#and in fact I still catch myself praying these days

[the-finch-address]

After reblogging those last two posts featuring the one and only Jesus of Nazareth (beloved) I figure now's a good time to remind anyone following me that The Dog Yard is and has always been fairly derisive (for lack of better word) of modern day Christianity. Not against God or even religion as a whole, but strictly Christianity. This wip is my way of exploring and working through my past and the trauma that I've endured at the hands of Christians, AS a former Christian myself. I don't want to get into a "not every Christian" argument, I know there's a share of "good" Christians out there, but this is about my personal experiences and how I am healing from them to this day.

Anyway, that being said, please be aware that this project very well may offend you in how it approaches the topic(s) at hand if you yourself identify within the Christian religion. So...this is your official heads-up to blacklist the wip in advance (or just unfollow/block me) if that's what you feel is best.

Thanks!

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

HORNY PRIEST JOHN PRICE

breeding kink, sacrilege (?)

john joined the church after leaving the military, though he never spoke much about what led him there. some men left war and found peace in quiet towns, in family, in distance. john, meanwhile, found himself in the shadow of the cross, searching for something he couldn't name.

he knelt, prayed, studied scripture— not because he'd had a sudden divine vision, but because he’d needed something to tether himself to.

he's never been one to talk about faith in absolutes. the young priests, fresh out of seminary, speak with a certainty that makes him envious. they talk of god’s mercy like it’s a thing they’ve held in their hands, like they’ve never doubted it for a second.

john doesn’t have that luxury. his hands have held a rifle, pressed down on wounds, ended lives.

what right does he have to stand in the confessional and tell a man his sins are forgiven when his own are still heavy in his chest?

he doesn’t let it show. not when he stands before his congregation, not when he delivers the homily, and not even when he listens to the confessions of those who kneel before him.

the words come easy. “god is love. god is mercy.” he says them with the confidence of a man who believes them. perhaps if he says them enough, one day it'll drive home.

he's decently well-respected in his parish. john speaks in measured tones, and listens with the kind of patience that makes people trust him. he’s rarely if ever unkind, never raising his voice even when the children at sunday school test his patience or when the older priests debate doctrine with a stubbornness he doesn’t bother entertaining.

the congregation admires him for it.

he keeps a well-worn rosary in his pocket, fingers brushing over the beads when he’s deep in thought. it’s an old habit, one he never lost even when he stopped saying the prayers as often as he should. late at night, when he can’t sleep, he walks the empty church, the only light coming from the red glow of the tabernacle lamp.

he runs his fingers over the smooth wood of the pews, listens to the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots, and exhales smoke into the dim air. it feels like a kind of penance, staying here long after everyone else has gone, keeping watch over something he’s still not sure he belongs to.

the first time you meet, it’s in the courtyard after sunday mass.

you’re new to the church. new to the neighborhood. moved in just a month ago, so he’s heard. he hadn't taken much notice at first— he rarely does. parishioners come and go, faces blending into one another over time.

but then he sees you. all wide eyes and bright smiles, the late-morning sun catching the warmth in your hair, laugh spilling out like a song. you shake hands with mrs. calloway, nod attentively as she chatters on about her garden, and there’s something about the way you tilt your head, the way your lips part in quiet amusement, that makes something ugly and raw twist in his gut.

john shouldn’t be looking. he knows he shouldn’t be looking.

and yet.

you catch sight of him, and your smile brightens, something open and eager in your face as you step forward. “father price.”

your voice is softer than he expects. sweeter. a fact not good for his health.

he nods. “you’ve settled in well, i see.”

“i have. everyone’s been so kind.” your hands clasp in front of you, fingers tangling. “i wanted to introduce myself properly. i should have done it sooner, but-” you shake your head, sheepish. “i guess i was nervous.”

nervous? of who— him?

he watches the way you glance down, the way your teeth catch the plump of your lower lip, the slight shift of your weight from foot to foot, and something slow and molten pools in his stomach.

and then, unbidden—

i want to fuck her mouth.

the thought slams into him. his fingers curl, blunt nails pressing into his palm. john's throat tightens, heat crawling up the back of his neck, shame dragging its claws down his spine.

he schools his expression, keeps his voice level. “there’s nothing to be nervous about.” a beat. his gaze lingers on your lips a second too long. “i hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

your eyes meets his then. for a moment, he swears you see it. the crack in his composure, the way his restraint stretches thin around you like fraying rope.

but then you just smile again— so fucking gentle— and bid him a polite goodbye before slipping back into the crowd.

he exhales, tries to control his breathing, before turning on his heel and heading inside.

it doesn’t get better after that.

oh no. in fact, it only gets worse.

because you linger. you stay. you join the congregation, sit near the front every sunday, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your lips parted slightly in quiet reverence as you listen to the sermon. you bite your lip when you concentrate, tuck your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, shift in your seat just enough to make his mind wander places it has absolutely no right to go.

and it haunts him.

creeps into his thoughts when he thinks he's already run far away from it. slips into his head when he least expects it. a slow, insidious thing, winding around his ribs, sinking its teeth into the softest parts of him.

john finds himself getting lost in his imaginations more and more as the weeks pass by. it starts with something simple. something small.

you, in his kitchen.

the space is yours as much as it is his now— he hardly steps foot in it unless you usher him in, your hands on his arms, guiding him to sit, to rest. the scent of warm bread and roasted meat fills the house, seeping into the wooden beams, the stone walls. the windows are cracked open just enough to let the breeze in, carrying with it the scent of the fields, the distant bells of the church.

you hum as you work, a quiet little tune under your breath, flour dusting your fingers, smudging along the curve of your cheek. you’re barefoot, the hem of your dress skimming your ankles, your apron tied neatly at the back. domestic. wifely. His.

"you’re spoiling me, love."

you laugh, glancing over your shoulder at him where he sits at the table, his elbows braced against the wood, his chin resting on his hand. john hasn’t even touched the sermon notes laid out before him, hasn’t even opened the book he’d planned to read. no, his attention has been on you— watching you move, watching the light catch on your hair, watching the way you fit so perfectly in his home.

"you work too hard," you murmur, turning back to the stove. "someone has to take care of you."

the words sink into him, low and warm, wrapping around something deep in his chest.

you do take care of him.

you set a plate before him, still warm from your hands, and press a kiss to the top of his head, your lips soft against his hair.

you fold his robes neatly after they’ve dried in the sun, pressing your hands over the fabric like a prayer. you pluck a stray thread from his collar before mass, your fingers deft and careful, your brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

you brush his hair back from his forehead when he sits too long at his desk, rubbing slow circles at his temple, your fingers easing away the weight of his work.

and in the evenings, after the dishes have been washed and the fire burns low, you climb into his lap with a soft sigh, tucking yourself against his chest.

"long day?" you ask, your fingers smoothing over the front of his shirt.

"mm." john presses a kiss to your hair, lets his hands settle at your waist, palms warm through the thin fabric of your nightdress. "better now."

and it is better, with you here, with your warmth seeping into his, your breath brushing his throat.

he wants all of it. the soft, easy domesticity. the routine of waking to you curled beside him, of pressing sleepy kisses to your bare shoulder before dragging himself out of bed. of watching you move through his home with the comfort of a woman who belongs there.

and, god help him—

john wants to fuck you too.

until you leaked him, until his seed dripped down your thighs, making a mess of soft, perfect skin. wants to bend you over his desk, press your face into the worn wood, break you open on his cock until you sobbed for him, begged him to fill you. he’d grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

he wants to whisper filth into your ear, his breath hot— gonna fill you up, love. gonna fuck you so full of me you’ll be dripping for days. you want that, don’t you? want me to breed you like the needy little thing you are?

he wants to press his fingers into your mouth, make you suck them clean before shoving them between your legs, fucking them into the soft clutch of your pussy until you cried for him.

and when he finally sinks his swollen cock inside you— he’d make you feel it.

john wants to fuck you raw, grind his hips against yours, keep you pinned beneath his weight, stuffed full of his cock. he’d press a hand to your belly, feel himself inside you, make you watch as you take a cock too big for you.

and when he’d spill inside you he wouldn't stop. oh no— he’d fuck it deeper, press his fingers to your swollen clit, make you come with him, make your body take every last drop of his seed.

because he wouldn't just fill you. he’d breed you. over and over, until you couldn't keep yourself up, too boneless to thrust back into him, too full to take any more.

but he was a man of god.

and men of god did not shove their sweet, willing parishioners over their desks, did not drag their teeth down soft skin, did not slap needy little cunts until they were wet and dripping.

they did not fuck desperate little things in church pews, in quiet confessionals, did not fist their hands in soft hair and shove pretty mouths onto their cocks, did not whisper filth between gasped-out prayers.

they did not spend their nights with their heads buried between trembling thighs, devouring the taste of sin, holding squirming bodies still as they licked deep, sucked hard, forced sweet, innocent things to come against their tongues.

they did not rut into them like beasts, gripping soft wrists, pinning them down, owning them with every brutal thrust. they did not press their hands to swollen bellies, fill their women over and over until their bodies were wrecked, too full of come to take another drop.

men of god did not fuck.

but god forgive him, he would.

all those thoughts come to this moment, this night—

john finds himself alone under the dim glow of candlelight, sitting on the pews, head tilted to the cross.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, like penance for the filth curdling in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks, far too loud in the sacred silence, but he doesn’t stop.

can’t.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale feels like it scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, as though the very air is punishing him for the thoughts festering in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks softly in the quiet, a sound far too loud in the sanctity of this space.

the leather gives way, and his cassock feels suffocating now, the fabric too heavy against skin flushed with heat. his fingers slip lower, dragging the waistband of his pants down his hips with shaky, desperate movements until he’s free— finally free— from the painful confines of his underwear.

his cock springs forward, already hard in his hand, flushed dark at the tip, the skin tight and aching. a bead of precum glistens there, catching in the flicker of candlelight like something obscene in the house of god. he wraps his hand around the base, his grip firm but not enough to ease the pressure coiled in his gut. the heat of his palm sends a shudder rolling down his spine, breath hitching as his thumb swipes over the sensitive head, smearing the slick wetness down the length.

his cock is long, veins pulsing along the shaft, the kind of thick that demands attention. his foreskin still covers the swollen head, slick with the evidence of his own arousal, precum smearing against the soft skin of his lower stomach. he hisses through his teeth as he wraps his hand around the base, fingers barely closing around the girth, feeling the steady throb of blood pulsing beneath his grip.

his balls hang full and tight, pulled close with need, the skin sensitive to the faintest brush of fabric. every movement is torment, the soft rub of his cassock against his bare thighs sending a shudder through him, making his hips jerk forward, seeking relief.

he strokes himself slowly, dragging his foreskin back to expose the flushed, leaking head, then rolling it forward again, savoring the sensitivity. his thumb swipes through the slick wetness pooling at the tip, smearing it down the length, adding just enough glide to make his fist slip easier over his cock.

his grip tightens, dragging the pleasure out like a prayer he’s too ashamed to speak aloud. the church is silent around him, the air thick with the scent of burning wax and old stone, but all he can think about is you.

on your knees before him.

john sees it so clearly, feels it like it’s already happened. the way you’d sink down, your eyes looking up at him through thick lashes, expectant. your soft lips parted just enough for your tongue to wet them before stretching around his cock. the thought makes his stomach clench, his fingers twitching as he strokes himself tighter, his foreskin gliding over the swollen head before he pulls it back again.

you wouldn’t be able to take all of him at once. he knows that much. He’s too thick, too long— your jaw would ache just trying, your tongue pressing firm against the heavy weight of him, struggling to make space. the first inch would be easy, maybe even the second. but when he pushes deeper, when his tip nudges the back of your throat and you gag, just a little, he knows he’d lose whatever control he has left.

he swears he can see it— your fingers curling against his thighs, the little choked noise you’d make when he holds you there, when his cock throbs against your tongue. your throat would flutter, swallowing around him, trying to adjust to the stretch. and oh, god, the way your lips would look wrapped around him, swollen with abuse and slick with spit and precum. john nearly loses himself at the image alone.

his hips jerk forward into his own grip, chasing the fantasy, breath coming through the vaulted ceilings of the church. he’d guide you through it, hand buried in your hair, tilting your head just the way he likes. gentle, at first. Letting you set the pace. But then when you get too comfortable, when you start to tease, pulling back just to trail soft kisses along his length— he’d snap.

he’d pull you down, bury himself deep in the hot sleeve of your mouth until your throat clenched around him and you whimpered against his balls. his other hand would cup your jaw, feeling the bulge of himself pressing against your cheek, watching as tears bead at the corners of your eyes, shuddering from the effort of taking him.

he wonders if you’d try to pull away, fingers gripping his thighs in a silent plea. would you struggle? would you whine? would you let him break you like this?

john groans, his grip tightening almost painfully. he pumps himself faster now, the obscene slap of skin against skin filling the empty church. his balls are drawn tight, aching with the need to spill, and in his mind, he’s not coming into his own palm.

he’s coming down your throat.

you’d swallow, wouldn’t you? just for him. he can see it— his cum thick on your tongue, your lips parting to show him before you close your mouth and swallow it down. maybe a little would escape, dripping down your chin, and he’d swipe his thumb through it, pressing it back to your lips.

“messy thing,” he’d murmur. “but you took it so well.”

the thought sends him over the edge.

his hips stutter, cock jerking in his grip as his orgasm crashes over him, hot and sudden. cum spills over his knuckles, , dripping onto the cold stone beneath him. his breath comes in harsh, broken gasps, his thighs trembling as he rides out the aftershocks, his vision hazy with the force of his release.

and when it’s over— when he finally stills, his body spent, his mind heavy with guilt— he drags his gaze upward.

The cross looms above him, watching.

if this is damnation, he’ll sin again.

[anonity]

SOMEONE BETTER -- oneshot

been gone for a min for a last min road trip w/ friends for new years :) happy 2025! had this in my drafts after watching the paige ep on flau’jaes podcast

WC: ~1200 summary: paige catches you and your saved basketball edits

the amount of paige edits that popped up on your for-you-page was diabolical. especially considering she was your roommate.

you were waiting for her to return from practice, feet kicked up on the coffee table of your apartment, when the first of the day came up.

originally, you’d justified your ever-growing collection of edits as hype-videos: something you could scroll through before paige’s games to get you in the right mood. for a while, that checked out – you only saved her highlights, quick moving graphics with smooth transitions.

but then it had quickly devolved into what can only be described as an obsessive fan folder, filled with edits so thirsty you think you would actually combust if anyone saw them, let alone paige.

it was bound to happen.

you continued watching edits when the door opened, kept scrolling when it closed, and carried on even as paige leaned curiously on the kitchen counter. its not like she would know who you were watching – hell, you had juju watkins videos coming up on your page every couple days, too. 

this arrangement had worked perfectly for you for months. you got to indulge in your quietest delusions, and your best-friend-turned-roommate could continue on none the wiser. 

until her voice rang out clearly from your phone. you would’ve played it off, really, said it was an interview clip or something, had her voice not immediately been followed by the “or nah” audio. 

mortified did not even begin to describe the feeling clawing into your throat.

you scrolled impossibly fast and began praying. maybe she hadn’t been paying attention. maybe she wasn’t even in the kitchen anymore. maybe you’d imagined the entire thing and paige wasn’t even real and this was all some kind of awful dream you’d wake up from in 3, 2, 1…

“whatcha watchin’?”

you think your soul has left your body. 

paige is sauntering over and looking very smug. you’re wondering how fast you can make it from the couch to the balcony. 

“an interview,” you try anyway, despite the fact that not a single interview in the history of basketball has ever included fucking ty dolla sign.

paige smirks, leaning over the back of the couch. her breath tickles the top of your head and you shiver despite yourself, eyes trained on the tiktok now repeating on your phone – one of those orange muppet videos (pepe? is he supposed to be a shrimp?) stuck on the first slide. really, if it weren’t for the horrors of your current situation, you would find the irony funny. if you survived this event, maybe you would make one. you can see it now. “i’m watching edits of my roommate – my roommate walks in – i have to defend myself to my roommate –” i have to defend myself to my roommate.

“which interview?”

“umm,” you say, eloquently. you can’t think past your orange muppet spiral. “overwatch?”

paige laughs, a noise that distracts you long enough for her to yank your phone away. “overtime?”

shit.

you can barely get out a disdained “paige!” before you hear the audio repeating again. would a fall from the third floor kill you? is it still considered a fall if you jump?

you stop lunging for your phone – maybe you can just play it cool. who cares if theres a paige edit on your FYP? it's only weird if you make it weird. “you act like those don’t pop up on your for you page too.” 

paige shushes you, biting her cheeks in mock-seriousness. she shushes you! the nerve! if you weren’t so mortified you would argue with her! 

but you are mortified, and so you stay quiet.  the silence stretches on and on until your phone also goes silent. the apartment's heating unit is suddenly very loud, and for once you aren’t irritated at the noise – instead, you just think of how much you will actually miss your loud heating unit once paige processes the situation and kicks you out of your apartment in the dead of winter. 

you think it can’t get any worse, until another audio starts playing and a self-satisfied grin stretches across paiges face. “you have like 70 videos in here.”

somebody kill me.

the original silence is filled with mr. lover lover, and there is absolutely no way you can “it’s for the hype” your way out of this. she continues scrolling. you stare helplessly at the floor. after what you can only guess is six or seven incriminating edits, she pauses, her jaw clenching inexplicably. here it comes. 'get out of my apartment' – 'i can’t look at you the same anymore'. you’re so cooked. fried, even.

“whatchu got caitlin saved in here for?”

what?

you must’ve voiced that thought out loud, because she responds. “you got a thing for iowa players too?”

your brows furrow. this was not the direction you thought this would be going in. instead, theres an edge cutting through paige’s words that you can’t quite place. is she still pissed? you let out a nervous laugh. “relax, paige, it’s not like i’m making wedding plans with her.”

paige stiffens. “it’s enough for a save-the-date.”

“paige, it’s like a 30 to 1 ratio.”

“yeah, our points ratio is 30:1 too.”

what the hell? first of all, you watch enough basketball to know that's not true. second of all, again, what the hell? 

“i mean, it’s fine, i get it.” paige shrugs, suddenly uninterested in your phone. she tosses it on the couch and you (slowly) slip it into your pocket before she can change her mind. “i just think it’s funny you watch her when you literally live with someone better.”

“better at what?” paige splutters. “basketball.” 

suddenly, it clicks. you sit, quiet, stunned for a second. “paige, if i didn’t know any better i’d say you sound jealous.”

“it’s not jealousy! it’s.. like, respect.” paige gestures wildly, and you’d almost believe her if there wasn’t a flush creeping up her neck.  you raise a brow. “respect?” “we share a netflix account! and you’re saving edits of my competition!” “you’re totally jealous.” 

paige looks cornered, backing towards the kitchen. her gaze falls to the floor. “i just think, like, i dunno – i just think i care about you and i’m right here and you’re saving edits of caitlin freakin’ clark.”

you can’t help the laugh that escapes, the absurdity of this situation catching up to you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you see the orange muppet again. 

“what’s so funny?”

“you’re just –” you take a deep breath. “i can’t believe your jealous over a caitlin clark edit. you act like we’re together or something.”

“maybe i wanna be.”

paige freezes. you freeze. the heater kicks off. you're moving before you can think about it, standing in front of her. her eyes stay trained to the floor.

“i’m sorry. i just – you drive me crazy.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

she finally glances up, a smile cracking. “it’s not.”

“then what are you gonna do about it?”

her hand is on your jawline in an instant, and the nervousness bubbling in your chest is finally cut off with her lips on yours. when you pull away, she’s grinning.

“30:1 edit ratio, huh?”

your face heats, and you push your head against her chest. “not funny, paige.”

“i’ll make a new folder for you – poor decisions, filled with caitlin clark edits.”

"alright that's enough."

[bxeckersz]

TWENTIES | wnba!Paige Bueckers x OC black fem reader

summary: Neveah and Paige have a brutal break up over paige cheating. Paige is thriving in life while neveah is not doing so well.

warnings: Angst, flashbacks, language, mentions of oral, cheating

A/N: hey guys! Givēon is so incredibly underrated likeee i swear. but anyway enjoy this! ignore any spelling errors😓.

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know I’d be wasting my time spending my twenties on you” - 0:51

“spend my time wondering why I spent my twenties on you” - 1:10

“I was so young and dumb. Six years gone down the drain” - 1:51

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Paige was my first love. Matter fact, she was my first everything. First relationship. First kiss. Took my virginity. First date. And so on.

We were together for six years. Six long, excruciating years. I was there for her through everything. First brand deal. Injuries.

And she threw that all away for some head.

I’ll never forget that day.

Paige butt dialed me. I was supposed to be going to the store after work to get things for our date night.

When my phone flashed of the “P💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩” I instantly answered only to be met with moans.

“Hey, baby” I said into the phone, already in my car and heading to the store. No response. “P?”

“Fuck- yeah that’s good. right there” I heard. I prayed I was crazy. Maybe she was just watching a movie. But no- that was her voice.

“Paige.” My voice cracked. No response. Only a groan that was so clearly Paige’s. And slurping. God awful, sinful slurping.

My heart dropped to my ass. I kept the phone call on and raced to our apartment.

Once I got there, all hell broke loose. I unlocked the door, sprinting to the bedroom. “Paige i’m gonna fuck you up!” I screamed, opening the door with all my might.

It was a brunette. I’d recognized her. A cheerleader. “The fuck” I murmured before lunging at the two. “veah- what the fuck!” Paige screamed, throwing a cover at the ditzy girl to cover up with.

“Are you fucking deadass! You got some other girl in our bed?” I screamed, walking up to Paige and pushing her back. “I fucking hate you” I spat out, slapping the blondes face.

“Bitch, get out!” I screamed at the girl who was standing there like a deer in headlights.

That was the last time I talked to Paige. That nights I packed all my shit. I’d been staying at a friend’s house until I got my own apartment which was a few weeks ago.

I stayed through everything. Through all the rumors of Paige cheating. Through all the late nights. Through all the arguments.

I was so fucking young and dumb.

When our breakup hut headlines, it was brutal. All of her little fan girls came at me like I was the problem. And granted, they will never know the hell Paige put me through when we broke up. I’m not gonna do that to her.

TikToks about me were posted and didn’t stop no matter how much Paige addressed the videos and told them to.

It was painful. and it still is

They accused me of cheating on her. Some even made up rumors of me sleeping around. If only they knew they had the wrong person.

Paige plays for the Dallas Wings now. And I can’t lie, she’s been thriving. Like she didn’t ruin me months ago.

But it’s all good. I needed out anyway.

While Paige was out in Dallas having one hell of a rookie season and fucking any girl who threw themselves at her, I was in Connecticut barely holding on.

Some nights I’d find myself looking at old photos of us. Reading our old texts. And I’d catch my finger hovering over the ‘call’ button.

As much as I wanted to erase her from my life, she was always gonna be there. When you’re with a person for so long, they never really leave.

Single strands of blonde hair. Clothes I never returned. I always got a whiff of her scent everywhere I turned. Things that she bought me.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully let her go. And I criticize myself for it everyday.

Sometimes I go to sleep cuddling a pillow wishing it would be Paige instead. Sometimes I wouldn’t sleep at all with the girl racing my mind.

She had condos in my head. And I wonder if I ever crossed her mind like she did mine.

I wonder if it eats her alive. I wonder if she regrets it. I wonder if we would’ve lasted. Probably not.

My friends would try to set me up with people. “You just need a good fuck” They would tell me. But I didn’t want it if it wasn’t her.

I hoped that maybe, in another universe, we’ll get a do over. And everything’ll be perfect. Just like we planned that one night when we were juniors.

“We’re gonna get married. I’ma make you my wife.” Paige murmured to me, fingers tangled in my hair as I laid on her chest.

“I’d love that. We’re gonna have 2 Kids. A boy and a girl.” I replied back, lifting my head to look at her. “And we’re obviously gonna be sports parents” she would go on to say.

“We’re gonna buy a huge apartment or condo where I’m playing in the WNBA. Not a house though, because I might get traded. But we’ll buy a house when I retire”

“And I’m gonna decorate because you’ll just make it look like a man cave and a frat party combined” I giggled.

We’d spend time like that. Fantasizing about the future. About a life with no stress. No regrets. Just us. And our two kids.

I miss her so fucking much. I’ll never stop missing her.

I’m scrolling religiously on instagram, tucked away in my bed with a bag of chips next to me.

And that’s when I see it. An instagram post from Paige.

“Happy birthday to my favorite girl, my rock, my forever, my ride or die, my partner in crime. It’s always gonna be you. Thank you for sticking with me when things got rough. You make it all possible. You’re my ‘why’! I love you so much, babe. Cheers to 24💜🥂🥳. @jasmine.lee”

The caption reads. A hard launch. Theres 8 pictures. the first one is the girl, jasmine, sitting on Paige’s lap with paige’s arms wrapped around her waist, clearly taken by arike.

The second one is a picture of Jasmine asleep on Paige’s chest.

The third one is a picture of them in the mirror, paige’s arm thrown lazily around the girls waist, her toothbrush in her mouth.

The fourth one is a picture of the girl off guard curling her hair.

The fifth one is a picture of the pair kissing after a game.

The sixth one is a picture of Jasmine cuddled into paige with a movie playing on the tv in the back ground.

The seventh one is a picture of the two holding hands while walking, another clearly taken by arike.

And the eighth and final one is a picture of them hugging, Paiges lips on Jasmine’s. Her hands wrapped tightly around her waist, Jasmine’s around her neck.

My heart aches as I look at the song. It was our song. Best I Ever Had by Drake. That was our fucking song. We would drive around Connecticut listening to it. She would tell me she always thought of me while hearing it.

I scoff as I look through the comments.

arike_ogunbowale: my favorites! Happy birthday jas!

nalyssasmith: 🥹🥹 Happy birthday jasmine!

dijonai: my cuties🥹💜. I love you guys, happy birthday sista girl @jasmine.lee

jasmine.lee: I love you baby❤️‍🔥

jasmine.lee: thank you so much. my favorite girl ever💜

I feel like throwing up as I exit the comment section and the app completely.

She moved on. And I was still here like a bump on a log, hoping for her to come back.

Fuck her.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

haven’t wrote in a minute god damn

enjoyyy!!

[ma1dita]

solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> to catch a thief | next -> forever falling words: 5.1k summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant) The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! (post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace. 

“Holy shit, you scared me!” 

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed. 

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose? 

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.” 

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, Trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.” 

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape. 

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you. 

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.” 

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill. 

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco. 

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you) 

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning. 

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for. 

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans? 

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist! 

Gods. 

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow. 

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, Trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—with you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before. 

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[recklesssturniolo]

Talk to Me - M.S

dom!Matt (ish), phone sex & reader and him are dating

A/N: idk how I feel ab this one praying y’all like it, also it’s short??? So also sorry ab that 😅

NSFW below, leave if you’re a minor

Cleaning my room, I’m caught off guard as my phone rings. Looking down, I smile seeing it’s Matt.

“Hey babe” I say.

“You got an explanation for the photo you sent?” He asks, referring to the nude I’d sent him a few minutes ago.

“What photo?” I reply.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what photo I’m talking about. Unfair you can send that when I’m not there to have you begging for me” He says, that sentence paired with the fact him being in LA was quite literally why he wasn’t able to be here but causing a heat to form between my legs.

“I mean you could’ve at least sent one back” I signed, laying down on my bed. The shirt I had on rising up and revealing the panties I had on - the exact ones that drove Matt crazy. My mind wandering off to how good he felt inside of me.

“Hello? Are you listening” Matt asked.

“Oh I - yeah sorry” I mumble back, trying desperately to ignore the wetness forming.

“What were you doing? Or more importantly what were you thinking of?” Matt asks, even without seeing him I knew there was a smirk on his face.

“Nothing really I just spaced off” I reply my hand subconsciously tracing the hem of my thong.

“You sure it wasn’t how good I make you feel when I’m fucking you? Maybe how my tongue feels on your pussy?” He replies.

My breath hitches in my throat knowing somehow he’d figured out his small comment from earlier turned me on, “Maybe” I sigh.

“Touch yourself baby” He groans, my eyes widening noticing his change in tone realizing he was jerking off.

“Matt, are you-“ I begin.

“Yeah I’m jerking off, you think I can see that photo you sent and not? Come on touch yourself, I know you’re wet at the thought of me” He responds.

Knowing he was right, I slide my panties down. My hands making their way back to my pussy, a slight moan leaving my mouth as I began rubbing my clit, “Fuck”

“There you go, feels good doesn’t it hm?” Matt asks.

“Yes but nothing compared to you” I respond.

“Yeah? You rather my fingers touching your pussy? My fingers pumping in and out of you until you’re clenching around them?” He groans out.

“Fuck Matt, I need you so badly” I whine, memories flooding my mind with each sentence that left his mouth. His stubble against my thighs while he sucked on my clit, how his fingers felt inside of me curled slightly, any memory I had of him touching me.

“Soon pretty girl, once I’m back I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk the next day. You have no idea how much I miss how you taste and how fucking tight you are” He groans out, his voice becoming raspy.

Unable to form a response, my mind still continuing to imagine everything he said, a whimper falls from my mouth as my back arches slightly.

“Sound so good moaning for me, fuck I can only imagine how hot you look touching yourself. Tell me what you’re thinking about baby” He says.

“I - just the one time in the car, when you ended up pinning me against the side and fuck how you finger fucked me until I came and fuck Matt-“ I began, my head tilting backwards slightly as I felt my high coming.

“And then what baby, keep going for me” He groans out, his breathing becoming faster.

“And then you fucked me against it and held my wrists together as you slammed into me. Matt I’m gonna come” I whine out, replaying the memory causing the knot in my stomach to grow.

“Good fuck so I am, let me hear you don’t be quiet” He replies, coming out more as a demand.

Without responding, whimpers and moans fall from myself, my eyes clenching shut as I came. Matt groaning and cursing on the other line, my orgasm only becoming better as I imagined him jerking off and coming on himself, his head tilted back and his hips buckling.

“Fuck you don’t know what you do to me” He speaks as both of us catch our breath, “That feel good?”

“Yes but -“ I began.

“I know I know it isn’t the same, trust me baby I know” He replies, his voice soothing now.

“If you don’t come straight to my house after your plane lands I swear to god Matt” I tell him.

“Trust me I’ll be speeding over, I already told Chris and Nick to figure out a ride back. Not waiting another second to be with you” He laughs.

“That was so hot Jesus fuck why haven’t we had phone sex before?” I question.

“I’ve jerked off while you spoke to me on the phone multiples times” He casually says.

“What? Just to my voice?” I asked, now intrigued at him admitting that.

“Mhm, I told you, you don’t know what you do to me”

TAGLIST: @sturnphilia @thatonekid536 @cupidsword @loveesiren @daddyslilchickenfingers @christinarowie332 @ilovemattsturn @its-jennarose @lxvlysworld @lovingsturniolo @iwantmattsobad @secret-sturniolo @mattsd0ll @soursturniolo @knowingnothingnoel

*If you want added to my taglist just comment or message me*

[exopelagic]

girl help I just wanna read pokemon fic but I have to do a mock exam :(

help I just wanna play splatoon but I have to revise :(

[call-mi-jinx]

Dave Lizewski - Limerence

summary - when you and dave are paired up for an english project, he asks you a question which makes you squirm

warnings - possible stalking? idk sorry, basic fluff,

Main Masterlist Dave Lizewski Masterlist

a/n - hiya gyals, i have been trying to find more than just 3 decent dave fanfics so i jus decided to write my own, ta ta my lovelies! xx

dave lizewski x fem!reader

Limerence. Noun. Meaning: the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterised by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings but not primarily for a sexual relationship.

This is the feeling I get when I think of Dave Lizewski. Nobody in school cares about him at all. They don't even look at him. Which I'm glad about because that means I get him all to myself. But he never looks at me. God I just want him to look at me, notice me, speak to me, something. But i get nothing.

It still baffles me how no one has tried to ask him out before. He is absolutely beautiful. In fact, ineffable. His brown curls frame his face amazingly. His blue eyes I could look into all day. And god his voice, it could lull me to sleep effortlessly. And his humour, he makes me silently laugh every time I overhear him say something at lunch to his friends.

My friends think I'm weird for thinking he's attractive. They call him a nerd and a weirdo because he reads comic books at that little cafe every day. But that's because they don't see what I see. And it's because they don't look at him as much as I do.

I have almost every class with him, because I found out which classes he chose and switched to them. And those lessons that I needed to get higher grades for, I studied as hard as I could so that I'd be able to move to Dave's classes. My friends call me a stalker but I just want to be closer to him.

Me and my friends are sitting at our usual table which I chose because it was right behind the table Dave usually sits at. My friends never noticed, not caring about anything other than their lunch and the conversations they're having. I never listen, I just look at Dave's features and try to hear what he's talking about. I see his friend turn around to look at me then says something to Dave.

Dave then leans to the side to look at me and I immediately hide my face with a book and blush so furiously you'd mistake me for a tomato. That was fucking embarrassing, I'd been staring that long his friend pointed it out to him. Fuck.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

I was in AP English, one of the classes I had to get my grades up for. I sat a seat to the left from Dave. I don't know what Ms. Somerset was talking about because all I was doing was doodling and trying to catch glances at Dave, while trying not to be obvious at the same time. But my ears perked up when I heard about a project we'd be doing in pairs. I prayed to God or whoever is up there that I'd be paired with Dave.

"Okay, I'm going to list the people that are going to be in pairs together. First, Holly you're with George. Grace with Vanessa. Zach with Jake. Y/N with Dave..." The teachers voice faded away as soon as I heard. My prayers had been answered. Thank you God!

I turned my head to look at Dave and he was already looking at me, we both smiled at each other then turned back towards the teacher.

"The project is going to be a presentation about the analysis of any piece of literature you want to do. Do it however you want it just needs to be a PowerPoint slideshow. Now everyone go sit with your partner and begin planning your presentations." Everyone got up and joined their partner and Dave came over and sat next to me.

"I never knew you were in AP English Y/N..." He felt a bit embarrassed after admitting that. A blush creeped up onto my face, well that's a bit embarrassing.

"I changed to this class about 5 months ago, I just never talk because none of my friends are in this class." I gave him a shy smile as Ms. Somerset handed us some coloured pens and a piece of paper to make a plan.

"You're in my Chem, Bio and Physics as well now that I think about it. And my History, Computer Science and Design Tech. You're in all my classes and I never noticed you before. Except at lunch or breaks, or when we walk home the same way. Don't you live a couple blocks from me?" Fuck... What if he connects the dots? And if he does what if he thinks I'm a freak?

"I wouldn't know, sorry." I gave him an awkward laugh and looked down to the paper.

"So what piece of literature should we choose? We could do something by Jane Austen, Shakespeare, Fitzgerald, Mark Twain?" It shocked me that Dave knew all those writers, mainly because all I've seen or heard about him reading was comic books.

"I say we do Emma by Jane Austen. I've read it a hundred times and I've already analysed it anyway so we just have to put it onto the presentation." Dave agreed and we planned out our presentation for the rest of the class.

When the bell rang, I gathered all my things and exited the classroom to go home. When I was a few steps out of the classroom, I heard someone call my name. It was Dave.

"I-I thought you could have my number, so that we can arrange to meet at each other's houses to work on the project. O-or we could work on it at the library. Whatever y-you're comfortable with." My heart could practically explode. Not only was he giving me his number, he was also possibly inviting over to his house!

"Yeah that'd be great." I gave him a bright smile. "We could go back to my house now? So that we can get the project over and done with, I hate having things that aren't finished yet."

"R-right now?" His cheeks flush a light pink. His eyes dart from my eyes to everything else around us.

"Yeah, you don't have to come over if you don't want to I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Fuck, I already feel like I'm screwing it up with him.

"N-no it's fine, I just didn't think you'd want me there. But yeah, let's go now." Inside, I was practically exploding. I have never felt such happiness until now. I fucking love Ms. Somerset!

We began walking out the school when my friends saw me walking with Dave. I saw them whispering and giggling to each other.

"Hey Y/N! What are you doing with him?" I felt anger run through me, why the fuck are they taking the piss out of him?

"We have a project we need to do so he's coming over to my house after school." I fake smiled at them and as soon as I turned away from them I had a disgusted look on my face. "Sorry about them Dave."

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

As we came into my house, my dad immediately came into the hall and gave me a hug. He then turned to Dave and sized him up. I could see Dave squirming so I broke the silence.

"Dad, this is Dave. We're doing a project together in English." My dad narrowed his eyes at Dave and then his eyes widened with realisation and went to shake Dave's hand.

"So you're the Dave my princess talks about all the time!" I wanted the ground to swallow me whole and get the hell away from here. I've never wanted to be thrown into space in my whole entire life.

Dave looked at me in confusion and saw my uncomfortable demeanor.

"Right we're going upstairs, love you." I then dragged myself upstairs, Dave following close behind me and I led him to my room.

I sat myself at my desk and watched Dave as he looked around my room. I had vinyl records stuck to the wall along with different posters and tapestries. Fairy lights lined the frame of my bed. I also had a little table with a record player and a shelf specifically for my favourite records.

"Your room is really nice Y/N. I like your posters and lights." I looked around my room, I never actually took notice of it in all honesty.

"Thank you. I decorated it myself, I even designed the layout of my room when my dad helped build this place." Dave looked fascinated. I don't even know why.

"That's so cool, you got to choose how your room was shaped and everything?" It was cute how he was so excited about something as little as room design.

"Yeah, plus my room is the biggest in the house. My dad let me have it cause he said he's barely going to be in his anyways cause he's working all the time. Surprised he's actually home right now." Dave smiled at me and looked around my room before we silently began our project.

I couldn't believe that Dave fucking Lizewski was in my room! I've liked him ever since I first saw him when I moved here in Sophomore year. As he was doing his work, I couldn't help but stare. He was so beautiful. The way his curls fell on his face, the way he slightly stuck out his tongue when he was concentrating on reading something. I was so lost in staring at him I didn't even realise that he was calling my name.

"Y/N!" I shook my head to get myself out of the trance I was in, he caught me fucking staring. Great.

"Yeah?" He smiled as he shook his head at me, not in a misdemeaning way though, in a "I find it kinda cute" way.

"What exactly are we analysing from Emma?" I went to sit down next to him on my bed and read what he was reading.

"I think we should analyse how Jane Austen represents class types within all the characters and how they act towards each other." I then looked to Dave who was already looking at me.

"Your eyes are really pretty..." Why the fuck did I just say that? Out of everything to come out of my mouth that is what I say? Dave's face turns a bright shade of red.

"Th-thank you, I really like your hair..." I had purple streaks in my hair. My dad screamed at me when he saw, but he then found them actually pretty.

"Thank you, when I first dyed it my dad went ballistic. Eventually he warmed up to them." Dave smiled at me, in a way I couldn't decipher.

"Do you like me?... Y/N?" Those words make my heart stop. Fuck. He's realised. He probably found out about me switching classes just to be with him, me staring at him all the time, my friends call it an obsession.

"Where did that come from?" I chuckle, trying to play it off.

"I've heard your friends talk about it, Todd told me today that you were staring at me. So I thought I'd ask you." This was actually quite bold of him, he always just stuck to either being quiet or just talking quietly with Todd and Marty.

"You find me weird don't you?" I leaned away from him, I didn't want him to look at me. Before right now, that was all I had hoped for and now it's the last thing I want.

"No, not at all actually. I find it cute. At first I was worried you wanted to kill me or something but when I saw your face light up when Ms. Somerset paired us up I had a feeling it wasn't because you wanted to kill me." Dave chuckled slightly, he smiled with only one side of his mouth and he looked so cute doing it.

"I thought I could actually hide it, guess I can't. I do like you Dave, and I know you have a crush on Katie so it's fine we can just pretend this never-" Dave cut me off by pressing his lips against mine. At first I was completely shocked but then I kissed him back. Oh my god I'm kissing Dave Lizewski!

I cupped his cheeks and pulled him on top of me and his hand found place on my waist. He didn't kiss me roughly like a couple guys have done before. He was gentle, more caring than lustful.

We both then pulled away and Dave had a big goofy smile, he was adorable.

"I don't like Katie, I mean I used to. But that was until I started seeing you sit next to our table at lunch and see you walk down the hallways with your friends..." A billion fireworks were going off in my head. I have never been happier.

"W-would you wanna go out on a date with me?" Oh my god, he wants to go out on a date with me!

"I would love to." I had a massive grin on my face. My dreams had come true.

[yanderemommabean]

Hey beans! Bit of an update-

This post will include mentions of abuse so, please, don't read if that will harm you in any way!

Sorry for the lack of posts lately! With how weird my school is with testing and clinicals, I've had hardly any real time to feel like I could sleep AND create. On top of that, I am still in the unfortunate position of living with my abuser, along with the rest of my family who seem to be going downhill.

While I'm hoping I can get a job to save up to move out of this state, that's going to take time, and its time I fear I don't have some nights as just the other night while bringing home groceries, I was met with my step dads gun directly in my face, and him being mad I was "Coming home late at ten at night" when it was, in fact, only 9:15 and I made myself known as I walked up the stairs.

My grandma is also a big issue, she's draining as usual but its taking more of a toll on me by the day. I no longer get food stamps either which is a reason she wants to start in on me every day I walk out of my room. The verbal abuse is one thing but she's threatening again and if I stand up for myself I'm seen as the bad guy.

My mom who used to be a person I thought I could turn to is now down a rabbit hole about "Woke" culture and now sees anyone in the LGBTQ community as brainwashers, yet when I remind her I am bisexual, she seems to backtrack a bit and say "Well no, not you, you're a good one"

She's also back into worshipping the Christian God, which I have absolutely no issue with, but she's telling me that I cant have my tarot cards or my own craft in my room like I'm some 15 year old who doesn't understand religions, and not 24 and choosing my own way in life. She keeps insisting that I pray, that I thank God, that I'm a sinner, anything to make her feel like she's scaring me into "Changing". I keep telling her she's driving a wedge between us, but it seems to be for nothing.

Every day I feel like my support net is crumbling, and I feel like this trip to save up is going to be fruitless as I don't have my own car, I have to find a way to get the doctors I need if I even get to the state I'm moving to, and so on and so on.

Any who, I'm going through a lot and can't seem to catch a break but I love you beans! I hope you're all doing good and having a wonderful day!

-Mommabean

[rottenpumpkin13]

sepiroth passes out from exhastion how does everyone react

Sephiroth stuns everyone by collapsing during a training session in the VR room, his body finally giving out after days of consecutive missions, training, paperwork, and unfortunate visits to Hojo. Angeal immediately takes charge, catching him before he hits the ground, while Genesis rushes to cast Cure. They refuse to take him to Medical—where he would inevitably fall into Hojo's "care"—and carry him back to his apartment instead, worried for him.

Angeal:

"Honor includes knowing when to rest, Sephiroth. This isn't honorable." Sephiroth is actively passed out during this lecture.

Immediately transforms Sephiroth's apartment into a recovery ward, complete with homemade remedies and an impressive array of healthy snacks that mysteriously appear every few hours.

Makes approximately 32 different types of soup because "proper nutrition is the foundation of recovery"

Fusses over Sephiroth in every feasible way. Gives him baths, insists on spoon feeding him, and even attempts to cuddle him at one point while holding back tears because "oh you poor thing!"

Sits on Sephiroth to prevent escape.

Keeps finding hidden paperwork around Sephiroth and confiscating them with disappointed sighs.

Has to physically block the door when Sephiroth tries to "just check on one small mission"

Has perfected the art of the disappointed father look, which he deploys every time Sephiroth so much as glances at his work laptop.

Somehow acquired a sleep materia and isn't afraid to use it.

Genesis

Shows off his medical expertise while pretending he isn't worried (he is) (he shrieked when Sephiroth collapsed and immediately started praying).

"If you die from exhaustion, I'll learn necromancy just to bring you back from the dead, and then kill you myself"

Mastered Cure materia at the ready, points it at Sephiroth like a weapon.

Manages to be simultaneously the most competent medic and the most dramatic nursemaid in Shinra history.

Has hidden Masamune somewhere "where your stubborn self won't find it" (in the cost closet) and keeps leaving elaborate threats about what will happen if Sephiroth doesn't stay in bed.

These threats primarily involve burning various items of clothing and replacing them with things from the Shinra gift shop. Has developed an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere the moment Sephiroth tries to reach for any work-related items, scaring Sephiroth half to death.

Keeps slipping sleeping powder into Sephiroth's tea. Angeal informs him that this is, in fact, a crime.

Sits beside Sephiroth and reads him poetry, and story books, an encyclopedia, and a novel, and the newspaper. Occasionally becomes a podcast and starts yapping about his opinions on anything and everything. Genesis has become Sephiroth's personal radio, and Sephiroth wouldn't have it any other way.

Zack:

Is on guard dog duty (guard puppy) and is posted at Sephiroth's door with a crowbar in case Hojo and his team try to come take Sephiroth away.

Sends hourly reports to Angeal via text, most of which are just variations of "still no Hojo! But I did see a suspicious plant..."

Tackles three different people who "looked suspicious"

One was just a janitor.

One was a food delivery person.

One was Lazard who came to check on Sephiroth.

"Angeal said to use the crowbar first and ask questions later!

Has somehow acquired a collection of chocobo plushies that keep multiplying in Sephiroth's apartment, each with a little note about rest and recovery attached to it.

Genuinely believes that doing squats outside the door creates a protective barrier against unwanted visitors. Not because of magic, but because "my thighs are so powerful, they send a message."

Sephiroth:

Tries to argue he's "perfectly fine" while barely conscious.

Attempts to escape through the window (on the 49th floor)

Keeps trying to summon Masamune but Genesis hid it. This upsets Sephiroth greatly.

"I just need to sign one form—"

Secretly touched by all the care and attention but would rather eat another batch of Angeal's medicinal Banora White and trout strew than admit it.

[justask4nndes]

PART 3 of my story of my brother and I

After that night I didn't bring up anything about it or what happened to Josh, nor did I really speak with him very much for the rest of that night and part of the next. I was filled with guilt and or curiosity and or shame for everything. Even though the initial situation wasn't remotely my fault, I was the oldest of the two of us and should have put a stop to it then and there by telling on him. But I just couldn't bring myself to. I had a perfect opportunity to be able to get some type of experience before I got to experience it with a boyfriend and I wanted to make sure he doesn't leave me because I'm bad at it or something. (Teenage girls are really dumb sometimes. I know)

The evening after the situation in Josh's room took place, I was out at a party in the woods with everyone I went to school with and while everyone else seemed to be getting hammered, I had to drive home since Josh was by himself and wasn't allowed to be alone over night. So I said my goodbyes around 930 and grabbed the two friends that asked me for a ride earlier and we got in the car and headed back to our neighborhood. On the way there, these drunk bitches got on the topic of sex and were very good at retelling their past experiences with it. Meanwhile, I'm praying they don't ask me for a similar one, since well, I didn't have one. Of course I can't just catch a single break in life and they both turn to me and ask if I was still being a prude little virgin or finally manned up. (There words not mine) which made me a little mad and not wanting to listen to their BS the rest of the way I told them I had, in fact, hooked up with a guy. A guy they hadn't met and wouldn't know anyways. Which they were right to call me on but I couldn't spill anymore info for obvious reasons and my dumbass instead told them, "I'll prove it" they both shut up right then but asked me how? "I'll send you proof tonight." "Oookkk well see" they said with the most condescension possible.

Once I dropped them off and made my way home. I sat in the driveway for a little while thinking about how dumb I was for telling them that. The only penis I had access to was attached to someone that they both would absolutely know the second they saw his face. And it hit me. IF they saw his face. I jumped up out of my seat and shut the door and walked quickly upto my front door and entered. I scanned the first floor looking for Josh but I knew I wouldn't find him down there since he only came down to eat and that's only because our parents wouldn't bring him his food up in his room. So as I walked up the stairs I subconsciously started to creep up them as if I was trying to catch him doing something or watching something and I guess I was into that. Just didn't realize it at the time. I slowly opened his door to his room to find it empty. Just a pair of shorts, a shirt, and his underwear lay in the middle of his floor. Along with the pair of panties I had wore yesterday when we had our little alone time and were soaking wet when I took them off that night. Dumbfounded, I walked in and picked them up and they were still wet. Wait, how are they still wet? It's been almost a full day since I took them off? I turned on the light and ran my fingers across the crotch of my panties and they were slightly wet but mainly it was soaked on the backside of them. I brought them to my face and smelled them, which made me instantly realize, that little shit came on my underwear. I was furious. I just bought those panties. That's when I head the faint sound of water running.

I walked out of his room, cum soaked panties in hand and marched towards the bathroom in the hallway. He was taking a shower, i guess to was all his cum off or whatever else that pervert got into. I was going to punish him for this one though. So I slowly turned the door knob and lightly pushed the door open and bringing out my camera I had in my purse for pictures at the party and turned it on. The shower had that glass that, while see-through, made everything distorted and foggy looking but I could tell he was facing the shower head and I could see his profile. I started taking pictures to blackmail him with threats to send to his friends later but then I noticed I could clearly see the outline of his penis through the glass. It was soft at the time but looked pretty big and I remember being kind of impressed and proud that my brother had a big one. Lol. I don't know why I thought that but I did. Still, I had a job to do, so I waiting till he was scrubbing shampoo into his hair and must have his eyes closed and I grabbed the handle to the shower and flung it open. He nearly jumped out of his skin as I took Pic after Pic of his naked body while asking why the fuck he came on my panties. He tried looking at me but the soap burned his eyes so he tried covering up but his eyes burned so much he had to rub the soap out of them. "I..didnt...do" he stuttered out. "Don't fucking lie Josh. I have them in my hand and now I'm going to show all your little friends your little dick" i snapped back at him. Although that last part was a straight lie by me, because I knew he wasn't little where it counts, he apologized profusely and started to cry. I wasn't letting it slide though. "When your done, come to my room. Do you understand?" He nodded. I left the bathroom and went into my room and changed out of my clothes I had on all evening and waited 20 mins for him to finally walk in.

As he walked into my room I wasted no time in giving him orders. "Strip" at this point he didn't even put up a fight. He was only wearing underwear so he dropped them to the floor and stood in the middle of room totally naked and turning redder by the second. "Move your hands i need to take a picture" his head jerked up to meet my gaze,"what? Why?" I didn't respond. Only gave him mine and my mother's patented ashamed of him stare until he realized he didn't have a choice and put his hands to the side. I got up from my bed and walked over and kneeled down right in front of his crotch and started taking pictures of him from the neck down. "Now I need it to be hard" puzzled, he asked, "ho.." he didn't get even get the word how out and I already had my hand firmly around his shaft. It took a split second and he was already throbbing hard in my hand. That boy was like the energizer bunny I swear. As it was now hard I started taking pictures with it in my hand and I wondered if that would be enough for those sluts I called friends, knowing good and well it wouldn't be, they would just say it wasn't me in them. So I handed him my camera and told him to take a picture when I said so. He nodded, I'm sure fighting back shooting cum everywhere like usual. I fixed my hair and grabbed his shaft with one hand while positioning my head so it would be visible in the shot and I did that by bringing my lips to sit up against the tip of his penis. I said to take it and I could hear the shutter clicking indicating he did as he was told. I could already taste pre cum oozing from his tip which I'll be honest, was starting to grow on me and maybe even loved the taste now. Once he took them I grabbed my camera and told him thanks and went and sat on my bed. He stood there, hard as a rock and confused and sad when he realized that it wasn't going any further. He looked as if he wanted to say something but seemed to think better of it and just turned and walked out of my room. His penis bouncing back a fourth so much I could see the head come out past his ass on each side as he left.

I knew what i had done to him as I've heard my friends doing it to their boyfriends before. Blue balls. They said it hurts the guy and they'll be in pain. Which I found to be a great punishment for Josh. So much so, that the last day we'd have the house to just the two of us I decided I'd mess with him even more to have him crying in pain by the end of the night. I was giddy. Probably partly due to it turning me on but also seeing him suffer a little after all he put me through was also good. I walked out of my room that morning and made my way downstairs to start breakfast for both of us and when the eggs were done i went back upstairs to wake him. He slowly got up and came downstairs where I was already eating. Once he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes he stopped in his tracks and stared at me. I pretended to be oblivious to it and kept eating but knew full well why he was staring. Because I decided that, for the rest of that day, I wasn't going to wear any clothes. Not even underwear. So I was sitting at the table fully naked and in clear view of him.

The 4th and final part will be out shortly. Thank you all for such nice feedback and messages telling me how much you like my encounter with my brother. If that includes you, then stick around, because I promise it gets quite a bit more......intimate.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 2803

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

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Please read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 3

The rest of that day was pretty uneventful. Charlie practically threw my sad lone duffle bag through the front door and left before I could give her a piece of my mind for just leaving me here. I helped Sam put away the groceries he’d bought, emphasising that ‘we don’t put things down, we put them away’, otherwise we end up living in filth again. I also cleared some space around the study area that seems to be the centre of the bunker, and much to my dismay, threw out even more take-out boxes and beer bottles. I arranged all of the research that had been left on the desk in a mess, organising it into piles of read and unread; or at least what looked read and unread to me. The whole time Dean sat at this very desk and was watching cartoons on Sam’s laptop whilst his brother was in the shower, letting me do all the dirty work as he just sat there and relaxed. When I was finally done, I slumped down in the chair opposite him and slid all of the neat stacks of research towards myself. Dean looked up at me, his relaxed ‘cartoon-watching’ expression fading slightly.

“What are you doing?” He asked. I looked up at him like he was stupid.

“What do you think? I’m catching up on what you guys have been researching.”

He closed the laptop and folded his arms across his chest, the cotton of his flannel pulling tight over his large biceps.

“That’s such a waste of time.”

“And why, pray tell, is it such a waste of time Dean?”

“It’ll take you days, maybe weeks to catch up on what we know - either me or Sam can give you a rundown on what’s most important in an hour,” his tone was very matter-of-fact, like he didn’t want to be argued with. I sighed, crossing my arms on the table in front of me, leaning forwards.

“That’s great, you can still do that, but the more clued up I am as to what is going on then the more chance we have of finding what you need,” I paused for a second, a thought flashing across my mind. “Come to think of it, you haven’t even told me why I’m here, other than to ‘do research’. What are you looking for that has you so stumped?” Dean sucked a breath in through teeth, shifting slightly in his chair.

“The Fist Blade,” his tone had a thickness to it that I couldn’t place.

“The First Blade? As in Cain and Abel? THAT First Blade? ”

“Bingo.”

“But surely that’s long gone by now, it’s been two millennia at least. Nothing can last that long…can it?” I asked almost rhetorically. Dean shrugged.

“That’s what we want to know too,” his eyes flicked up and caught mine, his gaze burning into mine for only a moment with such intensity I felt my breath catch in my chest. The dark purple bruising on his face around his eyes made that forest green even more vibrant and alluring. There was a pause - for some reason I couldn’t look away and I had to catch myself before glancing at his bruised lips, which I knew already were devilishly charming. Right as I gave in to temptation and saw the corner of Deans poor split lip twitch into a smirk, Sam saved the day by striding in, towel-drying his hair. He paused, looked at us and frowned quizzically, almost like he was more surprised that we weren’t throwing furniture at each other. He didn’t say anything on that topic though, because as he looked around he noticed I’d cleaned. Again.

“(Y/n) you really have to stop cleaning up our mess,” he smiled, hanging his towel on the back of his chair as he took a seat next to me, his long legs grazing mine slightly.

“Sam just say ‘thank you’,” I tilted my head up to him - he was still enormous even when he was sitting down. He laughed slightly, almost bashfully as he looked down for a second at his twiddling thumbs before locking his eyes with mine again.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I returned his smile at last, holding it for a few seconds before continuing: “So Dean has just been explaining to me what you’re looking for. Surely the First Blade is long gone by now? How would it have survived this long, and still be functional - not just some pile of dust?” Sam huffed out an already exasperated breath, slouching back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, much like how Dean was sitting.

“I have no idea, at this point I feel like we’re grasping at air,” we all mumbled in agreement, suddenly sitting in a solemn sort of silence. It was short lived though as Sam leant forwards, pushing his damp hair from his eyes and trying to lighten the mood.

“Guys why don’t we just leave it for a few hours and get something for dinner? It’s getting late and we should really eat.” Dean suddenly sprang forwards, sitting up straight and lacing his fingers together on the desk with a grin on his stupid face.

“Good idea Sammy - I can’t wait to try her cooking. If she can cook half as well as she cleans then we’re in for a treat.”

“You son of a bitch!” I jumped up, grasping the first thing I could find (a file on God knows what) and smacked him across the face with it. Deans head turned with the force - albeit not much - and another stupid grin crept onto his stupid lips. He chuckled his deep, chesty laugh and tenderly touched his already sore face, wincing slightly.

“Just for a second I forgot you hated my guts,” he drawled, rising to his feet.

“Well you don’t do yourself any favours by talking to me like that.”

“Yeah? Well maybe if you weren’t such a hot head you’d be able to take a joke.”

“A joke? You call that a joke? Jokes are supposed to be funny, Dean, there wasn’t even a punchline,” I had started to raise my voice slightly and he gave me an extremely puzzled look.

“Hold the fucking phone - are you mad at me because I ‘insulted’ you or are you mad that there was no punchline?”

“I’m mad at YOU, because you’re just trying to rub me up the wrong way on purpose!”

There was a pause, and a smirk and a twinkle in Deans eye.

“Well I’m sure if you ask Sam nicely he’ll rub you up the right way.”

“DEAN!” Sam and I both cut in at the same time and when I glanced at him I noticed a faint pink glow on his cheeks.

“What?” He threw his hands up, “Sam you’ve been acting like a schoolgirl around her since we met her at the diner, always jumping to her aid first. Just admit you have a crush ok?” Dean gave his younger brother an ‘all knowing look’ as Sam covered his face.

“Dean I’m going to pretend you never said any of that and just move on,” Sam turned to me and said in a hushed tone “I’m so sorry,” before looking back at his brother, who was now reaching for his jacket. “And where are you going?” Sam quizzed.

“To get dinner, that’s what this whole conversation escalated from right? About what we were going to eat? Well I’m going to get takeout, what do you both want?” Dean said, throwing his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Dean sit down,” I chimed in, my voice sterner than I intended.

“What?”

“Just sit the fuck down. Both of you. Carry on researching and making yourself useful,” I said, moving away from the table.

“Why?” Sam did as he was told but Dean looked at me like I’d asked him to eat tofu.

“Because I’m not letting you boys eat yourself to death with E numbers and MSG. I’ll cook something,” and as the words left my mouth I saw Deans eyebrows raise so much I thought they might push his hairline back. Before he could get a single word out Sam spoke on behalf of both of them:

“If you’re really ok doing that, (Y/n), you’ve already done so much today-”

“Sam it’s fine, I really don’t mind. I actually enjoy cooking, and since Bobby’s been gone I’ve had no one to cook for. So yeah it’s ok,” I smiled at him reassuringly, and he smiled back.

“Ok, if you’re sure,” he paused, looking to his older brother who had removed his jacket and was taking a seat again, “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to just because Dean-”

“Really Sam, I’m fine with it. I was planning to cook even before the jackass opened his trap.” The younger Winchester gave me a final ‘ok’ before I spun on my heel and walked towards the kitchen, not even bothering to give the older Winchester a second glance.

I guess it’s time to find out what these boys have lurking in their pantry.

*

I’d been cooking for maybe half an hour when I was finally done and called the boys to the kitchen. I set three places at the table, and placed down three beers and enough cutlery for all of us, alongside various condiments they might want. I was just serving up as they walked in, muttering to themselves about something they’d researched. As they both sat down, I placed two plates in front of them and watched their faces light up.

“STEAK!” They both had wide grins as they picked up their cutlery and immediately dug in.

“Don’t get too excited, it’s nothing special. Plus the fries were frozen and the mac ‘n’ cheese was instant,” I said, placing down my own plate and taking a seat between them.

“Don’t care, ‘s home cooked,” Dean said with a mouthful of food, reaching for his beer. Sam just nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Well ok then,” I smiled to myself, I guess a little happy that they were happy. And for once that Dean had nothing smart to say. Yet.

*

Dinner was pretty uneventful - and short - as the boys practically inhaled their food. When their plates were empty they just sat at the table in a happy silence, rubbing their full bellies.

“Considering you just used what we already had and didn’t go shopping for anything, that was fucking beautiful,” Dean said, stifling a burp. I looked at him in surprise.

“Oh… Thanks Dean,” I half smiled down at him as I stood to collect their plates. He put his hand out to stop me, taking them from my grasp and pushed gently on my shoulder, urging me to sit. He returned the half smile, standing up.

“No problem. Now let me do this, you’ve done enough for us today already. Take a break,” his voice was low and strangely kind towards me, and I was almost lost for words as I felt his firm chest brush against my arm as he took the plates from me, his body heat reaching my skin through the fabric. Was he being serious, or just leading up to be a dick in a rather roundabout way? Who knows. But I should try to appreciate the moment at least.

Dean washed up whilst Sam dried everything and put it all away, and I sat sipping my beer as they bustled about for a few minutes. Once they were done, Sam took his seat back at the table and Dean grabbed the tea towel, roughly wiping the surfaces and flinging it over his shoulder when he was done.

“And now it’s pie time,” he said suddenly, sparks of joy in his voice. I grinned.

“Oooh, can I have some?” I asked. Dean turned to look at me like I’d asked him to shoot a puppy, and Sam muttered an ‘oh boy’ under his breath.

“Can you have some?” Dean repeated my request back to me, those sparks of joy in his voice no longer there.

“Yeah…please? I saw it in the fridge earlier, there’s definitely enough to share,” I stated, starting to feel like I was missing something here. Sam cleared his throat and I turned to look at him, an unusual expression on his face.

“Uhhh…(Y/n), Dean doesn’t share his pie. Not even with me.” Dean slammed the fridge door closed, said pie now in hand.

“You’re Goddamn right. The pies mine, now back off,” he gave me a warning look as he grabbed a fork and sat back down next to me again.

“Fuck me; really? What are you, a child? Who the fuck won’t share a pie made for four people?” I asked, getting exasperated with Deans bullshit. I knew the kindness wouldn’t last.

“Me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys, I’m gonna go and get some sleep - I’ll be back in a few hours. Thanks for dinner (Y/n), it was great,” Sam stood and pinched the bridge of his nose, not being inconspicuous at all about being done with bickering between Dean and I. He smiled softly at me before he left, patting my shoulder as I said a quiet ‘sleep well’ to him before he exited the room. Then it just left me and Dean. Again.

“Just one slice,” I asked abruptly, watching him shovel pastry into his face.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Dean I made you dinner and tidied your shit, the least you can do is give me a slice,” I slid forward in my chair, inching closer to him in a new attempt to get him to share.

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” I threw my hands up before leaning forwards a little more so I was now close enough to smell him. And annoyingly he smelt divine - his cologne mixed with the scent of old leather and woodsmoke, perhaps a little gunpowder too. I breathed in, trying to get to the sweet smell of the desert he had, but all I could smell was him. I tried to ignore it. He was still a douchebag.

“One bite?” He sighed and turned to look at me, noses almost touching as I flinched back, not realising how much I’d shuffled towards him. He sighed, dropping his head slightly.

“Ok, just one bite,” he said as I did a very quiet squeal of delight. I reached for the fork in his hand but he held it up out of my reach, shaking his head.

“No. Not you.”

“Dean, come on.”

“Open.”

“What are you-”

“Open your mouth,” he said sternly, those evergreen eyes finding mine.

“Wait wha-”

“Open your Goddamn mouth (Y/n)” he said, his voice turning gravelly as I felt his breath on my face. I felt heat start to flood my cheeks and I couldn’t tell what emotion it was coming from, as I had started to feel a lot of things all at once. What made my head spin a little though was hearing my name fall from his lips - he hadn’t said it before, at least not to my face. And I hated myself for liking how it sounded. I didn’t say anything to him as I eventually did as I was told; opening my mouth and instinctively sticking out my tongue a little. I wasn’t sure where to look, so I looked at him - the concentration on his face as he scooped up an acceptable amount of pie to part with was amusing to say the least. Happy with my tiny portion, he turned to me and put the fork on my tongue, to which I closed my lips around as he slowly pulled it from my mouth, leaving the amazingly sweet desert behind. With my eyes now closed, I couldn’t help but hum in delight, savouring every flavour before I swallowed it down. Slowly opening my eyes again, I wasn’t expecting to see Dean still watching me, lips slightly parted as his gaze flickered between my eyes and my sticky lips, which I was now licking clean. He seemed to catch himself quickly though, immediately scooping up more pie for himself and cramming it into his own mouth. I sat back in my chair, picking up my beer and draining the bottle.

“Next time you buy a pie, Winchester,” I started, standing and tossing the bottle in the bin, “buy one for me so we don’t have this problem again.” He looked up at me just as I turned to leave.

“No promises,” his lip quirked slightly - so slightly that I wondered if he’d even smirked at all. I scoffed, giving him one last look as I rolled my eyes before I left the room to continue researching.

“Fuck you.”

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Up Next:

Chapter 4

[spctrsgf]

rocks and faulty plans

summary: you and poe make an unexpected stop to a rocky planet. with a broken ship.

-> based off this prompt

words: 1.3k

a/n: heeeeeeeey guys 😅😅 i will be more active soon I PRAY but here is a silly drabble i wrote i miss my silly space pilot :((

You’re not really sure why you even listened to him in the first place. You knew that beside all of his cockiness, he had some sort of planning skills and a desire to not kill the both of you, but it wasn't all that apparent in your current situation.

The rocky terrain of the planet you'd landed on– an unplanned detour– was harder to navigate than you'd thought when you were back on the ship. Despite this fact, your companion was already several steps ahead, trekking along the curve of a particularly large rock.

You groan loudly, hoping he hears your disdain as you tug on the collar of your jumpsuit and double your speed to catch up to him. The burst of energy from your fiery anger is, much to your dismay, hardly enough to last for longer than twenty seconds. A burn in your leg ignites the gravel beneath your feet, sending you stumbling.

“You okay down there?” Calls that ever so taunting tone. You glare up at his figure, backlit by the red sun. Still several steps ahead. “Oh fuck off, would you?” You snap, glancing down at the beads of blood forming along the scrape of your leg. 

He laughs. “It's okay, baby, it happens to all of us. Even me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. 

He shrugs back. How does he manage to admit fault cockily?

“Using pet names to hide your concern, I see.”

He tuts, but says nothing to dispute your claim, heading towards you. 

“I can get up myself, Poe.” You snarl at him.

“I think the rocks would beg to differ.”

“Would it kill you to not tease me?”

He grins. “In an instant.”

You roll your eyes, but grab the hand he had extended out to you and let him help you up. He pulls you forward, seemingly only letting go of your hand when he realized he had been holding it for so long. The two of you trek together to the top of the rock, not sharing anything but the oxygen during sharp breaths. 

It was a weirdly serene moment with him. Poe wasn't necessarily a man of little or many words, but it wasn't often that you saw him comfortable in the silence. Especially in your current… predicament. You’d half expected him to spend the whole adventure talking your ear off about the ten billion plans you knew he had thought of, but he remained quiet.

You suppose you could chalk it up to the view. It was nothing short of breathtaking. The small town below was bustling about, nestled among the rocks that spiked out of the ground. The light from the sun cast a loving red sheen on the whole scene, cupping the inhabitants and painting them friendly. It was difficult to even consider looking away from. 

Yeah, that was probably Poe’s silencer.

You smile, letting him bask in the scenery before you shove his shoulder, beginning to head towards the town. “C’mon, pretty boy, stop gawking and get a move on! We don't have all day.” He scoffed. “I was not gawking, it's just-” he runs a hand down his face, “it's been a while since I've seen a view like that.”

“Space just isn't quite like this, is it?” 

“Not quite. A lot more black.” He says, finally catching up to you.

You snort. “That's true. It's calming in its own way, isn't it?”

“Yeah. If it weren't for our current situation, I’d spend a couple days here. Nice vacation.”

“You deserve that.” The words leave your mouth before you can take a second to think about them. Shit.

But Poe doesn't tease, he just smiles wide. “Thank you.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “But, back to business-”

“Here we go."

“Hey!” You glare, and he quickly quiets. “What are we gonna do? Just ask one of these people if they can walk however long with whatever tools they need to fix our ship?”

“Well, that was plan D in my extensive list of ideas.”

“Oh, and what about the other ones?” You indulge, curious.

“Well, plan A was to not crash on the planet in the first place, but you can see how well that went.” He grumbles.

“We tried our best.”

“I know,” he sighs, running a hand down his face, again. “Rest of my plans weren't quite as good.”

“Doubt that. Let's try plan E.” You quip, seeing how close the two of you were to the town.

He shrugs easily. “Let's.” 

You watch him gather his confidence and paint it across his face, and with that, the two of you make your way into the town. You trail a few steps behind him, letting “plan E” fall into place. He makes his way into a bar, leaning against the counter and motioning for you to do the same.

As you copy him, he leans over, whispering, “just go with it, okay?” You nod, locking your jaw to stop yourself from yelping when his hand wraps around your waist. “Hey, bartender!” He yells, catching their attention. “What can I get for you today, sir?” 

“My fiancé and I are here trying to get to the next planet in your system, but our ship crashed. Would you happen to have something that could help us?”

The bartender tilts his head to the side. “You do realize this is a bar, right?”

“I’m willing to bet you see most of this town here. So if anyone knows of someone who can help us, it's you.”

“Sure, a lot of people come in here, but I just serve drinks. Can I get you two anything?”

“Sir, please-”

“Listen here, outsider,” the bartender leans over the counter, and you can smell the alcohol he'd surely downed earlier. “I’ve been gracious enough to not kick you two out of my bar as soon as you didn’t place an order, because you and your fiancé seem like respectable people. But this is a busy bar, so if you're not going to buy a drink, get the fuck out of my bar before I have someone make you.”

“All we need is one address!”

“Last chance, sir.” The man gnarls at you two.

“Okay,” you jump in, taking Poe’s hand off your waist and pulling him away from the bartender. “Thank you for your help!”

You drag the two of you out of the bar before either man could exchange any more malicious words. Poe struggles, clearly trying to make his plan work. It was obvious he had more things to say– or do– to the bartender, but eventually he gives in to your pulling, trailing behind you. 

“So much for plan E.” You grumble as soon as you aren't in earshot of the bar. “I could have made that work! He would've listened to me.” Poe grumbles right back. 

“You and I both know that isn't true.” 

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“What is it with him anyways?” You question, making sure your voice was low and there wasn't anyone around before continuing. “He was so much meaner than anyone else we've seen.”

“Bad day, maybe? They could not get many visitors here.”

“Or too many.” You add in.

He smiles. “Or too many. Maybe he's struggling to make ends meet.”

“That's also true,” you sigh in defeat. “But it doesn't solve our problem.”

He shakes his head. "Let's just move on to plan F. F stands for fabulous."

"The way all your other plans have worked out so far, I would assume F also stands for failure." 

“Hey!” He yelps, glaring. 

You giggle. “Joking. Plan F it is! What do you need me to do?”

His smile made what some would call a shit eating grin.

You groan. “Oh no.”

Well, the two of you definitely made it off the planet in record time. With nothing more than you came with, other than a bounty on your heads.

No biggie.

someone yell at me to write my reqs bye

[belovedspector]

Barely a Scratch

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader (implied Marc Spector x gn!reader and Steven Grant x gn!reader)

Word Count: ~580

Summary: Jake comes home from patrol a little worse for wear. You help patch him up.

Content: Blood and injury (nothing graphic), fluff

A/N: Just a little fic to try to get myself back into writing! Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

You’re sitting in bed with a book when you hear the distinct squeak of the bedroom window opening. You should be used to it by now—you do live with Moon Knight, after all—but it still makes you jump.

You catch a glimpse of the suit before it dematerializes and know it’s Jake who’s standing in the room with you.

“How’d it go?” you ask, closing your book after marking your place.

“I got shot.”

“You what?!” You spring out of bed, panicked.

“I got shot. Only a little bit, though.”

He seems far too calm. You, on the other hand, are beside yourself.

“And how, pray-fucking-tell, does one only get ‘a little bit’ shot?!” you ask, struggling to keep your voice level.

He lifts his shirt to show off where the bullet grazed his side. “See? Barely a scratch,” he says with a slightly feral grin.

You shake your head disapprovingly.

“Hold on,” you say after a moment. “Why didn’t Khonshu heal you?”

Jake shrugs. “Dunno. Haven’t heard from him all day. It’s been nice, actually.”

“Why’d you go out if that stupid bird didn’t tell you to?”

“There’s still people who need my help,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

You nod in understanding before moving through the apartment to grab the first aid kit.

“Kitchen or couch?” you ask as you reemerge from the bathroom, kit in hand.

He considers his options. “Couch,” he decides.

“Fine, but you’d better not get any blood on the cushions this time.” You let him lead the way, sitting down in the spot next to him.

“We can just flip ‘em over, no big deal.”

“We already did that, genius,” you remind him, opening up the first aid kit and pulling out the materials you need. “Shirt off, please.”

“Oh, right,” he says as he complies, wincing slightly at the movement.

You suck air through your teeth in sympathy. You hate seeing your boys hurt. The fact that it’s such an uncommon occurrence doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. If anything, the rarity of the situation makes it worse.

You make quick work of cleaning and bandaging the wound. To his credit, Jake is a good patient. He hisses a little when the disinfectant is applied, but otherwise stays remarkably still and quiet.

“Alright,” you say, closing up the kit, “you’re all set.”

He grabs your hand as you hoist yourself off the couch. “Thank you,” he says when your eyes meet his, warm and bright and full of unspoken appreciation.

“Of course,” you say softly, smiling down at him and giving his hand a squeeze.

You return the first aid kit to its spot in the bathroom cupboard and rejoin him on the couch.

“Can you get me the remote?” he asks sweetly.

You look to the coffee table, where the remote sits directly in front of him. “You can’t get it yourself?”

He pouts. “I’m injured. You have to be nice to me.”

You give him an exaggerated eye-roll, but you do as he asks, not quite able to keep the fond smile off your face.

“You’re really gonna milk this, aren’t you?” you ask.

He just flashes you a grin as he turns on the TV.

You snuggle up against him on his uninjured side, and he puts his arm around you. You smile to yourself while he flips through the channels. You’ll gladly do whatever he asks, as long as it means he’s safe at home with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, dejun

postage. xiao dejun & gn! reader, mentions of kissing cost to ship. 872 words

there was that time, laying in the open field behind the school, that you asked me why i always avert my gaze around you. i wasn't able to provide you with an answer. and how could i? when you were laying so close to me, nothing more than the thin separation of blades of grass between us. the same grass that i twisted in between my fingers as i fumbled for any semblance of a correct response. you weren't looking for a 'correct' answer, but an honest one, and perhaps--in the grand scheme of all things--that was worse.

it was hot that day. some week in late august, when we were skipping class. a class i shouldn't have skipped. considering the fact that i was flunking it. i had to get kun to tutor me, though i also remembering begging you too. i knew you weren't any good at the subject, but to me, at least, you could never be bad at anything.

you always loved the sound of cicadas. they were loud that day, a steady stream of their chirping that you said sounded like the melody of your favorite song. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't figure out exactly what you meant. but perhaps that was because they were hard to hear over the beating of my heart. a rhythmic pounding that overtook all other noises beyond the tone of your voice. the up and down waver of your inflection which cut clear through everything else in its way. you sounded like my favorite song that day. though i guess your voice is always my favorite.

the answer to your question, the one you asked about me averting your gaze--if you still care for the answer, i hope you do (pray)--is one that you probably already know. or one you have figured out through my obvious yearning. or told by hendery, the most likely out of the three options. i can't look at you for long, because if i do--if i spot the reflection of myself in your irises and the utter adoration in my own--it becomes obvious what i feel for you.

if you were to look into my eyes, to return my stare with one of your own (the same one that makes my mouth run dry and my chest burn) then you'd catch every bit of longing for you that i hold in my body. the same longing that is desperate for your words, attention, touch, kiss.

if i did answer your question that day, underneath the heat of a dying summer (one which remains immortal in the grounds of my memory) and in a moment caught in time, i'm afraid that i might have kissed you. that my silly, schoolboy crush would have superseded any inkling of common sense in nothing but the sheer hope that you would kiss me back. would you have? kissed me for an honest answer?

i'm being honest now. so when you get this, and if you still care--if you would have rewarded me back then in between the blades of grass and in the lull of the cicada's song that summer--will you repay me with a kiss?

about dejun's love letters.

xiaojun's handwriting is practiced to a degree of elegancy, with swooping ends of consonants and dramatically drawn vowels. everything about him is beautiful, so it only makes sense for this to be as well, with elongated strokes of cursive that seem to be stripped from the fine pages of old prose. despite all of its intricacy and detail, it's always legible. every phrase and sentiment able to be discerned underneath all the glitz and glamor of his penmanship (something he tends to regrets each and every time ten or hendery seems to get their hands on them).

he's a nostalgic person, constantly and consistently returning to old memories to revisit them again and again and again. he loves to write about the past, to remember every detail that made his head spin and his breath catch. and he loves to relive them, though it's nearly melancholy, and to write them down with such a pretty consideration to ensure he'll never forget them. it's for this reason that he writes on white lined paper, the kind you rip out of notebooks or are handed in secondary school. it's rather pointless in the grand scheme of things, since his words transcend lines and sentences break across margins. isn't it really all for the memory, though?

like chenle, xiaojun's letters are not slipped into an envelope, stamped with an address, and signed off with your name. he finds there to be something devastatingly romantic in writing love letters that will never reach their addressee, or at least, don't have the intent too. but he hopes that one day, perhaps in the silence of a conversation or when his hand is clutching yours a bit too tight, that he'll find the courage to enunciate all of his affections. and then deliver the letters, each and every one that he has written throughout all the years he has known you, in the hopes that your love will become something that he can hold with both nostalgia for your younger years and fortune for your future ones.

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[forgottensaoirse]

Roast Boar | Saoirse & Sebastian

"Have you heard!" hissed one of the serving girls. "Someone just saw one of the Malconaires kissing one of the princes!"

"So?" countered her companion, picking up a tray. "Everyone knows the princes fancy those girls."

Saoirse, who was obliged to stand next to them in order to take the next tray, stared stoically ahead, fighting the urge to roll her eyes or else say something that would certainly prove much more memorable than she could really afford to be, today.

"No, no," said the first girl. "It's Prince Sebastian!"

The second girl gasped, her tray nearly toppling from her arms in her shock. "Ohhh, he's such a sweetheart! I can't imagine he's after his brother's lady!"

"Oh, no," replied the first girl. "It's Lady Aoife."

It was Saoirse's turn to gasp. "What?"

The girls turned to her, one looking stunned (and perhaps a touch heartbroken, though Saoirse couldn't have credited her chances of landing the prince), and other smug.

"It's true. In fact," she added, leaning in close. "Apparently it was so much more than just a kiss, if you know what I mean! And apparently everyone saw everything! Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't heard yet -- it's all anyone is talking about! You've got to watch out for those quiet ones -- trying to make herself a princess she was, I daresay!"

The girl beside Saoirse gave a little hiccuping sob but Saoirse hardly noticed, anger thrumming inside her. She slammed her tray down. Both girls turned to stare at her, shocked.

"What're you doing?"

"I just remembered...I have something I have to do. I'll do the clean up, myself, I promise."

That was too good a deal to refuse. "Fine!" sang the girls, giggling at Saoirse's obvious stupidity to agree to such a thing, and scurried off.

Gathering her skirts, Saoirse rushed out of the kitchens, pulling off her cap and tying it into a satchel at her waist, and emerged into the Great Hall -- a place where she was not meant to be seen. Roderick was holding one of his feasts after the day's sport, and Saoirse slipped in, loosing her apron from her waist and putting it about her shoulders like a cape, as if she were some minor lady and not a mere servant.

Darting into the throng, Saoirse turned, scanning the crowd for any sign of her friend. She had to see her, to assure that she was all right. Catching a glimpse of blonde hair across the hall, Saoirse sucked in a breath and darted forward, but someone was moving a roast boar and she found herself quite shoved out of the way -- only to come face to face with Sebastian Varmont. She prayed he would not recognize her as the Lorcan serving girl he'd stopped to chat with a few times -- with, to his credit, a string of profound compliments regarding Aoife. In truth, that had somewhat endeared him to her, despite the fact that he was, after all, a Varmont. But this new rumor had had quite the opposite effect.

"Forgive me, my prince," she said, sweeping a curtsy, hoping to extricate herself as quickly as possible. Still, she couldn't help how stiff her voice sounded in her own ears.

If he reported her, well, her exploits tonight would certainly be remembered, and she wasn't working this week for her own good, but for the resistance. Being remembered for behaving strangely was one thing she could hardly afford to be. Don't remember me, don't remember me, don't remember me, she prayed. But, after all, why would a Varmont prince remember a serving girl? Surely, she was safe.

"I did not mean to block your path -- the boar. Please enjoy your evening."