you, I can taste you. Get off of me. Please.

The pain still stays, in your chest and your ears, and your head. Oranges. Blood.

Get off of me.

Please–

A pain in the back of your neck and you go limp.

Darkness. Then pain again. You can’t move. You can only breathe. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

*~*~*~*

SAINTSHORE SPACE THEATRE

UNDER THE DIRECTION OF RANDOLF URASLEF, GRETEL JAMES, AND QUINCEY J. ORATICE

PAUL DONSHEL CELESTE BAKER   ANNE CROAKS

AND

THE GREAT COMET THEATRE COMPANY

SWAN LAKE

ADAPTED BY MUSIC WRITTEN BY PYOTR ILLYICH TCHAIKOVSKY

INSPIRED BY THE CHOREOGRAPHY OF JULIUS REISINGER

WITH THE WONDERFUL CAST OF

(IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)

Odette, the White Swan………………………………………………………….JEAN YVETTE

Odile, the Black Swan……………………………………………………………...JUNO LILOU

Prince Siegfried……………………………………………………………(the name is illegible.)

The rest of the list’s names cannot be read just like Prince Siegfried.

“She is simply beautiful. Just so beautiful. Simply wonderful, perfect.”

As the spotlights ignite, their scorching beams engulf you, causing you to shield your eyes with futile resistance. The sheer force of the light overwhelms your feeble defense. An ethereal audience erupts with exuberant cheers, applause, and whistles, resonating from vacant seats. Champagne flutes collide, men erupt with hearty laughter from their very core, and women unleash piercing screams akin to banshees.

The temperature rises and the noise intensifies, repeatedly, enveloping you in a symphony of overwhelming sensations.

Onlookers casually share their thoughts.

“Get off the stage, we want to see the play, not some stagehand!”

“Boo!”

“Fuck off!”

You run off crying.

“Where is that Odile girl?”

You run into a dressing room. One used by a woman wearing a black dress. She is so pretty. Her long strawberry blonde hair falls off her bare shoulders, clearly just done with a flat iron. There is a burning smell in the air. Smoke. When her gold eyes meet yours, she marches towards you and slams the door shut.

You can almost hear sobbing coming from the other side. Cries.

“So lonely…” The woman mutters. “When will it ever be enough?”

The voice sounds familiar. Her eyes. Her hair.

Nostalgia. Memories you would much rather forget. The basement. The imaginary ripping of clothes and tears and men’s laughter.

“I can’t do this much longer…”

Someone else knocks on her door. You want to scream.

“Come out, dearest.”

The devil. Tall with curved horns and a forked tongue. You want to warn her. 

You want to save her. “I’m not going to harm you, I am going to make you happy.”

You are so focused on whether the woman opens the door or not that you do not notice what happens next until it is too late. A clawed hand on your mouth. A tongue licking your ear. Tasting your sweat. Your tears. Laughter. The rest of the world disappears, and the only one there aside from you is the one behind you.

Sh… Sh… Sh… Sh… Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

Get off of me. Please.

“Breathe. It makes things more fun for me.” The voice echoed like you two are in a cave.

You gasp for air, and the smell of blood and oranges fills your nostrils.

“...Huff…”

“That’s better.”

You turn around. There is a body of a man. 

But the scaled, furred, horrifying face of a demon.

“Good.” He says, smiling his sharp teeth. “Deep breaths, in and out, come on.”

You do what he says. He praises you again, you think. But you can’t hear it. Either that or you simply do not pay attention to it. What happened to the woman? 

“...”

“We should go.”

The woman. The devil, this other… thing.

“...Rose…”

The demon laughs.

“Wake up.”

*~*~*~*

The first things you hear come from a happy man’s voice. “My boss’ girlfriend ran away more than a year ago you see, and he’s been heartbroken ever since. I want to prevent that kind of loss from happening to me. Real pretty one, too! He didn’t expect it, but I don’t blame her. After all, she’s been held captive for more than a year, she had to try to escape eventually.”

…The first thing you feel is lace on your neck. A collar.

It does not tickle or hurt. It itches. 

A cold hand plays with it, and it almost chokes you. At your discomfort, the man laughs.

“You are so cute.”

Something metal is on the collar, and it blinks a small red light.

[my-pjo-stuff]

Okay hear me out, PJO x Genshin Impact AU. Annabeth who travels through Tevyat with her traveling companion Percy, exploring all the different nations in search of her lost older brother while trying to stop the Fatui and Order of the Abyss. Luke who woke up nearly 500 years before his younger sister Annabeth, saw the fall of Kaenriah at Celestia's hand and decided that he couldn't take this anymore. That he would fight against these gods and avenge the destroyed nation. Chris who used to be Luke's traveling companion, one of the only survivors of Kaenriah's fall and cursed by Celestia, not being able to share his friend's ambition. Instead setting out on his own trying to stop the Abyss' schemes, and save Luke from himself. Hecate, Cryo Archon and ruler of Snezhnaya, deciding that time has come for Celestia to fall. So she gathers her troops and sets out to end this reign of terror once and for all. Alabaster, Silena and Ethan as part of Hecate's Harbringers. Serving their queen to achieve their goal of justice.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

DINE & DASH ───

chris o’doyle 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “Deep in my enemy I find the lover.” — ‘The Cid’, Pierre Corneille

pairing. chris o’doyle x waitress!reader

summary. you meet chris o’doyle 3 times. the 1st, he’s got a gun pointed at you. the 2nd, you learn his name. the 3rd, you’ve got a gun pointed at him.

warnings. swearing, guns, mention of death, robbery, shooting

word count. 4k

a/n. i recognize this fic doesn’t actually have any romance in it, so considering the reception i might make a part 2😄 (perhaps with an emotional love confession and fluffy smut :o)

i.

Now, here’s the thing about living in Boston, circa 1978, working at a diner: you’ve gotta buy a gun.

Especially because the shitty diner you work at is downtown. Downtown is utterly fucked at night, where all the doped up creeps, gangsters & prostitutes come out to play.

It’s by an off-chance (off-chance being that your boss was a day drinker who couldn’t handle the diner at night without throwing up) that you work the night shift. 

So, the gun. You don’t know how to use one, buy one, hell, you don’t even know what you’re looking for; you just know you need to buy a fucking gun, because you cannot take any more attempted robberies at the diner. 

(There have been several, at this point, and the only way you’ve avoided having the diner robbed blind is by pretending to be one of those rough-‘round-the-edges folk who could kill someone with a broom if properly motivated. 

Think, the kind of person, who, if faced with a gun in a robbery, would laugh at the colour of your gun and smash your head in with a napkin dispenser.)

One night, you’re coming back to the cashier after refilling all the coffee pots, and a man you’ve never seen before is sitting at the front counter. 

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” you say, retying your alabaster apron, smoothing down the wrinkles. 

The man - who looked exactly like those rough-‘round-the-edges folk - shakes his head. “No fault to you, girl.” He says, Irish accent curling around his words like a snake. 

“So, what’re you havin’?” You say, lighting a cigarette, reveling in the nicotine-filled rush it sends right up to your brain. 

The man inhales his own cigarette, staring at you intently for a moment. His gaze makes you squirm, running all over your body. It's nothing out of the ordinary for you, to be eye-fucked by a shady creep in the late night, but his attention is laser-focussed, like he could see through you.

“Mmm,” the man broke his silence, and his gaze drifted elsewhere, “d’you got red ale?” 

Your eyebrows lift at the request, but you complied, grabbing a pint and filling it to the brim with the man’s choice of drink. When you hand it to him, he looks as surprised as you do: “What kind of Boston diner sells red ale?”

“You ask, darlin’, you receive.” The pet name is a conscious decision on your part; there’s something about the man that sets alarm bells off in your head, but you can’t place any context, so you try to appease him.

The man looks at you, then the beer, and then shrugs. “Fuck it,” he murmurs under his breath, and downs the whole thing in one. 

You put out your cigarette, resisting the urge to roll your eyes; now, you’d have to fumble around, wait to see if he’d pay & leave or order something else. 

However, he does neither, pulling out a shiny Colt Python from his leather jacket pocket, pointing it at you and cocking off the safety. 

Your heart jumps in your throat, constricting your breathing, and your hands immediately come up. Everything happens so fast, and you can’t really process anything but your fear. 

You consider doing your act, your confident, no-nonsense, rough skank farse, but something tells you he won’t believe it, just shoot you point blank. Those eyes of his, crystalline blue with little to no emotion tinting them, sends shivers down your spine.

“C’mere,” he gestures to you, “‘round the counter.” He’s chewing on the end of his wet cigarette, not having had the chance to pull it out and inhale.

You do as he asks, taking gentle, tentative steps in front of him. You walk carefully, so as not to startle him; make him shoot you.  

“Where’s yer boss?” The man says, running a calloused hand through his brown hair, gun still trained on you. 

You gulped, focussing on breathing properly. “He’s - he does- he doesn’t work the night shift.” You make out in a painful stutter.

The man raised a brow at this, finally pulling out his cigarette and leaving it on the ashtray. “Well,” he looked as if he was weighing his options, “you lot keep a safe in here?”

You nodded vehemently, your throat still clenched in fear. 

“Go on then. Show me.” He waved the gun haphazardly, and you made quick work of the situation: grabbing the store keys from underneath the desk, and skittering to your boss’s office. 

You pushed open the loud, creaky door then you immediately dropped to your knees and unlocked the safe. Inside was a jaw-dropping amount of cash, an amount your boss had conveniently failed to mention was being kept in the store — as well as a cute little Smith & Wesson .38. 

Before either of you could tell what the other was doing, you’d gone in for the kill: he grabbed the cash, you grabbed the pistol. 

Sure, your boss was an absent-minded fuck who always did you dirty by giving you the night-shift, but he was your boss, and a good one at that; he paid you on time, usually never said no to your vacation requests, and was generally well-mannered and kind. To top it off, you knew he had a real large family to feed. 

“Sweetheart, I jus’ want the cash. Yer boss owes us a great deal of debt, alright?” The man said, his own hands in the air now. He had slipped his gun back into the holster that hung by his belt, and he knew just as well as you did that the slightest movement toward that area would have you shooting bullets like a fucking madman. 

Never underestimate someone who was jumpy and holding a gun: they were trigger happy. 

You inhaled and exhaled shakily, your fingers hesitantly brushing past the safety lever. “All of it?” you said helplessly, trying to erase the mental image of how your boss would look later, absolutely crushed that the store, his prized possession, had been robbed. Under your “watchful” eye. 

The stranger considered this, his mustache curling as his face contorted around the idea. “…Most of it,” he settled on, cornflower blue eyes peering past the gun and instead landing on you. 

“Why,” he continued, shifting the weight between his feet, “you wanna dip your toes in the water, doll?”

You recoiled, both at the pet name and the connotation you also wanted to rob your boss, but you knew that if he knew you were just going to give your cut back to your boss, the stranger would come back and rob the store all over again. 

Instead, you nodded curtly. You figured you could finally buy a gun with a portion of the money, so if this stranger ever came knocking ‘round your place, you could satiate his suspicion by pointing a piece at him. 

The man let out a sigh of relief at the compromise reached. “Guns down,” he said, and you dropped your hand to the floor. He didn’t reach for his Colt Python, so you visibly relaxed as well. 

After a few moments of mumbling under his breath and thumbing through the bills, he shoved two thirds of the cash into his leather jacket pockets, then tossed the rest into your trembling hands. 

“Spend it wisely, darlin’. Don’t go buying all the pretty dresses money can afford - you’ll get caught.” With that, the stranger stuffed his pockets with his hands and exited promptly. 

You gulped, beads of sweat trailing down your back and making you squirm — there was no way that just fucking happened, right?

Right? You thought. Jesus fucking christ, you really had to get a better job. A better place to live now, too; the stranger knew your face and your name — seriously, screw the diner waitress name tags meant to make you look approachable — so if you were, at any point in time, considered a loose end, they’d be coming for you next. 

It’s only then, you realize, he never paid for the ale. 

ii. 

The second time you see the stranger is not even two weeks after the diner-robbery incident. 

Following the robbery, your boss gave you time off so he could sort the mess out — as well as his debts, after you told him what the robber told you — and you found yourself with the small bit of cash you portioned off from the safe to buy a gun. 

You followed word of mouth on where exactly to purchase a gun for days, keenly listening in on loose-lipped men who came in too late at night or too early in the morning to even consider the possibility that the sweet waitress who kept butting in to give them a refill could be listening. 

Finally, you entered a bar in anticipation: one of the loose-lipped men mentioned a man who dealt out small revolvers that you thought would do just perfectly for space in your purse, right in that very bar. 

Time was dripping drearily toward midnight, and the wad of cash wedged within the waistband of your flare jeans burned guiltily against you as you searched for the man selling — it wasn’t your money, after all. 

You shook yourself mentally, however, reminding yourself to consider it hush money, or trauma money, for the ordeal you experienced. Then, you spotted the seller who’d been described: average height, lanky, wild brown hair. He was speaking animatedly at the bar counter, silver rings on his fingers gleaming in the dull bar light. 

You slid onto the black, faux leather stool beside him, quietly informing the idle bartender you wanted a rum & coke, before leaning into the ear of the seller. 

“Smith & Wesson, model 36.” you whispered huskily, then promptly preoccupying yourself with smiling at the barkeep and thanking him for the drink. You were a little nervous, getting involved in Boston’s underground crime world, even if it were just for a simple gun purchase. 

The man stopped his storytelling to down his drink — red ale, you noted, brows furrowing at the unexpected nostalgia of last time — and speak to you without turning completely. 

“Straight to business, are we?” He said silkily, and you froze, parsing through your memories to correctly match this voice with that voice— “Name’s Chris O’Doyle, and yes, thank you for “asking”, I can provide you wit’ a beautiful little S&W model 36.”

When you didn’t respond eagerly, in stark contrast to your previous behavior, the stranger from the robbery — Chris O’Doyle, you now knew — turned to face you completely.

“…Well, this is jus’ grand, isn’t it, doll?” Chris said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“Fuck’s sake,” you blurted out, pinching your nose bridge. “I didn’t— why the fuck are you here?”

Chris raised a tentative brow, “I’ve got my fingers in all kinds of pies, darlin’. Can’t expect a smart Irish man not to, eh?”

“Jesus christ,” you murmured under your breath. You thought you wouldn’t have to see this man ever-fucking again, but as fate turned out, you just did. 

You steeled your nerves: you’d buy the gun. It was just as well to buy it from him, so he could see you weren’t to be messed with. That, and so he wouldn’t go sniffing around for the money you gave back to your boss. 

“I need a —“ You began, but were irritatingly cut off by Chris.

“—Smith & Wesson, model 36. I know, darlin’, I heard ya the first time. Now, let’s get out of here, I can’t just hand the thing over in here,” he said, before pressing himself flush against you and whispering in your ear. “Plus, it’s best you leave: some of the shitstains in here are gettin’ ideas, seein’ a pretty lady like you, all alone.”

Suddenly, Chris got up, and snaked an arm around your waist. “Darlin’!” He exclaimed, sounding drunk out of his mind, “I don’t- don’t wan’ go feckin’ home!” 

“Play along, unless you wanna use that new gun of yer’s on one of the creeps in here later,” He continued sneakily under his breath. 

Begrudgingly, you did as asked, and supported him up, trying to look like a tired wife dragging her dumbass husband back home. “I told you to quit fucking drinking!” you shouted, smacking him upside the head and dragging him by the arm. 

“Christ, woman! Can’t a man jus’ have a wee drink?” 

“Shut the fuck up, you damn headache!” You screeched back at him. 

Okay, you admit: it was kind of fun to shout insulting names at the man who’d been haunting your dreams since that night.

You hadn’t been having the… best sleep, as of late. Always heaving, waking up at ungodly hours after the dream ended with the cold tip of Chris’s gun pressed neatly at your temple, always unable to get back to sleep for fear the dream would continue and you’d be shot dead in it. 

When you and Chris had successfully averted all public eye, exiting the bar and stumbling to a street a couple blocks away where a car was parked, he let up the drunken husband act. 

“Smart of you, y’know,” he informed you absently, leaning into the open window of his car. He continued by rummaging through the vehicle, trying to find the trunk key in his storage compartment.

“Smart of me to what?” you echoed back, looking up and down the street in case someone was walking past or driving by to witness your incredibly shady and conspicuous arms deal. 

“To buy a gun,” said Chris, a certain lilt to his tone that made you know he thought it was the obvious answer. 

“Yeah, well, you made sure of that.” you said with an eye roll. If you sounded comfortable, it’s because you were, at least a little bit. 

In the small timeframe you’d known and spoken to Chris O’Doyle, you figured out three things about him: he was a penchant for the theatrical, if not a little bit of a procrastinator, was plenty lofty, and probably treated customers and friends like pure gold. You knew that if you were buying, he would be on his best behavior, and do all in his power to keep that happening, be it moving the sun, moon and stars — or kill someone. 

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” Chris questioned, brow raised as he slipped out of his car window with the key in his hand. 

You thinned your eyes. “Hm, I don’t know, maybe the fact you threatened me with a gun and robbed me blind has me worried for my safety?

He rounded the vehicle, unlocking the trunk and pulling the heavy metal lid up. “I didn’t rob you blind, sweetheart. I robbed your boss blind. And, the gun’s standard business practice. Protect the messenger, threaten the target, all that.”

You sighed exasperatedly, but ignored him, instead opting to pull the wedge of cash out of your pants. You handed the entire wad to him, then opened up your other hand to receive the revolver.

 “You can count, right? Otherwise, your boss’s been robbed blind for a while.” Chris mocked, a sly grin spreading on his lips while his hand hovered above the trunk full of guns for the weapon of your choice. 

Once he found the gun, you snatched the piece out of his hand impatiently, discreetly tucking it away where your bills had been. “I don’t want any more dirty money on me. Enough to buy this damn gun is all I need.” 

“And a few cigarette packs it seems,” he shot back, clearly noticing the cash you handed him was short of the amount he originally gave you. 

“S’not any of your business what I buy.” You said tersely, then quickly walked off and left him without so much as a goodbye. 

After a second thought: “Now stay the fuck out of my life!” you shouted down the street, turning and not looking back.  

iii. 

The thing about living in Boston, circa 1978, working at a diner is that you’ve gotta buy a gun.

Now, you had gone ahead and bought a gun, but it was only ever supposed to be a precaution. Something you brought to work, or when you went out late at night. 

And, of course you never had to use it: you did have normal, functioning common sense, so you never found yourself in situations where your gun became more than just something taking up space in your purse. 

But with Chris O’Doyle, you found, you threw your common sense — as well as your precaution — straight to the wind. 

It’s late at night, quite similar to all the other times you’d encountered the man, like a certain time of night had him summoned like a fucking demon, and he appears. Right in the middle of the diner, sitting in that same spot he’d pulled out his pistol and robbed you. 

After a while, the incident stopped bothering you - as well as the fact you now owned a fucking gun - but you never did get Chris’s face out of your head, those piercing blue eyes. Said eyes were now staring at you straight, before trailing off, like the fucking criminal was embarrassed. 

You don’t know what exactly was running through your head, but, again, Chris O’Doyle and you equaled common sense and precautions funeral, and you immediately dragged yourself to the breakroom, where you kept your stuff during a shift — including your purse — and you came back out with your shiny, unused Smith & Wesson model 36 gleaming in your hands. 

“Fucking—“ Chris cursed, when he saw you come out with the gun, which was trained on him shakily. “Put the damn gun down! Jesus, d’you even know how to use that thing?”

You bit your lip, deciding not to answer his very valid, very biting question, for you did not know how to use a gun properly. “Just - what the fuck are you doing here, Chris?”

Deep in your mind, a more unbothered part of you wondered why you kept saying that when Chris appeared, like the mustached man was some creep ex who was stalking you. 

“I’m just fucking peckish, girl. This is a diner, is it not?” He exclaimed, like what you were doing was manic and unexpected. 

You stared at him incredulously, reluctantly putting down the hand that held the gun. You’d told him to, paraphrasing, “completely and totally fuck off”. What part of that did he not get?

“The part you don’t get, darlin’, is that I don’t care.” Chris shook his head, and you were so distraught you didn’t register you’d actually said what you were thinking out loud. 

“God forbid you do!” You said, an infuriated laugh coiling around your words. “Order, then please grant me the blessing of never seeing you, ever again. Like I already fucking asked.”

Chris puffed up his cheeks, then blew the air out of them. “Red ale.” he said simply, looking like that was it, before continuing and making you freeze midway between quickly running to the kitchen to grab and fill the glass. 

“And, eh…” he scanned through the plastic menu the diner offered, “a slice of Boston cream pie.”

You smiled at him tensely, hoping he knew it was fake as hell and meant to make him uncomfortable. “Coming right up,” you ground out through gritted teeth. 

You thus disappeared into the diner kitchen - though not without first expertly hiding your pistol back in your purse - busying yourself with warming up the slice of pie in the ancient microwave your boss believed to be a holy grail heirloom as it was from his mother. It was loud, took too long, and always made the food too hot — but now, you were reveling in its flaws.

Loud means you didn’t have to hear Chris and whatever the hell he was doing, too long meant you could stall (and, pray he’d get bored and leave), and too hot meant that, later, you could privately make fun of him for burning his tongue, then have to blow on it and look like a little kid. 

When it finished, you haphazardly threw it onto a plate, and filled Chris’s ale just half-way. If he wanted service here, fine, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get good service. 

Then, you handed it to him with a loud clatter on the counter, startling him out of his chain-smoking stupor. He made a face at your antics, but put out his cigarette and picked up the fork on the plate to begin eating anyway. 

Finally, with having served Chris his stupid pie and stupid red ale, you could count down to the second until you never had to see him again, and you could finally erase him from your mind, forget how his gun felt trained on you, icy blue eyes digging into your spine. 

However, much like you, it seemed an entirely different group of people with a grudge against Chris O’Doyle also threw common sense and precaution out the window when they saw him. 

One moment you were pulling a cigarette out of the sleek, metal case sitting in the pocket of your apron, the next, Chris was jumping over the counter and shouting at you to duck. 

You did as told almost immediately - his tone of voice had grown serious, cold, something you’d only heard briefly the night he robbed the diner. 

Bullets tore through the diner, completely shattering and destroying the glass windows. The shots ricocheted against the walls, making the whole diner shake and feel like it was going to collapse. After a few more minutes of rapid gunfire eating at the building, something flew in from the same direction of the bullets. 

“Good fucking riddance, Chris O’Doyle!” A voice called from outside, Several vehicles could be heard driving away as quick as they came, not even bothering to check if Chris was dead or alive. 

You guessed that they — whoever “they” were — were a confident bunch, but unfortunately for them, Chris was still alive following that clownish display of gunfire. 

Hidden beneath the diner counter, you laid against Chris’s bandy chest, his arms holding him close to you, like he was a kid and you were his prized balloon. One of his hands petted at the crown of your head, almost soothingly, while the other hand fumbled with his signature Colt Python. 

Then, an ear shattering boom exploded from the “something” that was thrown into the building. You supposed it also set fire to quite a few things, for the water sprinklers set off and soaked the entire building. 

For a long moment, it was just you and Chris, laying on the floor beneath the diner counter, sprinkler water soaking you both. Your hands were clenched impeccably tight on his leather jacket sleeve, and his hand had, like on autopilot, begun carding through your locks comfortingly. It seemed to comfort him more than you however, his breathing sounding stilted, and, with your pressed right up against his chest, you knew the situation had shocked him. 

“That happen to you often?” you said, disregarding all questions that were clambering around your head for this softer, more considerate one. 

Sure, the man maddened you to no end, and you still had dreams of him shooting you in the diner or jumping you in the street, but you were human, and he was too. Chris seemed like the kind of man who was inured to all sorts of sick and twisted things, so this event having shocked him surely had to be a large one. 

And so, you knew it was empathy that needed to be used here; you recognized the struggle of a human vulnerable. 

“More than I’d like,” Chris whispered back, his eyes shutting closed, surely replaying the entire situation behind his eyelids. 

You could digest this all later, and he could talk about it later - if he wanted - but for now, it was just you and him in the diner, your voice gentle, his touch shaky. 

[thatonepersonwhocantwrite]

Backstabber

Pt 3 of BackBiter

Trigger warnings kidnapping, swearing , sea sickness

Pairing platonic yandere Luke castellan x reader, platonic titan army, platonic camp Halfblood

This probably isn't very good

" Who didn't tell me what, Luke?" You asked. "Luke why aren't you answering me?" You asked again . "Luke?" You asked a third time. Actually hold that thought I might barf from the swaying.

After emptying everything you at the night earlier.

"Feel better Y/n?" Chris asked. " A little." You replied. You turned towards the two younger males you recognized but didn't know the names of in your defense there are a lot of campers at Camp Half-Blood. " Sorry I don't know if we've actually properly met before. I'm Y/n I would shake your hand but I just threw up." You said.

The two younger males just stared at you. " Y/n this is Alabaster and Ethan." Chris said. "Nice to met you officially kinda." You said before once again turning to Luke hoping to get some answers but he just avoided your gaze.

"At least tell me where I am since this clearly isn't Camp Half-Blood. " You said.

Luke remains quiet.

"The Princess Andromeda. " Chris replied then mumbled something that sounded like althoughitmightnotbethesafestplacefpryousinceyouarejustmortalandtheshipiscrawlingwithmonsters.

🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️

Meanwhile at Camp Half-Blood

Screams could be heard from the big house the screams of Annabeth chase. Chiron, Percy all immediately rush to see what the fuss was about.

"Wise girl what's wrong?" Percy asked reaching her first although Annabeth was still in shock to answer.

Percy was the first to look into your empty room there was a little bit of blood on your bed but not much.

" I think he fucking took them. " Annabeth said. " He fucking took Y/n OUR Y/n." Annabeth said. None needed to ask who he was they all knew it was Luke. " Chiron what do we do?" Percy asked. " I think we need to keep it quiet that Y/n is missing last thing we need is an up rising/ riot on our hands since Y/n is missing. I'm afraid there's not much that can be done for now......" Chiron replied.

🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️🗡🛡⚔️

On the Princess Andromeda

It had gotten cold and dark quick you never thought you'd admit it but you missed Camp Halfblood , Chiron and hell even Dionysus and more importantly you missed the Half-Bloods who were basically your children. You still had no idea why you were here or that Luke had poisoned Thalia's tree or that Grover was in danger.

[collagedotorg]

Collage Masterpost Part 1

This list will be organized by genre/fandom, and within those sections each collage will be individually linked. This Part Covers Riordanverse and Part 2 will have everything else. I can't pin them both but the link to Part 2 is here: Masterpost P2

Riordanverse

PJO/HoO/ToA

Percy Jackson

Annabeth Chase

Grover Underwood

Nico di Angelo

Jason Grace

Leo Valdez

Piper McLean

Hazel Levesque

Frank Zhang

Apollo/Lester Papadopolous

Thalia Grace

Luke Castellan

Will Solace

Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano

Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Zöe Nightshade

Bianca di Angelo

Clarisse La Rue

Silena Beauregard

Charles Beckendorf

Lee Fletcher

Michael Yew

Katie Gardner

Chris Rodriguez

Meg McCaffrey

Octavian

Castor & Pollux

Ethan Nakamura

Calypso

Lou Ellen Blackstone

Travis and Connor Stoll

Malcolm Pace

Alabaster C. Torrington

Juniper

Cecil Markowitz

Sally Jackson

Clovis

Camp Half Blood

The Broken Trio (Luke, Annabeth, Thalia)

Camp Jupiter

Hylla Ramirez Arellano

Sherman Yang

Drew Tanaka

Chiara Benvenuti

Damien White

Blanche

Miranda Gardiner

Lityerses

Dakota

Paolo Montes

Julia Feingold & Alice Miyazawa

Harley

Jake Mason

Mitchell

Holly & Laurel Victor

Kayla Knowles

Nyssa Barrera

Ellis Wakefield

Lavinia Asimov

Valentina Diaz

Solangelo

The Seven (Plus Nico and Reyna)

Cabin 13

Cabin 14

Cabin 16

Cabin 19

Percy Jackson x Taylor Swift

Percy Jackson and the Olympians on Disney+

The Kane Chronicles

Sadie Kane

Carter Kane

Bast

Anubis

Walt Stone

Zia Rashid

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard

Alex Fierro

Magnus Chase

[kingkenzieofmold]

My Resident Evil x The Henry Stickmin Collection Crossover Cast.

Feel free to disagree with me as I was trying to fill roles by who I would think would fit into whose role within the games! So feel free to disagree with me or say who you would rather cast! Enjoy my weird combinations of my biggest hyper fixations!<3

This is casting from Resident Evil: Zero to Resident Evil 4 as this was as far as I got in casting-

Resident Evil 0

Rebecca Chambers Cool Katie

Billy Coen Billy G.

Dr. James Marcus Dr. Vinschpinsilstien

Dr. William Birkin Right Hand Man

Dr. Albert Wesker Reginald Copperbottom

Captain Enrico Marini Terrance Suave

Resident Evil

Chris Redfield Rupert Price

Jill Valentine Dave Panpa

Barry Burton Johnny Panzer

Rebecca Chambers Cool Katie

Albert Wesker Reginald Copperbottom

Richard Aiken Randy Radman

Brad Vickers Chad Hansen

Enrico Marini Terrance Suave

Kenneth J. Sullivan Jaques Kensington

Joseph Frost Sir Willford IV

Forest Speyer Reynaldo the brute

Female Newscaster Alice Hamilton

Resident Evil 2 

Leon Scott Kennedy Henry Stickmin

Claire Redfield Ellie Rose

Ada Wong Earrings

Sherry Birkin Sven Svensson

William Birkin Right Hand Man

Annette Birkin Carol Cross

Brian Irons/Robert Kendo Mr. Macbeth

Marvin Branagh/Ben Bertolucci General Galeforce

Resident Evil 3

Jill Valentine Dave Panpa

Carlos Oliveira Jacob Rose

Nikolai Zinoviev Dmitri Johannes Petrov

Mikhail Viktor Grigori Olyat

Tyrell Patrick Kurt Dietrich

Nemesis CCC Robot

Resident Evil 4

Leon Scott Kennedy Henry Stickmin

Ashley Graham Victoria Grit

Ada Wong Earrings

Luis Serra Navarro Ted Adam

Ingrid Hunnigan Hat Girl

Ramón Salazar Captain H. J. Canterbury

Bitores Méndez Major Hershell Panzer

Jack Krauser Charles Calvin

Osmund Saddler Mayor Fredrickson

Merchant Mysterious Voyager

Mike Quentin Alabaster

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

musical lead alabaster x crew member ethan perhaps?

idk theatre alabaster is so special to me and i can see ethan working on the crew (probably because silena, chris or luke dragged him into it)

Oooo reminds me of a convo with @phoenix--flying

OK so it wasn’t exactly this because both Ethan and Al were co-leads (might make a post about it/hj)

Al is such a theater kid. Randomly sings musical songs and annoys his sibs because it wakes them up🥰

Ethan finds his voice very nice. He doesn't like to take the spotlight but you bet he will cheer his bf on.

[phoenix--flying]

kicks ur door down

“That’s not entirely untrue, he was pretty scary.” “Yeah when he lost at Mythomagic.” Chris muttered. Alabaster scoffed. “You’re telling me that 3 foot wall of fire I summoned wasn’t scary?” He shrugged, grinning at the boy. “Okay, maybe you can be scary sometimes, corazón.”

chrisbaster >:D

[incorrect-titan-army]

Chris: I have to meet Clarisse’s parents what do I do?

Silena: just be yourself

Chris: "Be myself"? Silena, I have one day to win Clarisse’s parents over. How long did it take before you guys started liking me?

Luke: a couple weeks

Ethan: six months

Alabaster: jury’s still out

Chris: see, Silena? “Be myself”. What kind of garbage advice is that?

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

Percy Jackson Ship Names

A (incomplete) list of Percy Jackson ship names for PJO and HOO; cross posted from AO3.

Demigod x Demigod Ships (m/f)

Percy Jackson x Annabeth Chase - percabeth

Percy Jackson x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano - preyna

Percy Jackson x Zoe Nightshade - perzoe

Percy Jackson x Piper Mclean - pipercy

Percy Jackson x Thalia Grace - perlia

Percy Jackson x Hazel Levesque - hazercy

Percy Jackson x Bianca di Angelo - peranca

Percy Jackson x Silena Beauregard - perlena

Percy Jackson x Clarisse la Rue - perrue

Chris Rodriguez x Clarisse la Rue - chrisse

Charles Beckendorf x Clarisse la Rue - beckenrue

Charles Beckendorf x Silena Beauregard - beckengard

Luke Castellan x Thalia Grace - thaluke

Luke Castellan x Annabeth Chase - lukabeth

Luke Castellan x Zoe Nightshade - lukzoe

Luke Castellan x Silena Beauregard - siluke

Jason Grace x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano - jeyna

Jason Grace x Annabeth Chase - jasabeth

Jason Grace x Hazel Levesque - jazel

Jason Grace x Thalia Grace - gracest

Jason Grace x Rachel Dare - jachel

Jason Grace x Piper Mclean - jiper

Jason Grace x Drew Tanaka - gratana

Leo Valdez x Hazel Levesque - hazeleo

Leo Valdez x Piper Mclean - pipeo

Leo Valdez x Annabeth Chase - leobeth

Leo Valdez x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano - leyna

Frank Zhang x Hazel Levesque - frazel

Frank Zhang x Annabeth Chase - frannabeth

Frank Zhang x Piper Mclean - fraper

Frank Zhang x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano - freyna

Nico di Angelo x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano - reynico

Nico di Angelo x Thalia Grace - thalico

Nico di Angelo x Bianca di Angelo - diangelocest

Nico di Angelo x Hazel Levesque - diangesque

Nico di Angelo x Annabeth Chase - nicobeth

Travis Stoll x Katie Gardnier - tratie

Travis Stoll x Drew Tanaka - drevis

Travis Stoll x Annabeth Chase - trannabeth

Connor Stoll x Drew Tanaka - drennor

Connor Stoll x Annabeth Chase - connabeth

Malcolm Pace x Annabeth Chase - athenacest

Ethan Nakamura x Bianca di Angelo - ethanca

Damien White x Chiara Benventui - chiamien

Sherman Yang x Miranda Gardiner - sheranda

Octavian x Reyna Rameriz-Arellano - reytavian

Cecil Markowitz x Lou Ellen Blackstone - cecilou

Other Ships (m/f)

Percy Jackson x Rachel Dare - perachel

Percy Jackson x Nancy Bobofit - perancy

Percy Jackson x Juniper - junipercy

Percy Jackson x Kelli - kercy

Luke Castellan x Sally Jackson - saluke

Luke Castellan x Rachel Dare - racheluke

Luke Castellan x Kelli - lukelli

Grover Underwood x Juniper - gruniper

Grover Underwood x Annabeth Chase - grovabeth

Grover Underwood x Thalia Grace - thaver

Tyson x Elle - tysella

Sally Jackson x Gabe Ugliano - ugliason

Sally Jackson x Paul Blofis - blofison

Sally Jackson x Frederick Chase - chason

Octavian x Rachel Dare - octachel

Will Solace x Rachel Dare - soldare

Mortal x Immortal Ships (m/f)

Percy Jackson x Calypso - perlypso

Percy Jackson x Artemis - pertemis

Percy Jackson x Hera - pera

Percy Jackson x Aphrodite - perodite

Percy Jackson x Athena - perthena

Annabeth Chase x Poseidon - poseibeth

Annabeth Chase x Hermes - hermabeth

Annabeth Chase x Zeus - zuebeth

Thalia Grace x Apollo - thallo

Luke Castellan x Artemis - lukemis

Jason Grace x Aphrodite - gradite

Jason Grace x Hera - jera

Jason Grace x Lupa - lupace

Sally Jackson x Poseidon - posally

May Castellan x Hermes - hermay

Rachel Dare x Apollo - rachello

Leo Valdez x Calpyso - caleo

Leo Valdez x Echo - lecho

Demigod x Demigod Ships (m/m)

Percy Jackson x Luke Castellan - lukercy

Percy Jackson x Nico di Angelo - percico

Percy Jackson x Jason Grace - jercy

Percy Jackson x Charles Beckendorf - jackendorf

Percy Jackson x Frank Zhang - frankercy

Percy Jackson x Leo Valdez - perleo

Percy Jackson x Will Solace - solackson

Percy Jackson x Connor Stoll - perconnor

Percy Jackson x Travis Stoll - peravis

Percy Jackson x Ethan Nakamura - perthan

Percy Jackson x Octavian - pertavian

Jason Grace x Octavian -jasotavian

Jason Grace x Nico di Angelo - jasico

Jason Grace x Leo Valdez - valgrace

Jason Grace x Frank Zhang - frason

Jason Grace x Will Solace - solgrace

Nico di Angelo x Leo Valdez - valdangelo

Nico di Angelo x Frank Zhang - franico

Nico di Angelo x Will Solace - solangelo

Nico di Angelo x Octavian - nicotavian

Nico di Angelo x Ethan Nakamura - ethanico

Nico di Angelo x Luke Castellan - lukico

Leo Valdez x Charles Beckendorf - hepheacest

Leo Valdez x Frank Zhang - fraleo

Frank Zhang x Octavian - fratavian

Luke Castellan x Alabsater Torrington - lukabaster

Will Solace x Leo Valdez - willeo

Will Solace x Butch Walker - solker

Ethan Nakamura x Damien White - nemecest

Ethan Nakamura x Alabaster Torrington - ethabaster

Pollux x Castor - dioncest

Travis Stoll x Connor Stoll - stollcest

Malcolm Pace x Sherman Yang - shercolm

Clovis x Butch Walker - bovis

Charles Beckendorf x Chris Rodriguez - beckeniguez

Other Ships (m/m)

Percy Jackson x Tyson - pertyson

Percy Jackson x Gabe Ugliano- gabercy

Percy Jackson x Paul Blofis -peraul

Luke Castellan x Paul Blofis - pauluke

Luke Castellan x Chiron - chiluke

Nico di Angelo x Minos - minco

Apollo x Lester - apollocest

Charles Beckendorf x Tyson - tysondorf

Chiron x Blackjack - blachiron

Mortal x Immortal Ships (m/m)

Percy Jackson x Hermes - permes

Percy Jackson x Apollo - apercy

Percy Jackson x Kronos - kronercy

Percy Jackson x Dionysus - dionercy

Nico di Angelo x Dionysus - dionico

Nico di Angelo x Apollo - nicollo

Luke Castellan x Hermes - lukemes

Luke Castellan x Dionysus - dionluke

Luke Castellan x Ares - lukres

Luke Castellan x Atlas - lukeatlas

Luke Castellan x Kronos - lukronos

Will Solace x Apollo - wiollo

Will Solace x Dionysus - dionwill

Demigod x Demigod Ships (f/f)

Annabeth Chase x Thalia Grace - thaliabeth

Annabeth Chase x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano - reynabeth

Annabeth Chase x Hazel Levesque - hazabeth

Annabeth Chase x Piper Mclean -pipabeth

Annabeth Chase x Silena Beauregard - silenabeth

Annabeth Chase x Clarisse la Rue - clarabeth

Annabeth Chase x Bianca di Angelo - biannabeth

Annabeth Chase x Zoe Nightshade - chashade

Clarisse la Rue x Silena Beauregard - rugard

Piper Mclean x Reyna Ramierz-Arellano - pipeyna

Piper Mclean x Hazel Levesque - pipazel

Piper Mclean x Drew Tanakaa - aphroditecest

Piper Mclean x Thalia Grace - pipalia

Hazel Levesque x Bianca di Angelo - biazel

Hazel Levesque x Reyna Ramierz-Arellano - hazeyna

Thalia Grace x Bianca di Angelo- thalianca

Thalia Grace x Zoe Nightshade - thaloe

Drew Tanaka x Nyssa Barrera - drewnyssa

Drew Tanaka x Reyna Ramierz-Arellano - dreyna

Holly x Laurel Victor - nikecest

Zoe Nightshade x Bianca di Angelo - zianca

Zoe Nightshade x Reyna Ramierz-Arellano - zoeyna

Mortal x Immortal Ships (f/f)

Annabeth Chase x Athena - athenabeth

Annabeth Chase x Artemis - artabeth

Annabeth Chase x Aphrodite - aphrobeth

Annabeth Chase x Hera - herabeth

Annabeth Chase x Calypso - calabeth

Zoe Nightshade x Artemis - zartemis

Thalia Grace x Artemis - thartemis

Thalia Grace x Aphrodite - thadite

Thalia Grace x Clapyso - thalypso

Piper Mclean x Calypso - calyper

Bianca di Angelo x Artemis - biartemis

Other Ships (f/f)

Annabeth Chase x Rachel Dare - rachabeth

Annabeth Chase x Sally Jackson - sallabeth

Piper Mclean x Rachel Dare - piperachel

Piper Mclean x Shel - shelper

Reyna Ramirez-Arellano x Rachel Dare - racheyna

Sally Jackson x May Castellan - maysally

Annabeth Chase x Elle - ellebeth

Annabeth Chase x Juniper - junibeth

Poly Pairings

Percy Jackson x Luke Castellan x Nico di Angelo - lukercyco

Percy Jackson x Luke Castellan x Rachel Dare - peracheluke

Percy Jackson x Luke Castellan x Kronos - krolukercy

Percy Jackson x Frank Zhang x Hazel Levesque - frazercy

Percy Jackson x Jason Grace x Nico di Angelo - jasperico

Percy Jackson x Jason Grace x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano - perjeyna

Percy Jackson x Jason Grace x Annabeth Chase - jercabeth

Percy Jackson x Will Solace x Nico di Angelo - solangelson

Percy Jackson x Grover x Juniper - grunipercy

Percy Jackson x Hermes x Apollo - apermes

Percy Jackson x Silena Beauregard x Charles Beckendorf - beckengardson

Clarisse la Rue x Silena Beauregard x Charles Beckendorf x Chris Rodriguez - beckenrodruegard

Clarisse la Rue x Silena Beauregard x Charles Beckendorf - beckenruegard

Luke Castellan x Annabeth Chase x Thalia Grace - thalukabeth

Luke Castellan x Ethan Nakamura x Alabaster Torrington - lukethabaster

Jason Grace x Will Solace x Nico di Angelo - solangrace

Jason Grace x Leo Valsez x Piper Mclean - jipereo

Annabeth Chase x Travis Stoll x Connor Stoll - traconnabeth

Annabeth Chase x Zoe Nightshade x Thalia Grace - zothaliabeth

Annabeth Chase x Reyna Ramirez-Arellano x Piper Mclean - pipeynabeth

Annabeth Chase x Grover x Juniper - grunibeth

Leo Valdez x Frank Zhang x Hazel Levesque - frazeleo

Leo Valdez x Nico di Angelo x Will Solace - soldezangelo

Sally Jackson x Paul Blofis x Frederick Chase - blochason

[catihere]

Gorgeous moodboards! Next time let’s try to properly credit artists too 😅 (It’s good that you mentioned that this is not your art, but maybe someone is going to want to check out and support the original creators and they won’t know how).

Grover- spacialrift on Insta

Percy- frostbite.studios on most platforms

Clarisse- @lykoiii

Annabeth- frostbite.studios

Ethan- this particular fanart got reposted so many times that I’m not actually sure, but I think it is SixofClovers on DevianArt

Alabaster- svnctis_ , I can’t find the platform because this fanart is kinda old

Silena- mariaartesz on Insta

Chris- @allarica

Thalia- frostbite.studios

Luke- @velinxi

Bianca- Sethkiel on X

Nico- I don’t know, sorry

If I could make the effort to credit artists for their work, so could you ⭐️

PJO moodboards anyone?

[et-lesailes]

white suit

pairing: chris evans x celeb!reader

word count: 2105

summary: when you see chris in his white suit at the knives out premiere, you need him. asap.

themes: smut (18+)

taglist: @viarogers, @evanstush, @chibi-crazy, @songforhema​, @tanyam93​, @bval-1​, @wonderwinchester​, @little-miss-exo​, @poerebel​, @patzammit​, @rohaintahquil​, @deidrashouseofpain​, @firstangeldragonranch​, @sammyslonglostshoe​, @mizariomi​, @jadedhillon​, @bohemian-barbie​, @marvelouspottering​, @sebabestianstan101​, @pining-and-tired​, @gogomez-509​, @a-distantdreamer​, @malthestoryteller​, @rainbowkisses31​, @melannie77​, @gigistorm​, @lille-kattunge​, @teller258316​, @peach-acid​, @allsortsofinterests​, @xoxabs88xox​, @heyiamthatbitch​, @cptn-sgrogers​, @heyyouwiththeassbutt​, @bangtan-serendipity​, @troublermalik​, @beardburnsupersoldiers​, @hannie-stark​, @bookish-shristi​, @kind-sober-fullydressed​, @whores4thor​, @gingerninjaprincess16​, @straightforwardly​, @danathewitchywoman​, @denisemarieangelina​, @mango--mango​, @frencchfries​, @xlanawriter​, @littlemoistcarrot​, @pottxrwolff​, @arianatheangelworld​, @ifuseekamyevans​, @southerngracela​, @nsfwsebbie​, @captainsbxbygirl​, @boobear729​, @naturalavenger​, @sebslut​, @the-omni-princess​, @jbug491writinghelp​, @capshoney, @barnestann​, @mr-skyline-r34​

notes: it’s been 59 years since the premiere and the appearance of this beautiful white suit but i couldn’t post it while i was traveling so HOPE YOU ENJOY NOW! graphic creds to @thewritingdoll​!

You had been mingling with the other stars by the red carpet and posing for photos when you suddenly heard a loud cheer arise from the crowd of paparazzi and journalists. Looking over, your mouth dropped as you saw Chris step out of the car, clad in the most handsome white suit you had ever seen. It fit his tall figure perfectly, his long legs accentuated by the alabaster fabric and his skin practically glowing. 

He literally looked like a goddamn angel. 

He made eye contact with you and gave you a wink before doing his part as one of the actors in the movie that was being premiered, posing for different shots and answering as many questions as he could. You had almost ended up being his date that evening until his manager had said he wanted him to focus on being with the cast of the movie-- now you were starting to think that was a good thing, seeing you wouldn’t have been able to let him leave the house without jumping him. 

“Chris, the rumors surrounding you and Y/N are still rampant-- are you two together? We saw she’s here to support you tonight!” one of the paparazzi chirped, and you barely blushed. Ever since you and Chris had starred in a project together a few months earlier, the general public refused to let it go that the two of you must be dating. In a way, they were right. You had confessed your feelings to one another, you practically acted like a couple when you were around each other, and you had some of the best sex you had ever had in your life. He was perfect boyfriend material, but both of you had also agreed you did not want to rush into it with labels just yet. Especially not when it concerned the public.

“Hm. Something like that,” he answered simply with a playful wink, making you blush even harder-- though you quickly turned to your friends’ conversation to make it seem like you weren’t paying attention. “No, yeah, she’s an amazing woman and we’ve been spending a lot of time together. But that’s all I can tell you for right now.” 

“Why don’t you two take a picture together? Y/N! Y/N, get over here!” You heard your name and you looked over, your cheeks still pink but you couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at him. He immediately grinned, holding his arm out as if to welcome you to his side. “Yeah, get over here. You look gorgeous tonight,” he complimented you in front of the sea of reporters, and even though your literal profession involved receiving attention from others, you suddenly felt more shy than you ever had before. Still, it did not mean you weren’t happy to come over to his side, giving him a hug before waving to the cameras, feeling secure with his large hand rested on your lower hip. 

“Y/N, what do you like most about Chris?” a reporter asked, and you laughed as you looked over. “It’s hard to pick one thing,” you admitted, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “I’ve gotta say his sense of humor is definitely up there, though. He makes me laugh because he’s so grounded and humble with his jokes, we both have that dark, kinda self deprecating humor where we can make fun of ourselves and each other. It’s really fun.” 

“And Chris? What do you like about Y/N?”

“Wait, wait--” you laughed as you interrupted playfully, “isn’t this supposed to be about Knives Out? Ask him questions about the movie, c’mon!”

“Okay, okay, but you’re not getting off the hook about your relationship just yet!” the journalist called, and you chuckled softly, giving his arm a little squeeze. “I’m going to go say hi to people. Come find me when you’re done?”

“You bet,” he murmured with a wide grin, his blue eyes twinkling. 

Even as you were at the bar talking with some friends, you couldn’t take your eyes off Chris as he took pictures with his fellow cast members a little further away. How did someone look that damn good? It absolutely baffled you, but you couldn’t deny you wanted him. No, needed him. You almost felt lewd raking your eyes over his tall, built figure and the way the classy suit hung off of it, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

When he was finally done, he almost immediately began scanning the crowd and you couldn’t help but smile seeing that he was looking for you. Once he found you a wide smile spread across his lips as he made his way over, hand reaching to squeeze your side lightly. “Hey, you. Want me to get you another drink?” 

“I think I want something else,” you mumbled, looking around before looking up at him, your eyes flashing with urgency. “And I think you know what it is.” He blinked, clearly thrown off for a second before slowly smirking and raising an eyebrow. “Damn, baby. Right now?”

You scoffed, reaching up to play with his tie. “Do you see yourself right now?” You bit your lip, looking at him somewhat desperately. “Please. Real quick. Before the movie starts.” He chuckled lowly and looked around at everyone before nodding, taking your hand. “Fuck. Can’t guarantee it’ll be that quick, but I’m not going to say no to you, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go.” 

You gladly let him lead you away from the crowd of celebrities and camerapeople, still staring at his perfect outfit wondering if you wanted to rip it all off or simply... leave it on. Either way seemed just as appealing. He pulled you into one of the auditorium’s storage closets, slamming the door shut before pulling you to his body with a playfully cocky smirk. 

“So what exactly got you so excited, hm baby?” he murmured as he leaned down close to your ear, and you scoffed softly as you allowed your fingers to run over the ivory corduroy of his suit. “This damn outfit. I-- fuck, Chris, you look so good.” You grabbed his neck and pulled him down to your level, pressing your lips against his in a fierce and seductive kiss. He gladly complied, a low growl of satisfaction slipping from his throat as he held your waist in his large hands, his tongue already eagerly pushing itself into your mouth. “Want me to leave it on, then?” he mumbled playfully between kisses, and you moaned softly as you pulled on his lower lip with your teeth. “Yes, please.” You ran your hands over his clothed chest and pulled back for a second, whispering, “But right now I just want you to relax.”

You ran your hand down to his crotch, squeezing and cupping the tent that had formed in those pristine matching pants. The thought of him fucking you in such a dashing, classy outfit somehow felt more exciting. He groaned as you rubbed the outline of his length pressing against the fabric, practically begging to be let free. You normally liked to tease a little more, but you were too eager as you undid his belt, sliding his pants and briefs down and watching his erection spring up towards you. You slid down onto your knees, your gown flowing around you as you wrapped your fingers around his thick length. “Fuck,” he growled hungrily, already bucking his hips forward. “You look so fucking hot like this, babe. Shit, keep going…” 

You pumped him for a few moments, licking at your lips as you smirked up at him. “What do you want me to do, Chris?” you breathed out, and the corner of his lips tugged upwards, his chest heaving slightly. “I want you to suck my dick as hard as you can like the naughty little girl you are, baby.” You giggled breathlessly and slowly leaned in, running your tongue over his tip teasingly. His low hums and subtle shudders were only doing more to turn you on, your hand pumping his base and occasionally moving to squeeze and play with his balls as you began taking more of his length into your mouth. He groaned as he ran his fingers through your hair, his grip tightening as you began sucking harder. “Mm…. fuck, baby, just like that… you’re so fucking good at this…” 

You bobbed your head up and down, running your tongue along an underside vein and humming in pleasure. “You’re so big, Chris,” you whimpered somewhat muffled, and he smirked breathlessly as he kept your head down, his broad fingers pulling at your hair. You kept sucking him off until you heard him inhale sharply, his groans low and guttural. “Can’t make me come yet, baby, fuck-- I need to be inside you.” He pulled back and you gasped at the sudden emptiness, though able to catch your breath again. Before you knew it, he was scooping you up into his arms.

He pinned you up against the wall, pressing his lips against yours again in a rough kiss as his hands reached down to find your ass he loved so much, cupping and groping aggressively. You moaned in delight as he used this grip to hoist you up, keeping your back against the wall. You gasped happily as he trailed his open mouth down to your neck, sucking and kissing roughly while you reached up to tug at his short hair. “Mm… Chris, don’t… leave any marks…” you whimpered, your breaths getting heavier from lust. “Mm… but what if I want everyone to know you’re mine, gorgeous…?” he mumbled in his strong Boston accent, and you practically shivered from how sexy his deep voice sounded. “Then maybe I’d want everyone to know you’re mine too..” you whispered, and he groaned as he kept nipping at your skin. “That’s perfectly fine with me, baby.”

You lifted up your gown to move your panties aside, breathing out desperately, “I need you, Chris. Please.” He was getting even harder just listening to you, growling as he helped move you positioning you right onto his length. You held his shoulders as you sunk down onto him, moaning and tilting your head back. “O-oh my God.. mm… Chris…” 

He groaned deeply, gripping your waist tightly as he helped move you up and down, his fingers digging into your sides so roughly you knew there would be bruises by the next day. “Shit. You’re so goddamn tight, baby. Fuck, that feels… so fucking good…” 

You continued riding him, fingernails digging into his shoulders as hisses of pleasure escaped your lips, bouncing on his cock with pure delight as you rolled your neck to one side. “Chris, fuck…!! You’re so fucking big,” you moaned, and he smirked as he moved you faster, his breathing getting heavier. You loved how strong he was, how easy it was for him to support you as he controlled your pace, his own hips bucking upwards at the same time to thrust into you deeper. Your moans were becoming louder, and so he lifted one hand up to clamp against your lips, looking at you as he breathed heavily and let out little grunts of satisfaction. “Now we can’t have everyone out there hearing us, baby girl, I’m sure they’re wondering where we are already…”

You let out muffled whimpers against his large palm, even nibbling on the skin as much as you could to relieve your frustration as you felt him deep inside you. “C’mon. C’mon, baby, come for me,” he growled, leaning in to nip at the parts of your chest that was revealed from the low cut gown. With each thrust hitting your sweet spot, you couldn’t help but shut your eyes and let yourself sink into the haze of euphoria, drawing a sharp breath as you felt it coming. You released, still moaning into his hand, and he came not long after, his breaths ragged as his broad chest heaved up and down.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, staring into his eyes with your own wide ones, holding the sides of his face. “We should-- we should get out there, the movie’s going to start soon…”

He smirked and kissed you as he carefully set you down, leaning down with the kiss as he squeezed your waist. “Mm, if you say so, baby, but you’re sitting next to me so I can have a little more fun in that dark theater.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Boy at the Station (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Coffeeshop AU

Pairing: barista!Bangchan x student!Reader

Warnings: Top!/Dom!Bangchan, daddy kink (I apologize for this alone in advance), unprotected consensual sex (riding and vanilla, ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses!), dirty talk, breast worship, creampie, mild swearing, love bites, scratching 

Summary: There are many occasions for paths to intertwine, especially at a train station in a wee cafe run by a charming barista who has become a cherished friend. However, a new dress forms the key to unlocking what has been floating beneath the amiable surface.

The black wolf within.

Author’s Note: Inspired by the sweet potato latte adventure in Amsterdam @ravenwolf-jin​, a friend and I embarked on a while ago. Ah, that was a good day.

We should do something like that again soon.

Masterlist

‘Sure, just throw the door in my face like that!’

Everyone has their own little safe haven in a city, be it in bookstores, the library, a particular type of shop or a café. In this case, however, a friendly meeting has situated itself at the commonplace where multiple roads cross and paths unavoidably intertwine. It is a wee establishment that has not opened that long ago at the side of the tracks beneath the intricate glass roof of the station, where a small band of friends finds themselves once more, meeting only to later split up by going to the correct tracks to be taken home.

But not before playfully threatening Mel, the soldier in training. Although, a big smile nullifies any sense of feigned indignation when cramming through the small entryway of Black Wolf Coffee. ‘I basically raised you, young lady! Here I was, trying to be nice and buy you a coffee. Guess not.’

Much to the delight of the owner of the cosily decorated establishment, a boyish bubbly chuckle resonating behind the bright alabaster richly filled counter which rises in volume again after being subdued for a wee bit during the sorting out of the never-changing order.

‘Alright, lads, do we know what we want?’ The casually spoken agreements confirm the habitual recipe has not been changed once again. All it has lead to is the unconscious stance as if trying to calm a group of animals in order to save oneself from being attacked, which would mean another discussion filled with stress due to the amount of choice among the beverages the café serves.

‘We’ll look for a spot to sit.’ Tess, a spry spirit of a lass and the momma bear of our little band, points over the shoulder at the empty window seats before turning around and taking the youngest with her.

‘Hey.’ A sarcastic eyebrow rises automatically at the sight of a fist hardly succeeding in muffling a most adorable giggle. Nevertheless, while the heart flutters at the sound, voice is sceptical when inquiring. ‘Chan, what’s so funny?’

A shaky sigh steadies composure slightly, though it remains giggly and hardly professional. ‘Just the way you are with your friends.’

Precisely the way the barista has been ever since opening Black Wolf Coffee, always relaxed and cheerful towards customers. Seemingly even more so to the girl who finds herself here daily, showing an odd sort of friendliness hinting at a closer sense of intimacy normally found among long-time friends and companions. Time and again it has become curiously obvious, sitting down by default on the beige pillow next to the paisley one in the window seat when coming in thanks to a missed train. The first time it happened, we sat side by side, sharing one set of earphones between two faces because Chris asked whether it would be alright if he were to suggest some songs after a bit of small talk and plainly asking why the barista suddenly decided to lend company to a customer.

‘Because you look like you could use some. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?’ The worry in irises as magnificently brown as pure molten chocolate was genuine, never having changed once. Even in later days, when fussing over health upon visiting after having walked in the rain without an umbrella.

Unfortunately, business always has to go on so our music session were repeatedly broken up to serve a new visitor. However, Chan, as the lively lad introduced himself - followed by some playful suggestions for nicknames to call him besides his full name - came back as fast as possible to pick up where we left off.

‘Can I see you again? I mean,’ that characteristic low chuckle and awkward rub of the back of the neck at the first goodbye has never been erased from memory, ‘I’d like you to drop by soon. Only if you want to, of course.’

‘I will, definitely. After all, how can I pass up good coffee?’ The hopeful expression faltered a bit at the remark, happiness dimming at being seen as nothing but a barista serving a proper cup of black gold. Nevertheless, it brightened immediately afterwards for there were yet coy words left unspoken. ‘And the time to listen to music in good company?’

‘I’d walk with you to the tracks, Y/N, but, you know, the business...’

‘It’s alright, Chris. I’ll perfectly manage. But I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’ Demeanour heartwarmingly changed into that of a human puppy at the notice of visiting again the next day. Plush lips parted slightly but remained silent, although they clearly wanted to say something in rejoicing as sparkling eyes widened. 

‘Yeah, I have to be in the city for my morning lecture.’

‘That’s great! I mean, not the morning lecture, but, ah, well-’

‘I get you. I really have to go now or I’ll miss this train as well.’ One step out the door, a proposal came forth without a thought and forms the reason for the great amount of time spent in the window of the small establishment until now. ‘But I could stay a little longer next time?’

‘I’d like that!’

The shout from the entryway dimmed into inaudible mumbling though the words ‘’please do’’ seemed to be formed by a coffee tongue.

This has been the manner in which the friendship has developed after, indeed, staying longer the day after and exchanging numbers. After all, the apparent café vlogger always wants to know the first reaction to a newly uploaded video showing the daily life of a barista when not showing how to make certain cakes and other pastries. Moreover, mocha locks are too impatient to wait for a comment in the designated section, thus preferring to immediately ask feedback from a known supporter, as was revealed during the second meeting.

The same woman who cannot help but be playful around the boy who has wonderfully become more than a mere business-like acquaintance, a person merely providing black gold. ‘I know, I’m a great comedian.’

‘Can’t deny that.’ The response is nostalgic, recalling the days when not feeling his best, the world too heavy and exhausting yet required to open the doors of the wee establishment in the station and put up a show for the camera. 

During those moments, bad attempts at humour were, fortunately, mostly successful, a sign of achieving a sliver of happiness found in the low appreciative chuckle regardless of the joke being funny or not. And when not trying to fool around, a small palm rubbed a broad back as a black beanie rested on the shoulder with closed eyes. Nothing is perfect all the time and sometimes people always cheering others on need to be comforted as well, which is one of the most important duties of a friend. 

‘Shut up, you.’ A gentle smile forms at reading the mind behind the counter and remembering those periods of mental hardship too. Vividly, for reality hit quite hard again recently but the impact could be soothed a tad in the habitual manner of sitting by the window with music and a warm beverage, rubbing tense back muscles until they tangibly relaxed. ‘Anyway, can I get a hazelnut latte, a caramel macchiato and a... a...’

‘Hm?’ Hardly aware, slender fingers blatantly cup a very intimate spot as pearly white teeth bite down on the bottom lip in clear appreciation of the V-neck evidently revealing a wee bit too much. 

‘Chris.’ In spite of the odd sensation that is not quite appreciation nor aversion, the name of the barista comes out fairly chastising. At least enough so to make a point and end all perverse reverie that makes the temperature of a cool exterior fiercely rise. ‘And an iced americano?’

‘Uh, sure.’ Dark neatly trimmed brows, of which one has been shaven in half, furrow as if having trouble adjusting to the reality after waking from a dream. However, soon the realization of what is clutched and how it might come across dawns, evoking a pink glow over the pale cheeks of lashes flitting around the kitchen in shame. ‘You, ahm, you look really pretty in that dress.’

‘Tha- Thanks.’ Unintentionally, or perhaps so, crossed arms boost up the secret element of pride which accidentally ends in revealing the top of the novel ivory push-up bra.

Flustered and speechless, the onyx and fuchsia flowery dress is swiftly corrected while fleeing to the companions having reserved a place on the windowsill. In the background, the soft almost moaned curses cannot be ignored nor can the adorable displays of clear regret be, Chris inaudibly mumbling while trying to avoid any eye contact and doing so when scribbling something onto a napkin. The sweetheart even hesitates to bring the order himself, likely daunted by the futile efforts to cover up the chest area as much as possible while having conversations with friends. Notwithstanding, as sneaky glances are stolen to observe the barista from afar, a sense of pride refuses to be suppressed, secretly floundering its profoundness at having caught the young man’s attention in the manner it has.

And catches it once again when mocha locks dare, at last, to approach our little band of three. ‘Uhm, here’s your order. An iced americano, hazelnut latte and caramel macchiato, right?’

‘That’s correct.’ Before any of the other lasses can speak up, the casual response comes out on a whim as if what happened a mere moment ago has never taken place.

Nevertheless, the barista is not as good at covering up the lingering awkwardness as the girl by the window, educated in the ways of camouflage by social anxiety in big cities. Henceforth, dark sneakers flee to the counter after a vague thumbs-up and mumbled “cool”.

‘Y/N, I think he likes you~’ Mel nudges the upper arm with a grin like The Cheshire Cat, giggling at the ungrounded deduced conclusion.

‘He doesn’t, he just likes my boobs.’ A scoff nullifies the teasing comment for there are no romantic feelings, merely racing hormones. 

‘Among things.’ The stoic remark over a sip of hazelnut latte is met by another lowly mumbled insult, which is disregarded by motherly long dark chocolate strands. ‘Y/N, from what you’ve told us, I think Mel’s right.’

‘We’re just friends.’ That was supposed to be the end of the topic, but it would appear the ink on the piece of paper beside the cool beverage forms the continuation of it. ‘Oh.’

I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to stare. Let me make it up to you with coffee and a piece of cake. Maybe after closing? Will you stay a little longer?

‘What’s up?’ Tess leans forward, interested in what the yet undiscovered words put upon the windowpane are. 

‘Nothing.’

‘He wrote something on her napkin!’ The dismissal fails to actually be dismissed for enthusiastic spry wavy blonde strands reach for the message as fast as lightning, noticing the ink. 

‘Mel, shush! Not the whole café needs to hear our conversation.’ There is no use in trying to get the piece of paper back, but there certainly is in scolding the raise of volume in the way a mother would a daughter. Or, rather, how an older sister would her junior since that is a better definition of the friendship. 

‘Sorry, but it’s so cute.’ Amiable eyes endeavour to look apologetic though the fawning of ruby red lips contrasts with the feigned sentiment of remorse. 

And cannot be disagreed with as gaze locks with the buff barista looking like a kicked puppy. A hurt soul who cheers up rapidly when noticing the nod agreeing to remain until closing time, troubled expression brightening with an equally joyous smile. ‘Yeah. Yeah, it is. Also, lads, it would seem you’ll have to go home without me.’

‘What? Why?’ Mellissa passes the napkin on to the momma bear of the group, basically bouncing in anticipation of sharing the knowledge of what mayhaps should have remained private. Withal, it has not, for now the splendid company also knows of the proposal, Tess nodding sagely after reading the scribbled text. ‘Ah, I see. Well, I can’t blame you.’

The youngster of the wee band is not done playing the mischievous devil, having yet another smug remark to make. ‘Maybe Y/N will finally get a boyfriend.’

‘Mel.’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut up and drink your coffee.’ To put an example forward, a sip is taken of the cold Americano which holds the perfect middle between bitterness and sweetness. Exactly how it is preferred.

Made by him. 

‘Sorry, mom.’ The gesture is mimicked, the warm beverage shutting the girl who is like a little sister up for a blissful second. 

Which is ruined by one’s own odd sense of correction when it comes to titles within the family we have created together. ‘It’s dad. Tess is the mom.’

‘Sorry, dad.’

‘Daddy.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

But Chris has clearly heard the word, bearing an indescribable expression that cannot be observed long enough to decipher.

The bean grinder disturbs the low-fi atmosphere, intruding like the screeching of the trains outside.

As the day passes, the sunlight falling in through the ornate glass dome gradually dims until it vanishes entirely and is replaced by the artificial lights of the station. Customers become fewer and fewer until, at five o’clock, nobody but the girl by the window and ink-black beanie behind the counter are left.

‘Y/N, about what happened, I didn’t-’ Chris barely leaves room for a comfortable hush to cloak the café and let Ed Sheeran play in the background, moving from behind the counter to the window seat but coming to a halt midway. 

Because nonchalant steps meet the buff onyx oversized sweater halfway and make him stop in his tracks, entirely gobsmacked at a paradoxical offer. ‘Do you need help? Shall I close the blinds?’

Plush lips part in incomprehension, brows of which one is severed knitting together in confusion. Speech is rapid, wonderful eyes almost as black as night yet truthfully a very deep brown searching for a reason for the odd request in a kind gaze. ‘But what about-’

‘Chris, it doesn’t matter.’ Unconsciously, a well-meaning palm wraps around the soft though coarse fabric of the sleeve and squeezes the tense hard muscles slightly in assurance. ‘I forgive you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

‘I suppose not.’ Broad shoulders lower in relief as a delighted sigh is followed by a low chuckle that calms the mutual nerves standing on edge. After all, gripping the barista’s clothing could have been seen as too intimate just like the closeness after what transpired earlier today. Apparently, however, it is not because the touch is tolerated by forgiven lightly blushing cheeks trying to play it cool, feigning to shake off a funny thought with a headshake. 

Nonetheless, the intent does not pass unnoticed and arouses a curiosity to be satisfied. In fact, it would be a lie to say a similar thoughtful giggle in days past has not given fuel to the desire to know what goes on in the lad’s mind. Now, with no disturbances around, it is the perfect moment to enquire about it. ‘Why are you laughing?’

Black sneakers rub the linoleum floor timidly, soft-spoken lashes averting and barely daring to make contact again. ‘Because I might have imagined what it’s like to close the café together.’

‘You- You think of me?’

‘Yes.’

‘How often?’

‘A lot.’

‘When?’

‘All the time.’

‘As a friend?’ The tables turn as the confidence of the curt though sincere responses makes the heart race, flustered at the blatant confession. The barista’s attention turns further downwards to where a hand gently tugs on the big sweater, wanting its amiable warmth closer. ‘Or more?’

‘More.’ Finally, deep pure chocolate eyes look up again, cheeks flushed an adorable rosy hue. Ears, however, burn with a warm crimson that betrays the embarrassment of confessing in this manner. ‘Definitely more.’

Withal, a part of timid awkwardness also overtakes personal attitude when hinting towards the mention of a certain title earlier in the day. After all, it might be too straightforward of a suggestion regardless of listening to The Weeknd together. ‘You looked kinda weird when I mentioned the word daddy earlier.’

There is no response as the topic changes in an instant without a clear bridge. The only clue the original intent has been understood lies in the breath that gets caught in the throat and the sensual undertone when asking something completely normal. A calloused thumb brushes over the lower lip while its counterparts hold the chin in place, daringly pressing down yet chastely remaining on the edge to taunt one’s own temptation as well. ‘What do you want, Y/N?’ 

Just as the digit is about to be enveloped by lips, the whistle of one of the trains violently disrupts the perverse haze. Any point of contact is abandoned, the chill of the empty café cooling the warmth of every former touch. Nevertheless, part of the heat returns in a more chaste fashion when the boy in the dark beanie laughs in a slightly embarrassed dorky manner. ‘Coffee-wise, I mean. Cake-wise as well.’

‘Oh, uhm.’ The equally sheepish demeanour betrays being just as composed as the café vlogger, which is hardly at all. Flustered lashes still under the influence of the show of dominance glance at the menu on the blackboard behind the counter, settling for the first thing they find. ‘A vanilla latte would be nice. Maybe we could also share a piece of vanilla latte cake?’

‘A vanilla girl.’

‘What can I say? I’m innocent.’ A playful wink makes the bad joke a tad funnier.

Although the humour bypasses Chris, who reads between the lines and knows the former intimacy is still as vivid in the mind standing a mere centimetre away as it is in his. ‘And yet you call me-’ 

The darkness of deep brown irises dies away with the rest of the sentence, gaze averted to the side to hide any signs that might tell of how it should have ended. Withal, enough has been said to finish it regardless and it leaves behind a feeling of paleness as all heat flees to the cheeks. ‘Right. The blinds. Can you lower them? And lock the door? I’ll make the coffee and get the... the cake.’

Temporarily, the events leading to unexpected sensuality are forgotten as the establishment is properly closed off to the public. While figuring out the locks and strings of the blinds, the whirring of the bean grinder and espresso machine are dominant in the background and form the music of a good coffee shop alongside the mellow tunes from a carefully handpicked playlist. By the time the place is locked up and a seat is taken at the table for two against the wall, the fragrant perfectly brewed coffee and sweet cake to share have been prepared.

‘Are you going to sit down?’ Instead of bringing the beverages and food to the table, Chan remains behind the counter. Oh, a penny for the thoughts to be had by mocha locks. 

‘No.’ Ink black sneakers come into motion, extending a hand when coming to a halt beside the chair a seat has been taken upon.

Fingers envelop the outstretched palm, using it as leverage while getting up. A strange grin forms on plush roseate lips, a mischievous devil overtaking demeanour. ‘Because I know a better place to sit. The best spot in the café.’

‘Pretty damn sure that’s my spot by the window.’ Willingly, flats are lead to the kitchen even though they would rather sit where they normally do. After all, that is essentially where the story began and has been written since the first word.

The first comment on the first vlog.

The first true hello.

All of it has brought the two pens here, regretting absolutely nothing.

Eager for more chapters. 

‘That one’s good too, but this one,’ with ease, feet are swept off the ground with a surprised squeak and put on the counter after an effortless twirl, ‘is the best.’

‘And why is that?’ With effort, equally coy legs remain bungling off the edge instead of wrapping around the waist clad in black. 

Two can play this game of push and pull. 

‘Because I get to look at you from up close.’ Locks partially obscuring vision are lovingly tucked behind the ear, a little tug on the pierced lobe melting the muscles with adorable playfulness. Unfortunately, the closeness does not last as mocha locks lean against the counter across, a faint smug grin playing on full lips.  

‘And fulfil a bit more of your fantasy of running a café together, I assume. Is that what you’d do every day, pick me up and put me on the counter like this?’ Remaining quiet, a sip is taken of the warm cocoa the barista has prepared for himself. Nevertheless, the brief spark of something darker alongside the bafflement of being caught red-handed gives the act away. ‘Even if I can get up here by myself?’

To prove that the statement is not mere bluff, palms are placed on either side on the wooden surface for support when getting off the piece of furniture.

And prove no help in getting back up.

One more try.

Yields nothing.

‘Do you need help?’

‘It’s fine, I just need more momentum. Hold on, this will be the one.’

It is not.

‘Babygirl,’ the nickname makes the heart skip a beat, staring in disbelief at the boy casually removing the onyx beanie that had been put on halfway through the shift, ‘do you need daddy’s- uhm, my help?’

The start of another futile attempt abruptly halts at once at the slip of the tongue. ‘So you did hear me?’

‘I did.’

One step forwards. 

‘Do you mind me calling you that?’

To close the distance. 

‘No.’ Slender digits glide over the cheek, cupping it and compelling a lock of gazes. The dominant aura of espresso eyes looking down fuels the heat below while simultaneously adding to the rising temperature in already burning cheeks. ‘Let’s stop playing this game, Y/N. We both know how we feel about each other.’

Lashes turned shy under the watch of the barista close at the cushiony sensation of cocoa lips crashing in, hands instinctively resting on their waist as thoughts melt away in the blessed microcosmos named Black Wolf Coffee. The euphoria of the intimacy is intoxicating, unintentionally eliciting moans when woody vanilla and mint growls vibrate against the mouth as the dizziness overtakes Christopher too. Increases in effect when a palm firmly grabs the behind and squeezes it, making his name automatically come out on a content sigh.

Once more when a hardened shape presses against the thigh and touching it is rewarded by a lustrous breath cut short, the palm held in place as hips start to roll in the search for friction. 

‘Baby-’ The initiated pause is denied by pulling broad shoulders back into another kiss, primal instinct basking in the manly scent clad in basalt and the craving made obvious in a wonderfully beastly fashion. Unfortunately, a second endeavour at creating room for breathing succeeds, albeit with clear effort for there is enough time to give a coy squeeze that almost manages to make boundaries fade entirely. ‘Babygirl, we really should take it easy, take it slow.’ 

The distance shamefully grows, veined crossed arms leaning against the opposite counter again instead of keeping the smitten half-delirious soul standing two steps away warm. ‘I want more, I really do, but I think it’s better if we leave it at this. Although...’ Shamelessly, focus noticeably shifts to the bared skin of the rapidly rising and falling chest unable to regain composure just yet. Not that there is much hope of it to begin with when being blatantly scrutinized by Chris. ‘Although...’

The boy who constantly walks the thin line between the beast within and the boy at the station, snapping out of the dreams of one persona to fall into the other’s, makes a definite decision. ‘Yeah, it’s better.’ Smooth strands are pushed back as a deep breath is taken, restoring part of the innocence which hardly manages to remain when everyone is gone. ‘I know it’s unprofessional since I’m only a barista and we haven’t known each other that long, but I got you something.’ 

The self-degradation pulls on the strings of the heart, partially in pain at the dismissal of the mischievous game of push and pull and in part in fear of silently being deemed out of the lad’s league. ‘You’re more than just a barista, Chan. More than just some guy I know. Don’t think what just happened means nothing to me because I know it means something to you as well.’

‘Stop driving me crazy with your sweetness or I might just actually lose it.’

‘What will happen then?’

One step forward.

‘Will I get to see more of the animal inside?’

Another. 

Stopping a centimetre away from charming fresh mint intoxicatingly mixing with Italian lemon zest and green apple, firmly crossed arms unravelling once small palms pull them down to envelop the waist. 

Well, one hand does.

The other wanders lower, loving every curve before grabbing the behind unexpectedly possessively thus coaxing out a surprised gasp. ‘Yes, and I won’t be able to stop.’

Though the teasing attitude would deny being caught off-guard, grabbing the collar of the oversized onyx sweater and pulling it in until lips cannot help but brush past one another. ‘What if I don’t want you to?’

‘You clearly have no idea how much you turn me on,’ the hardened shape has evidently not calmed down, pressing hotly against the thigh once more with the same fierce longing, ‘how tempting your innocence and playfulness are to me.’

‘You said you got me something?’ Tempting as it is to give in, pick up where the sensual tale was left, toying with the barista is just as fun. Certainly when seeing the perverse irritation begging to be released burning bright in dominant espresso irises, fueled by the frustration of being kept on a leash yet knowing it is the right thing to do. 

‘You little minx.’ With a disgruntled though slightly amused growl, the sensuality is disappointedly nullified again as Chris moves to the coat rack in the kitchen to produce a wee jewellery box from the pocket of the leather jacket hanging on it. For a moment, there is a faint hesitation as the cube tumbles between slender digits, wondering timidly about something.

That eventually fades when presenting the thoughtful gift, opening the container as if presenting a ring to a beloved. ‘I came across this the other day and just had to think of you.’

Or, rather, a beautiful yet simple flame-painted copper necklace in the shape of a wolf’s head and a raven etched out in the beast’s neck.

‘It’s gorgeous.’ Breathless by the magnificence of the accessory, lashes looking up to stare into pure affection are immensely grateful for the incredibly sweet gesture. ‘Thank you.’

‘Turn around.’ Heeding the soft-spoken suggestion, flats turn around on the linoleum and hair is swept to the side to let the lover put the necklace on. However, when the barely audible noise of the click of the jewellery’s lock sounds, pale fingertips trace the outline of the neck before a palm glides over the throat. The expectation of squeezing fades since nothing happens although it conjures all sorts of wonderfully sinful images which rekindle the heat between the thighs.

‘Chris...’ Pressing into the broad chest of the coffee Eros, the unspoken proposal is presented of abandoning all games and let primal need win. The enveloping palm is kept in place by covering it with one’s own as the behind languidly moves against wanton craving, eliciting grunts and snarls betraying beastly impatience. 

Withal, the teasing demons formerly sheltered in the nooks of the café overtake both lovers as it are now coffee brown strands who toy with their mistress to test the ability of self-restraint. The string of the flowered folding dress comes undone with a simple tug, the bow easily unravelling as plush lips murmur into the crook of the neck. ‘Let Daddy see how it looks on you.’

Hardly sane, shoulders slowly turn to face a predatory expression clearly pleased with the addition of the accessory to the outfit. Leaning in as upper arms are lovingly rubbed, a tender kiss goes accompanied by a purred compliment ‘Gorgeous.’

But the touch of hands rises to the shoulders as the mouth travels lower over the jaw to the collar, gently sliding the dress down until it falls to the ground in a puddle of fabric and focus shifts to undoing the clasp of the ink-black push-up bra decorated with lace and a jewel between the cups. It soon joins the coverage on the floor, ruby-tinted ears lowering further onto their knees to worship the womanhood of flushed cheeks and grunting in pleasure of chocolate locks being petted as if they were a wolf’s fur. ‘But I prefer you looking like this.’

Delirium overtakes overwhelmed nerves more and more, intoxicated when a rosebud is suckled on while her sister is massaged or possessively groped with a beastly vibration in unintelligible speech. One such action halts midway, the spoken words fluttering among the ribs of a heart elevated by butterflies. ‘Shit, babygirl, you make me like a wolf on its rut.’

‘I- I like it, though. It’s hot, seeing you l- like this. You’re even more handsome.’ An indisputable truth for messy espresso strands partially obscuring darkened eyes have an alluring edge which is normally reduced by the sweetness of coffee friendship. Even then, the young man is absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, magnificent inside and out with a caring personality that allows itself to be weak and seek comfort when needed. Who is there as a companion in the caffeinated air decorated with mellow tunes to sing along to, always looking out for the next meeting at the station. 

‘You like it? Like it when your man turns into an animal?’ Teeth sink into the side to create a wonderful personal brand, claiming ownership. ‘Is a little rough, manhandles you a bit?’

‘Y- Yes.’ The strength of speech is entirely lost in the whimper confirming the assumption, unable to muster the ability to speak more than a simple word. Nevertheless, and fortunately so, it can still create the most important syllable to undo all boundaries keeping us on friendly grounds. 

‘Then, can we go further than this? I know we haven’t known each other that long, but it feels as if we have.’ Pale knees lift themselves off the floor, using the waist as a point for support while rising and maintaining a lock of gazes. Foreheads rest against each other as voice softens, the sensual tension suppressed to ensure consent is given so that nothing might be done against one’s will. ‘If you don’t want to, it’s alright. I won’t hold it against you. Ever. I promise.’

Hands run up biceps clad in onyx, the fabric hiding them scented by fresh mint combined with the sweetness of green apple and clean tang of Italian lemon. The grip on the hips strengthens, the gesture evidently adding fuel to the flame while wanting to seriously patiently wait for mutual agreement. ‘Chris,’ awkwardly, the tights are shuffled out of and a big trusted palm brought to the edge of underwear decorated with a modern black and white graphic pattern, ‘you can rip them-’

The uncharacteristic boldness is rewarded with a breathtaking twang as the cheap bottoms are indeed savagely ripped off and the ruined garments join the pile on the floor. ‘Fuck.’

Slender marble digits come into action, unapologetically establishing an embarrassingly watery link between bodies barely drowned out by the pathetic mewling spilling from lips gasping for breath while clinging to broad shoulders. ‘I promise I’ll love you right, that this means something.’ Speech has malformed to intoxicating growling once more, baritone rumbling rising from deep within the throat. A wonderful sound to turn up in volume once the title spoken earlier arises blatantly instead of being ignored any longer. ‘Because you’re mine. You’re Daddy’s babygirl.’

The sloppy kiss says all there is left to say, the last words maddened by sin are snarled in the narrow space allowing for drawing breath and a shameful yet needed retreat from the edge of bliss. Though the spoken wish does not particularly help nor the beastly hasty removal of today’s dark outfit before faces are mere inches apart and the waist possessively held once more. ‘I want you. On every surface. Against the wall, the window. On the floor. Fucking everywhere.’

While the options are all equally wonderful, a tumbling tongue shyly voices the bold idea that comes forth now that fantasy can be turned into reality. ‘Ca- Can I ride you, th- though?’

‘How can I say no when you stammer like that?’ A predatory smile interrupts the kiss rewarding for allowing the chin to be lifted, wolfish chuckling also having thought of something perverse. ‘But how about we make your spot truly yours at the same time?’

‘How do you mean?’

Instead of answering, bare feet are led by the hand to the window-seat, where they are gently pulled onto muscled thighs solely left in night-shaded boxers unable to hide wanton throbbing from sight and held there by muscled arms initiating an intimate embrace. The bottom lip is caught between teeth, burning cheeks turning incredibly timid at the sight. The doubt of their personal ability to please steadily growing as well as the shame of being put into this position and acting upon thoughts formally suppressed at the closeness of Eros’s scent. 

‘Take my boxers off, Y/N.’ Trembling fingers reach out to the edge, slow and calculating as they blindly act while lashes barely maintain a lock of gazes with the handsome lover to estimate the degree of sensual satisfaction. ‘Good girl~’

‘Chris, I don’t know if... I mean, I- I want this, but, you’re, ahm, well-’ The aggravated sight below stirs up the storm of hesitation further, enhancing the hopeless puzzlement of the possibility at pleasing intimacy regardless of breathless heat. 

‘We can still stop. As I said, I won’t hold it against you.’ An affectionate hand rises over the bared spine to the left shoulder blade, letting the palm soothingly glide over skin, as the other glues chests together and hearts beat against one another yet are concerned for different reasons.

‘No, no. I- I wanna try. It’s just that I’m...’

‘You’re scared it might hurt?’ A barely noticeable nod affirms the assumption, clarifying the fear for the shadow side of physical love. ‘It might at first but we’ll take it easy. Nice and slow. If it’s still painful, we’ll stop, alright? I don’t want to hurt you nor force you to do anything you don’t want to.’

Nothing more needs to be uttered to give the courage to establish what has been wanted yet kept waiting via coy games. Languidly, the searing stretch is tried to be ignored as a new sense of fulfilment overwhelms the senses. Fortunately, there are sturdy guiding palms to prevent the expected agonizing discomfort, the touch calling attention to itself and the positives rather than the negative burn. ‘Easy, babygirl, easy. Slowly, yeah, ah, heh, that’s it.’

A shivering squeaky exhale is responded to with a quiet hum caught between relief and satisfaction, sinking further to bridge the last hot inch. ‘As I said, nice and slow.’

Once there is no distance left, galaxies collided in a mind-boggling fusion, a sweet kiss calls attention to the attentive mocha locks obviously checking for any signs of a reason to form separate milky ways again in watery eyes. ‘How does it feel?’

‘F- Full.’ Nails grip broad shoulders, the lover apparently not minding the sharpness of the indentations, too caught up in affectionately brushing stray tears away. The only signal of accidental hurt is a low grunt although the quicksilver smug grin witnessed from beneath half-lidded lashes suggests otherwise. A sudden twitch sends shivers throughout, the heaviness of the connection begging for a second of reprieve. ‘Need- Need a moment.’

‘Take all the time you need, babygirl. No rush.’ The back is lovingly rubbed once more, the sliver of a smirk fledging into its full splendour as the accented tongue gains a sensually teasing undertone. ‘But it feels good, doesn’t it, being filled by your man?’

‘Yes.’ The weak whimper comes out on the shock setting nerves on edge thanks to another unexpected yet addicting movement within, clutching Chan even tighter than before. ‘Feels really good.’ 

The stare of lust-darkened irises is kept as the waters are tested when the twitches have died down enough to allow for movement, rising and falling slowly in an intoxicating even rhythm of hollowness and fullness. ‘Is- Is this ok?’

‘Yes, more than ok, babygirl. I fucking love it.’ The young Eros leans in, meeting every advance so roughly the brief restoration of vocabulary is undone immediately and submissive mewling is the sole means of communication. ‘But ask it again. Properly this time.’

Luckily, enough sanity remains to ask clarification for the apparent mistake. All movement halts except for the lover’s, eyes blazing with the unseen reason for the chastising undertone of the remark. ‘Pro- Properly? Chris, what- Ah!’

Harshness sneaks into fierce attitude, hips no longer guided but blatantly pulled down to meet each snarling collision head-on. ‘You know what I mean. Speak to your man like you should.’

Click. 

‘Do- Do you like i- it, Daddy?’

 ‘That’s better. God, look at you, riding that big cock like the gorgeous needy little slut you are.’ The rapid peck flows over into a trail over the jaw and down the neck, plush lips ghosting over heated skin and transforming swift shallow kisses into marking brands as espresso locks are gripped tight, all muscles melted in the lava of the forcibly deepened passionate obsession. 

‘You drive me insane, dropping by daily, grm, turning me on by always showing just enough skin to make me want to rip your clothes off and, hrm, mhrm, fuck you in front of everyone.’ Through the snarling, a seductive melodic tone slips into speech finding itself in Eden, the garden where animal and man live in harmony and allows both to enjoy themselves. Chastely, strands obscuring momentarily open lashes are brushed aside and tucked behind the ear under a loving yet hypnotized longing gaze. ‘But who could blame me, hm? Who could blame me for wanting you?’

‘Y- You’d do that?’ Foreheads resting against one another, a trembling hand fascinated by the conjured imagery loosens its grip on a pale shoulder to shakily glide over the neck of a rapidly rising and falling chest and cup the left cheek. 

‘Yes, because I’m not a man, babygirl. If anything, you’re my beauty and I’m, grm,’ lips part in a silent scream as vision goes black in ecstasy when an uncharted depth is reached roughly, the last thing to be seen being the clenched jaw of the primal lover, ‘your beast.’

The energy to help in making milky ways mingle ebbs away fast as blank bliss overtakes, destroying each sense of coherency and reality as overstimulated senses fall limply into the tight embrace. The dark chuckle at the unintelligibly murmuring panting, however, resonates loudly in the ears nuzzling the neck of the young Eros. The sweet nothings remain that, nothings. For the capability of understanding is absent, although the registered cooing is just as nice. 

Unfortunately, it is solely one of us who has fallen into oblivion. 

And all is fair in love. 

So due to a need to please as well as be a proper mistress, a perchance stupid wish to persevere through another sort of agony is suggested by a barely sane tongue. ‘Chris, I- I can’t...’

‘It’s alright. Lie down and let Daddy do the work.’ The sweet swift kiss promises of true caring understanding, the back rapidly chilling with sweat warmed by coffee-scented affectionate palms. ‘You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?’

The lack of mention of the claimed title is not punished, instead being gently laid down after a brief awkward breaking of the bodily spell. Pillows from nearby seats are gathered and fluffed before being tenderly put to rest on them, slender pale fingers toying with dishevelled locks while slowly re-establishing the sensual Eden of connected souls. To prevent the worst of the trembling, one muscled veiny arm keeps the right thigh tightly against the waist. The other serves as support, continuing to play with hair to apologize in advance for exploiting sensitivity in order to gain primal bliss. Withal, the shivers become visible regardless via the palms clutching tense biceps and digging nails into flesh to still themselves. ‘Fuck, babygirl. I promise to be quick.’

‘D- Don’t be. I want it t- to feel good for you too. So- Ah!’ The dizzying depth from before is reached once more, growling advances ignoring the approval and frantic in their exploration of the narrowness. Whatever breath was regained is violently pushed out of the lungs again as the meek submissive tongue accelerates and shouts the first thoughts popping up in delirium. ‘Take the time you need! Fuck me how you want! I’m yours!’

‘You’re amazing, Y/N. But, ah, heh, grm, I know how painful overstimulation can be.’

‘But I want y- you to feel- feel good.’

‘And Daddy wants his babygirl to feel good, treat her right. Besides, I feel amazing whenever I’m with you.’ Focus shifts to where bodies meet, movements growing sharper under the attention of the hand firmly holding the whimpering thigh close. ‘So fucking good. Perfect. You’re perfect. Fit me so well, complete me.’ Lips meet once again in tenderness, Chris nodding in confirmation of the self-made statement. ‘Yeah. You complete me.’

Rejoicing in the grunted praise is cut short when the right spot to gaze at inner stars is touched over and over. Nails dig further into flexing shoulders moving smoothly, easily gliding towards the farthest reaches of pleasure. Legs start to shake in their dismissal of sensitive agony and focus on the primary insatiable craving ignited by the previously unknown spot, basalt brooks leaving salted trails behind. ‘Shit, Chris, right there!’

‘Yeah, right here? Is that where you need your man?’ The big nose often secretly fancied to boop or kiss simply because of its cuteness hides in the crook of the neck. Frantic beastly hips are no longer shallow, determined in their pursuit of ivory bliss and marking territory. ‘Where you need me to pound you raw, huh? Fuck you like the little slut you are for me?’

‘Yes! Fuck, yes!’

Fingertips move towards the broad back hardened by hours of exercise, unintentionally leaving bleeding scratches on pale skin. Notwithstanding, the accidental mutual branding elicits an animalistic appreciation, a deep low rumbling rising from the chest grown dewy and making the heart melt when it reverberates with the sound. 

‘Mark me, Y/N. Mark me so they know I’m yours, taken.’ Faces inches apart, heavy panting warms the intimate air in the little space between us. ‘Leave scratches. On my back, my neck, my arms. Everywhere, as many as you can.’ 

Hypnotized, fascinated by the almost pleading tone of the command, nails rake over the side of the young Eros’s throat, not too gentle in their touch to indeed leave visible traces which will betray to the public what has happened by the window. Nevertheless, Chan clearly does not care for the opinions of strangers in that regard, lashes fluttering shut with a satisfied predatory smile and purring when speaking. ‘Like that. I fucking love it when you do that.’

Foreheads come to rest against each other once more for the last time, as hellbent on reaching primal oblivion as the arm snaking underneath the lover’s arm to clutch a pale tense shoulder as its counterpart holds on tightly to strands the colour of pure chocolate. The scent of a romantic Italian holiday wants to be absorbed in every way possible, like the deep-reaching speedy advances that remain too disappointingly shallow. ‘Shit, you definitely make me like a wolf on its rut. Predatory, mhrm, possessive. Needing to claim what’s mine.’

And still wonderfully satisfying like the growls spoken on sobbing lips overcome by pleasure and the affirmation of belonging. 

Feeling genuinely loved.

Enthralled by the desperate high pitch creeping into the lover’s voice, no longer able to refrain from tumbling into sinful oblivion. ‘That’s it. That’s Daddy’s girl. That’s Daddy’s beautiful girl. You’re gonna make me cum. You’re gonna make me cum!’

Instead of caressing, whining nails also dangerously bordering on a second fall accidentally scratch the chiselled cheek like marble. It cannot be helped, primality too hasty of mind to think of tenderness. ‘Cum inside me. Please, Chris, please!’

‘Don’t worry,’ a sloppy wolfish kiss briefly connects loving souls, ‘I will. I’ll fill you up.’

Snap. 

‘Shit!’

Simultaneously, the leash of Reality breaks and idyllic blinding overtakes sight. Sturdy muscled limbs grow limp and shivering in equally weak arms as hips slowly stop their roughness. Occasionally, breathing halts altogether as perverse gratefulness releases, satisfied humming creating a melody which does not match with “Tenerife Sea” playing vaguely in the background as wavy locks are caressed. ‘Wow.’

‘Indeed. Wow.’ Reason has not returned enough to elaborate on the simple statement, continuing to float in the afterglow of passionate obsession and the chasteness of lying across the window seats, cuddling. 

‘I hope I wasn’t too rough.’ With effort, the youth finds support in placing elbows on the wood on either side and equally dividing weight to remain steadily hovering. Earthly irises clearly search for any sort of damage, trying to be obscure in their search yet blatant in their manner of looking for answers. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you were amazing.’ As are the bruises and handprints on skin grabbed too tightly in the beastly chase.

‘You were too.’ This time, the kiss is sincere and romantic, devoid of any underlying meanings and filled with low exhausted chuckles. Solely focused on two people basking in happiness, the covert coffee romance of the train station. ‘Absolutely incredible. Breathtaking.’

The tranquillity of which is ashamedly cut off with a kiss on the forehead to distract from the uncomfortable mixture of leaking and hollowness, feeling abandoned by a part thought to be non-existent before. ‘Come on, let’s get up before you get a wooden spine.’

Like a gracious feline, the barista easily gets up and walks back to gather the discarded clothes. The attempt at standing up without support fails, knees giving way once feet have to carry all the weight of the body again while dealing with the sinful aftermath and thus clumsily falling back onto the cushions again.

‘Why are you still sitting there?’ Clothes in hand, Chris looks puzzled when glancing back towards where limbs refuse to move regardless of Spirit’s will. 

‘I can’t get up.’

‘How do you mean? Oh.’ A smug grin shapes itself when the implication of the remark dawns, tiny prideful lights dancing in eyes. ‘Was I that good?’

A mirror is not needed to know how crimson cheeks are, how timid the reluctantly speaking bottom lip caught between teeth must look. ‘Yes.’

A pleased boyish giggle while continuing to gather the outfits cluttering the kitchen slightly denotes the innocence of the caring remark following the confession. ‘You stay there then and I’ll help you dress.’

Uncaring about personal nudity, the tall buff barista returns after a few moments with a damp towel alongside the dress that was secretly put on for the exact purpose of driving the café vlogger to the verge of reasonable sanity, left tethering on the edge of maddening sensuality. 

Effectively so, evidently.

The cleansing cloth feels nice, cooling any lingering traces of heat originating in perversity as it glides over the body under the genuinely caring monitoring gaze of the lovable youth quietly humming along to “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. Once clean, big pale hands outstretched to act as points for support are gladly taken in one’s own as legs are kept standing on weak feet while fabric covers bare limbs and sticks to dewy though refreshed skin. 

Withal, while being dressed again, the crimson scratches decorating the neck, veiny arms dusted by thin dark hairs, broad shoulders and more than likely the wide shielding back attract attention with their clear presence. Fingertips trace the scars on the side of the throat, a concerned stone sinking in the stomach at the sensation of the upset ridges of which some still bleed. Mocha locks do not seem to notice the remorse, focused on tying the strings keeping the outfit together into a bow. ‘Do they hurt, Chris?’

‘What? The scratch marks?’ Concentration fades from the calculating aura of eyes when looking up, an oddly pleased though gentle smile forming when confirming the assumption with a nod. Tone, too, compliments the weird pride radiating off of the lover who merrily erases any traces of concern with a cheerful confession. ‘No. In fact, I’m actually quite proud of them.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I am!’ Following the outburst, timidity overtakes the tall barista to thus form a funny contrast to the fierceness that tried to convince the mistress raising a mocking eyebrow of being serious. The plush roseate bottom lip is nibbled on as enthusiasm is nullified to an ember. ‘This might sound stupid, but... I’m sick of other girls flirting with me. Even when I say I’m already taken.’

‘You already have a girlfriend?’ In an instant, the heart is struck by lightning and made to crack with a clear vision of the assumed deceit.

And yet blinded thanks to rash ignorant Judgment. 

‘I don’t!’ Wide eyes carry shock horror in them, though soften when recalling the explanation behind the outburst still has to be given. A calloused palm reminiscent of a romantic Italian holiday cups the cheek, kept in place by one’s own digits as the thumb gently caresses the skin with sincere affection. ‘Well, I- I do if you want to be mine. After all, after meeting you, I fancied you as the one of who I spoke each time I refused someone. And here comes the really stupid part.’ All haunting severity fades with an awkward boyish giggle almost reluctant to commit to another confession. ‘Each time you visited and it happened, I’d point at you and say that the beautiful girl by the window is mine.’

‘I never saw you do that.’ During previous visits, it had been each of us on our own or sitting down together with a bite and a drink while listening to music. Yet, the thought is flattering and certainly not uncredited since more than a professional bond of customer and barista exists, made meaningful with shows of bad days and birthdays.

The stuffed kangaroo was rewarded with a wolf plushie wearing a collar engraved with a familiar name and a personalized playlist.

As lovable as the adorable tender smile brightening the happiness on the handsome face always giving so much more than can be returned. ‘I didn’t want to make it obvious, of course. I only did it if you had your earbuds in or were occupied with reading or studying so you wouldn’t be paying attention to me.’

‘You can from now on,’ a chaste kiss on a big scrunched nose rewards the courage to once again bare oneself while hoping to gain the confirmation for the silent implication, ‘if you want.’

But, apparently, the human puppy needs a more explicit lead, gazing down in puzzlement. ‘So... you’re saying “yes”? To us?’

‘Yes.’ Arms reach over pale broad shoulders clad once more in black to entangle behind the neck and pull the lover into a tight cheerful embrace. Toes shuffle forward to lightly lean on bigger ones, indiscriminately claiming a little bit more of the sweet youth. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

The smothering answered hug loosens a bit when the barista tangibly tries to back away so talking is possible, affection and hope shining bright in espresso eyes dreaming of the future. ‘Also to occasionally help with running the café?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wear my clothes? Show everyone you’re mine?’ Voice lowers to a tone which makes it akin to wolfish purring, big nose nudging another while hinting at a kiss yet never fully connecting lips. Waists pressed against each other, connected hips suggestively move ever so slightly to assert the claim already established by colliding galaxies in earnest for the first time. ‘My territory?’

‘Yes.’ The sensual mirage evaporates as soon as the answer is given, hands fluttering from strong biceps to where the lover playfully nibbles on the skin of the throat in an attempt to stop the ticklish assault by pushing his face away. 

Successfully so, though the innocent coyness remains in the bright smile formed by pearly teeth and squinting lashes proposing a simple yet wonderful thing once again. ‘And to me bringing you home after really having had something to drink and eat?’

‘Yes, absolutely. But,’ actually pretty hungry fingertips trace the wolf’s cheekbones in a similar need for assurance that, as of now, there is more than friendship in each other’s company tonight and all the days to come, ’can you answer the same way when I ask you to sleep over?’

‘How many nights?’

‘As long as you want. Whenever you want.’

‘Yes.’ The rapid nod before a tender kiss is hastened by the craving of stating a binding statement. The promise to remain. ‘I’ll stay however long you want me to. Be your barista, your friend, your lover. Your Christopher.’

The man lovingly brewing two new cups of vanilla latte.

The lad keeping hands warm while waiting at the tracks, holding smaller ones between bigger palms after they have put on today’s beanie on the newfound love. 

And in the train on the way home, he is my boy at the station.