#and there's always one little curl that just dangles over the left side of my face

[transs3xualmagg0t]

hair long enough that i can put it in shitty little bunches and a shitty little ponytail

[wannab-urs]

Never Have I Ever

Summary: You and Dieter play never have I ever and it gets spicy. Warnings: MDNI | 18+ | sub!dieter, dom!reader, alcohol consumption (not during the smut), pet names, SMUT, discussion of safe words (not used), referring to your dildo as your cock, aftercare. WC: 1.7k A/N: Written for @yxtkiwiyxt Kiwi’s Never Have I Ever challenge (open til March 1) and for my own Dom that Middle Aged Man Campaign (closed). I hope you love it <3 Thanks to @pedgito and @murder-wife for beta reading!!

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

“Okay, okay, what’s the next card?” 

Dieter grabs a card off the stack and holds it up, squinting to read it in the low light of your living room. 

“Never have I ever… acted out my sexual fantasy,” Dieter reads. He blushes but doesn’t take a drink. You knock back a shot of whiskey before looking at him incredulously. 

“Really Di?”

Dieter flushes even harder, if possible, and looks at the ground.

“Well what is your fantasy? I find it hard to believe you haven’t acted it out, to be honest.” 

He brushes a hand through his hair and stares at the floor as he answers. “It’s not that I haven’t acted out fantasies before I guess, but like my main one? Never.” 

“I’m dying to know what could be so crazy you’ve never acted it out.” 

“It’s not that crazy… I just want a woman to… you know… like… top me?” 

“Top you or dom you? Or both?” The whiskey is making you bold. Dieter is a friend (with benefits of course) and you normally wouldn’t push him so hard on this or admit what you’re about to admit. “My sexual fantasy just so happens to be topping a man.”

Dieter looks up at you then, looking embarrassed and more than a little excited. “You drank on this one… So you would know what you’re doing?” 

“I would.”

“Do you wanna have sex with me? Like right now?” 

“Oh Di, you’re wasted… I’m wasted. You know the rules.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow then?” His puppy dog eyes meet yours and you almost cave right then. 

“Tomorrow,” you smile at him. 

You wake up sweating, sunlight streaming into the room and heating it up plus Dieter’s body practically on top of you. He’s a spider monkey in his sleep, always clinging onto you with all four limbs when you stay over. You push him off of you a little bit and you take in his sleeping face. 

He’s handsome always, but especially when he’s asleep. A loose curl is dangling over his forehead and some of the lines in his face are smoothed out – it’s the only time he’s relaxed without being high. You press a kiss to his cheek and he stirs, eyes blinking open sleepily. 

“Good morning,” he says with a dopey smile. 

He leans up and kisses you chastely, but you deepen the kiss immediately. His tongue slides into your mouth, slow and exploratory like you haven’t done this a hundred times. You pull back and kiss the tip of his nose.

“You still up for what we talked about last night?” You half whisper, afraid he’ll chicken out. 

“Please?”

“Off to a great start already, baby boy.” Dieter blushes and drops his eyes from yours, embarrassed and pleased by the pet name all at once. “We’re gonna use the stoplight system for our safeword. Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah! I use it when I’m the one in charge.”

“Great. I also want you to refer to me as ma’am during the scene, is that okay?”

“Perfect�� ma’am.” 

“Good boy. Let’s get started then.”

You push him down into the mattress and climb on top of him, straddling his waist. “I want you to keep your hands to yourself, either on the bed or above your head holding the headboard. Is that okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s so eager to please, his eyes wide and his lips in a perfect pout. 

You kiss him then, pushing your tongue into his mouth, taking control of the kiss entirely. He’s left to take what you give him, and to his credit, he doesn’t fight you for dominance. You kiss down his jaw to his neck, trailing your lips over his collarbone and down to his chest. His hands twitch by his sides, but he doesn’t move them. 

You drag your lips down until you meet his sweats, then pull back so you can strip them off. His gorgeous cock bobs up to his stomach, already hard and leaking precum. You take him in your hand and lick from root to tip, sucking the head into your mouth. His hands fly up to the headboard, white knuckle gripping it to keep from touching you. 

You pull off him and tell him to stay just like that while you grab lube from the bedside table. He obeys perfectly and you have to pause to collect yourself. His immediate submission is so fucking hot. You crawl back onto the bed and settle between his parted thighs. 

“Do you still want me to fuck you, baby boy? It’s okay if not.” 

“Yes, please, ma’am.”

You smile at him and coat your fingers in lube. One finger circles his hole while you take his dick in your mouth again. You push him to the back of your throat and swallow around him until he’s buried in your throat. He whimpers and you moan around his cock as you push one finger into his hole. He’s always been vocal, but whimpers are few and far between. 

Dieter starts pushing back against your fingers, fucking in and out of your mouth. You pin his hip down with your free hand and pull off of him. “Stay still, sweetheart.” 

Dieter whines but stops fucking himself on your finger. You add a second finger and start stretching him as you take his cock back in your mouth. The sounds pouring from his mouth are sinful and you’re dripping wet for him. You’re trying not to let on just how turned on you are. His balls start to draw up and you quickly remove your fingers from his ass and your mouth from his cock. He whines but doesn’t protest. 

“Can’t have you coming this early, now can we?”

Dieter shakes his head pitifully. You let him calm down and then repeat your actions, winding him up again only to pull off him completely and wait for him to calm down. You want to hear him beg. And you aren’t disappointed. 

“Please, please just fuck me, please. I can’t take it anymore.”

 You swat his thigh. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”  

“Ma’am. Please ma’am, I need you.” He’s so pretty when he begs, you really can’t resist. 

You strip and stuff your panties in his mouth. His muffled whines are even hotter now. 

“You’re being such a good boy for me, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He looks blissed out at the praise. “If you need to safe word, you can move your hands to take out the panties, okay?”

He nods to show he gets it and you climb off the bed and get your strap from the nightstand. You coat it in lube and tell Dieter to turn over and stick his ass in the air. He complies immediately and you admire his ass and the way his swollen cock dangles between his thighs. He’s so pretty. 

You get behind him on your knees and slowly push the dildo into his hole. He whines long and low, only slightly muffled by the panties in his mouth. You pull out and push back in deeper, working your way into him slow and easy. When you bottom out, you both groan. Him at the full feeling and you at the way he looks stretched around your cock. 

You hear him mumble “please,” through his gag and it turns you on so much you can barely think straight. You pull out of him to the tip of your dildo and snap your hips forward, fucking him hard and fast. 

“Spit out the panties, I wanna hear you.” 

He complies, whining and begging for you to let him come. “Please, ma’am. Please I need to come, you feel so good.” 

“Tell me when you’re close, baby.” 

He whines but doesn’t stop you yet. You slow down and make sure to rub at the bundle of nerves inside him with every thrust, slowly grinding your cock into it. He starts crying and you think you could come just from that alone. 

“I’m close! Please, ma’am I’m so close, please let me come.” 

You pull out of him completely and he collapses to the mattress, whining and crying. 

“Turn over baby boy, I promised I’d make you feel good didn’t I? You trust me?”

“Yes ma’am, I trust you.” He turns over and spreads his thighs, gripping onto the headboard in anticipation. 

“Good boy, color?”

“Green, ma’am.”

You take off your strap and toss it on the floor to deal with later. 

‘I’m gonna ride you now, baby. You come whenever you’re ready.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“So polite,” you stroke his cheek with your thumb and drag it across his plump lips. He takes the digit into his mouth and sucks. You climb on top of him and line him up with your hole before sinking all the way down. You moan in unison, you at the stretch and him at your tight wet heat. 

You place your hands on his thighs behind you and start bouncing on his cock, taking him deep and fast. You’re just as wound up as he is and desperate to come. You bring one hand to your clit, rubbing in furious circles to keep up with your pace. Dieter plants his feet and starts to fuck up into you and you don’t even stop him, too close to coming harder than you ever have in your life to stop him now. 

You feel the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter, and with one final snap of Dieter’s hips you come apart, moaning his name. The way you get impossibly tighter around him sends Dieter over the edge as well and he fills you so full you feel it leaking out of you around him. You collapse onto his chest, breathing heavily. He wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your hair. 

“That was… so fucking amazing,” Dieter whispers. 

“Yeah, it really was.” You push yourself off of him and roll off the bed. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You head to the bathroom and wet a washcloth, cleaning between your thighs. You get a fresh one and take it out to Di, gently cleaning his spent cock. You lie down next to him and pull his head onto your chest. 

“You did so good for me, baby,” you tell him as you run your fingers through his curls. He nuzzles into your chest and wraps an arm around you, falling asleep with that dopey grin of his on his face. 

[miirohs]

braid my hair while i hold your heart [m.d.l]

pairing: OPLA!Monkey D. Luffy x Fem!Reader wc: 0.4k cw: n/a an: another one for yall thirsties, i feel oddly inspired. getting hair in ur eyes is a very real issue btw- have i mentioned how much i want to see how fluffy luffys hair could get?

You leaned against the railing of the crows nest, breeze blowing strands of hair from your face.

The sky was a pale blue and orange as the sun seem to fall closer to the horizon, glare skipping across the gentle waters. The boat was drifting, oddly quiet for once.

"Y/n!"

The sound of elastic snapping turned you around, Luffy standing on the rail. In his hands was a bouquet, flowers shining and vibrant in the setting sun. You had no time to ask what they were, as he dropped them, rushing to you.

"Luffy-" Before you could finish, he rushed into your open arms, sweeping you into a bone crushing hug. Spinning around, you both collapsed to the floor, pinned down on your sides.

"Hey- Hey! What's all that for?! You're suffocating me!" You laughed, trying to wiggle out of his grip. You rolled over him and pinned him down, blowing raspberries.

He didn't seem the least bit surprised though. The rough-housing wasn't uncommon, his way of initiating contact between the both of you.

His hands were wrangled up in your hair, a delighted look on his face as he clutched at small strands, curling them around his finger. The sun seemed to reflect in his eyes, lighting up with joy.

He always seem to find a way to brush his finger through your hair, untangling the knots with a gentleness you could only describe as familiar.

"You really like playing with my hair, don't you?" you asked, a playful grin on your face.

He nodded, pushing you off him so that he could sit up.

"Do you want me to do your hair? your hair gets so tangled from the wind, i wonder how you manage to work with it blowing crazy." He exclaimed as you got pushed yourself back up, shaking your head.

"Sure thing. One question though, do you know how to do braids?" You asked, picking at your nails as he shuffled behind you.

"Mmm, nope. I'm sure i could figure it out though."

"I'll leave you to it then," You said, legs dangling out the gaps of the crows nest as you looked down.

You could hear him mumbling to himself as he tried different techniques, and the occasional tug of your hair making you yelp a little, always ending with a hushed apology from him.

If it weren't for those little tugs, you might have fallen asleep, drifting in between sleep and staying awake. Eventually, you leaned against the wooden planks, drifting off for good.

It wasn't until a little while later that you were gently roused from your peaceful half-slumber.

The sun had set for good, and the sky was a pale shade of blue and orange, streaked with clouds.

Luffy now sitting beside you, looking out at the horizon. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, and he seemed lost in thought.

"Hi Luffy."

He turned his head to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Hey, Y/n, you were sleeping pretty soundly there. Feel better now?"

"Mmm. Did you finish yet?" You stifled a yawn, stretching wide.

"Yeah! “Hey- hey turn around for me, let me see you!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands. You obliged, turned your head as you gave a bashful smile.

"See, you look perfect.”

"Perfect, huh?" you chuckled, your cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

"Yeah! The flowers were definitely a good touch. You look like a sea princess now! Wait, maybe you could be my sea queen when i become king of the seas!" He rambled as you reached over for what was left of the flowers.

"Where'd you get these? These are beautiful," You whispered, holding one in your hand to get a better whiff of its scent.

Luffy snapped his fingers, excitedly waving his hands. "Nami saw them on the island, and I thought they looked like they'd make you smile."

"Thank you Luffy, so much," You whispered shyly.

"You're welcome, Y/n! I'm glad you like them. And if you want more flowers, just let me know. I'll get you a whole garden!" He exclaimed.

His eyes seemed illuminated by the stars, shining and glazed over as he watched your expression closely.

"Oh no, are you going to cry? Did i do something wrong?" He fretted.

"Nope, i'm just feeling a little overwhelmed. We should probably go to bed."

"Lets just sleep here then!" He patted the spot next to him, and you crouched down, grinning.

"Alright, but you better not mess up my hair."

"I won't, promise!"

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | wild child⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Knowledge of EPIC: The Musical isn't technically needed; this can be read with just common knowledge of Greek mythology.

You've always been a wild child.

It wasn't like you had much of a choice. Life tossed you into its shadows before you even knew how to stand.

You never had a home—at least, not one with walls.

Parents? You couldn't recall if you ever had any or if they were even alive.

You were raised among dusty roads that seemed endless, towns too small to care, and alleyways where the shadows became your friends.

The alleys whispered secrets, offering hiding places when you needed to disappear or when the world turned cruel.

People never saw you for more than a stray, a scruffy little thing too proud to beg, though your stomach twisted in hunger so sharp you thought it might eat you alive.

You hated the looks they gave you—disgust—as though you were nothing but a dirty rat. A 'ryparós mys'—the phrase they spat out like it was a curse.

But then they came. The circus. A ragtag band of travelers who rolled into town every year like a storm of laughter and chaos.

They weren't like the rest of the townsfolk. Their tents bloomed overnight, painted in strange colors with fluttering banners. Music spilled from their camp—wild, new, and unlike anything you'd heard before.

They did things no one else dared to do: snake charmers who coaxed serpents to dance, acrobats who soared higher than birds, storytellers whose voices wove magic, and fortune tellers who spoke riddles that made your head spin.

You were just a shadow on the edge of their camp, watching from a distance—too proud to beg for scraps but unable to tear your eyes away.

You told yourself you didn't need their help; you didn't need anyone.

But the ache in your chest said otherwise.

One day, as the circus packed up to leave, one of them lingered behind—a performer dressed in gaudy robes and layers of dangling jewelry that jingled with every step. A fake fortune teller, though you didn't know that back then, caught you staring from where you'd tucked yourself between crates. Her gaze flicked to you—sharper than you expected—and for a moment, you wanted to bolt.

But you didn't.

She wasn't old, not really, but her face was worn with mischief, lines carved by smirks more than smiles. Her hair was pale and messy, and her eyes—dark—seemed to glint with something you couldn't name.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice laced with curiosity as she cocked her head, jewelry jingling softly with the movement. "What are you doing here, hmm? You know the show's over, right?"

You stayed silent, shrinking further into the shadows as her gaze swept the area. She looked left, then right, as though expecting to see someone nearby—a parent, a caretaker—any sign of an adult who might explain your presence.

But there was no one.

"Where are your parents?" she asked, frowning faintly as if she might have missed them hidden somewhere in plain sight. When you didn't answer, her eyes narrowed, shifting back to you with a gleam of something sharper.

She stepped closer, and you instinctively scooted back, your shoulder bumping against the crate behind you. Her lips curled into something like a smirk, though her tone was almost amused. "Skittish little thing, aren't you?" she murmured, crouching down to your level. "Cowering away like a little rat."

Your chin lifted sharply as you spat back, "I'm not a rat." Your words came sharp, your tiny fists clenched tight at your sides, daring her to say it again—to call you what so many others had.

But she didn't.

Her gaze flickered over you again, sharper now, and her smile didn't waver. If anything, it softened just enough to take you off guard, though you caught the way her eyes roamed—taking in the dirt smudged across your face, the tattered edges of your clothes, and the scrawny limbs half-hidden beneath the fabric.

You had no shoes, and as her gaze lingered there, you instinctively scuttled your feet back, pressing them against the dusty ground as though trying to hide them. The movement only seemed to amuse her more, her smirk twitching faintly.

Without a word, she reached into her sleeve, the rings on her fingers glinting in the light, and pulled out something small. A coin. It seemed to catch the sunlight as it tumbled across her knuckles like it had a life of its own—slipping, spinning, dancing.

Your eyes widened despite yourself. You tried not to care, tried to look unimpressed, but your focus betrayed you, locked onto the coin as it moved with impossible grace.

"Not a rat, no," she murmured. She flicked the coin up and caught it between two fingers before leaning closer. "Just someone who hasn't learned the tricks yet."

You hesitated, instincts screaming not to trust her, but something in her tone—almost like she wasn't mocking you, wasn't pitying you—made you stay.

"Here."

Before you could flinch back, her hand shot out, quick but not rough, flipping the coin into your palm, its cool weight sinking against your skin. Then she pulled back, settling onto a nearby crate like this was all part of the act, just another performance.

"First lesson," she said, pointing a ringed finger straight at you. "Quick hands and quick feet. That's all it takes. Now, give it back."

You blinked at her. "What?"

She held out her hand expectantly, palm up. "The coin. Give it back."

Hesitation lingered, your instincts prickling again, but you relented. You reached out, slow and cautious, and placed the coin into her palm.

"Good," she murmured, almost approving, though her expression remained unreadable. For a moment, it seemed like that was the end of it, but then she rolled the coin across her knuckles again—casual, fluid, like magic—and smirked. "Now—take it back."

You froze, confused. Take it back?

She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows like she was waiting for you to catch up. "Go on." She wiggled her fingers, the coin perched there, teasing you. "It's yours if you can grab it."

Slowly, you moved to follow her instructions.

Gone.

You froze, hands still hovering uselessly in the space where the coin should have been. "It—It's gone," you stuttered, eyes darting from her empty palm to her face.

"Is it?" Slowly, like she was in no rush, she lifted her other hand—and there it was, the coin, pinched between her fingers. She twirled it once for show, letting it spin like liquid light before it disappeared again with a flick of her wrist.

"No, kid." Her grin widened, flashing teeth. "You were just too slow."

She placed the coin back down on her open palm, flattening her hand, and gestured again. "Again. Quicker this time."

Your jaw tightened, frustration bubbling under your skin. You weren't about to let her win—not without trying.

It was gone again.

You hissed a breath, shooting her a glare as she laughed—low and amused, but not unkind. The sound was strange, unfamiliar, like laughter wasn't something you heard often but wanted to remember.

"You've gotta be quicker than that, kid." She held it up again from the other hand. "Third time's the charm," she teased, holding the coin between her thumb and forefinger. "Come on. I'll even be nice this time."

Frustration sparked in you, your pride flaring hot; then before you knew it, it became a game—one you didn't understand at first, but one you were sure you'd lose.

Each time you thought you had it, the coin danced away from your reach like water. She was patient, though, in her own smug way, coaxing you to move quicker, sharper, smarter.

"Not like that—too obvious. Try again."

"Watch my hand, not the coin. The coin's a lie, kid."

"Oh, almost had it!"

It went on for what felt like hours, though the sun had barely shifted in the sky. Your hands were clumsy at first, slow and obvious, but she laughed like it didn't matter—like she wasn't laughing at you but with you.

And then something clicked.

You stopped thinking about the coin and started watching her like she told you—the way her hand moved, the way her shoulders shifted, the way she tried to trick you with the smallest flick of her wrist.

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for just the right moment. And when her hand stilled for half a second too long, you lunged.

Your fingers finally closed around the coin, and this time it didn't slip away.

Your pulse raced as you snatched it back; you grinned before you could stop yourself, breathless and triumphant.

She threw her head back, laughing with something like pride. "There it is! Told you you'd get it. You've got good hands, kid."

You didnt respond, you just clutched the coin tightly, feeling its smooth surface press into your palm.

She pushed herself up, dusting off her robes with a careless sweep of her hands. The noise of the circus behind her was growing louder—the chatter of performers, the groan of wooden wheels, the clatter of crates being loaded.

Somewhere, someone shouted impatiently. "C'mon! We're moving!"

She waved them off without looking, her gaze still lingering on you as she shifted her weight, one hand tucking into her sleeve. "I see potential in you, kid. Don't go wasting it now." Her voice was lighter, almost casual, like she wasn't dropping a piece of advice you'd carry with you forever.

She pulled another coin from her sleeve before placing it in your palm.

"Quick hands and quick feet. That's all you need."

And then she was gone, slipping into the chaos of the departing circus like a ghost—there one moment and gone the next. You stared after her, the two coins clutched tight in your hand, your heart still racing.

You didn't even get her name.

The sun was setting now, casting long, golden shadows across the dirt road where the circus had been. The brightly painted caravans creaked as they rolled past, performers shouting to one another as they left.

The music faded little by little, swallowed by the growing distance, taking her with it.

But the lesson stayed, lodged deep in your chest, sparking something in you—a hunger you didn't know you had.

Freedom, rebellion, the idea that you could take something back from the world, even if you had to claw it out with your own two hands.

You still had the coin, tucked safely away.

Your first lesson.

Your first trick.

And the first thing that had ever felt like yours.

A/N: I've had this in my drafts for a hot minute and was so happy you guys loved my Hermes from 'Godly Things', that I had to go ahead and upload it as a lil christmas gift for you guys being so patient/understanding with my other fics; since those are longer (kne is based on an anime and gt will hopefully be 40+ )so i tend to take time plotting things out so there isn't any plotholes etc.. anywho if you enjoyed GT-Hermes, you'll love this one since he's very much inspired from this lil book, haha so I hope you love him just as much as you guys love the other one..

[ay0nha]

Sharing a smoke with Sanji.

Maybe just a quiet night in deck or stepping outside during a celebration.

It could be fluff or more. Like shot gunning the smoke or close to getting caught when things get more heated.

I don't know, Sanji smoking scenes/gifs have my mind spinning!!

PAIRING: OPLA!Sanji x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 600~

WARNINGS: alluding to smut (18+), smoking, flirting, post-coital cigarette sharing, vague setting/plot because I was too hyped on them locking lips lmao, etc.

A/N: I ADORE smoking (fiction smoking, lemme be clear, I don't condone smoking). It's just So Hot. Also, I'm convinced that Sanji would roll his own cigarettes. This was a little different from the request, but I hope you enjoy what I've come up with! Enjoy.

ALSO PSA I plan to start a Sanji series that will have a much higher word count, so as I make my way through requests they'll be on the shorter side so I don't overwhelm myself!

COMMENTS ENCOURAGED.

“So this is what you do.”

“Depends on who’s asking.” The freshly rolled cigarette sat on his lips. “Are you a friend or foe?”

“Depends.” You teased his words. His lips curled into a smile, moving as they had when you moaned his name.  “Are you going to share?”

You curled your toes, trying to hold back. Sanji was only a few steps away, arm dangling out your window with a smirk. He wanted you to cave, wanted you to beg him to feel him deep again. You were steadfast, staying within the warmth of the sheets, giving him nothing but an open invitation.

“And what do I get?” He hummed.

Sanji played along well to a game he didn’t know the rules to. He formed a habit of lingering. With each visit, he found it harder to leave and lie.  It was a reckless decision the first time inviting him to stay. Yet, the things you faced required something beyond your control

“Anything.”

He repeated your promise, smirking. It was becoming a look permanently etched on his face. If you hadn’t known any better, he looked smitten. The cigarette hadn’t even been lit yet, but your lungs were already tight as Sanji crept toward you.

“I’m sure you can be creative.” You provoked him further. The bed dipped beside you, but you were far too focused on how Sanji traced the cigarette over his lips in ritual before lighting it. “All you have to do is share.”

“I’m finding it hard to say no to you.” Sanji had a knack for choosing moments after intimacy to share his thoughts. They were always veiled by flirting, but it became simple to feel what he wanted.  

Now that he was closer, you could see the pink tinge on his cheeks. He was gentle-looking, with a few freckles littering his face, which could make just about anyone swoon. You were past the point of return, warmth in your stomach turning into dampness even lower.

“You think so?” You pulled him closer, toying with the lengthening hair at the nape of his neck. You loved how the smoke curled around you, encasing you both.

“Mhmm.” He took a drag just to push it through his nose. “Looking at me like that…” Sanji's eyes took their time taking you, free thumb tracing your bottom lip. “...Any man’s weakness.”

“Don’t be a tease,” You whispered. “There won’t be any left.”

“There’s plenty.” Sanji tipped your chin up gently as you followed his guidance eagerly. “But first, I want you to hold it for me..." If he could have anything, this would be it. Kissing you, breathing you in, and swallowing you whole. “...think you can do that?”

You nodded against his hand, barely in contact, as his free hand drew in a deep drag.

Sanji smiled down, leaning in, gently guiding your mouth open with his as he exhaled smoke past your waiting lips. You consumed Sanji’s senses for a moment. All he could feel was one of your hands coming to lay on his chest, your scent amongst the smoke, and the faint taste of something sweet on your lips. You breathed in, doing your best to take everything he offered into your lungs, as rich and intoxicating as the warmth it was attached to.

Sanji’s lips brushed yours for a moment longer. “Just like that…”

“Hold on, I don't think I have it yet.” Your voice matched his softness, your hand holding his jaw steady, keeping him from getting too far, “Show me again.”

[changbeansss]

Solace

Pairings : Non-idol!Bang Chan X reader

Genre : Angst-y fluff (?)

Warnings : Mentions of smoking (Idk what else lmk)

A/N : I haven’t been mentally stable in awhile so yeah posting after so long and is this my first long story?omg???

The city lights glimmered like distant stars against the midnight sky, painting the rooftop in a soft, eerie glow. The cool breeze swept past, whispering secrets that only the night could understand. Chan sat on the edge of the apartment building, legs dangling over the side, cigarette smoke curling around him like a ghostly veil. He wasn't one for smoking, but the rare cigarette was a comfort he indulged in when he felt restless—when the weight of the world felt too heavy to bear alone.

He didn't notice when the door to the rooftop creaked open, but he heard the soft footsteps approaching. He turned his head slightly, surprised to see someone else at this hour. You. The girl from the next apartment over. You seemed to live in your own world, always quiet, always avoiding his gaze in the hallway. He’d never spoken to you, but he’d seen the sadness lingering in your eyes—a sadness he recognized all too well.

Tonight, though, there was something different in your expression. Something darker. Your eyes were swollen, like you’d been crying for hours. You walked to the edge, not too far from where Chan sat, but far enough that you might have thought he wouldn't notice.

But he did.

He saw everything. The way your shoulders trembled, the way you hesitated at the very edge, looking down as if searching for an answer. The way your hand clutched the edge of the railing, knuckles white from holding on too tight, like you were anchoring yourself to the last shred of will you had left.

Chan exhaled, flicking the cigarette away. It landed somewhere on the rooftop with a quiet sizzle. He didn’t say anything at first; he just watched you, his eyes taking in every detail, every sign. And then, in a voice that was somehow both soft and firm, he broke the silence.

“Thinking of jumping?” he asked bluntly, catching you off guard.

You flinched, turning to face him, and for a moment, you seemed lost. You didn’t answer, but you didn’t look away either. You were caught between fear and curiosity, between wanting to escape and wanting someone to understand.

Chan stood up, dusting off his jeans, and took a step closer, but not too close. He didn’t want to scare you. “It’s a long way down,” he continued, gesturing with his chin towards the street below. “And the landing... it’s not as peaceful as you think.”

Your breath hitched, and you felt a tear slide down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away, trying to keep your composure. “You don’t know anything about what I think,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind.

He shrugged, leaning back against the railing, his demeanor relaxed, almost as if he were just having a casual conversation. “Maybe not. But I’ve been where you are now, standing on the edge. I know what it feels like to think that there’s no way out.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was a quiet understanding, a familiarity with the darkness you felt enveloping you. “Why are you here?” you asked, your voice breaking. “Why are you even talking to me?”

Chan chuckled softly, the sound low and a little sad. “Because I’m your neighbor,” he said simply. “And because I know what it’s like to feel like the world’s crashing down around you.”

You swallowed hard, your grip on the railing tightening. “And what do you do?” you asked, almost desperate for an answer. “When it feels like that?”

Chan’s smile faded, replaced by a serious expression. “I come up here,” he replied, gesturing around the rooftop. “I think. I breathe. I try to remind myself that there’s always another sunrise. That nothing stays the same forever.”

You felt something shift in your chest, a tiny crack in the walls you’d built around yourself. “And does it help?” you asked, a faint flicker of hope in your voice.

He nodded. “Most nights, yeah. Some nights... not so much. But it’s worth sticking around to find out.”

There was a long pause, the kind that felt like an eternity, but in that moment, something changed. The night didn’t seem as cold, and the rooftop didn’t feel as lonely. Chan didn’t move closer, but somehow, his presence felt like a lifeline—a reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

“I’m Chan,” he finally said, offering a small smile. “Just... Chan. And I’m here if you need someone to talk to. Anytime.”

You didn’t respond right away, but you nodded, taking a step back from the edge. “Thanks,” you whispered, and it was the most sincere word you’d spoken in a long time.

Chan just nodded, his smile growing a little warmer. “Don’t mention it. We’re neighbors, after all.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

---

You spent the next few minutes sitting in silence beside Chan, both of you facing the cityscape. The noise of the streets below was a distant hum, and the wind gently whipped around you, carrying the smell of rain. The awkwardness you expected didn't come; instead, there was an odd sense of comfort in being next to him. Maybe it was his calm demeanor, or maybe it was the way he didn't push you to talk more. He just sat there, present, like he understood that sometimes words weren’t necessary.

"Do you come up here often?" you asked after a while, breaking the silence.

"More than I probably should," he answered with a chuckle. "It's peaceful. Helps me clear my head."

You nodded, pulling your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them. “I never noticed,” you admitted. “I’ve never really noticed you before.”

Chan glanced at you, his lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. “Yeah, well, I’m good at not being noticed when I don’t want to be.”

The two of you fell into another comfortable silence. A slight drizzle began to fall, and you felt the tiny droplets of rain kiss your skin. Chan stood up, stretched his arms, and looked up at the sky.

“You know,” he said, “we should probably head inside before it starts pouring. But… if you want to stay, I’m fine with that, too.”

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to retreat back to the safety of your apartment, curl up in your bed, and pretend none of this ever happened. But another part of you, the part that had made you come up to the rooftop in the first place, wanted to stay just a little bit longer.

“Can we… can we stay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan nodded, sitting back down beside you. “Of course. As long as you want.”

The rain began to fall harder, but neither of you moved. The cold droplets splashed against your skin, but you welcomed the sensation, the grounding feeling of something tangible in this otherwise surreal moment. You noticed Chan shivering slightly, but he didn’t complain or suggest leaving again. He was really just… there.

“Why do you care?” you blurted out suddenly, unable to hold back the question any longer. “You don’t even know me.”

Chan glanced over at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and thoughtfulness. “I care because I’ve been there,” he replied softly. “I’ve felt what it’s like to want to disappear. And if I can do anything to keep someone else from feeling like that… I’ll do it. Even if I don’t know them.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, tears stinging your eyes once more, but you fought them back. “That’s… really nice of you,” you managed to say. “But I don’t think I’m worth it.”

Chan’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You’re worth so much more than you think.”

His words hung in the air, cutting through the rain and the noise in your head. You’d heard similar things before from friends, family, even therapists. But something about the way Chan said it made it feel different. Like he genuinely meant it, like he saw something in you that you couldn’t see yourself.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I… I don’t know how to keep going,” you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. “It feels like everything is too much, like I’m drowning and I can’t catch my breath.”

Chan nodded, his expression solemn. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I really do. But you don’t have to do it alone. Sometimes, it helps just to have someone there, even if they don’t say anything. Just knowing they’re there.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any hint of pity or judgment, but all you found was understanding. “Would… would you stay?” you asked, almost afraid of his answer. “Like… just for a little while?”

Chan’s smile returned, warm and genuine. “Of course,” he replied. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

The rain continued to fall, soaking you both, but neither of you seemed to care. You felt something shift inside you, a tiny flicker of hope sparking to life. Maybe things wouldn’t get better overnight, and maybe the darkness wouldn’t vanish completely. But right now, on this rooftop with Chan beside you, you felt like you could breathe just a little bit easier.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

---

Over the next few weeks, things began to change between you and Chan. You’d see each other more often, exchanging quiet smiles in the hallway or quick greetings in the elevator. Sometimes, you’d find yourself on the rooftop again, both of you sitting in silence or sharing stories about your lives, your fears, your dreams.

Chan wasn’t a bad boy like you’d first thought, but there was an edge to him—a rawness and honesty that drew you in. He told you about his own battles, his own struggles with feeling like he didn’t belong, his own nights of wondering if it was worth it to keep fighting. You found solace in his words, comfort in his presence. He wasn’t trying to fix you, and he never pressured you to be anything other than what you were in that moment.

Slowly, you started to feel lighter, like the weight you’d been carrying for so long was slowly being lifted. Some days were still hard, some days you still felt like the world was closing in, but now there was a hand to reach for, a voice to listen to, a reason to keep trying.

And as the nights passed, you began to realize that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

----

As the days turned into weeks, the rooftop became your sanctuary—a place where you and Chan could escape the world and just be yourselves. Nights blurred into mornings, and you found yourself waiting for those moments when you’d hear his light footsteps coming up the stairs or his quiet knock on your door, inviting you out for another midnight chat.

He was like a constant rhythm, a steady heartbeat in your otherwise chaotic life. You still had your dark days, the ones where getting out of bed felt like a Herculean task, but knowing Chan was there made it a little more bearable. You didn’t have to explain yourself; he understood the silent language of pain.

One particularly cold night, you found yourself standing outside Chan’s door, hesitating. You hadn’t spoken to him all day, hadn’t seen him in the hall or heard his footsteps. For some reason, you felt a strange unease. A part of you worried—had you been too needy, too dependent on his presence? Did you scare him away?

Before you could turn away, the door swung open, and there he was, standing in front of you, eyes wide in surprise.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and inviting. “I was just about to come find you.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. “Really?”

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Really. I thought maybe you could use some company tonight… or I could, you know?”

You returned his smile, feeling something warm bloom in your chest. “Yeah… I think we both could.”

He stepped aside, motioning for you to come in. His apartment was small and sparsely decorated, but there was a warmth to it—a stack of vinyl records in the corner, a guitar leaning against the wall, and a cozy blanket draped over the couch. You hadn’t been inside before, and you found yourself curious, your eyes scanning the little details that made up his world.

“Want something to drink?” he asked, moving towards the tiny kitchen. “I have tea, coffee… or maybe something stronger?”

“Tea sounds good,” you replied, feeling a little shy but also strangely comfortable. You sat down on the couch, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. It smelled faintly of him—woodsy, a little smoky, with a hint of something sweet. You felt yourself relax, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time all day.

Chan joined you a moment later, handing you a steaming mug. “Peppermint,” he said with a grin. “Good for the soul.”

You took a sip, savoring the warmth spreading through you. “Thank you,” you murmured, glancing over at him. “For… everything. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

He looked down, a slight blush on his cheeks. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just… glad to be here with you.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the only sound being the soft rain tapping against the window. After a while, you felt a surge of boldness, a need to know more about him—this boy who had somehow become your anchor in such a short time.

“Can I ask you something?” you ventured, your voice quiet.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “Anything.”

“Why do you come up to the rooftop?” you asked. “I mean… what is it that you’re running from?”

Chan’s smile faltered slightly, and he took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I’m running from something or towards something,” he confessed. “Maybe both. I guess… it’s hard sometimes, feeling like you’re constantly expected to be someone or something that you’re not. I’ve always felt like I had to wear a mask, pretend to be okay even when I’m not.”

He paused, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “The rooftop… it’s the one place where I can take that mask off. Where I can just be Chan, not who everyone else expects me to be.”

You nodded, understanding more than you could say. “I get that,” you whispered. “I really do.”

Chan smiled softly, his eyes filled with a quiet gratitude. “I think that’s why I like being around you,” he admitted. “You don’t make me feel like I have to be anything other than who I am. You just… let me be.”

A warmth spread through you at his words, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something like happiness blooming inside you. “You do the same for me,” you replied. “You make me feel… seen.”

Chan’s gaze softened, and he shifted a little closer to you, his hand brushing against yours, sending a spark up your arm. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “Because you deserve to be seen. For who you are, not who the world wants you to be.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his eyes overwhelming. You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a rush of emotions you couldn’t quite control. “Chan…” you began, but the words got stuck in your throat.

He seemed to sense your struggle, and his hand gently squeezed yours. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… know that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time it wasn’t from sadness. You squeezed his hand back, a silent thank you, a silent promise.

For a while, the two of you sat there, hands intertwined, the rain falling outside like a lullaby. The world outside could wait; for now, this was enough.

A Few Days Later…

You’d been having a particularly rough day. Everything seemed heavier, every thought darker. You hadn’t seen Chan all day, and you found yourself missing his presence more than you expected. By evening, you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled in your chest. It was suffocating, consuming.

But then, there was a knock on your door.

You hesitated, wiping at your eyes quickly before opening it. There stood Chan, his face lit up with that familiar grin, holding two takeout bags and a slightly battered old boombox.

“I was thinking,” he said, his voice filled with an infectious enthusiasm, “that tonight is the perfect night for bad Chinese food and even worse music.”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

Chan laughed. “Come on, you said you’ve never had a ‘proper rooftop party,’ and I figured there’s no time like the present. Plus, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Before you knew it, you were back on the rooftop, wrapped in a blanket as Chan fiddled with the boombox, his face scrunched up in concentration. Finally, he managed to get it working, and the sounds of an old 80s ballad filled the air.

You laughed—a real, genuine laugh, the kind that made your sides ache. “This is terrible,” you giggled.

Chan grinned, holding out a hand to you. “Dance with me,” he insisted, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

You hesitated, but his infectious energy was impossible to resist. You took his hand, and he pulled you into a clumsy dance, the two of you swaying to the beat of the cheesy music. The city stretched out below you, the lights flickering like stars, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

Chan spun you around, his laughter mingling with yours, and you felt a sense of freedom you hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to the light. And Chan… Chan was the first step toward that possibility.

“See?” he whispered as he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “There’s still some magic left in the world.”

You smiled, tears of joy filling your eyes as you whispered back, “Yeah… I think I’m starting to believe that.”

---

The rooftop became more than just a refuge; it was a world of its own, a world where time seemed to stand still. With each passing night, you felt yourself falling a little deeper into something you weren’t sure you were ready to name.

It was the little things—the way Chan would notice if you seemed a little quieter than usual and bring your favorite drink without asking, the way he’d brush a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The way his laughter could make your heart feel lighter, like maybe all the heavy parts of you were starting to dissolve into something softer, something warm and bright.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t expected it. But slowly, steadily, you were falling for him.

One night, you found yourself waiting on the rooftop, bundled up in a thick sweater, watching the stars twinkle overhead. Chan was running late, which was unusual for him. You checked your phone for the third time, feeling a little nervous. Had something happened? Was he okay?

Just as you were about to go back inside, you heard the door creak open behind you. You turned around and saw Chan, slightly out of breath, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry,” he panted, running a hand through his hair. “Got held up at work. But I brought peace offerings.” He held up a bag of pastries from the bakery down the street, and your heart melted a little more. He knew they were your favorite.

You took the bag with a smile. “You’re forgiven… this time.”

He laughed, sitting down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Good. I’d hate to think I’d lost my rooftop privileges.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “No chance of that.”

For a while, you just sat there, sharing the pastries, talking about everything and nothing. It was easy, being with him. Natural. Like he was the missing piece of a puzzle you hadn’t even realized you were trying to solve.

As the night grew colder, Chan pulled a blanket from his bag and draped it around your shoulders. “Can’t have you freezing to death on me,” he teased.

You chuckled, but your heart skipped a beat when his hand brushed against yours under the blanket, his fingers tentatively grazing yours. You felt a jolt of electricity, and you wondered if he felt it too.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could feel the heat of his body so close to yours, his breath warm against your cheek. The air was thick with something unsaid, something fragile and beautiful.

“Chan,” you whispered, turning to look at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of fear and excitement bubbling inside you. “I… I think I’m falling for you,” you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Chan’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. For a moment, you feared you’d made a mistake, that you’d ruined everything. But then his expression softened, and a slow, beautiful smile spread across his lips.

“I’ve been falling for you since the first night on this rooftop,” he admitted, his voice just as soft. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Your heart leapt, and you felt a rush of warmth spread through your chest. “Really?” you asked, hardly daring to believe it.

He nodded, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek. “Really,” he whispered, his thumb brushing your skin tenderly. “I’ve never felt like this before. Like… like maybe there’s hope, like maybe I could be more than what I’ve been.”

You felt tears sting your eyes, but this time they were happy tears, tears of relief and joy. “You’re already more,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “You’re everything.”

Chan’s eyes glistened with emotion, and before you knew it, he was leaning in, his breath warm against your lips. Your heart pounded wildly, and you felt like you might float away.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and gentle, and everything else seemed to fade away. The world, the pain, the fear—it all melted into nothing as you kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss was tender and slow, filled with all the words neither of you had said. It was a promise, a beginning, a silent vow to keep holding on, to keep finding each other in the dark.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other. Chan’s hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on your skin.

“You have no idea how much I needed that,” he breathed, a grin spreading across his face.

You laughed softly, your fingers brushing against his. “I think I needed it just as much.”

He kissed you again, this time more confidently, and you felt a flutter in your stomach, a lightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in so long. It felt like freedom, like the start of something beautiful.

As the night stretched on, you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing quiet conversations and soft kisses, the city below glowing like a sea of stars.

And for the first time in a long time, you knew that whatever came next, you would face it together. You and Chan, two broken souls finding solace in each other, finding love in the most unexpected of places.

And in that moment, with Chan’s arms around you and the world spinning softly beneath your feet, you felt like maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.

[snoozepotato]

We’ll Be Fine -14- (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader)

Disclaimer: I do NOT own the original source material or any of its characters.

she/her pronouns + female anatomy

Category: slice of life, slow burn, mutual pining

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, swearing, eye contact, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, over-stimulation, multi-orgasm, creampie, soft Ghost, anxiety, scars, tattoos, fluff

Masterlist

Summary: Ghost shows up at your room late at night, he just got back and has been gone longer than expected. You missed him a lot and things get out of hand (≖ᴗ≖)

Part 14

~UNDONE~

You’ve been trying your best to keep the negative thoughts at bay, it's not abnormal for missions to take longer than expected. But Ghost's vague estimate of a few weeks left you unsettled, even more so as time started to pass. A few weeks had turned into a few months, as life slogged by on base around you. Keeping yourself weighed down with busy work while your mind drifts.

Things take time, hell, you know that from experience. Even so, you’ve been worried about him, it's started affecting your already inconsistent sleep schedule. And dammit, you missed having tea with him in the morning!

You'd been brooding in your room since completing your work for the day, curled up in bed wearing Ghost’s hoodie. You're thankful he never asked for it back, in moments like these it was one of the only things that kept you grounded. Snuggling into the garment and taking a deep breath. It's been a while but somehow his scent still lingers in the fabric, or maybe it’s just some wishful thinking on your part.

Fuck, you're a wreck…

A sudden knocking on your door startles you from your position on the bed. Staring perplexed, why would someone be here this late? There's a sudden spark of fear that shoots through you, with the odd hour, what if it's bad news? You're frozen there for a moment, feet dangling off the edge of the mattress. Anxiety sitting cold in your gut as you just stare blankly through the darkness.

Until another knock erupts from the other side of the barrier, louder this time. You spring from the bed, the fear overtaken by curiosity. Whoever it is better have a good reason for waking you… Well, you technically weren't asleep, but you should be. You hastily unlock the door to peek your head out, only to be greeted by a broad chest.

There in your doorway, looking a little worse for wear is Ghost.

You're struck by the view of him standing there clad in that worn mask with the skull face plate. You've seen him wearing it on more than a few occasions, usually when he's on his way off base for work. It's rather intimidating, you're sure it serves its purpose out in the field. But if you're being completely honest, it's always left you feeling a little heated.

“You’re home,” dazed words escape you, feeling foolish at your choice of phrasing.

“Did I wake you?” He's grasping the door frame with a gloved hand, peering down at you with mild concern. Did he strip his gear off and immediately come looking for you? When did he even get back?

“No, I couldn't sleep… You can sit down,” you mutter, turning on the light and motioning him in. Taking one last glance out into the vacant hallway before closing the entry after him. Leaving you alone in the quiet of your room with Ghost, who's stripped off his jacket and taken a seat at your desk chair. Your frazzled mind is racing while you try to keep your rapidly slipping composure. The space grows quieter by the moment as he sits there staring at the ground between you.

“Everything ok?” You ask, but his mind is somewhere else, “Simon?” Stepping forward you stand in front of his seated form. The sound of his name coaxes his gaze up to meet yours, and fire erupts in his dark eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“I was worried about you,” the words fumble from your lips as you take another step forward to stand between his widened legs.

“That why you're moping about your room… In my clothes?” He's smirking beneath the fabric of the mask, very obviously taking in your form before him. You can’t help but feel naked under his heavy gaze despite the oversized garment.

Observing wordlessly as he removes his gloves, and rests a now bare appendage at the hem of the sweatshirt. Your eyes are locked, as he searches for any sign of hesitation. Caressing the delicate skin of your thigh before trailing up to halt at the waistband of your shorts. Heartbeat hammering away in your chest as he dips a finger beneath the thin fabric. Dragging it down till the garment slips, pooling at your feet. A shaky breath escapes you as his lingering touch skims back up your leg to rest on your bare hip.

“Nothin' under those, you waiting up for me?” He murmurs darkly, eyes burning into yours.

“I missed you,” the words slip out as he lazily pulls you down to settle into his lap without resistance.

You reach out to caress the side of his face, thumb brushing over the rigid material of the weathered mask. He's watching you, curiously eyes meeting yours. Embarrassment creeps in as he catches your dreamy stare. Looking away with blushed cheeks and shifting restlessly.

“You seem to like this one,” he coaxes, tugging you further against him, putting an end to your weak attempt at retreat.

“I never said that,” you mutter defensively, caught off guard by his accusation, not that it wasn’t true…

“Don’t have to, I've caught you staring at me,” he pauses, “guess I never thought that was why.”

The dry words only further your embarrassment, as your head slumps against his shoulder to hide your feverish complexion.

Suddenly you’re hoisted upwards, choking down a shaky breath as the stiffness of him presses against you. Your legs braced around him as he makes his way over to your bed, lowering you onto the cot and caging you beneath him. As your body sinks into the thin mattress pad your mind is suddenly plagued with doubt, insecurity sparking in your chest.

“You're sure?… You were gone a while” you murmur awkwardly, propping yourself onto your elbows as you peer up at his looming figure.

“I’ve been waiting so patiently, love,” his words drip with desperate sincerity, that fire smoldering in his eyes as he descends upon you.

His hands work their way up your sides to snake beneath the material of the sweatshirt. Pulling the garment over your head and tossing it onto your desk chair. Your bare state would have felt unjust if his own shirt hadn't followed suit immediately after.

Leaving you laying there trying not to gawk, while nimble hands make quick work of his belt. Freeing the beast that's clearly trapped within the confines of his pants. To say the scale was daunting would be an understatement, but lying there beneath his toned figure, you were more than willing to accommodate.

“You ready for me?” He drawls, stroking his hard cock as he gazes down at your exposed form, like he's about to devour you.

“I’m all yours,” you coo as he brushes your entrance. Slowly teasing his head in and out of your already dripping slit, taking care to drag across your needy flesh till your thighs are twitching with building anticipation. A tightly coiled spring ready to burst, trembling and desperate for more.

The impatience quickly takes hold, hooking your knee over his hip to pull him deeper into you as he hisses out a curse. Consumed by the satisfying pleasure of being filled to the brim, his name uttered as a breathy sigh escaping your lips. Glazed eyes half-lidded as he admires your blissed expression, all for him.

“Fuck, you're tight” he rasps, the pressure building as your release begins to spill over. Gripping your knee, he pushes your leg up to split you open for his greedy length.

Gasping out in desperation, you arch to meet the friction of his rhythmic thrusts. Chasing that perfect angle, body tensing as you pulse with crackling pleasure. Riding out your orgasm all the while swimming in his murky gaze. The feeling of unraveling in his hands, fallen apart and at his mercy.

It's overwhelming.

Catching notice of your unrest, his pace slows as you try to catch your breath. But your eyes are downcast, suddenly afraid to meet his stare.

Icy doubt licking at your chest.

“Keep your eyes on me love,” hushed words murmured against your ear. You suck in a sharp breath, swallowing down a whimper as his heat leaves you. He grasps your chin with a firm hand, forcing you to meet his sharp gaze. Expecting to face the reaper, only to catch sight of his bare stumbled jaw. Your eyes lock for a long moment, the mask is gone. You're left gaping at him, eyes wide and startled.

“You alright?” His words are short, concern sparking in his stare.

You're so used to anonymity, it's easy to never see someone's face when you're sitting behind a computer all day. There was always that sliver of secrecy with Ghost until this moment, and it had always felt normal. Even so, it's still his eyes that draw you in, his trust in you is so blatant now. Every ounce of anonymity was stripped away, Simon caging you beneath him.

“I’m good,” you mutter through a sigh, leaning into his touch as his hold relaxes to caress your flushed face. His tense features unwinding at the view of you smiling up at him.

“Bend over for me love, I want to look at you, all of you,” he murmurs, your eyes held in his tender gaze.

Pulling you from your lying position, to bend you over the bed before him. Anxiety creeping in again as he admires your form from behind, feeling utterly vulnerable under his heavy gaze. But this heat washes over you, like he’s engulfed you in the fire smoldering in his eyes.

“Pretty little thing,” he breathes, running a hand down the length of your back, thumb tracing along the curve of your spine. He can feel the scars that lie beneath the white of your tattoo, a reminder of where you've been, how you got to him.

“Look how easy you’ve come undone for me,” he teases, an evident smirk in his tone.

Your back arches as he drags the head of his cock over your already sensitive flesh. Entering you again from your position bent over the bed. Your leg lowers to the floor to retain your balance as he presses deeply into your soaked folds. Simon letting out a low grumble of a moan as he thrusts to bury himself completely within you.

“Fuck, you're so wet,” he groans.

A strained wine escapes your lips at the friction, vision losing its focus momentarily. Craning your head to the side, catching his dark stare out of the corner of your sight.

“Your eyes… Do something to me,” you gasp breathlessly, your heated words gripping him as he continues relentlessly thrusting into you.

“Sensitive,” you sputter, bucking against him as the walls of your heat twitch with building pressure. Rough hands pulling you by the waist to meet his pounding length.

“Good,” he pants, “let go for me.”

Snaking a hand around you to rest the pad of his finger on your swollen clit. The action alone causes your hips to spasm involuntarily from overstimulation. Trembling wrists nearly give way as he circles the tender flesh.

Biting back a gasp as you're pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching around him as another orgasm rolls through you. His large hand cradles your breast, arching your back further as his thrusts grow frantic, cock pulsing as your heat spasm.

“Fuck,” he rasps, groaning as he jerks stiffly within you. Release spilling over, your body pressed against him, his breath hot in your ear. You shudder as his cock throbs, filling you with warmth, and you're unable to suppress the soft moan that escapes your lips.

His fingers curl into your side as he buries his face into your shoulder, thrusting sharply into you once more, completely drained.

You knew he'd eventually have to leave, but you couldn't help but drift off to sleep nestled against him. Simon's back to the door as he gazes down at you, keeping watch over your resting form.

The mask has returned when you wake sometime later, to a hand brushing the stray hair from your face. He murmurs something but you don't quite catch it through the haze of your slumber. In your foggy state, you completely miss him nabbing the mug off your desk before heading out the door.

The sound fully rips you from your stupor as you sit up in your cold bed, realizing you're once again alone in your room. You contemplate letting sleep take hold, but instead get up to re-clothe yourself in the sweatshirt he'd discarded on the chair. You feel kinda pathetic laying there sulking again in his absence, missing the furnace of a man in your bed...

But your thoughts are halted by a firm knocking on the door. Before you can second-guess yourself, you're already yanking the entry open. And there he is standing outside your door again, but now holding two cups of tea. Changed out of his dirty clothes from earlier, but still wearing that mask… 

What a fucking tease.

“Told you I'd right be back,” he states plainly, making his way back into the small space and taking a seat at your desk.

Watching amused as you settle back onto your bed. It's quiet as you sip your tea, mask left discarded on your pillow. His short-cropped hair lay disheveled, pressed against his head from the long hours of wear. Calling your name softly, he looks so tired but there's this levity in his eyes.

You might have made a lot of mistakes in life, but meeting Simon Riley wasn't one of them. Looking at you with that tender gaze, it felt like home. Somewhere to return after the horrors of the world take their toll, hands to guide each other through the darkness.

WELL then, I hope you enjoyed (′ꈍᴗꈍ‵)

Thank you so very much for reading, this is all I have planned for this section of their story. I've got a few related fics/oneshots mulling in my brain so be on the lookout for those and more art!

@tallrock35 @violet-19999 @hypernovaxx @k4marina @sebsbee @d4z01 @ramadiiiisme @embers-of-alluring @enfppixie

[seventhcallisto]

Just had a little idea... flashing lights and eyestrain warning.

❝you shine like emerald❞

LOADING...

Happy House.

Stray Kids (ot8) x F!Reader (9th member addition)

PREVIEW: "I am not a member of stray kids!" You kick up the papers littering the floor. Frustratingly pulling at your hoodie. "They're always screwing over those guys. I feel kinda bad." Your most trusted friend, Jiu, snickers behind her bright laptop screen. "I-i should have left when I had the chance! Should have joined that dance group that tried to recruit me! Why did I think I was gonna be the next jihyo!? Oh god." You pace, waving your hands around to drain the building anxiety curling into your lungs and making it's home there. You twist towards jiu falling to your knees and wailing miserably. Childishly.

"I wasn't even on the show. It's a boy group! I'm going to get eaten alive! I'm a trainee! They have years over me! I'm so dead. My career is already over before it started. My life is over." You fall to the floor. Completely done with this whole ordeal and the accident you've gone through, sniffling pitifully. "I told you to always read the fine print. You never listen." Jiu scolds. She, in fact, did not, but she wants to make you feel worse as your best friend. Pink nails flick tiny specks of popcorn towards your slumped body on the floor. And she's right. You should have read the fine print before some businessman shoved a pen into your face. What is so wrong with stray kids that you're being made a fool just to make them look bad? Would adding you tear the group dynamic? You know you're screwed as soon as your concept photos drop.

SYNOPSIS: As if some type of double-sided punishment, you're manipulated to join one of jyps' most successful groups. Stray Kids. Added as an extra member and with no experience just to cast you off as another unsuccessful idol, all because you didn't read the fine print when they dangled the keys to your dream in front of your face. They've got tricks up their sleeves, and the contract you signed says you're a permanent member of the unsuspecting group of guys now. You had no idea you were signing that type of contract. And you especially have no idea why they're trying to bring down their biggest boy group.

table of content + cws: she/her pronouns. female anatomy. major age differences but not in a power-hungry way(ur 19). invisible honorifics, I swear. manipulation. jyp(ent) is kinda the villain here(ilyjypplsdontsueme). ace!trainee reader. inexperienced reader. forced proximity and friendship. the members r kinda mean at first. Sorry, not sorry. ooc stray kids bc no one knows them like they know themselves. overworking. growing friendships. polyamorous(sharingiscaring). quick mutual pining(but they don't realize it). eventual smut.

Prologue. — 🧾

Chapt. ⓵ ❝_____❞

chpt. ⓶ , chpt. ⓷ , chpt. ⓸, chpt. ⓹, etc.

To be continued.. 🧷

I accidently posted this too early (crying). Lmk what you guys think ! — calli.

[taglist is open]

© seventhcallisto 11/22/2023

[abibliophobiaa]

For a little Eddie blurb, the word of choice is lake.

700 words of soft eddie comfort after a heartbreak coming right up. mention: you wear eddie’s shirt.

best friend (maybe more one day) eddie munson x fem!reader.

-

He found you at the lake. Hair only partially dried, one of his ratty old Hellfire tees draped over your ripped shorts, sandals tossed haphazardly beside your hip. Saw your feet where they dangled over the dock. Toes dipped into water up to the ankles.

Your shoulders were slouched, arms folded around yourself.

And his heart ached, the deep kind that burned in his gut, made him angry because he knew you were hurting. For weeks you’d talked about the guy you were seeing. Someone you met at a coffee shop, a nice guy, the kind you’d had these little hearts in your eyes for that would appear whenever you talked about them.

Until he wasn’t a nice guy. Until he stood you up. Left you by yourself at Enzo’s. A girl in a dress, with nothing but love to give to someone who never earned it to begin with. A girl who loved those around her and never expected anything back, but damn it, Eddie thought you deserved the world.

That guy hadn’t been worthy to know you, clearly. Because anyone who knew you would be able to see that a heart such as yours, with a love so deep it couldn’t be contained, should be celebrated. Appreciated. Tended to, coaxed out into the light, given the space to grow.

Eddie hated him without even knowing him. Wanted to kick his ass into another dimension, but pushed that longing aside to seek you out. To try and remind you that the things people often foolishly overlooked were the things that he loved most about you. Wanted to love you back into the light in the only way he knew how.

The only way he could.

“Knew I’d find you here,” he said, Reebok-covered feet kicking at a rock before he’d settled down beside you. “I always come here too when I need to get away.”

You said nothing, and that was fine. His fingers tapped along the wooden beams below. Tugged at the fraying hem of the shirt falling over your thigh. Still water-logged and see through from the drenched swimsuit beneath.

“Went for a swim?” He asked, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

Eyes squinted against those harsh summer rays. Warmth seeped into his black tee, but he’d endure the elements if it meant seeing even the barest hint of a smile across your lips.

“I needed to clear my head,” you murmured softly, voice thick and hoarse with unshed tears. He heard the sniffle that followed. The shaky exhale.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He turned his head to look at you. Watched in agony at the way your face crumpled. At the further hunch of your shoulders. His fingers curled around your kneecap. Shifted you just enough to draw your attention to his face. He tried the question again, and you shook your head. Brushed at your eyes as if he hadn’t seen the glimmer of tears on your sun-warmed cheeks.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

You nodded, and like he often did when you were sad, tired, or afraid, he hiked your thighs over his lap. Curled a hand around the bends of your knees and tugged you closer. Your body sagged against his chest, your side against his front, arms around his waist.

“He’s an asshole, you know?” He whispered against your hair. Felt your forehead dip further into the space beneath his jaw. “Anyone who knows you knows your heart. And anyone who would want to break that doesn’t deserve your time.”

You burrowed closer, arms winding tighter, knees curling into his abdomen.

“You know I love you, right? All of you. Even the parts you think people would hate. I see them all and I wouldn’t trade them for anything,” he explained, tucking your head closer to his chest. “You know why?”

You inhaled shakily. “Why?”

“Because they make you you,” he whispered, feeling you smile against his skin. “And I think you’re pretty fucking great.”

You remained silent for a while, and he’d allow it for however long you needed, for however long you wanted. He’d hold you forever if you asked him to. But you exhaled and fisted his shirt in your hand, tipped your head back a bit, and beamed.

And his heart splintered, because you were like literal sunshine to him.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

-

-

[asherthehimbo]

Listen to my music, listen to your heart

previous | eleven : dinner | m. list | next

notes: warnings, physical abuse, unrealistic academic pressure, cheating acusations, depressive thoughts, disassociating, wounds, whipping(?), grief, the loss of a grandparent, more things probably

wordcount: 3.7 k + 4 screenshots

Staring up at your (not yours anymore, you have to remind yourself) ceiling, you can't help but think of the contrast the plain dark gray ceiling has when held in context to that of your siblings' rooms. Felix's room has a colorful solar system painted over the black base, little specks of white that glow in the dark acting like stars. You vaguely remember painting it with Channie when you were 17 and Felix was 13, days spent carefully stenciling every planet, splattering each other with paint, nights laughing at the days events- You who had recently discovered your soulbond with Channie at the time trying to stop yourself from falling deeper- but failing whenever Channie would look at you with those bright eyes, smile on his face and dimples on full display as if he knew it was your weakness.

Olivia’s ceiling a beautiful baby blue with light clouds painted on it and chains decorated with charms that look like rain and thunder dangling from the ceiling, you remember starting to paint it when you were 18, right before you left for college- you also remember the fact that that was the last time Olivia had actually spoken to you - it was 4 years ago and your heart breaks every day that timespan becomes longer.

Rachel's room, pastel pink as it's always been, ever since she was 15- you painted hers too, you think that was the last time she had acted civil with you, but that's okay. She’s happy now - and that's all you could wish for.

Yet it bothers you, your childhood reflecting the bleak ceiling while your siblings lived a vibrant life, grew up with parents that loved them- everything you had went to them. You even gave up the other half of your soul so that Rachel could live her life, so that Felix could find his other half, so that Olivia could continue to gaze at the clouds.

No matter the regrets you hold, you’d do it all over again, sacrifice yourself for their happiness- for what are you if not a protector? What is your worth to this family if you can not offer yourself up for their joy? For what is the value of a star if it's daytime? What is your value if you can not give them light in the darkness?

You turn your head to look at Soobin asleep next to you, you should probably wake the boy up, people will be arriving in an hour- but Soobin just looks so peaceful.

Your mind drifts to what it would be like waking next to Channie instead, Chan’s puffy lips formed in that cute pout he always has when he's asleep, his hair messy- one hand resting on his exposed stomach as the other cuddling whatever he could find, Chan always slept like that, curling in on himself yet still finding a way to fit you - his Bubbles- into his hold.

Soobin was completely different to Chan, maybe that's why he was the perfect candidate to distract you - but looking at the slightly shorter man asleep, on his side holding the blanket- you think there isn't a place for you here- with Soobin.

You think Soobin knows it too, and your heart breaks because you have this sinking feeling this is the last time. Soobin waking up, looking at you with a wobbly smile and eyes holding back tears solidifies your suspicions, but neither of you bring it up. An agreement started and ended the same way- silently, secretly, with love and tears.

A knock on the door startles you both, as your eyes flick away from one another “Hyung’s? Mom said I needed to come wake you! Rachel just went to pick up Olivia, dads gonna be home in half an hour and the guests are arriving in an hour” Felix’s voice follows the knock. “We’re up lix!” You shout back gently at your younger brother. “Oh! And Fifi is playing with Seungmin and mom in the backyard!” Felix shouts back before you hear him shuffling down the stairs. Leaving you and Soobin to sit on the bed in silence.

The silence in the room is deafening as you two get dressed, after showering and cleaning up it’s about time that Rachel and Olivia should be home and you do not know if you want to break the silence with Soobin, or go down and greet the sister who cowers away from you. Soobin makes that decision for you- he had always been able to read your thoughts.

“You need to do something that makes you happy” Soobin speaks while nodding his head slightly, he's in thought as if it's the answer to a question he’s been pondering for a while, although you can't even begin to comprehend what the question could be. “Excuse me?” you ask softly in an attempt to sound as confused as you feel.

“You should do something that makes you happy [Name], even something small- spend more time with your brother, more time with Chan, find a hobby that is yours and not one your father has chosen out for you. The rage you hold for your father’s actions that contrasts the guilt you feel of hating him is making you numb. You have to admit it yourself, you seem to not have the emotional strength to care for those you love at this point, you’re exhausted [Name], professor Teamin sees it, I see it, Keeho see’s it; and I’m pretty sure Felix is realizing it. You’re burning yourself out” Soobin says softly, he looks at you with those big eyes of his, and you can see the sincerity behind them.

“Even stars have the ability to burn out [Name], but they go out on their own conditions, on their own time- do not dim your own light for those who do not appreciate you. Do not go out before you’ve completed yourself. Find your happiness.” Soobin confirms his words with a sense of finality- as if this is something he’s been waiting to say for a while.

You look down as you place rings on your fingers, you caress the gold one -engraved with a little sun- thats placed on your ring finger- vaguely remembering the fact that it was a gift from Chan- a matching charm he gave you when you went off to college for your first year and he was in his last year of highschool. A promise to stay connected. “And if my happiness takes me away from you?” you ask as tears try to form in your eyes, you force them away. Your voice is trembling, vulnerable in a way Soobin has never heard from you.

“I’ve always known I wasn't your happiness [Name], that much is obvious- your happiness lies somewhere else, with another. I've made peace with that, I'm content with the sense of relief I was able to offer but we both know this, us, was not meant to last. Relief is short lived, and you need to come to terms with the fact that this is a risk you should take.”

It hurts Soobin to let you go, wounds his heart in a way only love can, but he knows that a star cannot be trapped- it is supposed to roam free until its last light. Soobin lets you go because he knows the sense of relief he provides you could never compare to the utter joy in your eye’s with simply just the mention of the other half of your soul.

Soobin knows that in your eyes he can't hold a candle to the admiration you have for Chan- but he’s not angry at that. You can't mix yellow and red then expect purple. You can’t mix Soobin and yourself, then expect forever.

“ I love you, you know that right?” You look at Soobin, he nods his head, a soft smile on his lips ``I know, but you're in love with him and that’s okay.” You open your mouth, about to respond, to tell him that it’s not okay, that you fucked up, that you hurt him and that you hate yourself for it, but the voices downstairs stop you from doing so. “Seem’s your dad and sisters got back at the same time, I guess we should go down.” Soobin supplies and he walks to the door before you, he knows you wouldn't walk first, knows that you need to be pushed.

Knows that if it were up to you, you wouldn't do anything, but Soobin will be damned if he doesn't see you happy and he has a feeling that tonight things are going to change, hopefully for the better. He knows you need to talk to someone who understands, someone you look up too- and luckily enough that person will be here tonight.

You follow Soobin down the stairs, although you’re much less enthusiastic than him, your shoulders are slumped, current posture making you seem much smaller and less secure of yourself. To be fair right now you're not that sure of yourself but still, your father won't accept bad posture.

Once you and Soobin reach the bottom of the stairs you’re met with Rachel “Dad wants you to greet him, he’s in his study” she tells you, her head nodding to the room that's always instilled fear in you. Soobin gives you a wary look but you nod your head down the hall to where the door to the backyard is situated. “Go sit with Felix and Min, I'll be there in a moment” You try to give him a reassuring smile, you know he doesn't fall for it, but he obeys nonetheless. Walking away to the backyard after one last nod.

You turn, about to enter your fathers study that is a little more down the hall, entrance under the stairs, parallel to the living room, before you can take a step Rachel grabs your arm, forcing you to look down at your younger sister. “Listen, I don't know what you have going on with that boytoy of yours, but you better not hurt Chan” she looks at you, her eyes filled with determination, your stomach twists in a odd way as you tilt your head in confusion, you try to defend yourself “Rachel what are you talking about? I would never dream of-”

“I don’t care what you would dream of, I care about Chan, the guy who's been a better older brother to us than you were.” she starts, and damn her words hurt. “I know I wasn't supposed to know he’s your soulmate, but I do and I’ll be damned if I let you hurt him. You bring that guy here for a reason I can't fathom, because you know Chan’s gonna be here tonight. You may have been a deadbeat older brother to us but dont you dare be a deadbeat soulmate to the one person who’s supposed to always be by your side, frankly he doesn’t deserve you-” she’s right, Chan deserves so much better, he deserves a soulmate who could actually be there for him, who could openly express their love, He deserves to love someone who wouldn't put him in danger. “ - I mean you parading your little boyfriend around is practically cheating.” She finishes her sentence as she looks at you in what seems to be disappointment? Resentment? You can't tell.

Something in you snaps, you can understand everything else she said, despite all that you've sacrificed she doesn't know, your siblings don't know why you were almost never there for them and that's fine, if they see you as a deadbeat older brother you don't care, as long as they're safe, but accusing you of cheating? That's low, even for Rachel. She knows it, she knows , she remembers and you hate her for using that against you. The one memory you both share that she knows impacts you to this day.

“Rachel I honestly stopped caring what you think of me-” you didn't, you yearn for her acceptance still, “- but accusing me of cheating is evil and you know it. Me and Channie aren't together, Soobin isnt my boyfriend, So don’t you dare accuse me of cheating when you barely remember what happened that night. You only dream broken shards of that fragile memory, I am the one that has to hold the fragile glass, carry it with me. So insult me all you want but do NOT hold that broken shard against my neck.” You look at Rachel with anger, and she hates it- you never look at her like that, sure she took it a bit far this time, but you always let it slide- why do you choose now of all times to talk back?

“I was simply telling you what I see [Name], no need to start a fight over it, not with Olivia in the house- I don't want her first memory of you being home after so long to be of a fight” Rachel says as if you’re the one in the wrong here. “Firstly, I’m your older brother, it's [Name]-oppa or Oppa-nim, put respect on the fact that I basically raised you when mom couldn't. Secondly, I’m not starting a fight Rachel, you are and don't you dare try and use Olivia against me to justify the situation you started.” You tell her before storming to your fathers study, you're angry, you almost swing the door open- but muscle memory warns you not to.

There's a difference in the way your muscles tense when you're angry, and when you're scared- you feel the shift the moment your hand reaches the handle of the door, you knock, three times in perfect order before you open the door and step inside. Your father is sitting at his study, his eyes are fixed on the papers at his desk, he motions you closer with his hand, not lifting his head to make eye contact.

You walk forward and take in the picture before you. It may have been years since you've been in this room, but you could not escape the memories it brought even if you tried, too many nightmares had been born here, too many dreams had been destroyed for you to not remember it. The room looks exactly the same, only one difference stares at you. On your fathers desk is a picture, in the picture a big man, with silver hair is standing at what seems to be a bar. He has a large, welcoming smile on his face. It's a picture of your paternal grandfather, the only man who gave you solace when you were younger, the man who took you in after the incident you and Rachel had just talked about. You don't notice that your father is now staring at you, you’re too busy staring at the man you've lost long ago- you almost forgot what he looked like.

Your father slams the picture closed, hard. You snap your eyes up to him, “Father” you greet and he nods his head, “You brought them? The students you tutor?” he asks, “Yes, they are currently outside with mother” you respond. “Good” he pauses, “you brought the dog?” he looks at you expectantly. Your father never liked Fifi, you suppose it's because Fifi had never liked him. “Yes, although Fifi is not as young as he was when you first met him father, he’s much more well behaved” You supply. The first time your father met your dog, Fifi was only a few months old but already big in size, he had snarled at your father and probably would have attacked him had you not stopped your dog. “I would expect so, the chemistry contest?”

******abuse warning*****

“I got first place with a 98/100 father” you answer him and you know he’s not going to be happy, “You got two questions wrong?” He raises a brow. “Is the door locked?” he asks as he bends down, opening a drawer in his desk. “Yes father” you look at him, hoping that maybe this time he’ll let it go. “And you know the rule” he states as he stands up, you sigh as you take of your shirt and answer him, “For every mark lost, a scar is the cost” you reply, your voice is devoid of emotion and you think you’re starting to disassociate, you try not to- he doesnt like it when you do that.

“That's correct” Your father walks from his place behind the desk and you see the stick in his hand. It's a weapon he’s had since you were 10, almost like a miniature whip of sorts, it hurts like hell but you're glad he’s chosen this instead of the other alternative, instead of the one that has steel teeth at the ends. You turn your back to him, standing upright- this is the only time your father would allow you to turn your back to him. Purely so that he can admire his work and punish you again.

With every hit to your skin you clench your teeth, if you make a sound, if you falter or fall down the punishment will only be worse, this will all be over soon, you just need to focus on something. Focus, don't go away, don't dissociate, don't falter. You need to focus, you feel yourself slipping away, it's too late.

*****scene over*****

You didn't focus.

By the time you come too you're already sitting at the dinner table, Soobin sitting on your left and Seungmin on your right, you can feel Fifi sitting in between your legs below the table which makes sense. He always did know when you weren't fully there, and refused to leave your side when it happened.

You look around you, realizing everyone had already arrived, your mother and Rachel are conversing with Ms. Bahng to the left, your mother sitting at the one heads of the table, next to Rachel sat Olivia who was animatedly conversing with Hannah who sat opposite her, Lucas would chime in every now and then but he was mostly quiet, you missed Lucas he was a sweet boy.

Beside him, and opposite to you sat Chan, he wasn't looking at you, rather his gaze flicking from Soobin down to his plate, he seemed mad? Sad? some mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite read. Beside Chan sat Yunho, Yunho who despite holding conversation with the fathers at the right end of the table, seemed to be eyeing you worriedly.

Felix sat in between Sengmin and Olivia, talking to both of them with the warmest smile on his face. You felt.. out of place so to speak, seemingly the only one at the table not speaking a word, and the rest of dinner, not that there had been much left seeing as when you focused back in everyone was finishing up, went the same. After all the dishes had been cleared, and a playful fight between you mother, Ms,. Mikealson and Ms. Bahng on who would do the dishes, you follow Yunho outside to the porch, Fifi not far behind you.

You suppose its tradition, after every family dinner you and Yunho would sit here, on the porch gazing out as your little siblings and friends would play, the both of you, the eldest, never joining them. While the picture now is eerily similar to that of your last dinner, you know a lot has changed, Seungmin and Soobin joining the younger ones in the backyard, Jongho not being here, Yunho who's staring at you, because he knows.

Somehow Yunho has always known, you suppose it’s because of the similarities you share. “So Soobin?” his voice is calm as he asks, he’s relaxed into his chair, eyes focused solely on you. You give him a hum of acknowledgement before responding “He told me to do what makes me happy”

“And will you?” he asks, “I don’t know, I don’t even know what makes me happy anymore” You sigh in defeat turning to face your old friend. Despite the fondness you have for Yunho, a certain part of you will always be jealous that he got the love story you didn't. “I think you do, you might not realize it but there are certain things that clearly make you happy, certain people. “

You groan in annoyance, not wanting to have the same conversation of denial over and over, “Not this again, Yunho listen I- “

“No you listen [Name], we may not talk much, but I know you, heck a few months ago I was you. My dad might not be as controlling as yours but I know the feeling. What I saw in there tonight was you completely out of it, the only sign of life would be the way your lips would quirk up at Chan’s voice. When we walked out here the way your eyes followed him, the way your eyes are softening now watching him sit on the swing and look at the stars. You can’t keep denying it, not to me. Not to the person who was always there when you would light up at the slightest bit of attention from him. You can’t deny the way your shoulders would relax and smile would become less strained in the presence of him, Felix and your mother. These little moments of happiness that's helped you survive are keeping you from living. You can’t hide it from me because before I got with Mingi it was me. You need to grasp the thing that makes you want to live.” Yunho cuts you off and he doesn't leave room for you to argue as he stands up and walks further into the yard to join the others.

Tears sting in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall as you stare at Chan, he stares right back. You give him a smile, albeit bittersweet, but a real one, and a tiny wave. His face lights up and he waves back enthusiastically, allowing you to catch sight of the silver band on his ring finger, one that represents his connection to the moon. One that represents his connection to you.

The moon may not be able to live without the sun, but the sun will forever spend its time chasing after the moon. Maybe it’s time you follow the advice of those around you. Maybe it’s time you live.

home page | stray kids masterlist | Soulbound masterlist

Taglist: [9/30][open]: @foxilsdenn @conwunder @heyogg @zzstar @xavi-in-kpopland @idkwhatto-namethis @glitchyaiko @ashersdeadinside @kaisworlds

name in orange/bold means tumblr wont let me tag you

notes: chat do NAWT hold me accountable for how ass my writing is I'm out of practice, also thank Kai for sitting with me when I wrote the begining of this chapter WEEKS ago🙏🏻 ALSO PLS PLS PLS TELL ME WHAT U THINK IN THE COMMENTS OR IN MY INBOX PLEASE I NEED FEEDBACK!!

copyright | 2024 | @asherthehimbo

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 2

Masterlist | Chapter 1 |-| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

AO3

Summary: During a party at the officers' club, DeMarco gets the chance to smooth things over with Susie, and she shows her true colours when defending one of her friends

Warnings: Language, smoking, harassment, misogyny, violence

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

Susie jolted awake to the sudden bang of a door swinging shut, squinting in the unbearable brightness of the light which she assumed to be morning. "Susie!" Charlotte's voice hit her ears, and she folded her arms tightly over her head to block everything out, inhaling the smell of cigarette smoke. That was strange.

"What?" She groaned.

"You fell asleep in your uniform. Get up."

Blinking slowly, Susie looked down at herself, and sure enough, she was dressed head-to-toe in her dress greens, her shoes still on her feet, one leg dangling off the side of her mattress as she lay on top of the crumpled blankets. "...Oh shit. Is it morning?"

One of the other ATS girls let out a bark of laughter, and Charlotte shook her head, a smile curling her lip. "No. We just got in from the pub, it's been... what, three hours since you left?"

"God, no wonder I feel like shit."

"You look like it too. Are you sure you're alright? Not like you to call it a night after only one pint."

Susie's hand fell to her pocket, and she felt the cool metal of the money DeMarco had given her against her fingertips. She nodded weakly. "Yeah. No, I'm just tired."

Charlotte raised a brow discerningly, sitting down on the edge of Susie's bed. "Right. Get up, get out of that uniform, and tell me what's wrong. I'll iron your stuff tomorrow, I have to do mine anyway."

Her brow was furrowed in confusion but she obliged nonetheless, rising to her feet as she began to peel away her uniform, the inhabitants of their hut far too familiar with one another to be embarrassed about any state of undress. "What, you want to... listen to me talk about my feelings?"

"Yes, Susie. You know - like an actual human."

"Sounds terrible-"

"Susie!"

"Right, yeah, ok. Well... I think I'm frustrated."

Charlotte's mouth hung slightly agape, as if watching a baby giraffe learn to walk for the first time. "... you think?"

"No, no. I am," She nodded firmly. "... Yeah. There was a bloke I thought might've been my friend but it turned out he was pissin' me about."

"What a shit."

"...Yeah." Susie agreed, a distinct air of uncertainty lacing her voice. Charlotte stared at her like she was encountering alien life for the first time. The cold night air stung her bare skin as she hurried to pull on some pyjamas, uniform laid out as neatly as she could upon the bed. Even inside the Nissen huts, it was never fully warm - on particularly nasty nights, the women would pass around thick, wool socks so that everyone could double up on layers, the thin army-issue blankets doing little to keep them insulated. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Y'know, I don't think you're mean, Suze," Charlotte pointed out as she gathered the crumpled clothes. "Just... socially incompetent."

"Noted," Susie nodded, collapsing face-first onto the bed, the spring mattress shrieking its objection as she bounced up and down a few times below slowly settling to a halt. In her mind, it didn't matter why people didn't like her - they just did, and she wasn't very interested in changing herself to avoid it. Everyone had always liked her sisters growing up, and it mostly seemed to mean that they never got left alone. But Susie liked being left alone.

Or at least, she managed to convince herself that she did.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had long since set, a warm glow and the echo of brass music echoing from within the officers' club, a steady hum of conversation carrying on the breeze. Standing out in the darkness, back pressed against the wall, Susie pulled her cigarette away from her lips, a huge cloud of smoke erupting before her. She and Charlotte sported matching lights, the small, burning embers flickering orange as they puffed away in silence. Charlotte smoked about a dozen a day, but she refused to do it inside, repulsed by both the lingering smell of her own smoke and the thought of men watching her do it. It always seemed hypocritical to Susie, but nevertheless, she accompanied her, waiting patiently until they were both done.

"Freddy's back in town on Wednesday," Charlotte stated, breaking the silence that hung between them. She had been engaged to the RAF pilot for over a year, but there had never been time or money enough to arrange the lavish wedding they both so desperately wanted. Susie had only met the man once or twice, but he seemed a good bloke to her, albeit excessively chipper. She never quite trusted optimists.

"Oh, give him my best. I've got a pick-up run to fucking Peterborough on that day - apparently, they've got a shortage of vehicles, so I've gotta go all the way to them. Bloody waste of a day, really," She complained, lightly kicking one of the old empty beer bottles on the ground and sending it spinning across the tarmac.

"You should get the truck checked before you go - you'd hate to break down somewhere. I can call Bevan or something, she'll give it a look."

"Nah. I haven't been having any problems, I won't waste her time. She's got enough on her plate."

One of their bunkmates, a young woman named Maeve, tore open the door to the club, the music splitting the air. Her hat sat lop-sided on her head, cropped blonde hair erupting in frizz from the sweat that beaded on her forehead. "Are you gonna come in or what? I've already danced with three Yanks, how long does it take to smoke one fag?"

"Alright, Jesus," Susie rolled her eyes, twisting her heel as she stomped hers out. The sudden noise was jarring as they headed inside, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the light after spending so much time outside. She couldn't quite remember what the party was even for, but the Americans didn't strike her as a group in need of much of a reason for one.

The women from her hut were all either crowded at one end of the bar or dancing with some of the men that filled the room, and Susie immediately made a beeline for the former, utterly uninterested in a bit of dull conversation or awkward flirting with a man she'd undoubtedly never speak to again. Her sister Beatrice often complained she had an un-romantic view of the world - she preferred the term 'realist'.

She had barely had time to take a sip of her first drink before she felt a tug at her trouser leg. Peering down, she met a familiar pair of dark eyes, Meatball's tongue lolling out of his mouth as he stared up at her, tail thumping against Maeve's leg as it wagged incessantly. The women were delighted by his sudden appearance, crouching down to scratch beneath his chin and rub under his belly, the dog revelling in the attention. But Meatball's presence meant one thing.

"Susie?"

Susie stood up straight, wiping a line of beer foam away from her lip as she found herself face-to-face with DeMarco, a stern frown creasing her expression. She'd managed to successfully avoid him for nearly a week, but with her back pressed up against the bar there was no escape.

She never dressed like she was supposed to be where she was. It was something Benny liked about her. Her hair fell uncurled down her back, her tie hanging loose around her neck, the top button of her shirt undone. Hand planted firmly on her hip, she appeared even more irritated by his presence than she had the first time they'd met.

"Look, can we-" He paused, an idea slowly surfacing. "... Will you dance with me?"

Maeve and Charlotte were both staring, expressions prompting her forward. DeMarco's friends were huddled nearby, clearly watching the scene, close enough to hear every word.

He's backed you into a corner. He's forcing you to answer. If you say no, he's made sure you're the one who'll look like an asshole.

What a dick.

"Fine." Teeth clenched, a bitter sweetness lacing her voice, she seized his arm, marching him towards the dancefloor and leaving the other women to fawn and coo over Meatball.

He stared down at the hand she had on his sleeve, frowning at the stiffness of her grip. Her shoulders were visibly tense, and he could feel the reluctance in every step she took. "... You look nice," He pointed out, flashing a smile.

Susie paused in the centre of the floor, taking his hand with about as much enthusiasm as if she were at a funeral. "Right. Sure."

The music had picked up, more than a dozen couples filling the room, dancing merrily. DeMarco liked this song. He'd danced to it countless times, with far more cheerful, willing partners. He could feel the warmth of her skin as he put a hand on her waist, and with a start realised that she was actually rather good at this. Staring down at the smooth movement of her feet, he almost forgot what he had come to say.

Clearing his throat slightly, Benny met her eye. “Susie, look. I know I don’t know you very well-”

“That is correct," She nodded firmly, and he fought the urge to scoff.

“Can you let me finish?! Jesus. I know I don’t know you very well - but - I can tell you’re not going to admit you were wrong. So I’m gonna do it for you. Susie, you were wrong. I was not trying to use you to get close to your friends - one of Charlotte’s friends had a date with one of my guys tonight, and I was asked to pass on a message that he had to cancel. That's why I needed to talk to her, you were just so-...” His mouth opened and shut as he tried to find the word, hand releasing hers for a moment to flail wildly in the air. “-You!"

Her gaze had begun to soften, and for a moment he felt a pit of guilt burrow in his stomach. "…But I’m sorry that’s happened to you before. Some guys can be real jerks.”

“Oh, really, thank you for the warning,” Susie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. DeMarco frowned flatly, and she cleared her throat. “Right. Yeah… Ok.” 

"It usually helps when you let people finish their sentences," He shrugged, and she tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing. When he slipped his hand back into hers, she was noticeably less tense.

"Well, I didn't know what you were gonna say."

"Exactly, Suze. That's what the rest of the sentence was for," DeMarco pointed out, unable to restrain a chuckle, flashing a boyish, lopsided grin. She felt her cheeks heat up, and let out a snort of laughter herself, her stubbornness ridiculous in hindsight. After a moment, Susie couldn't help but laugh - a real, melodious laugh, erupting from deep within her throat, eyes squeezed shut as her head tilted forward, a single auburn curl slipping over her shoulder to hang in her face.

He paused, the shuffling of his feet slowing, falling out of time with the music. She seemed all hard lines and rough edges, far too much so to ever produce such a wonderful sound. It was the kind of laugh that made a person feel lighter just for hearing it, and DeMarco hadn't realised quite how much he'd been staring until Bucky's teasing grin caught his eye from across the room, and he snapped out of it before Susie could notice.

The song reached its end, and her steps slowed to a halt, prying her hands away from his. "Right, you interrupted me before I could finish my drink, so I'm gonna go find it," She nodded determinedly, Meatball wiggling his way through the crowd to nip at her heels as she walked, his tail wagging back and forth wildly. Accepting her departure, Benny drifted back over to his friends, accepting a drink as it was passed to him.

"Breaking that shell, huh?" Bucky asked, that same pleased smirk creasing his cheeks.

His eyes narrowed slightly, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "Don't believe everything ya hear, John."

Susie pried her shoulders through the press of bodies that had gathered around the bar, hands raised as she side-stepped between a few officers, watching keenly for her half-finished beer. She spotted Maeve, stood dutifully with a glass in each hand, and realised with a smile that she'd been keeping an eye on it for her. A pilot she didn't recognise was stood beside Maeve at the bar, talking her ear off, and by the uneasy expression on her face, she wasn't exactly enjoying it.

"Thanks, love," Forcing a smile, she took her drink back, purposely shouldering in between the pair, cutting off the pilot mid-sentence. He let out a frustrated grunt, but Susie didn't offer him a second glance, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on Maeve's arm. The newest member of her crew, the girl had been freshly nineteen when she arrived at Thorpe Abbotts only a few months ago. She was bubbly, blunt, energetic, and something about her seemed familiar to Susie, something that kept her tethered at her side. "I was just talking to Charlotte-" She lied, deliberately refusing to address the third member of their party. "-and we were talking about going down to the pub instead, find some better beer."

The pilot cleared his throat, speaking up. Something about his smooth accent rubbed Susie the wrong way. "Excuse me? Maeve, we should get on the dancefloor before the next song starts."

Shaking her head, Susie wedged herself even more firmly between the two, shouldering Maeve behind her. "No, she's not gonna be doing that."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Well, now you are."

The air itself had grown tense around them, drawing the stares of others just trying to enjoy their evening. Further down the bar, she noticed DeMarco and his friends watching with furrowed brows, sporting identical frowns as they slowly put down their beers in anticipation. She felt Maeve's fingers brush against her own behind her back, searching for her hand.

The pilot was growing more and more irritated by the second. "Listen, we're all just here to have a good time," He said tensely. "It's one dance, it's not gonna hurt anyone."

Maeve's hand squeezed hers, a wordless way of saying 'Yes it will'.

"I think we've established that's not happening, Yank. Now why don't you fuck off and bother someone else, before this becomes a problem."

He scoffed, clearly doubting Susie's ability to make this altercation any sort of problem for him. Over his shoulder, she noticed DeMarco making his way through the crowd towards them, frown darkening his entire face. "There an issue here?" He asked, voice sterner than she'd ever heard it.

"Yeah, DeMarco - why don't you come over here and put a muzzle on your bitch, huh?"

The moment the words left the man's mouth, DeMarco was lunging forward, Blakeley's hands seizing his shoulders before he could cause any real damage. A self-satisfied smirk curled the pilot's lips, but in the moment DeMarco had dove at him, he had failed to notice Susie, upturning her beer and pouring every last drop down her throat in a single gulp. By the time his head turned back towards the two women, her fist was already clenched and pulled back, and an almighty crack echoed through the officers' club as her knuckles collided with his jaw. Staggering backwards, his side slammed into the bar, undoubtedly leaving some nasty bruises as he tumbled backwards, landing flat on his ass on the polished wood floor.

A stunned silence had descended upon the room, every eye locked onto the scene, a few snickers rising from the crowd as the pilot gawped up at her, eyes wide and gormless. "C'mon," Susie uttered, taking advantage of the sudden stillness to worm her way through the crowd, tugging Maeve along by the hand, the girl staring slack-jawed at the scene as they passed.

Susie hadn't realised how stifling the officers' club was until they breached the doorway, stepping out into the cold night air, no light except for a single streetlamp, which flickered and buzzed intermittently. Her knuckles throbbed painfully, shoulder reeling from the sudden swing, but the pain seemed washed away the moment Maeve let out a laugh - a shrill, hysteric giggle, hands clamped tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound, eyes wide in shock.

"Holy shit, Susie!" She cackled, and soon Susie had begun to grin too, their expressions painted in sheer disbelief at the scene that had just occurred. "That was fucking cool! Quick - let's go back in there and kick 'im before he can get up."

"No, no!" Susie chuckled, grabbing Maeve's wrist to stop her from marching straight back inside again. "We're in enough trouble as it is, let's not, eh? Save it for next time we see him," She winked, making the younger girl giggle.

Suddenly Maeve gasped, a hand raised to her scalp. "Oh shit, I left my hat inside."

The sound of footsteps just inside the doorway caught their attention, and out hurried DeMarco, Major Egan tailing close behind, Maeve's ATS cap in hand. "You guys ok? You hurt?" Benny called, brow creased in concern.

"Oh, we are so great," Maeve laughed, accepting her hat with many grateful thanks. "I mean did you see that? One hit - bam! - down!" Susie nodded along, beginning to chuckle, her cheeks burning a bright red.

"Yeah, it'll be even more impressive if I manage to keep my job," She huffed, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Well, I dunno about you, Benny, but I sure didn't see anything," Egan shrugged.

"Not a thing," DeMarco concurred, grinning. She met his gaze, and for a moment they both struggled not to burst into laughter.

"Right, well I'm not nearly drunk enough to go home yet," Maeve declared, glancing around at the group to gauge their reactions. "Pub? Pub anyone?"

"Not for me," Susie shook her head. "Even if everyone denies what just happened, I'm already on second chances. I'm gonna get some sleep before I have to deal with it tomorrow."

"I'll go," Egan nodded. "Keep an eye on the kid."

"Thank you," She smiled earnestly, taking Maeve's cap and tucking it beneath her arm. They'd all told the girl not to wear it out, but she'd insisted, and it was becoming burdensome. John and Maeve began making their way towards the village, their chatter muffled the further away they got. Turning on her heel, Susie began to return to her hut, before the sudden sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

DeMarco was walking beside her, hands in his pockets. "Walk you back?"

"And abandon your dog? Shame on you."

He shrugged. "Meatball's been all over Buck, he'll be fine. That dog's a goddamn traitor."

She chuckled. "He's going through the rebellious teenager phase - wants anyone except his dad."

"No one told me parenthood would be this hard, y'know," Benny joked, a flash of teeth peeking through his lopsided smile. "Your hand feelin' ok?"

Susie lifted the hand she'd used to punch the pilot, a twinge of pain making her wince slightly as she flexed her knuckles. DeMarco reached out to gently hold it, peering down at the bruising already blooming across the back of her palm. "It was a damn good swing, I'll give you that," He admitted, and she let out a chuckle.

Neither spoke for a moment, until he broke the silence once more. "Hey, what'd you mean when you said you're 'already on second chances'?"

"Ah," Susie nodded. "Well, that's where the reputation comes from. A while ago, before you Yanks got here, I got in an argument with an RAF officer - headbutted him so hard I broke his nose. I nearly got fired, but now everyone who's been around long enough knows about it, they think I've got a screw loose or summat."

"No shit - are you serious?"

"As the plague."

DeMarco let out a long, low whistle. "Y'know, I just assumed it was 'cause you're..."

"A grumpy old bitch?"

"Yeah, that," He agreed, letting out a guffaw as she punched him in the shoulder. "Hey! You said it, not me!"

"Prick," Susie smirked, shaking her head. The officers' club wasn't far from the ATS huts, and it wasn't long before they reached her door. Pulling Maeve's hat out from under her arm, she placed it atop her head, jokingly tipping it to him in goodbye as she fumbled for her keys. "Well, if I still have a job tomorrow I'll see you around."

"You will," DeMarco nodded. "And hey, if they try to fire you, I'll tell 'em you're essential for dog-sitting purposes."

"Oh yeah, my main calling in life," She shook her head, smiling as the lock clicked and she swung the door open. "G'night DeMarco."

"Y'know, you're allowed to call me Benny."

Her expression contorted in a grimace, clearly not a fan of the nickname. "I think I'm good."

"Jesus Christ," He muttered. "Go to bed, Susie, just get outta my sight."

With one last laugh, she slipped inside, vanishing as the door swung shut behind her, leaving him alone in the darkness. Smirking to himself, he shoved his hands into his pockets, beginning the long walk back to his bunk.

[missblissy]

The Painter - Astarion X Reader

Summary: While out shopping in the city you come across a strange book. You decide to give it a read and get a few ideas… Maybe this was something you should share with Astarion?

Warnings: 🤷🤷 There isn’t really anything to be worried about, maybe suggestive themes but?? It’s mostly pinning, angst, kind of intimacy 👀 GN! Tav as always tho UwU)/✨

A/N: 🔫💀 I am here to bring more non-sexual intimacy with Astarion because I love healing a traumatized man. The poem used later in the story must get its credit where it’s due, and is Acquainted with the Night by Robert Frost. As always, enjoy!

There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique with time and practice. A brush stroke can be equal of that to the hand caress along the inner thigh and bringing pleasure beyon-

“Hmm? Reading something new, I see?”

The binds of your book screamed out as the pages slapped such, cover to cover, while your skin nearly jumped off your own bones, “Astarion! H-hey!”

Peering over your shoulder from the back of the couch was the keeper of your heart and destroyer of any sense of sanity you had left. Astarion raised a cursed brow at you and leaned a little closer. The night was young and the floors below the Elf Song rang with customers coming and going as they pleased. Thankful the top floor was all to yourself but still, the liveliness below could still be heard.

“Why aren’t you down stairs with everyone else?” You asked as you set the book down beside you, even managing to slip it between the pillows and cushions.

Most of the others had joined the music and drinking below, Astarion was down there the last you checked, getting into some kind of heated debate with Wyll and Gale about who could flip a coin better. Sometimes those three could be so…

You shook the thought away as Astarion crawled over the back of the couch and smoothly sat down beside you, “Well I came looking for you of course,” He gave a wave of his hand then a side look, “You don’t normally hide away reading,”

There was a soft laugh from you and a half shrug, “We’ve been here for weeks now. There is only so much fun a drunken tavern can provide, and spending every night down there isn’t my cup of tea,”

“Hm, you’re no fun. What’s another night of drunken debauchery?” Astarion teased with a nudge of his shoulder into yours, but you gave a little shake of your head and he got his answer, “Fine, fine~” He sang out then threw his arms behind his head as he stretched, “One boring night, coming right up,”

You knew he was only teasing and meant nothing by it. Seeing as the flicker of amusement in the corner of his eye told you he would rather be up here with you anyways.

Without a second thought or a slight of hesitation, Astarion made himself comfortable. He laid down with his head in your lap, you letting out a little giggle as he shoved your hands out of the way to make room for himself. His feet dangled off the arm of the couch and he shuffled a bit as he kicked off his boots.

“So, tell me about this book you're reading, my love. I’ve seen your nose in it since we left that book shop,” Almost as if by instinct, your fingers started combing through his white curls, “It must be a terribly lascivious fantasy, no?”

You could hear the little giggle bubbling behind his words as he spoke as well. How many times has he mentioned the book now and you’ve just ignored him? “It’s not that kind of book,” You didn’t stop playing with his hair, but you did look away with a faint blush. If he was going to be persistent about it then you had little choice to put up a fight.

He started to reach over toward the book tucked beside you but you slapped his hand repeatedly, “It’s not that kind of book,” You huffed then grabbed it for yourself. Just to prove your point you leafed through the pages then stopped on a specific one.

To say it wasn’t just any kind of book would be an understatement. You held the book open and showed Astarion. On the page was a simple diagram. Well… perhaps not simple.

The vampire spawn tilted his head a little, not exactly sure what he was looking at. Slowly he lifted his hands up and held the book open himself, “That pain priest really did a number on you back then, huh?”

“In a way, yes. But… Not exactly,” You said, while gazing at the page as well. It was hand drawn by someone tied up, very tied up, and very restrained, hanging from bounds of ropes off a ceiling. You flipped to an earlier page, one that shows exactly what knots where needed to achieve such a complex picture.

You then flipped a few pages back, “You did too,” You were hesitant to say those words, but there was no reason to lie. Nothing good came from it so why hide. You stopped on a different picture with a person fully in the nude but covered head to toe in painted on words. Then to another page that required both you an Astarion to nearly tilt your heads in a 90 degree angle to get a better look at whatever it was you were seeing.

A moment of silence passed and Astarion narrowed his gaze softly with a raised brow and looked up at you, “What is this book?” He closed it and looked at the cover, no title, then the spine, nothing. He went to the first page and only found a table of contents.

You gentle took it from his grasp and started fingering through it, to somewhere in the middle where the title was hidden, “Peculiar Pleasures,”

Astarion sat up fully, his head no longer in your lap as he straightened out beside you, “What did you mean, when you said you did too?” There was a slow growth of worry on his face, like he was about to be in trouble.

But you have a quick wave of your hand to dispel such worries, “Nothing bad,” You softly smiled and placed a gentle hand on his, he quickly took it but still had a silent question in his face waiting for you to explain, “I…” You started, not exactly sure where to start, “… I Was looking through the books at the shop, just wandering about. I saw this book, and it reminded me of you. And what you said about this kind of stuff feeling… Tainted?”

He didn’t say much but he did raise a brow and held an open hand out with a curl of his fingers. You passed the book to him and watched as those same fingers flipped pages with care and curiosity.

Still a little frazzled, you felt your shoulders tense up and rise to your neck while letting out a nervous laugh, “I just thought it was interesting…” You started to ring your fingers together with that same empty laugh, “And maybe this book could, I don’t know… It’s sex without sex!” You blurted out louder and than you expected then got yourself all sorts of frazzled, “Like… ya know… that kind of stuff. I just thought-”

“You thought it could help,” His voice was cool like ice and just as slick, “That’s very sweet of you,” You finally looked at him to see a smile in the corner of his lips. He leaned into the distance between you two and placed a kiss on your cheek, “I’d like to keep this for awhile, if you don’t mind,”

“You actually want to read it?” The surprise in your voice was hard to hide, why wouldn’t you be? You gave him an odd look full of questions regardless.

He gave you another side look, one more playful as he turned to full face you with a tip of his head slightly to the side. Your noses barely touched as he smirked, “I’m just reading it, love, we aren’t doing anything,” It was cruel of him to flirt like this, and to give such a teasing tone.

It made the tips of your ears burn and your cheeks match, “I know!” You huffed and turned away sharply, “I mean- well. Good.” You smoothed out your shirt as some form of distraction or action to seem casual, “I’m glad you like it then,”

A soft laugh escaped his lips and you felt a smile tug at your lips. Soon the giggles came from you both. Astarion raised an arm, inviting you in by his side and you quickly took the offer, snuggling up and resting against his chest, “How far have you gotten? I shouldn’t have that much to catch up on,” With how fast he reads? It’d only take him a few hours you guessed.

Astarion opened the book again once you had both gotten comfortable on the couch. With a shrug you told him, “I’m not that far, maybe a few chapters?”

“Wonderful,” His grin was cheeky, “Means you don’t have much rereading to do,”

A curious brow was raised on your face, “Oh?”

He snuggled himself closer and began flipping to the first few pages, “Of course, everything I could want is right here,” His voice was laced like honey, sickeningly sweet, “Why would I bother leaving?” He teased, “A beautiful paramour by my side, a saucy book for the ages, and the rest of the night to ourselves,” A stray hand of his began combing through your hair, all the while he focused on skimming pages with ease. It was rather perfect.

You let out a little hum, “You have a point,” The curl of his fingers through your hair was enlightening yet calming. It was like a call of tranquility. Another hum as your eyes fluttered shut, “Wake me when you get to chapter 4? Around page… I don’t know, half way through,” To hells with him if he thought you’d reread the damn chapters a second time.

“Mhm,” Was his simply and soft reply, then followed but the subtle turn of a page. He never stopped twirling curls of your hair between his fingers, something of a rhythmic pattern that was predictable and pleasant.

Sometimes you’d get pulled from the lull when he’d pause, his hand stopped and a strange chuckle could be heard escaping his chest. Even peaking an eye open you could already tell what he was reading. You saw a silly but errotic picture from before, someone clad with no clothes being tickled by countless feathers and… other peculiar things. You laughed at that one too.

Or a few pages later there would be an image of someone experimenting with entire blocks of ice and nothing else, or toying with magic in stranger ways than normal. Even a few pages were dedicated to the art of chanting and just calling out sounds and how to seek orgasmic pleasure from just screaming. Though you couldn’t deny, some things in the pages seemed entirely thrilling. It was indeed a book of peculiar pleasures.

So the half chuckles and chortles from Astarion every so often put a smile on your face. Though you still drifted in and out of a half sleep, despite the ruckus downstairs still raging on. After some time with a vampire you grew to love the coolness that always radiated from Astarion, like a freezer, he was naturally chilled and cool to the touch.

After a while however you felt a little jostle on your shoulder. Then more of a shake. Your eyes shot open and for a split second you were expecting a surprise attack. It was just your beloved vampire, though, seeing as you nearly forgot with your little power nap, “Star-bite..?” You yawned the nickname and rubbed some sleep out of your eyes.

You eyes flickered to the book beside you, still in his hands, you noticed he was nearly to where you left off, he only had a couple pages left to catch up though.

“This one,” Astarion’s voice surprised you, causing you to snap your head towards him. You caught a look of what could only be described as determination. He fully turned the book to you and pointed his finger to the page with an image you had already seen.

There was a drawing of a woman painting on herself. She was, keep in mind, nude, but her body was covered in runes and words alone. They covered her from head to toe. Your eyes traveled to the paragraph below, you still remember what it said.

Pleasure can come in many forms, this one being the pleasure of touch and grace while healing, and exploring the mind and body so intimately that nothing but a brush stroke is needed. This practice is known as The Painter. Its purpose is to form bonds either with yourself or with that who holds the brush. There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique and with practice. A brush stroke can be equal to that of a hand caressing along the inner thigh and bring pleasure beyond what a touch could ever do. Paint into you what you’ve always wanted to hear, or secrets you can’t keep any longer. You could even scribe poems, or runes, whatever means most to you.

“I want to try this one,” Astarion’s voice caused your mind and eyes to drag up to him.

You felt a rush of blood run to your cheeks as you forced an awkward laugh, “R-right now?” He couldn’t be serious. Your eyes flickered around the room, wondering if anyone had come up from the tavern yet.

Astarion only answered you with a quick and sharp nod of his head. Well then…

You blinked a few times, still somewhat surprised by his forwardness, “O-okay,” Then you said it again with more confidence, “Okay!” You shot up from the couch and looked around then made your way to the door, Astarion was close to follow behind you. He did manage to grab an ink well and a brush, however, as you managed to slip away to the solo suite down the hall. He had not forgotten the book either.

“So, what do you want painted on you?” You closed the door as he followed in, then turned and watched as he kept his nose in the book and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Without lifting his head, he raised only his ruby eyes and gave you a staunt look, “I was thinking a poem,” That was rather interesting, or so you thought. A little fitting even.

But you still had to ask, “Are you sure? I mean,” You made your way over to him, sitting side by side while taking the ink well and brush that we’re still tucked under his arm, “I only ask because it wasn’t that long ago we thought it was just a poem on your back,”

“I’m sure,” He closed the book with a swift snap as the pages shut together, “Besides,” He leaned a little closer to you with a smirk, “I get to choose what it says this time,”

A soft single giggle of a laugh escaped you. You then clicked your tongue with a little shake of your head, “Alright, where do you want to start?”

You watched as he proceeded to think, mule over what he wanted and what he didn’t want. Which was still a foreign concept to him that he hadn’t quite yet settled into. Eventually and with caution he said, “Let’s just start with my arm. I don’t think I’ve got enough words to cover me… Nor do I think I want to,” He gave a small and nervous, boyish chuckle at the end.

“Okay,” You nodded with a smile and waited as Astarion shed a few layers, then undone his shirt and exposed only his torso. You had nearly forgotten how beautiful he was, but only soaked in the view for a moment before giggling giddy with bubbles, “You talk, I write,” You hummed and dipped the tip of the brush into the ink, tapped away the loose drops, then hovered it over his one of his shoulders, waiting with anticipation.

His breathing slowed, and Astarion thought. He even closed his eyes trying to envision the words appearing on his own skin. Soft, but not a whisper, his voice traveled deep from his lungs. A strange sounding roughness filled his words.

“I have been one acquainted with the night.”

Slowly with each word, you carefully wrote every letter with deliberate delicacy, as if you were painting on the world’s thinnest canvas, ready to break under the smallest weight.

“I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.”

His voice carried a world hidden within it, one that you could only ever catch a glimpse of in moments like these. Each faint brush stroke along his skin sent small and welcomed shivers from each place the hairs prickled his skin. Astarion even had to take long moments between each entry, to give you time to scrawl down his tainted words.

It was incredibly intimate, much to his surprise. Especially when he’d turn his head just enough to see you, and see your hard stare more focused on the brush strokes of each word than staring back at him. He couldn’t explain it, but having your attention still be on him, but not actually looking at him…. His chest felt light and his blood began to pick up speed. Your focus filled eyes would only glance back up at him when you were ready for the next verse. It was enough to make his breath hitch, for the candle light to reflect stars in his eyes and turn his head away once again.

“I have passed by the watchman on his beat, and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped to the sound of feet… When far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street,”

You carefully worked down his arm, making your way to his wrist, to gently clasp it with your free hand and turn his arm over, palm facing up. There wasn’t a moment of lapse or pause as you continued on working your way up the other side of his unpainted arm. For you this was just as intimate. You could see the shift in his chest, the way his breathing would quicken and slow again depending on where the brush stoked along his skin. In all fairness, it was a learning experience, but still one that made your cheeks burn. Especially when you could feel him staring.

You were keen not to look back at him, or away from writing down his words. As much as you wanted to steal a glimpse, to see the half lidded look on his face, the glaze over of his eyes and the way his lips parted with each intentional word when he was speaking… As for now, all the two of you could hear was each other's shallow breathing, then of course Asterion's little quick in tack of air as you finished the verse and looked up at him waiting patiently.

“But not to call me back… or say good-bye… And further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right….” He paused, and waited, and even more still once you caught up. He said nothing for a moment, nothing at all. But soon he sighed out his next and final words as if they were more personal to him, as they were becoming words of affirmation rather than confirmation, “I have been one acquainted with the night,”

He didn’t move, and neither did you. You couldn’t place your finger on it, but you watched him slowly flutter his eyes close and take in a few low breaths. The ink on his skin had started to dry and you carefully traced your fingers over the black words once more. There wasn’t any tension between you two, rather, a longing.

You’re voice came as a subtle surprise to him, just to hear it that is, “I have become one acquainted with the night,” You echoed, still tracing the words along his arm, “It’s a beautiful poem,” You leaned closer and place a light and loving kiss on his shoulder, “And a little sad,”

Hearing so made a bittersweet smile curl onto Astarion lips and he breathed out a soft and low hum of a laugh, the kind that came from his nose as he sighed along with it. He tipped his head towards yours, a loving nudge as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head, “It is sad, but true,”

“Hmm,” You smiled a little more as he placed a kiss on your forehead. You fell into each other, into a loose embrace by simply enjoying the closeness. You still traced your fingers lightly along his painted arm, then softly gave a loose chuckle, “You know this doesn’t look to bad,” You gentle lifted his arm, in the process you hooked your arm around his and locked yourself at the elbow while slipping your hand into his, “I bet you’d be able to pull of tattoos if you wanted,” A banter was in your voice, light and airy.

A quick laugh came from him, and he raised an eyebrow at you, “You think so?” His giggle was laced into his words, he peered down along his arm and took a moment to imagine the words being replaced with more permanent art, “Is that your way of saying you’d like me more with ink?” The tease in his voice was harmless and playful.

With a dramatic, “Noo!” You nudged your shoulder into his, swaying a little together as you each laughed, “Only if you wanted to, of course. I like you just as you are,” Though you wouldn’t mind at all… the back of your mind flashed you images of Astarion honestly covered with tattoos.. hmph.

Astarion placed a little kiss along the side of your temple to ease his teasing and said, “Honestly I’ve never considered them before. The idea of a needle poking me for hours on end sounds like torture… Though…” He looked back down at his arm, gave it a little twist and a full view as he admired the words, “You are right, I do look pretty good,” He smirked with sharp teeth.

You burst into a fit of giggles and nodded your head along with him, “You really do,” You gestured back to the brush and ink well beside you, “I can do more if you like?”

His eyes flickered to follow your hand then he gave a little shake of his head, “This is a good start, for now,” He reached over and took your hand in his, bringing the back of it to his lips and placing a tender kiss against your skin, “Thank you. For doing this, I mean,” Then he gave a cheeky little shrug and a slight harmless roll of his eyes, “And maybe for getting the book too… I… I think I needed this,”

“Of course,” Your brows knitted together but with a sweetness as you place a hand on his cheek, “Of course!” You repeated with emphasis, placing a kiss on his forehead and pressing yours to his, noses just brushes against each other while you humed, “Anything for you, my sweet Star-bite,”

[whumpsday]

K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #11

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: death wish / suicidal ideation, vampire whumpee, captivity, bear trap, broken bones, burns

@whumptober Day 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” / Animal trap / Captivity / “No one will find you.”

-

The muscle in Kane’s leg spasmed as if crying out, crushed between shattered bone and hard metal. He whined in pain and tried to curl in on on himself, but any movement just made it worse.

With a sharp gasp, he abandoned the effort, lying limp on the floor of his cell, the bear trap snapped snugly around his leg. The silver, melted and slathered haphazardly over the trap’s jaws, pressed into his skin with enormous force as it desperately tried to close together, frustrated with Kane’s leg in the way.

It was always so much worse when it pressed in, and now it did it from both sides. A touch against silver was bad enough, but the way it pinched his skin between the jaws to sear into it, a white-hot flame that would never die, was unbearable. The pressure was greater than when hunters would push or pull him into the cell’s bars, and unlike a human, the trap was uninclined to ever let go.

But the hunters had left him like this, and he had no hope of removing himself from the trap until they returned. Kane whined again, louder this time, and pressed his face into the cool concrete floor, as if it could somehow cancel out the hellish burning.

“Help,” he gasped. A habit he’d been making less and less use of. He’d well lost track of how long it had been by this point, but it was obvious no one was coming to save him– and even more obvious that he was helpless to save himself.

There was only one way out, and that was death. And even that had been cruelly dangled out of his reach.

As long as his captivity felt, Kane knew that in reality, it was laughably short. Surely only a few years. He was young enough for a vampire, only barely past one-hundred. While a human his age would be on death’s door if they hadn’t already met it, and a human equivalent to him in physicality– thirty or so– would only live for sixty-odd more, he had more than a thousand years stretching beyond him, if he couldn’t earn a staking before then.

Even that hope was diminished, knowing the hunters had too much fun making him their plaything to let him meet death so easily. Perhaps in a century, when all his current tormenters would be dead and cycled out for new ones, the next generation of humans would have a change of heart.

It was little comfort to him now, the peace of death a distant dream. A shard of bone shifted in his leg and the trap cinched tighter, wringing a wail from his hoarse throat.

[leifygreeens]

Hi moot! Hope you're doing well! <:)

Can i request about pilot harvey meeting the farmer (GN) ? (Those HCs about the bachelors archieving their dreams is living rent free in my head for a while )

Maybe harvey taking a break from aviation after an accident and spending some time in pelican town to rest ? 👀

It could be HCs or a little oneshot, whatever you're comfortable with!

(If Anything just sorry in advance)

Hey moot! This one was a monster, and it took me fucking ages(sorry abt that), but I hope you like it all the same!!

Bachelor/ettes Achieving Their Dreams is here.

Warnings: 3296 words, mentions of scarring, burns, fire, some swearing, and Pierre's relationship with Abigail is pretty... not nice. GN!Farmer, Pilot!Harvey. Half edited, so excuse any awkward phrasing or typos. Enjoy!

When the creatures of the valley are sleeping, and the streetlights lining the town square still glow faintly, Harvey wakes up and starts his day.

Like clockwork, he rolls out of bed to wash the sleep out of his eyes and shock his body awake with a shower. It’s a routine he picked up in the early years of his career, when he was lowest in seniority and always stuck with the longest and earliest flights. Sixteen years later and he still does it, even though there’s no reason to wake up early anymore.

Hopping out of the shower at half past five, he wrings the water out of his curls with a towel, and plucks his glasses from where he left them folded neatly on a washcloth. He wipes vapor off of the lenses with it, holds them up to the light to make sure they’re dry, and then settles them on his nose.

The world turns clear, and a flash of pearly white at the front of his bangs catches his attention. Harvey frowns.

He’s lucky his hairline isn’t receding just yet, but he scowls at how his age is starting to show in the streaks of white, in sharp contrast against the rest of his chocolate brown hair. He flicks a dangling curl away from his brow, and leans in close to the mirror, eyeing his jawline in disappointment. He runs a palm over the curve of his cheek, and sighs.

He needs to shave again.

Well, need is a strong word, because he doesn’t—not anymore, anyway. But old habits die hard.

That takes at least ten minutes, and he’s been shaving every other day for half of his life, but he’s still nursing a nick under his jaw as he walks into the kitchenette. The apartment is cool compared to the sauna he’s made of the bathroom, and his skin blooms with goosebumps when he opens the fridge.

He drags out the almost empty carton of eggs from the back of the top shelf, and pulls a pack of bread from the other side. There are two slices left, not counting the ends. He sighs, and knows he’ll have to pick up groceries from Pierre’s in a few hours when the shop opens. Harvey digs the last of his coffee grounds out of the cabinet above the stove. He’ll need to pick up another bag of those as well, and his head twinges at the thought. His grocery list is getting longer the more he thinks about it.

He shakes the thoughts away. Coffee and food first, before everything else.

He fries up the last of the eggs, toasts and lightly butters the bread, and sits at his tiny dining table with a full mug. The window beside him is closed and the curtains are pulled, but the cloth is sheer enough that he can look outside and see the world slowly start to wake up. There are chittering finches in the tree branches, a brown rabbit hopping through the underbrush of Jodi’s backyard, and if he straightens up enough, he can see pure white gulls gliding over the deep stretch of blue beyond Pelican Town’s beaches.

He eats slowly, gazing out the window as the sun finally rises above the mountains and bathes the valley in soft yellow light. 

Harvey smiles and pulls the curtains back. It’s still too cold to slide the window open—the valley is just three weeks out of winter, and you’d have to be a madman to subject yourself to the early morning chill—but the warmth of the sun should reach him through the glass just fine. He picks up his mug and takes a swig, settling in for his breakfast overlooking Pelican Town.

The peace is short-lived, however. By half past 8, his dishes are empty and clean in the rack adjacent to the sink, and his computer is on the table, open to a 3-day-old email from Steph, his coworker. He scrolls up to the beginning of the message and skims over it again.

Hey Harv, just checking in again. How are you doing these days? How are your arms? Has your back healed? I’m sure you’re following doctor’s orders, but I wanted to check in to be sure. By the way, I talked to Ricky yesterday, and he says he’s doing good, but he hasn’t heard from you in months. I don’t mean to pry, and you know I don’t mind the radio silence, but he’s your best friend, Harv... Reach out to him, will you? He misses you. We all do. Even the trainees have been asking about you (I think they just miss getting drinks on your dime though). Take care of yourself, maybe go outside for a bit, you old fart. I’ve heard the weather in the south is lovely this time of year. Send me some pictures, okay? Talk soon.

Harvey sighs and runs an exasperated hand over his face. 

How is he doing?

His back still aches occasionally, but Caroline’s aerobics class helps with the worst of the pain, and the burns on his arms healed a long time ago. The scars are a nasty reminder, sure, but his skin doesn’t feel tender to the touch anymore.

Point is, he could schedule a physical tomorrow, and his doctor would clear him for flight by the end of next week—but that’s kind of the problem.

Harvey looks at his coat closet. In the farthest corner, hidden under his uniforms, his model kits collect dust. He threw everything in there when he first arrived in the valley, and he’s pretty sure he’d have to lean all of his weight back just to get the door open. He goes tense when he hears an engine in the sky, but he doesn’t look up anymore. 

Harvey pauses. 

When did he stop?

He glances at the time, and closes his computer with a sigh. His chair makes an awful screech against the tile as he stands, and he beelines for his dresser, yanking the top drawer open to grab the first barely presentable thing he sees. An old university t-shirt; one of the few with no holes. 

He tosses it on his bed, swipes the top pair of jeans out of his hamper, and unravels his robe.

Harvey gets dressed quickly and only spares himself a quick glance in the mirror to check that everything is sitting fine. It’s certainly not the picture of professionalism expected by his employers, but they’re not here, so as long as he doesn’t look like he’s just rolled out of bed, that’s good enough.

Harvey slips on his most comfortable pair of shoes, shoves his wallet and keys in his pocket, and steps outside.

The sun assaults his pupils as he makes his way down the stairs, and he squints against the glare until his eyes adjust. It’s nicer out now, and he breathes in the sweet smell of tulips—Evelyn’s flowers of choice this year for the planters lining the square. The dogwood trees are also blooming, leaving the cobblestone littered with white and pink petals. Harvey closes his eyes and inhales slowly, feeling peaceful.

“Shit!—”

Harvey jumps, his eyes flying open in surprise at the sound of wood thunking against glass, heavy like a gong. A few birds leap from their perches in the trees, and a squirrel dives under a bush. He turns to Pierre’s, searching for the source of the sound, and finds a stranger with a giant crate in their arms, fighting to balance it as they reach for the doors. 

Harvey realizes that it is not one, but two crates. 

Stacked on top of each other. 

One of them is starting to tip over.

“Woah, woah!” They yelp, and Harvey moves without thinking.

The grit of the wood presses against his palms as he heaves the top crate out of their arms, and he looks at the stranger with a smile.

“Uh, hello,” Harvey says. They blink, perfectly silent, and he grimaces. “Sorry, you looked like you were going to lose it.”

It’s not as smooth as he’d like, but it does snap them out of whatever trance they were in.

“Oh, no! Thank you for saving it, it would’ve been bad if I lost that one. It’s, uh.” They smile, and there’s an anxious edge to their voice. “That one’s full of eggs.”

Harvey blinks down at the crate, and then the pavement. “I can’t imagine the mess that would’ve made.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Pierre would ever buy from me again.” They wince. “He probably wouldn’t let me near his shop at all, actually.”

“That man does know how to hold a grudge.” Harvey glances at the doors, the glass glinting and reflecting the bright morning sun directly in his eyes. He blinks hard, willing the after images away. “I’m just here to pick up some groceries, but would you like some help bringing these in?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to, but I’d be very grateful if you did, stranger.” They smile. Something warm settles in his gut at the invitation.

“My name is Harvey,” He says sheepishly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harvey. I’m the new farmer.” Harvey doesn’t bother mentioning he never met the old one. They nod at the dirt path leading to the bus stop, and he glances over his shoulder. “I moved into the farmhouse down the road a few weeks ago.”

His eyebrows wrinkle a bit. “You moved in a few weeks ago and I’ve only just met you?” 

“I’ve been pretty busy. The farm wasn’t in the best shape, so I’ve been clearing the land, and trying to raise enough money to restore the farmhouse.” The Farmer lifts the crate in their arms a bit. “Hence the crates.” 

Harvey looks down at the crate in his arms. “How many chickens do you even have? There’s like fifty eggs in here.”

“I started off with two, but I’ve got eight now. They make a lot.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Harvey readjusts the crate, a burn building in his arms. He’s surprised it took so long, though. Maybe the aerobics class is doing more for him than just fixing the back pain.

Harvey nearly topples backward as the front doors swing open, but rights himself at the last moment. The crate of eggs remains safe in his arms, even though the glare that Abigail fixes him with makes his knees weak, and the sword strapped to her hip doesn’t help, either.

“Harvey,” she grits out, and he thinks it might be a greeting? 

He doesn’t have the opportunity to reply, though, because she levels the farmer with an even nastier scowl, and storms off toward Marnie’s. Pierre appears just then, keys in hand and a matching scowl on his face. Harvey doesn’t have to wonder where Abigail got it from.

“Fucking brat,” Pierre spits, jamming the keys into the front doors to unlock them as Harvey and the Farmer share an awkward look.

“Uh, rough morning, Pierre?” The Farmer asks.

“That would be the understatement of the fucking century, Farmer.” Pierre waves them in, and Harvey follows dutifully. The general store is always warmer than it is outside, and in the winter that’s a boon, but right now Harvey can already feel sweat clinging to the nape of his neck. He rolls his shoulders back, and that helps only marginally. “What have you got for me today?”

“One crate of eggs, one of produce.”

“Good. Set them both on the counter. I’ll get my scale and ring you up.”

“Yes sir,” The farmer heaves their crate onto the counter beside Pierre’s register, and Harvey sets the eggs beside it as gently as he can. When he looks up, the door to Pierre’s home is swinging shut.

“Wow. This spat must’ve been really bad if Pierre is cursing,” The Farmer muses, crossing their arms and leaning against the counter. 

“I've never seen him this angry.” Harvey heaves a breath. “I wonder what happened this time.”

“I'm not close with either of them, so I couldn’t guess.” The Farmer shrugs.

“I didn’t think you were,” Harvey whistles. “Certainly not Abigail, with the way she looked at you. What did you even do?”

The Farmer sighs. “Lewis thinks it’s because she wanted to buy the deed to the old farm, and is pissed that I got it through birth.” 

“And what do you think?” Harvey asks.

They shrug again. “I’m not about to hunt her down to find out.”

“She’d probably cut you down if you did,” Harvey says grimly, shuddering at the memory of the sword gleaming on her hip. The Farmer chuckles. 

“She could certainly try.” The Farmer rolls their eyes, a smug smile playing on their lips, and Harvey suddenly gets the sense that he is very, very out of his depth. They look at him curiously after the silence stretches for a few moments longer than necessary, and Harvey swallows hard.

“Groceries.” He says intelligently, and the Farmer’s eyes slowly crinkle at the edges. 

“That is what you originally came here for.”

“I should go do that.”

“You should.” The Farmer nods, their smile unmoving, and Harvey stiffly makes his way to the end of the first aisle.

He can feel the Farmer’s eyes on him the whole way, his eyes skimming the shelf as he tries very hard to ignore the prickling heat climbing up his neck. He slips out of sight, rubs the back of his neck as the feeling disappears, and starts looking for his coffee.

The door in the far corner of the shop swings open again, and Pierre waltzes back into the store with an easy smile on his face. Harvey really should be used to the mood swings by now, but when Pierre’s entire personality changes with the breeze, the whiplash is enough to leave everything spinning.

“Sorry for the wait, Farmer. My scale wasn’t where I left it.”

“Oh, no worries, Pierre. I’m in no rush.”

“No offense, but I don’t believe you,” Pierre jokes. “You’re always in a rush.”

“Not today, thankfully. I’m spending the rest of the day at the beach.”

Harvey hears Pierre clunk his scale on the counter. “The beach? It’s still a bit too cold to take a dip, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, I’m not going swimming, I’m fishing.”

Harvey’s never been the type to eavesdrop, but the store is small and they’re not even ten feet away, so he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, does he?

He frowns. It’s a poor excuse and he knows it.

He refocuses on the bags in front of him, and sighs. Pierre has a small selection of coffee, and it’s expensive, but it’s better than Joja. Harvey shudders. He would rather pour hot wax on his own tongue than buy coffee from Joja.

Harvey grabs two bags of beans, stands up, and plucks one loaf of plain white bread from the top shelf. He glances down at everything in his arms. He probably should’ve grabbed a basket.

“Alright, that's the last of it!”

“Thank you, Pierre, I appreciate it.” Harvey perks up.

“Oh no, it’s no trouble at all. Your farm is already doing a lot of good for the local economy, even with that cursed Joja Mart across the river.” Harvey nearly snorts. No one in town is as vocal about their hatred for the big blue building as Pierre.

“Give it time, Pierre. It’ll close down eventually.”

“In a perfect world, it never would’ve opened in the first place.”

“Have a good day, Pierre,” The Farmer calls over their shoulder, and Harvey tenses when he realizes the sound of their steps is getting closer. Harvey looks up, and the Farmer is smiling at him, half concealed by the rack as they peer around the corner. “Hey.”

“Uh, hi again.” Harvey manages a tiny wave past everything in his arms, and the Farmer’s smile widens.

“Just wanted to thank you again for the help,” The Farmer says warmly. Harvey opens his mouth to reply, wanting to say something about it being no trouble, but they’re already dipping out of sight. Regret sours in his throat. 

But then they’re reappearing a moment later, still leaning past the corner of the aisle like they’re in some goofy movie poster, with a basket hanging from their hand. “Need a basket?”

Harvey wonders if the twitch of his lips is visible under the fluff of his mustache, and walks up to them. “I do, thank you.”

“I think this is the least I can do, considering.” The Farmer holds it out to him, keeping the handles out of his way as he dumps the bags of coffee and bread into the basket. “I would’ve lost a lot of income if you hadn’t lent me a hand when you did, so thank you.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Maybe not, but I appreciate you all the same. It’s nice being out here, surrounded by people who actually give a damn about each other.” Harvey stares at them in surprise. “Even the nicest people in Zuzu wouldn’t have given me a second glance.”

“You’re from the city?”

They nod. “Not by birth, but yeah. I was living in Zuzu for a few years until now.”

Harvey takes in their sunkissed skin, and the sturdiness of their arms. They look like they’ve been in the fields for years. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“That’s probably a good thing.” They hold his basket out again, and Harvey takes it.

“Thank you, Farmer.”

They smile, and the flecks of dirt on their face catch his eyes like diamonds. “You’re welcome. Have a good day, Harvey. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Harvey mumbles as they finally leave, the bell above the doors cheerily punctuating their departure. 

It takes him a long time to shake himself out of it, but he manages eventually. Harvey plucks a few extra things off the shelves, and when his basket is appropriately heavy, he makes his way to the counter where Pierre is busy separating eggs into cartons.

“Morning, Harvey,” Pierre greets him familiarly, and Harvey nods his head.

“Morning, Pierre.” Harvey clunks his basket on the counter. “Can I get two cartons of eggs too, please?”

Pierre checks him out quickly, and Harvey is out of there two minutes later with his arms full and his wallet a little lighter.

He climbs up the steps to his apartment, and pauses at his door. He looks up toward the bus stop; squints hard to see past it. The trees block most of his view, but he can still make out the hint of open farmland between the branches. Harvey blinks and turns to his door, his keys jingling obnoxiously between his fingertips as he unlocks it and steps inside. He’s being weird.

He sets his bags on the kitchen counter and starts unloading his groceries.

Later, just past noon, Harvey is sitting in front of his computer, once again failing to type up a worthwhile reply to Steph. He gets a sentence down, maybe two, and then he’s grumbling to himself and deleting everything again. And again. And again.

And again.

Harvey thunks his head against the tabletop in defeat, and groans loudly.

“This isn’t working,” Harvey mumbles, as if the world needed any confirmation. 

He sits up, his forehead aching faintly, and looks out the window. Beyond the square, beyond the thick line of trees, he can see the ocean glittering under the sun, deep blue and endless.

All it takes is a tug in his chest, and Harvey gets up, puts his shoes on, and walks out the door.

[wrencatte]

this is a different bode ficlet from a...week ago? a weekish ago

The marketplace is crowded. It makes between his shoulder blades itch, but he just rolls them and ignores it.

Bode steps casually, but lightly, just a few meters between his target. They don’t know he’s there – his cloak is that good, and they’re that unaware. Typical. – as they shop sound. A bag of fruits and vegetables dangling from one hand, another bag hooked on the crook of that same arm, and their free hand lifting an expertly crafted class figurine to hold up to the light.

He stops at a vendor selling shawls, body angled to make it easy to watch his target. He’s not interested, of course, but he flashes a smile at the merchant anyway and lets her talk about patterns and stitches and colors, making the appropriate potential-buyer noises. My daughter likes green. Truth. Yeah, like frogs. She really loves ‘em. Lie. Kata likes the grass-green color that used to stain her knees. Back and forth. Truth. Lie. Truth. Lie. Lie. Lie.

Until his target moves on without buying any glass figurines. Bode grimaces, makes something up about having to talk to, to his wife, and steps away. Rubbing a hand over his face, he follows. Always follows. Tracking his target from one stall to another.

He could kill them now, if he wanted. No one would know it was him. Not with his skills.

The Jedi in front of him was young when the Purge happened, just out of their padawan-ship. More of a historian than a fighter, he knows they were never on the front lines. It would be nothing to kill them now.

But Bode refrains. He’s not sure why. It wouldn’t be the first Jedi he’s killed. Won’t be the last. Maybe it’s because it’s so public. There are so many people.

There's a solution to that.

As his target passes an alleyway, Bode reaches out unobtrusively. With his hands by his sides, he curls his fingers and flicks. His target trips. Stumbles. Staggers right into the alleyway. A stuttered confusion pockmarks the Force, their shields giving way to surprise. 

Bode quickly follows, and is on his target before they right themselves back up. He catches wide eyes and a young face before the Force buffers against him, trying to shove him off. But Bode is stronger, physically and in the Force, and his knife is flipping in his hands before they register him as unmovable. Before they register that they survived this long, and that survival ends today with his knife in their throat, blood spilling over his hand. 

Messy. He wrinkles his nose. Damn. Usually it's cleaner than this, he must be off his game. (He must be tired. Exhausted. Three years of this. When will it end? When will it finally be too much?)

(It's already too much. A shell of his former self. But even that might be too generous.)

Bode shifts through his target's pockets, scatters their purchases on the ground. Is shocked to find a metal hilt wrapped with blue leather in their bag. Carrying it around, so naive. The kyber inside sings softly, mournfully. Bode's hand curls around it without his say-so. He should just leave it here. He's not required to bring back proof, not anymore. But the idea of leaving this lightsaber here for anyone to find, well, maybe he's not so far gone to be okay with that idea. He slips their ‘saber into his own bag. 

It looks like a mugging. Bode tugs off his gloves and shoves them deep inside his bag, rolls up his sleeves and cuffs them halfway up his forearm to hide the blood. 

Once he's sure none is visible, he steps out into the light, leaving the cooling body of the Jedi behind. 

His presence is so small and so unobtrusive he's not even noticed until a little girl bumps into him. She blurts out a quick apology then dashes off, shouting for her friends. 

Bode watches her go with a sharp, longing pain puncturing through his chest, shredding his lungs and heart and leaving him feeling hollowed out.

He goes right instead of left, finds himself at the shawl vendor again. The merchant seems genuinely delighted at his return. She presents a shawl she had dug out of her packed crates. It's green. Frog green and stained grass green with gold coiled on the seams and a fringe of it along the edges. 

Bode dazedly hands over the credits, plus some, and accepts the bundled package. He holds it instead of putting it in his bag. 

He doesn’t want to get blood on it.

[owlespresso]

pink salt leander

tags: fem!reader, oracle bg, spice beneath cut

Your visions do not wait to come for you. They emerge suddenly and violently, kraken’s tendrils emerging from black waves to strike the weary hull of your mind. You witness horrible things. Things better off left unsaid and forgotten, but they stick in your memory like stubborn burrs. When you close your eyes, you still see that fleshy, pulsating red. You still taste the salt and smoke on the back of your tongue.

It's especially vicious tonight. persistent enough to drive you to distraction. When Leander walks you to your door, he tilts his head and furrows his lip, letting you know he’s about to ask a question you won’t like.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks. “You don’t look well—and I’m not talking about the seven pints you took down on an empty stomach.”

“You told me I was stunning and incredibly difficult to resist.” you grumble. He smiles.

“And you are. You just look… like you might not want to be alone, right now.” he says. There's a heavy sway of coy suggestion in his voice, smooth and light. 

“You can come in.” you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him, so you settle for the next best thing. You leave the door wide open behind you, light from the hallway shed onto the old planks. Your boots get kicked off by the door, landing in a heap somewhere close to it, and you throw your cloak over the chair that sits at the windowside desk. Leander’s gaze tracks every moment. It’s nearly a physical weight, pressing up against your skin as you flop onto the bed, head nearly hanging over the edge, frankly too buzzed to care. 

He’s a strange fellow. One might dare go so far as to call him a “weirdo”. You’ve come to take the eccentricities you can spot in stride, knowing he is far from the worst or most abnormal thing you’ve encountered since setting foot in this city.

You gaze at him for a long moment. The room falls still. his eyes are hooded, his lips curled with the slightest wisp of mischief. 

“You can tell me when something is wrong, you know.” He stands at the end of your bed like a demon crept from sleep’s paralysis, eyes bright and bags under his eyes dark. As horrifying as he is handsome, a visage you’d expect from a serial murderer. Haunted but haughty, with his gilded boots and winsome smile. He’s not smiling now, though. He looks concerned, or is trying to resemble a facsimile of it. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what needs fixing.”

“There’s nothing that needs fixing,” you reply monotonously, looking at him upside-down, head nearly dangling over the mattress’s edge. 

“Did someone downstairs say something to you?” he asks, tilting head to the side.

“Well, the most annoying fellow bothered me all night long. you might know him—dagger-shaped earring, tight leather pants.” you drawl, reaching a hand out. you pinch the slick fabric of his pants between thumb and forefinger, let it snap against his thigh. You ignore the stilted, giddy little breath he lets out. “Then he had the nerve to cut me off. and the bartender just let him.”

“You couldn’t have been too annoyed if you looked that closely at his pants,” Leander says, eyes crinkling with his smile. Always smiling. He bends the round of his knee to meet your palm, grins wider when you take your hand back like you’ve been scalded. “I'll be sure to have a strong word with him tomorrow, anyways. I can't have someone driving my favorite customer away.”

“You don’t own the bar,” you murmur, scuttling to the other side of the bed like a shrew underneath golden, bent grasses. 

“You're the boss's favorite, too,” Leander replies instantly. "Besides, the Bloodhounds keep this place going. We make up at least half their revenue." He glances down in silent question. You lay on your side, on the assortment of pillows, nestling your cheek into the palm of your hand. 

“You can.” you drop your head onto the pillows and turn away from him. you don't have to see him to know he moves immediately, heavy footfalls thudding against the floor before he’s all but crashing onto the mattress. you’re bounced with the impact, unable to hold in an outraged shout. The sound is smothered into a pillow. He laughs, the sound deep and rich and rumbling. it soothes the worst of your jitters. you give him a begrudging smack on the hip. His fingers wrap around your wrist, drawing your hand behind you. You twist to face him. His face is closer than you anticipated, his green eyes gleaming in the cool kiss of night’s shadows.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice quiet like a secret. The plush of his lips presses to the fat of your palm. You can’t help the way your breath catches.

“I didn’t think you’d be this shy,” he murmurs, lips wand’ring a path to your fingers. He idly plays with each one, his now ungloved hand fiddling with your thumb and pointer. He had them on, when he walked in. You’re not sure where they’ve gone, or when. He traces over the bumps of your knuckles, admires every centimeter of skin those greedy eyes can roam across.

“I—” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he pulls your ring finger into his mouth. He takes it deep, lets it fall across his hot, wet tongue. The steady strum of your thoughts gives way to sheer nothing at the velvet of his mouth. The sight of debauched. His eyelashes rest on his cheek as they shut, and your body, a traitor, burns hot for him. You want to squeeze the life out of him. You want to drink him dry, feel the giving plush of his chest underneath your hands, bury your teeth in his neck until he’s crying reedy and limp. 

the prick of his teeth around your ring finger, just enough to leave an impression. He pulls off your hand with a lewd pop, and has the nerve to lick his lips thereafter, meeting your wide eyes.

“You freak,” you nearly gasp, still aghast. He laughs, louder this time, and surges forward. Mouth to cheek and hip to thigh as he leverages himself halfway atop of you, squeezing you between the mattress and his broad body. His kisses are quick yet thorough, venturing down the line of your jaw and then to your neck.

His hand cups your side. It’s like your ribcage was made to slot with his palm and long fingers. 

“You seem to like it,” Leander muses, cupping the underside of your breast. His fingers stretch the length and squeeze, humming in contemplation as you wriggle and writhe despite yourself. He rubs light circles ‘round your areola, teasing the nub tight and hard. The smart reply you were going to snap dissolves with the rest of your words. And then your vowels. Until all you are is silly little sounds.

"You need someone right now and I'm the one that’s here, let me be what you need,” he croons, so terribly earnest that you almost believe him. You know better. For every act of love there is an expectation. and for every expectation not met there is a punishment waiting well in hand. You knew this before you allowed leander to slink into your bed. 

But the hour is late and you are trapped in some sort of gloaming bliss. The stars burn bright in the sky outside your window, a pool of moonlight casting everything in a dim, silvery glow. Kind of hazy, kind of sleep-drunk, yet unable to fully dip into that perfect, inky void. 

His gloved hand slides under your thin sleep shirt to rest over your stomach, soft tissue jumping under his touch. your pulse skitters back to life, eyes snapping open.

“We are not doing anything while you’re still in three different layers of leather,” you grumble.

“Asking me to strip, now? you’ve gotten pretty bold.” Leander flirts, like he doesn’t have his hand up your shirt. Regardless, he pulls away. He’s slow and languid, the very picture of leisure as he begins to slither from his skins. His tight shirt is left over a bedpost. He makes a show of it, much like everything else he does. He rolls his body and arches his spine to wriggle those lean hips from his trousers. He leans over your prone form to drop them on the floor next to the mattress. The hardened curvature of his abdomen is hardly an inch from your face.

You’re sweating.

“These are the most impressive things about you,” you squeeze his pecs, pinching a nipple between forefinger and thumb. He gives a noise dangerously close to a whine, cheeks flushing. The give of his chest is plush underneath your fingers, skin soft, broad space of his body too big to map with both your hands. “What are you so big for? You’re a mage.” He’s practically preening. You grope him again as a treat to yourself, this time pulling on those pink-brown buds. 

“Does it matter? You like them,” he says, just a little smug, even more breathless. “C’mon. You can touch me more. I’m all yours.”

And what are you to say to that? Nothing, because Leander kisses you. Again, and again, and again until you’re thoroughly on your back and light-headed. He’s stolen almost all of your air, swallowed your breaths and moans. He kisses you like he’s trying to become a part of you, trying to join into one synchronistic being.

You’re not even sure why you’re surprised when you feel his fingers, slender and slick with something cool, glide across your folds to circle around your entrance.

The calloused pads of his fingers draw figure eights across the soft walls of your cunt. Opening your eyes is a mistake. The keen green of his gaze rips away the steady shield of your ignorance, leaves you exposed and perceived. humiliation heats your cheeks and your belly, spine curling as pleasure licks up into your lower belly, blossoms thick and heavy through the rest of you. He perceives you, looks and feels into your depths with a clarity you can’t manage to wriggle away from.

“Don't,” you whimper, the sound rough and punched out. “Don’t look at me like that—” you can’t fucking stand him, can’t stand his smug smile, can’t stand the molten pleasure that sends your cunt spasming as he peaks you over the edge of yourself. You coat his fingers, release hot and sticky as it dribbles onto the sheets beneath you. You should have demanded a towel, you realize belatedly, as Leander draws a gentle path of kisses up the side of your head, pressing his nose above your ear. Unreservedly affectionate, undeniably the kind of attention you’d receive from a lover—not the friend Leander so ardently insists he is. You don’t read into it any further.

“Don’t look at you? How can I not? You’re so cute when you cry,” Leander chuckles into your temple, warm breath puffing against your skin. You turn your head, smothering a dread-filled groan against his collarbones. The fabric of his black shirt is cool against your cheek.

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” you find the energy to grouse at him, still.

“But it’s true. Your nose scrunches up like a little rabbit.” he intones, voice so low it’s almost a hum. The pad of his thumb presses in between your brows and he coos, even as you try and shake him off. The afterglow is hard to bask in when he’s so insistent on running his mouth. He shifts from your side, draws his first two fingers over your chest and stomach. The mattress creaks under the smooth shift of his body. He glides like a panther to settle off the edge, kneeling between your legs.

“Leander, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t,” he murmurs. His big palms and long fingers press along your inner thighs, holding you open. His eyelids dip, gaze prying, admiring as he looks over sodden folds, the sensitive bundle of nerves which sits open and vulnerable at your center. “But I want to.” He says, unabashed in his honesty. His gaze slowly roams up the length of your prone body before he meets your eyes. His grin is lazy, but you know plain the devious intention hiding behind those tired eyes.

It flays you open, how openly and honestly he wants. It’s all you can do to let your head fall back, breath heaved out in a sigh.

“Do what you’d like.” you say.