#cotton flag t shirts

[angellcherry]

— home.

» pairing: jungkook x reader

» genre: fwb to lovers, hurt/comfort, nsfw

» synopsis: “show me your thorns, and I'll show you hands ready to bleed.”

» warnings: allusions to depression, brief mentions of self harm (nothing graphic!), a little bit of angst, cuddling, reassurance, jungkook is a big green flag, talks of therapy and healing, confessions, lots of kisses, he's down bad and so in love :( (they both are), pet names, soft!dom jk, slight size kink, missionary bc he needs to look at her and kiss her 😩, praise, dirty talk, choking, creampie, aftercare

His hand curled around the nape of your neck the moment your lips touched. Warmth trickled down your spine, and he titled his head; tongue prodding at your soft lips, like he wanted you down to the marrow. Like he wanted to dip into your soul, kiss after kiss, until he was completely submerged; until he's explored every nook and crevice, felt every bump and crack.

He pulled away from the heat of your mouth slowly, reluctantly, eyes half lidded and dark. Lungs expanding to take in more air, voice coming out hoarse.

"You weren't answering your phone..."

"I know," you whispered, "I'm sorry."

Jungkook shook his head.

"No need to be sorry, baby," he lifted your hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on the soft skin there. "I was just worried."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in closer. You sank into his embrace so easily; like you just came home. In a way, you have. He hasn't seen you in over a week...

It may not have seemed like much, but your absence was tangible. Suffocating. Especially when he didn't know if something was wrong.

"I'm glad you're here," he murmured.

You turned your head to peck his shoulder, fingers entwining, and then you were walking towards his bedroom as though it was second nature. The change in your demeanor had the corners of Jungkook's eyes crinkling from smiling. You practically skipped over to his bed, hopping onto the large mattress.

"Can I get a shirt, please?"

He didn't think you comprehended how fucking cute you were. He turned to open his closet and began rummaging through it.

"At this point, I'm pretty sure I'd kill someone if you asked me," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing, baby."

Flushing, he ignored the curious tilt of your head and threw you his favorite t-shirt.

God, how could someone be so fucking cute?

You were always excited to nap in his bed, share food and wear his clothes. The fact that it brought you comfort made his already lovesick heart swell up and ache. Something so simple, but so domestic — it fucked with his head. He wanted this every day, in every life. You were his comfort, too. Why couldn't you see it?

He leaned against his closet, arms crossed, watching you slip out of your clothes, the heap landing on the floor. It was art. You were so beautiful; inside and out. He couldn't help the way his stomach stirred and heart fluttered, yet instead of acting on his urges, he just walked over to you and bent down to pick up your clothes.

While you got into his shirt, he folded them neatly and placed them on his gaming chair.

"I missed this bed so much," you sighed.

Jungkook glanced over at you, taking a moment to drink in the image of you lying there, the black cotton of his shirt slightly too wide and too long for your body; but fuck, it looked perfect to him. He bit his lip, making his way to climb onto the mattress beside you.

"What about me?" He asked, delighted by how you opened up your arms, instinctively scooting closer to him.

"Hm, what about you?"

Jungkook pouted, eyebrows furrowing. His arms wrapped around your waist.

"Hey."

You giggled, peppering his face with kisses, and he wished he could live in this moment forever, stop all the clocks, kill time. To hell with what that would do to the universe.

"I missed you, too."

Just like that, he melted. Somehow, it hurt so bad; he had you right there, and yet he didn't. Disappearing and reappearing. Out of reach, like a mirage.

He lifted your hand to his lips again, momentarily distracted by how small it was compared to his.

"So tiny."

Amused at the scoff you let out, he turned it to kiss your palm, then paused abruptly.

A raw shade of red caught his attention.

Narrowing his eyes, he examined the wounds around multiple fingers — or at least tried to, before you caught on and pulled your hand away like you got burned.

His heart dropped.

It's been a while. Why were you doing this to yourself again?

Fuck. He felt like a failure of a man.

He swallowed thickly, then pulled you in closer, as if treading on thin ice. Terrified of making a mistake and feeling it crack under his weight. Once he was under, once it all fell apart, he didn't know if you'd let him in again.

"Baby..." he whispered into your hair.

"I'm so tired, Jungkook," mellow, you answered the question he didn't get to ask. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

"Talk to me," he pleaded. "I can't help you if you shut me down."

You sniffed quietly. There was a loud crack. Not in the ice, but in his chest.

"You can't help me either way."

Jungkook tried to lift his head to look at you, but you gripped his hoodie, bunching up the fabric in your hand.

"Baby—"

"Not everyone deserves help," you insisted, a wet sigh following. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I help myself? E-everyone else seems to be doing just fine, a-and I'm just rotting away, filled with these ugly thoughts and feelings, I can't do anything right."

Jungkook hugged you tighter, like he hoped he could mold you together, give you as much of him as you needed to feel whole again. He'd let you rip him to pieces to fill the void.

"Stop saying that," he breathed, his eyes burning, "fuck, stop saying that."

He stroked your back as you cried into his chest, softly, feeling helpless and furious at the same time.

"When you're always in the dark," he whispered, "you learn to make friends with monsters to survive. It's all you know, so it's what feels most comfortable."

He heard you inhale, felt your head lift with hesitation. Eyes swollen, glossy, lower lip still trembling.

Jungkook cupped your face, wiping at the wet streaks.

"When you're always in the dark, sometimes... it feels like it's all you deserve. But it's not your fault. You're not a bad person," he said softly, his thumb rubbing your lower lip. "Sometimes, it's just the monsters you know talking."

You blinked, small and vulnerable, like a child who just woke up from a nightmare.

"I... I don't know..."

Jungkook squeezed your waist, so close his nose almost touched yours.

"But I know," he promised. "I know."

He stared into your eyes, watched them well up with more tears. He wished he could kiss them all away.

"Let me be there for you—"

You kissed him, and once again, it hurt. Because he wanted you, he wanted you so bad, but not like this — why didn't you want him, too?

Outside of the bedroom, when you weren't tangled in sheets, it seemed like you had no interest in letting your walls down. He's spent so much time trying to climb them, only to end up with broken bones, back down on the ground again.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He pulled away from your lips, denying you the oblivion you craved. He wanted to let you use him, he'd do it every day if it meant he could see you again. But he was afraid that if he didn't speak up now, he'd never find the courage to do it.

"I want to be with you," he breathed out. "Why won't you let me love you?"

There was an instant change in your expression that made his stomach lurch.

"I— I..."

A pause, filled with uncertainty.

Jungkook searched your eyes. The windows to the soul, they said. Broken, and the interior was dark. Nothing good lurked in there.

"I love you," he repeated.

His heart pounded in his chest. He stared right into this endless darkness, crawling with insecurities and fear. As though he was hoping the warm whisper would chase away the frigid, haunted air breaking through, make all the other voices come to a halt.

He was no longer a boy, but a man, and he feared no monsters. He wanted to flood the space with light.

"Move in with me," his palm settled on your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. "I'll help with your classes and therapy. I'll take care of you. You can lean on me until you're strong enough to stand on your own. And even then, when you do — I still wanna be there. I wanna make you happy... Every day."

There it was. His heart, right in the palm of your hand, like an offering. Bleeding through your fingers. Willing to be crushed, if it meant at least he tried.

But you cradled it instead.

Fresh tears, sticking to your eyelashes, and then a rush of warmth in the dark. Your lips pressed into his, tender, and he shut his eyes, tasting a mixture of salt and your sweetness —

"I love you," a shaky exhale, right into his mouth.

It sank into him like sunlight, pulsing, nourishing and bright. And he swallowed it up with a kiss, his teeth clashing with yours.

He shifted to hover above you, finding rest in between your legs, goosebumps erupting when he felt your hand slip under his hoodie, inching it up.

A giggle slipped past his lips, and he disconnected himself from you only to take it off, throwing it aside carelessly before he was kissing you again.

He felt you smile. You went straight to his head like wine. Your taste, your scent — your touch, exploring the muscles of his back, his shoulders.

He was already hard, aching to get lost in you; dizzy on want and love.

Hands groping over clothes, wherever they could reach, hot lips trailing down your neck. He wanted to do so many things to you; kiss every inch of your skin, make you come on his tongue.

But you had the whole night — a whole eternity, really. And the way you squirmed beneath him, arching your back, legs parting, hips raising to feel him, urgent and breathy, wiped his mind clean off anything but the need to be inside you.

Jungkook groaned, his cock twitching, leaking precum into the cotton of his boxers. He remained still, however, letting your hand wander in between your bodies.

His eyes were glued to the way it traveled down his tensing abdomen, pausing to lower his sweats; then dipping inside.

He tried to stay quiet, though his chest was heaving, the sight and the feeling of your hand wrapping around his girth making it twitch again.

He watched you pull your panties aside, wet and ruined, revealing your pretty, glistening folds and the small entrance below.

So fucking small.

It looked almost obscene compared to his cock, long and thick and pulsating in your hand. But you fit him perfectly, like you were made just for him.

The moment you guided him forward, and the wet tip touched the heat of your cunt, he lifted his eyes to yours.

He felt so fucked out, but he was gentle as he pushed inside. The tight, wet muscle welcomed him eagerly, inch by inch, until his hips touched yours and he couldn't breathe.

For a moment, time stood still.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, inked hand squeezing your thigh.

"I missed you so much."

He sounded broken, but he's never felt so whole before.

"I missed you too..."

You clenched around him, prompting his hips to move off their own accord, coaxing the most beautiful sounds out of your body. The wetness, the smack of his skin against yours; the soft whines that fueled the heat boiling deep in his gut.

"Mmm," he moaned, raspy, "doing so well, baby."

He tried to stretch you out slowly, preoccupy himself with biting and sucking at your neck; anything not to focus on how you clenched around him.

But he was doomed, and he understood that the second you moved your hips, fucking him back.

"Oh shit," he gasped, "baby..."

He stifled another moan into your cheek, picking up his pace, so deep inside you he wondered if you could feel him in your tummy. The thought alone made his cock throb, every vein and ridge.

Long, ringed fingers wrapped around your throat, the pressure soft, but definitely there. In return, you grasped his shoulders, nails digging in, and Jungkook knew he wasn't going to last long.

"Good?" He breathed, slamming into you a little faster, stuck on your shining eyes and eager nods. "Yeah?"

The mattress began to protest under the force of his thrusts, but the sound was drowned out by everything else. Jungkook felt your cunt tightening, so warm and so fucking sloppy, his own little personal heaven.

"Almost there? Hm? Gonna make a mess for me?"

Clench.

He groaned, his tummy twisting, the moans spilling past your lips making his head spin.

You merely nodded again, as though you couldn't speak. It made the corner of his lips quirk upwards.

"Yeah?" He tightened his hold on your neck, staking his claim with a coo. "My girl's gonna make a mess on my cock? Pretty angel's gonna cream all over it?"

Your breath hitched, thighs beginning to quiver around him.

"Y-yeah," you uttered, breathless, "yours—"

Jungkook's tongue slid into your mouth, his rutting becoming desperate. He wanted to mark you and brand you and oh god — he was about to see stars.

"Yeah, fuck— mine, my good girl," he stuttered out, "oh, baby, mhmm, I'm gonna come—"

His hips bucked as your pussy spasmed around him, sucking his cock in deeper, restricting his movements. Still, he fucked you through your orgasm, letting himself go with a loud groan. A burst of stars, the tension snapping; and he spilled inside you, white ropes of hot cum that filled you up to the brim.

He slumped against you after a drawn out moment, his body thrumming with bliss. Careful not to crush you, however, he rolled over to the side, his arms automatically enveloping your frame.

With his nose in your neck, he waited for his breathing to even out, lazily rubbing your hands.

"So good," he mumbled, "fuck... Are you okay, baby?"

You hummed, snuggling into him.

"More than okay."

Jungkook smiled, opening his eyes and pressing a kiss into your cheek.

"I'll wash you up in a sec."

"In a bit... Stay with me."

"I'm staying with you forever. Good luck getting rid of me now."

Your laughter sent a pang through his chest. He wanted to keep hearing it.

He brought your hand up to his lips, gently kissed each wounded finger, muttering his I love yous and praises until you both drifted off. Sated and warm under the sheets, tangled up in each other; with a single promise echoing through his head.

Never again would he let you hurt like this.

And whatever was happening outside of these four walls hardly mattered.

This was all that mattered.

This was home.

[zweiginator]

omg escort!reader and divorced!art is so well written you are an artist… i need to know what happens when she gets back from hiatus🫢 maybe she is taught to not reveal too much personal stuff but art is just so desperate and lonely that she caves… maybe she gives him the most intimate and passionate blowjob of his life and he’s so pathetic because he hadn’t gotten his dick sucked in like two years and it’s so good that maaaaybe he cries a little…

art calls one more time, exactly a week after his first one. he asks politely to the woman on the other end, your boss--is she back yet?

and just by the breathy desperation in art's voice, she knows who is calling. who he wants so badly.

"look--she'll give you a call when she comes back. i'm not sure when that is. you may hear from her before i even do. are you sure you don't want to book a session with another girl in the meantime?" she explains that there's another girl who looks a little like you.

"that won't be necessary." art takes a sip of his gin and tonic. "i'll wait for her."

she sighs, lets it go. tells art to have a good night and art wishes her the same. but his head sinks into the pillow, the bitter curl of gin still on his tongue and he wonders where you are.

three days later you come back. your boss had flagged you down when you came in to talk money with some of the other higher-ups.

"hey, a client of yours called a couple times while you were out."

you plunge the applicator of your lip gloss back into the sticky tube.

"really? who?"

"guy named art, i think he said. sounded like you really made a lasting impression."

art. of course you remember him. dirty blond hair with salted white strands around the crown of his head. sunken in eyes that turned boyish when he smiled, although the wrinkles around his eyes revealed wisdom, experience. the smell of musk and tobacco radiated from him like the cradle of his body heat.

"long time client?" she asks you.

"no. just once." it surprises you, that he cared so much to call.

"you must've made a good impression." she winks.

your heart sinks a bit when you remember how you forgot the money. that maybe he only called to urge you to pick it up, not wanting to be caught up on the bad side of a system like this one.

so you go to his hotel room. you remember art telling you he was taking a break from tennis, that he would be staying at that hotel down by the highway for as long as they'd let him.

and art is watching shitty reality television when he hears a knock. your knock. three open-palmed bangs and art is opening the door in an old t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms. somehow, he looks even better than before.

"hi." a smile creeps up. a big one.

you blush and look down at your feet. that's so unlike you. "hi. im back."

"please, come in. i'm sorry." he ushers you inside and latches the door. "i was about to make a gin & tonic. you want one?"

"no, thank you. i heard you had called the service about me?" you sit on the desk chair across from the bed.

"yes--I" a pause, like he's trying to really gather himself. "i'm sorry if that was inappropriate. you forgot the money and--I just really wanted to see you again. if i'm being completely honest."

you try to hide how your face contorts, disappointment as art mentions the forgotten cash, bliss as he admits the calls were to ask for you.

"here i am." you scoot forward. "not inappropriate. i promise, you're much more respectful than most of the callers we get."

art asks to cradle you in his lap again and you oblige. you like to feel small with him, and he likes to feel strong and protective and push your hair away from your forehead to kiss you there. it all feels so much more intimate than sex could ever be.

"have you been feeling any better?" you ask art.

he ponders, and then nods. "yes, actually. since meeting you ive felt better."

"good. that's good." you latch your lips under his ear. "i thought about you while i was away."

blood rushes to arts face. "really? in what way?"

"i didn't pleasure you at all."

art pulls your face close to yours. stares at your lips and the dip of your cupids bow.

"you did pleasure me."

one of his hands cradles your head, the other resting on the top of your thigh. you grab him, making his fingers trace up your torso, your throat. and then you suck his fingers into your mouth. you swirl your tongue and let the spit drool out of you and make a mess.

for the first time, art groans. it's guttural and surprises you. the both of you. because it came out involuntarily, a dormant beast that the warmth of your tongue pulled out, inch by inch.

a twitch under your ass. he's hard. but the skin of his fingers is so, so soft. regardless of the callouses on his palms from tennis rackets.

"i want to make you cum."

this vocabulary. this depth of conversation, of laying each other out in the open and digesting stories and vulnerabilities is not your job. using such straightforward verbiage is not your job. your job is to be pretty and be used and be paid for it.

but this isn't your job right now. because art never paid you, and you still haven't brought up the $800, although you saw it in an envelope with your name in small, capital letters, blue ink.

you're not his escort. no, right now you're his lover.

art tilts your chin up. "do whatever you want to me. even if it hurts me, i'll want it."

and god, he's so fucking ridiculous with those puppy dog eyes and furrowed eyebrows. pathetic but in a way that made you want him to use you even more. but he won't.

you untie his pajama bottoms.

"do you want me to make you cum?" you yank them down, along with his boxers.

"yes. fuck. yes." his erection slaps his stomach and he's long. pink and wet with pre-cum; it looks just as pathetic and needy as he does.

you wrap your hand around him.

"pretty, pretty cock." you stroke him, pretty painted nails wrapped around the length of him. "so hard. god, i bet it feels so good to be touched like this."

it does. god, it does. but art can't speak. his mouth hangs open because you're touching him like it means the world to you to do so. so, so, slow. intentional how you feel the ridges of him.

he closes his eyes, just for a second. but then he misses seeing your face, how it mirrors yours in terms of pleasure, even though he isn't touching you at all.

his eyes open to see a glob of spit falling from your lips as you stare at him. his micro-expressions. he nods.

"do you want me to get it nice and wet for you?"

you already have, bubbly spit warming his cock so nicely.

"yes. please--"

the sounds of you touching him are louder now. he hasn't been touched like this in so long he feels like he may just cum right now. spill into your hands and apologize profusely. tell you he isn't usually like this.

but then he feels your lips. a soft kiss to his tip and he groans. instinctively grabs your hair and you open your mouth all the way for him.

"fuck my throat." you say it so sweetly, his erection still in your hand, ghosting over your mouth. tempting him.

"i dont want to hurt you."

you bat your eyelashes. "fucking doesn't necessarily mean fast or hard. fuck me how you want to."

he wants to worship you. he wants to feel you from the inside out. but he'll take this.

he holds the back of your head and tells you to tap out if you're in pain. as if he forgot the nature of why you're here. you kind of have.

you nod and you're drooling for him. over a year of doing this and you've never felt your heart beat so assuredly. knowing that you want him more than it's healthy too. that this is more than a contract between seller and buyer.

he pushes in. slowly, inch by inch and your eyes water. he holds your hand tightly and you squeeze him back. you're completely still. you trust him all the way as he fucks your throat slowly. his spongy head hits the very back of your throat and every movement makes art whimper, moan, swear. it makes you wetter than his hands being all over you. just pleasing him. he deserves it and so much more.

"fuck--you look so pretty. taking all of me. want you to take everything i fuckin' have--"

his hips stop moving, they stutter. and you pull off him, opting to do all the work yourself. it's messy; spit drips between his thighs and you kiss his shaft up and down. kitten lick him, worship him. softly stroke him and tell him you want him to cum, you want him, you want him.

it's not a lie, but art wouldn't care if it were. hearing the words makes him cry, makes him finish, makes him pull you onto his lap as he's still coming down. to hold you close. you wipe his tears and stay all night.

[sunnebeam]

"i was hoping i wouldn't have to resort to this."

A 'PERKS OF BEING A HOUSEHUSBAND' DRABBLE.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

plot: the (mis)adventures of retired gangster min yoongi as he leaves behind the life of the mafia and navigates the way of the househusband.

warnings: the way of the househusband au, marriage au, crack, domesticity, yoongi unintentionally scares people

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: go on tell me d-day!yoongi isn't tatsu I DARE YOU 😤 btw u don't need to watch the way of the househusband before reading this, but i swear u won't regret it if u do lol it's so funny (and it gives great visuals for this fic!). anyways, enjoy!! i'd love to hear ur thoughts so drop by my askbox and let's chat :)

Water drips down his neck as he washes his face. Droplets fall down his tattooed back, tracing the meticulous lines and bold colors that contrast his pale skin.

After rinsing and drying off, he dons on his outfit for the day – a fitted, white, short-sleeved shirt that shows off the intricate tattoos on both his arms and some black sweatpants – and puts on his signature apron – a beige, cotton apron with a drawing of his brown poodle on the front. Said poodle is staring at him from the bathroom door as he takes one last look at the mirror.

An old, bumpy scar runs down his right eye.

"Perfect," he says to himself before heading to the kitchen with his dog following right behind.

Min Yoongi never used to wake up this early. But these days, he wakes up bright and early at six o'clock because he has an important assignment.

"What do you think, Holly? Too big?"

The poodle barks in response, and taking its opinion into consideration, Yoongi adjusts his gimbap slices accordingly, making them a tad bit smaller and just the perfect size for your lunchbox.

"Shit!"

The door to your shared bedroom opens and you run out, already dressed in your corporate attire. You run to the kitchen where your husband is and get a huge glass of water.

"I'm late!" you screech, all while gulping down the whole glass.

"But you still have a few hours," he points out in confusion.

"I forgot I have an early meeting!" you explain in a hurry, putting on your heels before giving your husband a big smooch on the lips and blowing Holly a kiss. "Sorry, Yoonie! I'll see you later!"

And you're out the door.

Yoongi blinks for a few moments before shaking his head. He's chuckling in amusement at your mishap, but if any outsider hears his laughter, it just sounds a bit manic.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, Holly."

Holly barks.

"Huh? What was that?"

Holly barks.

Yoongi stares at the poodle, then at your Hello Kitty lunchbox he meticulously prepared, then back at the poodle.

"She forgot her lunchbox?"

Holly barks.

"Fuck."

Yoongi snaps into action, securing the lunchbox and putting it inside a Hello Kitty cloth bag before running out the door with his cute apron still on. He mounts his bicycle and speeds towards your office – which, if he was driving a car, would have broken numerous traffic regulations but luckily he isn't a stranger to breaking a law or two.

He's almost to your office. He's halfway there.

But unfortunately, there's a bit of a situation.

"What's your occupation, sir?"

The two police officers stare at him hesitantly after flagging him down for pedalling too fast with his bicycle. They're debating on giving him a ticket but then Yoongi answers.

"Househusband."

They stare at him.

"What?"

Yoongi sighs. At this rate, he won't be able to catch you before you clock in.

"Wait a second," one of the officers says, eyeing the tattoos peeking out from Yoongi's shirt and the big scar on his eye. "Are you..."

They stare at the name on the ticket. Min Yoongi.

"...Agust D?"

No way, the other officer thinks. There's a rumor about an infamous gangster called Agust D who used to slaughter his enemies with his own two hands. This guy can't be him. Right? Right?!

They hold a breath when Yoongi reaches into his pocket.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this," he murmurs.

"Wait, sir. There's no need for violence—"

"Here," Yoongi shuts them up by thrusting one of his most precious possessions.

A gift card for discounts at the local grocery store.

The police officers stare at the gift card, bewildered.

"As much as it pains me to let go of this," Yoongi continues, "take it. Now, I have to go."

And he pedals away, leaving behind one gift card and two very confused cops.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[madaqueue]

FIREWORKS

“baby look what i got!”

stepping inside, choso proudly pulls a light pink cloth item from the paper bag hanging over his wrist, holding it between his fingers.

“it’s…a vest?” you ask, eyebrows quirking in confusion.

“not just any vest,” he continues, excitedly walking towards you. “it’s for rosie! for tonight!”

as if on cue, rosie, your new puppy, hobbles into the room, still half-asleep but tail wagging excitedly. her nose wiggles as she processes choso’s scent, immediately running up to him and hitting his calf with her tail as soft thwack’s echo through your home.

“that’s very sweet, cho, but…why exactly does she need a vest?” resting your hands over his chest, you smooth the slight wrinkles of his black cotton t-shirt, now warm from being outside running errands all morning.

a soft pout tugs at his lips as he wraps his arms around your torso. “because of the fireworks - i read online that vests like this help dogs not get scared!”

understanding flashes across your face, immediately leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “that’s so thoughtful baby, i’m sure she’s gonna appreciate it.”

his cheeks involuntarily flush as his grin spreads - you always made him so bashful with just your little affirmations.

rosie, of course, had taken to sniffing the mysterious clothing item before grabbing it in her teeth and running off.

later that night as the three of you settle into your couch, the booming fireworks overhead blend into comfortable background noise, rosie sleeping peacefully between you.

a/n: happy fourth of july to my fellow flag-saluters (jk) this was inspired by my dad who refuses to go out tn because he's worried about his dog getting scared of the loud noises :)

[oofthwoods]

PROLOGUE! ── ˙ ̟ speed and shadows !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: when a high-stakes mission requires you, a renowned spy, to go undercover as charles leclerc's girlfriend, your worlds collide in unexpected ways. tasked with infiltrating a secretive organization with ties to international crime, you must navigate the complexities of your fake relationship while keeping your true identity hidden.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: this chapter is heavily based on the first chapter of stars and smoke, just like the rest of the series. I tried to think of any other way to start it, but this just felt like it fit most. i know i said i wouldn't be starting this so soon, but since i had something to base it on, it was easier <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 1k

masterlist next ‭→

Right after the checkered flag waved, everything blurred into a whirlwind of emotions and frantic movement.

A throng of people gathered around him as soon as he returned to the garage. A dazed smile spread across his face as hands reached out to congratulate him and the team helped him out of his racing harness. The post-race haze enveloped him, heavy and comforting.

Beneath his feet, he could feel the vibrations from the grandstands, the prolonged applause of the spectators echoing even after he left the track, while the podium ceremony continued without him. Yet, he knew he had done a good job. The warmth of accomplishment surrounded him, though he could already feel the adrenaline fading, giving way to deep exhaustion. As he followed the team down the same corridor he had traversed hours before, the roar of the racetrack began to gradually fade, turning into nothing more than a background hum against the echo of his footsteps.

The interviews followed their usual course, dragging on in a monotonous, slow rhythm, as always. A succession of questions about his teammate's performance and rivals filled the air, along with inquiries about potential improvements to the car. And of course, there were no shortages of questions about plans for the next season, as if each answer could reveal the best-kept secrets of motorsport's backstage.

Each journalist seemed to have their own agenda, their own interests to be met, and the driver found himself at the center of this whirlwind of curiosity. While he maintained his composure in front of the cameras and microphones, inside he longed for the moment when he could finally retreat to the privacy of his team and reflect on the challenges faced and the paths ahead.

Nearly two hours dragged by until he finally found himself back in his cramped driver's room. Amidst laughter and congratulations, he swapped the team's sweaty shirt for a light, soft cotton blue t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, liberating himself from the confines of racing uniforms. His muscles screamed for rest, his limbs heavy with longing for the comfort of a mattress.

"Take a little rest," Ruth, his manager, advised him with a concerned expression. "But I need you out of here before the crowd flow. Ten minutes, tops. Okay?"

A weary smile appeared on his lips as he wiped his sweaty forehead.

"Okay."

Ruth held his chin firmly, giving him a gentle shake.

"And for heaven's sake, eat something."

"I will," he assured her with a nod and a tired smile.

The room now seemed vast and empty, shrouded in an oppressive silence that contrasted with the earlier bustle. Charles wandered the space, his footsteps echoing softly against the floor as he passed by the vacant table and the small wooden chair in one of the corners. The silence was almost tangible after the cacophony of cheers from tens of thousands of spectators and the deafening roar of the engines.

In about an hour, the headlines would start boiling again. The performance of his race would be scrutinized meticulously, as well as his responses in the post-race interviews. Amidst news of global conflicts and protests, reports would also speculate on the astronomical value that tickets for the next big prize could reach in the secondary market. Rumors and gossip would spread like wildfire.

He leaned against one of the tables, letting his head drop forward. Strands of sweaty hair clung to his forehead, partially obscuring his vision. For some reason, his mind drifted back to the image of soaked fans waiting outside the side entrance, yearning for a glimpse of him stepping out of the car.

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit him mercilessly, rapidly dissipating all the euphoria he had experienced during the race. A latent restlessness, always hovering within him, now manifested as palpable pain, pulling him incessantly towards the simple idea of escape, ordering room service, and sleeping.

Although Ruth had mentioned ten minutes, he glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Five minutes," he muttered to himself.

It was enough. Knowing Ruth, the cars would probably be ready and waiting for him by now. He straightened up, running a hand through his tousled hair, and headed for the corridor, walking away towards the reserved area where the drivers' cars were parked.

So far, the men who usually accompany him hadn't shown up. Maybe it was still too early, and they were gathered somewhere near the back entrance. He walked alone down the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence until he reached the small, discreet side door leading to the driver's garage.

Charles emerged into the cold, damp night, his breath forming small clouds of vapor in the air. His eyes quickly found a shiny black SUV waiting at the entrance. As he approached, the car door opened automatically, as if the vehicle were eager to receive him, revealing a luxurious interior.

A slight sigh of gratitude escaped Charles' lips as he got in. Ruth had undoubtedly upgraded the cars since the last Grand Prix. This one in particular boasted tinted windows as well as new leather seats, already heated to a pleasant temperature.

The door closed automatically behind him, enveloping him in the comfort of the vehicle. Then, the car pulled away smoothly.

It was only then that a sense of unease began to creep into his consciousness. The figure sitting in the shadows beside him wasn't Ruth. And the driver, neither, was someone he recognized.

Charles blinked, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Am I in the wrong car?" he questioned, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Maybe that car belonged to Carlos, or some other driver.

The woman beside him smiled ominously.

"You're exactly in the car you're supposed to be." she replied. And at that moment, Charles realized, with a tightening in his chest, that he was being kidnapped.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed. crossed names means i couldn't tag you) :: @redcoatgirl @moonlight-girls-posts @barnestatic

[sapphire-writes]

an ego thing ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

Academic Rivals to Lovers Part 8

previous part ~ masterlist

summary: Your travel course is going to Old Valyria for the week! The trip you've looked forward to all semester long. You and Aemond define the relationship. warnings: 18+ (p in v, fingering, oral fem receiving, praise kink, titty sucking, slight body worship, hand over mouth), language word count: 2.7k note: our academic rivals are back! thank you for the love and support, I know this one holds a special place in your hearts and ilysm 💖

“Are you sitting next to me or your boy toy?” Baela asks, emptying her carry-on into the plastic bins provided. 

You flash her a look of annoyance to which she only shrugs. 

“It’s a valid question,” she tells you.

You shake your head, taking a bin. Removing your laptop and other electronics along with your shoes, you hurriedly place them on the conveyer belt. 

“My assigned seat is next to you,” you tell her, giving her a cheeky grin. 

“Yeah but I’m sure his seat buddy would switch with you,” she tells you, moving down the line, “Don’t you want to sit next to your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer, much too quickly. 

Baela raises an eyebrow at that.

“You’ve been spending every weekend together, every night together-”

“We have to watch our show,” you interrupt.

Baela purses her lips.

“That’s couple behavior,” she tells you.

“Well he hasn’t asked me yet,” you inform her, “So it’s not official.”

“He better get on it then,” she says scoffing, “That’s your man, what’s he doing?”

You frown, opening your mouth to answer when your professor decides to speak.

“Everyone, come along, gather around,” Professor Orwylle says, holding a small flag above his head to direct the students. 

You push through the remainder of security, struggling to get your sneakers back on as Baela grips your arm tugging you toward the group. You spot Aemond easily, he stands out as he towers above the rest of the group. Professor Orwyle smiles.

“How exciting, to be embarking on our journey!” he muses, “We’ve spent all semester talking about the culture of Old Valyria, their language, and their customs, and now we get to experience them firsthand! How privileged we are to experience this.”

The class mumbles in agreement, and you nod eagerly. It’s true, one of the reasons you took this course was because of the travel component. You meet Aemond’s eyes and he smirks slightly. He looks so fucking good. How does someone look that good for a six-hour flight? 

Carry-on slung over his shoulder he’s wearing a simple black cotton t-shirt that hugs his biceps. Grey sweatpants cover his lower half, slung low on his slim waist. Your eyes drop to the sliver of skin that shows as he stretches, revealing the beginning of his v-line. Your mouth waters at the sight. 

“Earth to Y/N,” Baela teases under her breath, “You’re drooling on your shoes.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, knocking your shoulder against hers.

“The ruins of ancient Valyria,” Professor Orwyle continues, smiling proudly, “What an adventure, we are going on together.”

He checks his watch. 

“Plenty of time before we board, so ready your minds, your hearts!” he continues and you look at Baela, stifling a giggle.

“Um Professor?” Jace Velaryon says glancing at his ticket.

“What is it Jace?” 

“Shouldn’t we be boarding now?” he asks, showing his ticket.

Professor Orwyle glances at it, eyes widening as he notes the time he incorrectly read beforehand.

“Okay! Okay! Everyone, let’s go!” 

Suddenly you’re all sprinting through the airport, desperately trying to make it to your gate. By some miracle you all make it, shoving your tickets through the scanner and bounding down the hallway onto the plane. You follow Balea to your seats, luckily they’re rows of two. You glance across the cabin, spotting Jace Velaryon next to Aemond. Aemond rises from the seat, walking down the aisle to converse with Professor Orwyle. 

Baela glances at you, noting your wishful expression before rolling her eyes.

“Will you go over there?” she teases, “Ask Jace to switch seats.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” you tell her.

“Please, leaving me with big dick Jace is hardly abandonment,” she tells you.

“How do you know his dick is big?” you whisper, eyes wide.

“Please,” Baela says, rolling her eyes, “Have you seen his walk? Big dick walk.” 

You giggle and glance at Jace.

“You sure?” you ask Baela.

“Positive,” she assures you, “Go get your man.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes as you make your way across the cabin to Jace. 

“Hey Jace,” you say, walking up to him, “How’s it going?”

“Hey Y/N,” he says smiling, “Good, though I do get a little nervous flying.”

“I get that,” you tell him, “Um can I ask you something?”

Jace nods, brown eyes wide.

“Would you mind switching seats with me?” you ask, “I know you have a seat next to Aemond and I was hoping to sit next to him.”

“Oh, are you guys a thing?” Jace asks.

“Sort of,” you answer, “Baela’s a good seat neighbor.”

Jace looks behind you and you follow his gaze. Baela tilts her head, waving at both of you. Jace’s cheeks begin to turn a pale pink and he clears his throat. 

“Sure, yeah. Yeah! Yeah, I can totally switch with you,” Jace says, standing nervously, whacking his head against the overhead bin, “Ow-”

“Are you okay?” you ask, concerned as he grabs his carry-on.

“Yup, pretend that didn’t happen, I’m begging you,” he says wincing.

“I don’t think she saw,” you tell him, smiling gently. 

Jace’s cheeks darken and he hurries by you, eager to get to his seat next to Baela. As you take the window seat, Aemond joins you. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says teasingly.

“Jace switched with me,” you tell him, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

“Lucky me,” he answers, lifting the armrest that separates you, “It would have been a long flight without you.”

His hand curves around the meat of your thigh as he finishes his sentence, long fingers affectionately digging into the soft flesh. Your gaze falls to his sweats once more, those fucking grey sweatpants. You can practically see the entire outline of his dick, he’s probably not even wearing underwear. 

“What?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Nothing,” you tell him, blushing, “I’m just happy to have this seat.”

Aemond hums, squeezing your thigh.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asks, holding out a headphone to you.

Your heart flutters in your chest. It’s cute, and very un-Aemond Targaryen to offer to share headphones and watch a movie together. You take his offer, giving him a small smile and leaning closer to him. 

When you finish the first movie, the cabin is dark with several members of your class sleeping. The flight was a redeye, you’re meant to arrive at Old Valyria in the morning. You glance over at Baela, who has a snoring Jace Velaryon resting his head on her shoulder. Baela’s eyes are closed as well, cheek pressed against his head. You smile at the sight. 

“Looks like everyone is out cold,” you whisper to Aemond, jerking your chin at the rest of the cabin. 

Aemond looks around, pointing at Professor Orwyle who’s mumbling in his sleep, noise-canceling headphones still securely over his ears. You snicker slightly, before curling into Aemond’s side. He brings an arm around you, holding you close. 

“Sleep does sound inviting, right about now,” you admit, yawning for dramatic effect. 

Aemond hums in response, closing his eye. You’re ready to get comfortable and spend the rest of the flight snuggled against him when Baela’s words hit you. Couple behavior. You sit up suddenly, warmth flooding through you.

“What?” Aemond asks, noting your expression.

“Um, nothing,” you say nervously, peeling yourself from his body, “I just have to go to the bathroom.”

Aemond’s gaze flickers across your face, sensing you’re hiding something. But he nods, and stands, allowing you to pass. 

You walk down the dimly lit aisle toward the bathrooms, frantically shoving yourself into the small space. The bright light makes your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily as they take a few moments to adjust. You splash some water on your face, listening to the gentle hum of the plane’s engine, before gazing at your reflection. 

“Chill out,” you tell yourself, “Everything’s good.”

Gods you're so nervous. But Baela’s right. You have been acting like a couple. Why hasn’t Aemond asked you to be his girlfriend? Does he want a girlfriend? Should you ask him to be your boyfriend? 

You chew your lip, lost in thought as a gentle tap comes on the door. As you open it, your eyes widen as Aemond joins you in the small space, closing the door quickly behind him.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, as he flicks the lock. 

“Something’s wrong,” he tells you, “Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

You cross your arms over your chest, averting your eyes from his piercing gaze. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you tell him.

Aemond tilts his head to the side and you glance up at him. He’s not buying it. Not one bit.

“It’s just,” you begin, sighing, “something Baela said that’s all.”

“What did she say?” he asks.

You bite your lip. You’re starting to feel foolish. 

“Just, she just mentioned how we are acting very couple-ish,” you tell him, “but we haven’t really….. defined the relationship.”

A moment of silence hangs between you and you look at him again. His eyebrows are knit together, the chiseled face is lost in thought. Oh gods, maybe he doesn’t want this, maybe- 

“I mean I was waiting for the right time,” Aemond says suddenly, “Preferably not in an airplane bathroom. But…”

Your heart stops beating, eyes widening as you look at him.

“Will you be my girlfriend, Y/N?” he asks, taking your hand in his, “I’d really love it if you’d be my girl.”

Your face flushes and a grin breaks out across your face. He wants to be your boyfriend. He wants you. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Aemond says chuckling, “I’ve wanted you to be for a while. I was hoping there would be a moment on this trip for a little getaway where I could officially ask you. But someone,” he squeezes your hand, “is a little impatient.”

“My only flaw,” you tell him, grimacing. 

Aemond chuckles at that, tugging you closer and pressing his lips to yours. The plane shudders as he kisses you, causing you to stumble into him, pressing against his solid chest. You break the kiss with a giggle. 

“We should probably get back to our seats,” you tell him, as his hands dip underneath your sweatshirt and caress the skin of your waist.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, kissing you once more, “I’ve missed you.”

Aemond’s hands move around your hips, grabbing your asscheeks and lifting you onto the counter of the sink. The space is tiny, but with you now seated on the counter it creates a roomier space. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, dragging your nails down the back of his neck. 

He shivers at the action, and you smile into his mouth. Aemond grabs the side of your face before latching his lips to the soft skin of your neck, sucking harshly. You whine as he does so, and he pauses briefly.

“Shhh baby,” he murmurs, kissing your throat, “you have to be quiet.”

“Aemond,” you breathe, “Shit, we shouldn’t do this-”

Aemond hums, hand dipping below your sweatshirt and creeping up toward your breasts. He massages the sensitive mounds in his large hands, kissing your neck all the while, before stopping to tear your sweatshirt over your head. You’re only wearing a tank top underneath, no bra because who wants to wear a bra during a long flight? Not you. 

Aemond pulls the material off, scrunching it around your middle to free your breasts before connecting his hot mouth to your nipples and sucking. You throw your head back as pleasure tingles through you, spreading toward below your naval. 

“Fuck!” you squeak as he removes his mouth with a lewd, wet pop and brings it to your other breast, “Oh gods.”

He swirls his tongue around your pebbled nipple before sucking once more, using his hand to grop the flesh that doesn’t make it into his mouth. He hums against you, looking up through hooded eyes as his mouth works wonders. 

“You getting all nice and wet, baby?” he murmurs, rolling the sensitive nub of your nipple between his teeth, biting down ever so gently, “I know how much you love this.”

“Yes,” you whimper, legs closing around his waist, caging him against you.

“Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, right here?” he asks, burying his face in your tits once more, “Fucking love this body.” 

“We have to be quick,” you tell him, thighs trembling from just the attention he’s given your tits, “Aem, if we’re doing this-”

“Shhh,” he says, bringing a finger to your lips, “Let me take care of my girl.”

With that, he pulls your leggings down, peeling them from your body leaving you spread out on the counter, cunt glistening with your arousal. He kneels, dragging a finger through your soaked folds. 

“Just fuck me,” you beg, feeling the curve of his nose press into you, nudging against your puffy clit causing your eyes to roll, “Aem, we need to be quick-”

Words fail you as he swirls his tongue expertly over your throbbing clit. Your nails dig into his shoulder, a stifled whine managing to slip through your lips. 

“Come whenever you want, pretty girl,” Aemond murmurs between kitten licks.

Soft slurping noises fill the small space as you desperately try to keep quiet. Every flick of his tongue sends you closer to the edge, and when you feel his long fingers press into your opening crooking up against your spongy walls you shake violently, body wracked with pleasure. 

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, “Come all over my face.”

You bite the back of your hand as you come, orgasm flooding through you like a wave of fire. A thin coat of sweat covers you as Aemond rises, connecting your lips once more in a passionate kiss. You moan into his mouth, tasting your release as you blindly pull down his sweatpants releasing his hard cock, hot and heavy as it slaps against your thigh. 

His large hands drag you to the edge of the counter and you guide him toward your throbbing center. The stretch he gives you truly never gets old, it steals the breath from your lungs each time he fully sheathes himself inside of you. 

“Fucking made for me,” he groans against your shoulder as he snaps his hips against you. 

Wet, slapping sounds fill the space, the scent of sex evident in the air. 

“Fuck, fuck-” you can’t stop the words that spill from your lips and Aemond brings his hand up to cover your mouth as he continues to pound into you.

Your ass dips into the curve of the sink, and Aemond holds your hip firmly to keep you from slipping with every passionate thrust he awards you. The other he keeps securely over your mouth, muffling your moans. Your pussy clenches around him, fluttering around his thick cock as he drives his hips against you. 

“That’s my girl, come all over my cock,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your ear, “Doing such a good job.”

Nails digging into his shoulders, tears leaking from the corner of your eyes you fall apart, second orgasm flooding through you, trickling through your veins like magma and making your vision blur. 

“Fuuuck,” Aemond practically whimpers as you feel his cock twitch inside you before flooding your inner walls with his warm release. 

He kisses you as he does, and doesn’t stop as you feel him begin to soften, gently sliding out of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, desperate to stay this close to him. Your skin, slick with sweat clings to the fabric of his shirt as his large hands stroke down your sides. 

Finally, you pull away, catching your breath. Aemond smirks slightly, helping you fix your tank top before you slide down off the counter. 

Aemond wipes the fog from the mirror with his forearm.

“You should go first,” you tell him, “I need to pee.”

Aemond smirks at you. 

“Sure you’re not trying to keep this lowkey still?” Aemond teases.

“Get out of here,” you say with a laugh as he leaves the bathroom. 

You finish collecting yourself before exiting the stall and heading back to your seat. Some of your classmates are awake, listening to music, watching movies. As Aemond stands to let you into the seats, you grab the front of his shirt pulling him into a kiss. 

When you break away, Aemond is smirking slightly, arching a brow at you.

“What?” you ask, “I can’t kiss my boyfriend?”

“You can kiss your boyfriend whenever you want,” he assures, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

note: hope you enjoyed this part my loves!!

AET taglist: @ephemeralninon, @aemonds-wifey, @haydee5010, @schniiipsel, @sweetsweetpsyche, @letmeloveyouuuu, @glitterandgoldfinds, @greenowlfactif, @vrtualfairy @fan-goddess @let-love-bleeds-red @praline357, @castellomargot, @f4ll-for-you, @fairysluna, @namelesslosers, @pax-2735, @yentroucnagol, @rwdkarla, @itsabby15, @sweetsweetpsyche, @stickycrusadecollective, @sweetniasblog, @namelesslosers @boofy1998,

[reinedeslys-central]

more!! again!! for the nico after blood of olympus fic!! actually I thought of this while writing the last one but I just finished it.

His elbows buckle and he lets himself fall into Will, snorting at his theatrical groan under the weight. They lay there for a second until Will shoves him gently, and Nico lets him manoeuvre them into a more comfortable position.

"Hi," he whispers, moving a curl away from his cheek. The greenish tint of the loft window casts a weird shadow over Will's face.

"Hey yourself," Will murmurs back, winking.

Nico rolls his eyes. "You look like Apollo when you do that. Please stop." Will squawks in protest.

"I do not! Also, since when do you remember what Apollo looks like? Actually, no, don't answer that, you can't bring up my dad while we're in bed, Nico, why would you do this to me?"

Now it's Nico's turn to sputter and whack Will in the chest - getting another dramatic oof and a laugh in return - before turning around to face Hazel's bed. He's not sure when he'll ever be able to sleep facing the wall. Will can't do it either.

As Will's arms curl around his waist and draw him back against him, just like they did back in the infirmary that one day, he thinks maybe he'd be okay trying that with him sometime. One day, in a house with gates, no longer wary of monsters.

Will noses the back of his neck, causing him to twitch. "What is it?"

Will's answering smile presses through the rough cotton of his t-shirt. "Nothing, sunshine."

Nico frowns under the covers. "Hey, what do you think of houses with gates?" He whispers.

"Gates? Well, it'd be safer, I guess, but we'd lose the neighbours coming over -"

"As if you want to see random people at the door anyway. What if they're monsters?"

"Oh, come on, darlin', I'm from Austin. Of course I gotta keep space for the neighbours to come knocking."

"…Fences? Actually, hey, why'd you assume I was talking about us? Obviously - Obviously I was talking about random. Random houses. For architecture reasons."

Will muffles his laugh into the back of his neck, again. "Oh, my bad. And I'm only here because you ripped a stitch on the lava wall yesterday."

Nico feels his ears warm.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"..Still."

Will reels him in closer until his back hits his chest and he can press a soft peck to Nico's still-red ears. "I think a fence is a great idea, by the way. We could ask Hazel for help with some ward stones too, like you have in the cabin. Gotta make sure we've got at least one window and standing space in every direction, though, or at least in the east, because you know my dad would sulk if he didn't get to scream me awake in the morning."

Nico's blush gets worse.

"Now who's talking about your dad in bed?" He gives up on pretending. Will sees him through every time, anyway. "Also, shrines, obviously, and we need a spot to stargaze."

"Yeah, shrines, obviously. Maybe just yours, mine, and Lady Hestia's though, or else everyone else is gonna get pissy."

Nico barks out a laugh like it's shocked out of him. "Pissy? Don't let them hear you say that."

Will holds him tighter and settles against the pillows. "Sure thing, sunshine. Now can we sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah."

It's not long after that that Will's breath evens out behind him, his muscles untensing. Nico knows he's got a few minutes yet, so he thinks.

Today was…. good.

Today was nice. Normal, even. Just a day of camp schedules, working in the infirmary, an admittedly short campfire, and this. No monsters, and no mistakes. No deaths, but..

Unbidden, the moments in the infirmary come to mind. He thinks of helping Will scrub in for his one surgery of the day, a kid that had gotten parts of an arrow stuck in their leg a week ago and hadn't noticed til yesterday. He thinks of yesterday during capture-the-flag, stepping in and desperately trying to copy what he'd watched Will do, because Lydia was hanging crooked from a tree and there was no one else around but him-

He thinks of Patroclus tying the straps of Achilles' armour, watching his lover sleep peacefully. He thinks of what Connor had told him about at the campfire weeks ago, of Silena Beauregard taking on a drakon when Clarisse declared the Ares Cabin wouldn't be fighting.

He thinks he might understand.

Lydia wasn't the same (thank the gods), but if there was something to be done that only Will could do right, yet couldn't, and the only way Nico could take up his mantle would be to die trying - then, yeah. He'd do whatever it would take for these kids. To do what Will would do. He's gone to Tartarus already, hasn't he? At worst, he'd try his best and greet his father early if he failed to survive. Nico could even give Charon a tip on the way in for the hell of it, why not?

If there is a luxury that comes from being a child of Hades, after all, it is that dying is not the thing that scares him.

There's a brazier still lit outside the window. Its glow falls in slits across their bed.

Will grumbles, pushing his feet forward until their ankles are wound together. The sheets shift.

Nico smiles into the dark, into the chirping of crickets and the soft glow of the fireflies out the window, and falls asleep.

more for this fic:

scene 0 - prologue-ish scene 1 - the library of social awkwardness or here (or in my heart, 'kidney function is not a right, it's a privilege' lol)

general writing directory

also lmk if you want more lore. I am so down to talk about this fic + the worldbuilding ideas I have for it in the notes it is unreal

[lee-romee]

the poppy is the national flower of Palestine and symbolizes resilience and the relationship between Palestinians and the land. it's colours mirror the Palestinian flag, and the red additionally symbolizes the blood of martyrs. it has different nicknames across the country, such as "shakik" in the south ("brother") and "hannoun" in the north ("passionate")

poppy pin --- 100% of sales going to education about Palestine and on-the-ground charities in the country ((1.95£))

poppy & Asklepian sticker --- 100% of sales going to the Palestinian American Medical Association ((6.00$))

poppy & watermelon sticker --- 100% of sales going to the Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF), with reciepts posted on the store's instagram for proof ((4.50$))

poppy postcard with keffiyeh border --- 100% of sales going to Medical Aid for Palestinians (MAP) ((2.66$))

poppy cotton tote --- proceeds going to the PCRF ((19.99$))

poppy t-shirt, "don't look away from Palestine" --- proceeds going to the PCRF ((38.00$))

[first-edition]

Sunday Love

“Southern belle”Reader x Cowboy! Bucky

(Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors)

Sum- You‘re back home visiting your mother and sister only to be introduced to your sisters fiancé and his best friend, who just happens to be town heartthrob.

CW- fluff, Fem reader, talk of scars, hint of alcohol consumption, eventual smut, p-in-v Unprotected, breeding kink if you squint, kissing, pet names, profanity. Blood, anger, cussing

“There she is!!” Your mother runs Down the stairs of the porch pulling you into a hug.

“Mama!” You smile hugging her back. The sweet smell of fresh backed pie wafting through your noise as she squeezes you.

“How’s the big city treating you darlin?” She asks excitedly. Evened since you moved out of the house you’ve lived in Vegas you barley have time to visit your family all the way back in south of Montana.

“Loud. Im uh im actually thinking about moving back here but I know yet.” You reply she smiles even wider pulling back from you.

“Where’s peg?” You ask.

“PEGGY GET OUT HERE!” You mother yells her thick southern accent drowning the noise of your car engine still running. Your bright red headed sister comes running outta the house her hand entwined with someone else’s. A tall blonde man who wears cowboy boots, washed out blue jeans with a brown belt, a white tshirt that has an American flag stitched to the shoulder sleeve.

“Y/n!” Peggy let’s go of the man to hug you. You hug her back but your eyes never leave the man in front of you.

“Hi Peg.” You reply slightly less happy than before.

“How’s the big city treat’n you.” She asks.

“Mmhm great Peg who’s this?” You ask crossing your arms and leaning against your car. A red catallac

“Oh come on y/n stop that.” She pulled your arms apart.

“Pleausre to meet you, my name is steve rogers your sister has told me mighty fine things about you.” He says. You eye him up and down as he reaches out a hand. You shake his hand a strong grip on him.

“Y/n…steve and I are engaged…were getting married.“ a huge smile embarks on her face you raise your eye brows.

“O-oh..” you say nearly choking on your own breath.

“I meant to call you but with all the wedding preparations and stuff it’s been a lot.” She says. Your eye catches someone else exiting your childhood home.

Your mother seems to take notice to your aversion and sees bucky standing on the porch.

“OH y/n You remember bucky? Dont you?” She says bringing him down the porch he keeps his hands tucked in his pockets. The dark leather cowboy hat sitting low on his head barley covering bright ocean eyes.

“James barnes.” You say

“Doll. Its nice to see you again” he says a small smile follows your face as he remembered the nick name. You walk up to poking his chest above the black T-shirt he wears.

“Last time I saw you, You were half my size and fat.” You giggle.

“Hmm last I saw you, you was mean and would steal liquor outta mr l/ns stash.” He chuckles. You gasp slapping his arm. Only leaving him with a chuckle.

“I gotta run sugar but I hope to see you tonight?” Steve says to your sister.

“Yeah of course!” She smiles smitten as they share a kiss you avert your eyes in disgust.

“Y/n you should join us tonight bucks holding a party at his ranch tonight.” Steve says.

“Mm you know im kinda tired jet lag and all so i-“

“Youre coming missy, now turn off your engine and bring those bags inside. Bucky be a sweetheart and help now would yah?” Your mom says with out hesitation he nods and grabs the suit case next to you.

“Oh becarful that super-..” you stand a bit stunned as he easily picks it up no grunts or hesitation.

“Heavy.” You finish as he turns and walks inside. You turn to your sister.

“W h a t?” You mouth. She giggles.

————

The loudness of music and people yelling and laughing fill your ears. You walk around seeing kids running with cotton candy, and lemonade.

“Y/n!?” Your sister yells your name. You look over seeing her with steve.

Walking over to them you sigh.

“Hey.”

“You made it!” She smiles giving you a quick hug.

“So..what is this?” You ask.

“Buckys dad passed a way last year and he gave him the ranch and bull ring. He fixed the place up a bit and it’s more of a grand reopening.” Peggy smiles.

“Oh I didn’t know that.” You say she nods.

“Y’all having fun?” Buckys voice speaks from behind you a large smile forming on Peggy’s face.

“Absolutely my little sister just got here too!” She says.

“Im 6 months older than you.” You snidley comment.

“Bucky. Why dont you show y/n around hm?” Steve says.

“Uh yeah. You want a tour?” He asks.

“Yeah sure.” You say. Peggy giggles as you walk off with bucky.

He shows you the bullpen, the horses, the dance floor where everyone is, where the food and drinks are, and finally the mechanical bull where you see your sister riding and screaming.

You notice the entire time hes showing you around he’s stopped by girls, being asked to dance and given a few free drinks which he dosnt take.

You both take a seat at an empty table acrcross from each other. Buck sips on a beer.

“So. Why are you back in town?” He asks

“Mama wanted me to visit so here I am. And might I say I did not expect you of all people to keep getting stopped like that.” You chuckle.

“Ah yeah. Apparently if you loose your arm go through trauma and loose weight the girls of the town go crazy for you.” He says

“Dark horse type then?” You say he nods chuckling. Before starting up the conversation again a girl comes over placing her hand on his shoulder she’s red headed in black jeans and cropped white shirt.

“Bucky wanna dance with me the shuffles gonna be on.” She says

“No. No thanks nat.”

“You promised me a dance last year.” She smiles

“Yeah well we didn’t have a party last year did we?” Bucky says annoyed.

“James ple-“ she starts

“Don’t call me that and get lo-“ he begin only for you to cut him off

“James.”

He looks at you.

Nat takes her hand off him he relaxes.

“Wanna show me the barn? I’d um…I’d like to see the pigs.” You say he huffs and nods getting up to full height towering over nat.

“Come on doll.” He say leaving his beer. You get up as well he holds out his hand to you you glance back at the girl her friends now gathering. You take it in yours following him out.

———-

Bucky leans against the barn wall arms crossed making him look larger than before.

“So pigs? We don’t got pigs.” He says you giggle and nod.

“I know. It’s just. You looked awfully uncomfortable with her you know her well?” You ask he nods in reply as you look down kicking around a loose rock.

“We dated for 2 months after my dad passed. She’s a real….Real, peice of work.” He says taking his hat off about to hang it up on the side while running his fingers through his hair.

“Can I see?” You ask seeing his hat holding out ur hands.

“Mm” he replies handing it to you see the scores black leather with a metal peice around the base. You put it on and it dosnt sit quite right as his head is bigger that urs.

“Howdy.” You say lowering your voice tucking your thumb into you pocket to mimic Bucky. He chuckles rolling his eyes.

“The names Bucky doll im the town heart throb and I’m super strong and ignore everyone except y/n.” He chuckles standing up from his relaxed posture.

“I ain’t gonna dance shuffle with no girl becuase I’m a dark horse. Ooh!” You mimic before almost falling but he catches you keeping you up. Chest to chest.

He tilts the hat up to see ur eyes.

“Th-thanks.” You say his blue eyes boring holes into you.

The space between you closes with his lips on yours. Before he can pull away again you wrap your arms around his neck pulling him closer to your he inhales as his arms pull you in by your waist.

Walking you back. Your back hits the wall of the barn as his hands explore your waist. You hands find his hair pulling gently at the locks leaving a grunt to leave his lips.

“BUCKY!?” You hear someone fainting yelling his name. You can feel the frown on his face before he pulls away.

“BUCK!?” The voice gets closer printing him to pull away. And turn his head to see Steve running into veiw drenched in something.

“SHES GON WILDE NAT IS DESTROYING THE BAR.” He exclaims Bucky immediately leaves you and his hat and rushes out with Steve.

Running into the back nat is holding a crow bar smashing it across the bar table and legs causing beer and glass to spill everywhere. People run out others try to stop her. Slipping in liquid or almost getting hit by the winging crowbar.

“NATASHA! STOP!” Bucky yells at her.

You run in seeing her destroying everything bucks dad had worked for. She picks up a chair throwing it at bottle cabinet making everything fall and crash to the floor.

She turns rage filling her only to se you wearing buckys hat.

She grabs a bottle and chucks it at you you shield your self with your arms which the bottle smashes against casing you to fall.

“THATS ENOUGH!” Bucky says grabbing the swinging crowbar in his left hand the metal against the crowbar ringing when it hits his hand. With his other he grips nat by her hair pulling her to the entry of the bar the crowbar in his o th we hand as she squeals in pain by his grip. The Barr doors open revealing four police men who were called erlier

They immediately take her from Buck in hand cuffs dragging her out screaming he drops the crowbar and hurries to you where your sister and Steve already are.

“F-fuck.” You whine as blood pours from your arm shards of glass sticking out of it.

PART 2

[hetaologist]

APH America "Ethnography" and Headcanons (SFW)

The United States of America, Alfred F. Jones, Mr. Stars and Stripes, 'Merica, Pretty Boy, um... or just simply America.

Here is a list of data I have gathered from this country and oh boy, what an interesting specimen we have here....

Ethnography

You will find this find this mythological creature at your local Walmart superstore during the evening hours on a weekday, sporting flannel loungewear pants (The plaid kind), a cotton t-shirt that definitely has been worn no less than two (2) times, Old Navy $1 flip flops, and a gray jacket.

When asked about his late night runs to the popular supermarket chain, his answer is just simply:

"There's nothing else to do and no where to go."

America's Cart Inventory for March 22nd:

One (1) package of "Mega Stuf Chocolate Oreos" for $5.97, One (1) 6-Pack of "Starbucks Frappuccino Chilled Coffee Drinks" in Caramel Flavor for $7.98, One (1) Family Sized Bag of "Flaming Hot Cheetos" for $5.94, One (1) "Furby Interactive Toy" for $39.19, and One (1) Stick of " Axe Apollo Men's Deodorant Stick" for $4.97. Total of purchase was $64.05 before tax.

When questioned about the "Furby Interactive Toy", he replies:

"Yeah dude, there's this thing I wanna make that's called a "Long Furby". Wanna come by my place and check it out?"

I agreed to the invination as it would give me a better look into his living space and lifestyle. He's very friendly person.

Living Space (Home):

Oh dear god, why did I agree to come here?

House is a what you would expect from a typical American college student such as:

"Saturdays Are For The Boys" banner flag, Marvel and DC posters, a very unsettling looking blue leather couch that looks like it has been through hell and back, random dumbbells and untouched exercise equipment, every game console from the 1972 "The Magnavox Odyssey" to the PS5, action figures from various popular TV shows and comics, an old KFC bucket with half eaten chicken on the coffee table and a shelf with a huge vinyl record and CD collection.

Conclusion: What a fucking gross nerd.

America offers a cold can of Coca-Cola, I accept it.

He shows me a very long light blue "Long Furby" from his collection, further proving how much of a dork he was.

When asked what kind of music he liked (in regards to his music collection), he replies:

"That's hard to answer, it changes every week. Because of my diverse music, I pretty much like everything. One week I could be listening to 1980's classic rock, 2000's techno-pop, Bluegrass Country, 1990's Hip Hop or anything. But, if I had to give you this week's favorite artist, it would have to be Taylor Swift and Doja Cat."

"Interesting..." I replied.

I have recorded enough data for today (the smell was bothering me) and left his home to do further extensive research.

Headcanons:

America has a deep love for cars and trucks, he can be seen working on his vintage 1968 Dodge Charger R/T called 'Thunderbird' (an absolute speed demon that can reach at top speeds of muthafuckin' 156 mph), and his enormous 2019 Ford F-150 'Big John' that he loves to drive to world meetings because he is a total stud muffin showoff.

Oh yeah, he defiantly modded 'Big John' horns with airblasters. So when he parks his car and he sees other nations come out of their vehicles, he pounds on that horn and scares the living shit out of them.

He totally does 2 am donuts in the Thunderbird the front of Walmart parking lots with his brother Canada to freak him out.

Other than seeing him work on his cars while listening to "Waking Up in Vegas by Katy Perry" on the radio, he's in his room sorting out his action figure and comic book collection.

Damn, what what a geek.

He has an eBay account where he buys, trades and auctions his collection as his interests constantly change.

If you think him being a geek, dork and a nerd is gonna save him from getting a basic ass Stanley cup, you're wrong.

He has a navy blue one that he takes to meetings and he would get dirty looks from the other nations.

"Goddamn it America, you do not need that much coffee."

"Fuck you, you scone sucking twink. It's not coffee, it's the Panera Super Charged Lemonade mixed with Redbull."

"I beg your fucking pardon..."

He gave Canada a red one for his birthday that he also takes with him to meetings.

"Canada, mon ami~. That better not be that merde American drinks that makes your heart explode."

"No, it's Tim Hortons iced coffee."

"Well.. that's better than what America drinks..."

[cariantha]

Hey, Stranger

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: 🔥NSFW, ⛔18+ Only, contains explicit sexual content

Category: Fluff, Smut

Word count: 2.4K

Summary: A handsome stranger offers Sawyer a ride in his pickup truck.

A/N: Artwork by the incredible @/artbyainna on Instagram. This fic was inspired by the song Look I Like by Alana Springsteen.

With a fresh coat of lip gloss and a fluff of her tousled waves, Sawyer exits the crowded ladies' room to a cacophony of distant conversations, glasses clinking, 80’s rock music, and pool balls crashing into each other. She breathes in the smell of beer and fried food as her eyes adjust to the dimly lit bar. The main source of light, a buzzing neon sign that reads The Rhode House, beckons her to the center of the action.  

Squeezing between several patrons, she flags down the bartender and orders a local draft. As she waits, Sawyer takes in the scene around her. The crowd, mostly locals, is a mix of working classes. The Rhodie accents are thicker among the jovial blue collars, while the more reserved white collars literally wear the mark of their collared shirts.

“A Sea Dog Wild Blueberry for the lady,” the bartender draws her attention. As she turns back around, she catches a sidelong glance from an attractive man sitting a few seats away. She tastes the foam from her glass and casually positions herself to get a better look at the handsome fellow. 

The soles of his brown laced boots are caked in dried mud, and he wears a pair of Levi’s that fit snugly around his muscular calves and thighs. The backless barstool affords her a clear view of his perfectly rounded ass.

A distressed cotton T-shirt molds to his torso, the short sleeves tight around his thick biceps. When he sits a bit straighter, Sawyer can see the peaks of his pecs on full display.

She follows a trail of stubble from his neck to his chin and along his masculine jawline. His well-worn baseball cap casts a shadow over his hooded eyes, and dark chestnut hair curls around its edges.

There is something about how he holds his drink and thoughtfully swirls the amber liquid in his glass. A tough and rugged exterior permeates confidence and sophistication. It’s as though he’s lived on both sides of the tracks and finds himself most comfortable living somewhere in between. 

As if he could feel the heat of her gaze, the stranger turned his head slightly over his shoulder, catching her in the act of checking him out. 

Sawyer doesn’t shy away. Instead, she smiles unabashedly and takes a slow sip of her beer. But the intoxicating moment is instantly sobered when a portly patron sitting between them stands to reach for his wallet.

Luckily, the crowded bar does not deter their interest in each other. Returning to their drinks, they continue their game of eye tag, taking a peak whenever an opening appears. 

Sawyer has only had a few swallows of beer, but the way this man keeps looking at her makes her feel a bit tipsy. And just when she thinks he couldn’t be more her type, the complete opposite slinks in beside her, cutting off the view. 

She quickly surveys the offender. 

Mahogany oxfords match the leather belt looped through his tan dress pants, and a gray wool sweater layers over a neatly tucked-in button-down.

He’s tall and fit, his face framed by a neatly trimmed beard and smart tortoiseshell glasses.

He has the air of a wealthy New Englander, a preppy who probably drives a BMW and is a country club member down the street.

After ordering an Old Fashioned, he turns to her with a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she returns politely. 

Leaning down to her ear, he speaks over the hubbub of the bar. 

“I noticed you from the other side of the room and wanted to come say hello.” 

Her senses are overwhelmed by hints of spice and cedarwood standing this close.

“I landed a big promotion at work, and I’m celebrating tonight,” he added.

“Congratulations,” she offered. 

“I’d really like to buy you a drink.”

There’s no denying he’s attractive and polite, but he’s too polished. Too well-mannered for what she had in mind that evening.

The bartender interrupts before Sawyer can even respond, placing a drink in front of her. “From the gentleman in the hat,” he says, tilting his head toward the sexy stranger from before.

“What kind of drink is this?” she asks, holding the glass to her nose to take a sniff.

“It’s our house special…the Rhode House Special. It’s not on the menu, but it’s a local favorite,” the bartender answers.

Turning back to the prepster, Sawyer remembers his offer.

“Thank you, but it appears someone has beat you to it,” she smiles apologetically. 

Accepting his defeat, the man in the wool sweater collects his drink and nods. “If you change your mind…” he trails off before returning to his party.

Sawyer catches her new friend's eye, raises her glass, and offers a coy smile of gratitude.

He acknowledges with a tip of his hat. 

Eyes never leaving him, she takes a long, savoring sip. She rewards his kind gesture with a slow lick of her lips, earning a satisfied smirk before he turns his attention back to his own drink.

With the ball in her court, she gathers her things and wedges herself into the narrow space between his stool and the occupied one beside him.

“Hey, stranger," she greets, instantly mesmerized by his piercing blue eyes.

“Hey,” his voice is rich and velvety. 

“I’ve been watching you.”

“Same.”

Sawyer rests her back against the bar top, the new angle putting her cleavage on full display. Her audience takes the bait and shamelessly adjusts to the new focal point.

“I don’t know if you’re here with somebody tonight…but I hope you’re not,” she confesses.

“I’m not.”

“Anyone waiting at home?”

He shakes his head no and takes a swig from his tumbler.

“Good. Because I like what I’ve seen.” She deliberately looks him up and down. “You’ve got that look I like.” 

“Oh? What look is that?” 

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip and leans in. Her breath caresses the shell of his ear as she speaks.  

“The look of a guy not afraid to get a little…dirty.” 

His eyes immediately rake over her body. The silky red fabric of her spaghetti strap sundress feels see-through under his scrutiny. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when his gaze falls on her muddy cowboy boots. He appears to have reached the same conclusion about her.

Downing the last of his drink, he stands, already knowing the answer to his next question. 

“My truck is parked in the back. Do you want to go for a ride?”

“God, yes.”

After settling their tabs, Sawyer boldly follows the dashing stranger to the parking lot. His ‘77 Ford F250 Highboy is parked in a dark corner. The truck is in excellent condition for as many miles as it’s seen. An outstretched hand holds her steady as she climbs into the passenger side and slides onto the bench seat. 

The driver’s side door opens a moment later, and her chauffeur sits behind the wheel. He puts a key in the ignition, turning it over just enough to let the push button radio come on. Soft country music fills the cab while a soft red glow from the bar’s outdoor sign filters through the windows. 

Sawyer notices how he relaxes on the bench, his legs falling open. Scooting to the middle seat, she runs her fingers from his knee up his thigh.

“Before we take that ride, how about we warm up the engine?” she suggests, running the back of her fingers over the swelling fly of his jeans.

He answers with a moan. 

Wasting no time, Sawyer unbuckles his belt. She yanks it from around his waist and drops it to the floorboard. Unfastening his pants, she guides her hand under the elastic band, freeing him of the confines of his boxer briefs.

A devilish smile flits across her face before she bends down.

She drags her tongue up and down the length of his shaft, drawing teasing circles around the tip before finally taking him into her mouth. Her hands hold his hips down as her lips expertly glide along the delicate skin. Sawyer takes as much of him in as she can, her cheeks slightly caving in with each nectareous suck.

His head slowly falls back while his fingers tangle into her blondish tresses. 

She gauges how close he is by the unmistakable sounds of pleasure and the tightening grip on her hair. She releases him with a pop and sits up when he's on the verge of release.

As he descends back to earth, Sawyer gently removes his ball cap and blindly lays it on the dashboard behind her.

Her hands slowly navigate the landscape beneath his shirt. When her fingers graze the hair on his chest, she eases one hand behind his back and tugs it off.

She studies his torso like a map. Her fingers trace a path from his collarbone, under his rounded pecs, over his ribs, and down the plane of his rolling six-pack. Taking a direct route to the valley of his chest, she diverts quickly to his nipple, circling it with her thumb. 

With her lips at his ear, she whispers, “Ready for a wild ride?”

Sitting back in her seat, Sawyer slips her boots off, then reaches under the skirt of her dress. Slightly elevating her hips, she removes her blush-colored panties and hangs them around the rearview mirror for safekeeping.

Throwing a leg over his lap, she straddles him, careful not to take him in just yet. She rests on his powerful thighs and wraps her hand around his manhood, stroking him a few times. 

He eagerly reaches for Sawyer’s waist, silently coaxing her to come closer. Hooking a finger under the thin strap of her dress, he slides it off, exposing her bare breast. His large hand envelopes it, massaging her nipple into a stiff peak. He pushes the other strap off her shoulder, the top of her dress falling to her waist. Swiftly leaning forward, he takes her into his mouth.

Sawyer folds her arms around his neck to hold him in place as he delightfully nips and sucks.

The hungry hunk lifts his head and forcefully captures her mouth. It’s the first time their lips have connected tonight, and they are immediately open to one another. He cups her face in his hands, pinning her hair back as his tongue occupies her mouth.

The intense sensation stimulates her whole body, and she unconsciously inches her sex closer to his.  

With equal force, Sawyer pushes him away, shoving his shoulders against the back of the bench. Hurriedly, she reaches under the hem of her dress, and holding him in position, she rises just enough to mount him.

He hisses as she lowers herself and takes him in completely. 

She rocks her hips back and forth at a steady pace while his hands begin a journey up her thighs, around her hips, and finally come to rest on her bare ass. But the green of her eyes has him on the move again. His touch travels up her spine, over her shoulders, through the valley of her breasts, and past her navel, until his thumb finally reaches the spot. 

The pace quickens, and Sawyer pushes her hands against the cab's roof for extra support. Her breasts bounce with each rise and fall. But strong hands hold her hips in place as each downbeat is met with an upward thrust. 

“Yes…yes,” she mewls. “Oh my god…I’m so close.”

“Come on, baby,” her lover instructs.

Sawyer cries out as she is lifted to heaven by the rapture. “ETHAN!” 

Throwing an arm behind her, she plants her hand on his knee. Her hair falls back as she arches deeply, pushing her breasts forward while she rides out her orgasm. 

“Oh, fuck,” Ethan whispers at the sight of his climaxing girlfriend.

The involuntary shudders set him off and filled her with warmth.

Ethan rests his head against the cool rear window and closes his eyes to regain equilibrium. 

When he opens them a few moments later, Sawyer rises to help him ease out. But before she can fully dismount, he seizes the sides of her face. Pulling her close, he crushes his lips onto hers. “You are fucking incredible. You know that, right?” He kisses her again, softly this time. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, stranger,” she giggled. “Thanks for playing along.” 

“Thank you. But I’m curious. What brought this on?”

“You know I go feral anytime you wear jeans and a t-shirt…” she reaches behind for his Hopkins cap, placing it backward on his head, “and your baseball hat. Also, watching you hang siding with your dad today,” she fans herself. “You were such a tease… giving me peeks of skin… and showing off your hot bod,” she explains, skimming her fingers along his V-lines.

Ethan’s phone buzzes, and he looks at the caller ID. “Speaking of…”  

He puts the call on speaker as Sawyer moves back to the passenger side and pulls her dress straps back onto her shoulders.

“Hi, Dad.” 

“Hey, did you kids get lost or something?” 

“Sorry, we took a little detour,” he winks at Sawyer. “We picked up the paint and will be home right after I stop and fill your truck with gas. You’re almost on empty.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Son. Thank you.”

“We’ll see you soon, Dad.”

As they put themselves back together, Sawyer asks, “So, the Rhode House Special? That’s the same drink you had Reggie make the day we met, right?”

“It is.” 

“Are you going to tell me what’s in it finally?”

He chuckles, turning over the ignition. “Nope.”

“Ethan!” she swats at him as he puts the truck in gear. 

He smiles when he checks the rearview mirror to ensure it's safe to back up. “As much as I love this view, I do believe these pose a driving hazard,” he chuckles, unhooking her panties from the mirror. 

“I guess I should put those back on,” she says, reaching for them. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he retreats, tucking them into his pocket. “We’re going to take full advantage of this bench seat.” 

Tapping the middle space between them, “Scoot your ass over here and buckle up, baby. This strap is going to hold you down when you start bucking your hips,” he smiles smugly, tightening her seatbelt. “I want you s-”

“Safe?”

“No. Screaming my name again.”

BONUS: This is the slut that had that Sawyer so worked up all day.🥵 Happy Smutember!

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @openheartforeverinmyheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin @headoverheelsforramsey

[queenie-ofthe-void]

HIIII not sure if you're still taking wip weekend asks (no if not feel free to ignore this, no feelings hurt i promise)

BUT if your are, your kast snippet has got me absolutely HOOKED on Tiger Club (Cub? i can't remember exactly atdjydhnxgn)!!!

I didn't get any asks this weekend so I'm super excited you did even though it's Monday 💜💜💜 And tbh I keep mixing the titles up too so it's anyone's guess really lol

This snippet is a direct follow up to my previous post and can be read together. I'm also formatting this on mobile so it might be a hot mess.

They both start towards the car when a tall woman with a dark blonde bob and a pale freckled face steps out of the driver’s seat. She’s wearing a cropped Hozier t-shirt and oversized cotton overalls covered in pins. Eddie notices a small white, pink, and orange flag next to a pin of a cartoon ghost with boobs that says “boooooobies”. He likes her already. Eddie turns to ask Chrissy who this mystery woman is, but it seems he’s not the only one who’s clocked the pins. “You’re not Steve,” Chrissy shouts. She winces as not-Steve arches her brow at the abrupt outburst. “I just mean that Steve has been here every day, and that’s his car, but you’re not Steve. I mean, obviously you’re not Steve, you’re you. Well, you know you’re not Steve, you don’t need me to tell you that.” The silence is incredible. Eddie’s never seen Chrissy this flustered before. Her bambi eyes shine wide and bright, paired with a hot pink flush climbing up to her ears. She’s fiddling with the buttons on her pink pullover cardigan and it seems like she can’t decide if she should stare directly at the woman in front of her or very intensely in absolutely any other direction.

Part 3

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control - 1x15 The Benders

The hike back to town is long, and dawn is already breaking when they finally reach the Impala parked near the police station.

Sam notices that Dean doesn’t even debate riding shotgun this time. While they’ve both been knocked around pretty badly in the last 48 hours, Sam’s had some time to recover, and Dean’s clearly taken the brunt of the damage. His gait had been a little unsteady walking back, and dried blood is covering the entire right side of his face. He’s not using his left arm, now cradled protectively in his lap, and there’s a ragged hole in his shirt that flags an injury underneath.

“What is that?” Sam asks, reaching over to check. “Stab wound?”

Dean bats the intruding hand away. “Will you focus on driving?! It’s just a burn. Hot poker.”

Sam flinches in sympathy. “Ouch. Deep? Think you need a hospital?”

“No. No hospital. I’m still a wanted man, remember?” He peels the flap of his shirt back and squints underneath, grimacing. “No. Nurse Winchester will have to do.”

Sam frowns, not exactly thrilled at the prospect of treating a burn wound with nothing but tweezers and whiskey at his disposal. “What about your shoulder? It’s not dislocated is it?”

“No.” Dean tentatively rolls the injured limb and stops with a grunt. “Just bruised, I guess. Fucker slammed me into a door post.”

“Concussion?” Walking beside Dean, Sam had seen him gingerly touch the back of his head.

“Frying pan. No worries. I’ve got a thick skull. You?”

“Got over it.”

This is how they do it: brave banter after trauma, to cover up the hurt. It’s a tried-and-true method. A manly shorthand that keeps them functioning until they’re somewhere they don’t have to - in this case, another faceless motel Sam checks them into while Dean - looking too garish - waits in the car.

Once inside their room, painted in depressing shades of brown but at least clean and spacy, Dean disappears into the bathroom. Water splashes, Sam hears some muffled cursing, and when Dean reemerges, his face is clean and he’s holding a wad of toilet paper to the cut on his forehead. He’s shed his worker shirt, but he’s still wearing his t-shirt.

“Couldn’t get it off. Damn thing’s stuck to the wound.”

“I’ll help you. Sit down.” Sam points to one of the beds where he’s already laid out what they’ll need: tweezers, antiseptic, bandages. On the nightstand, next to a bowl with warm water, a whiskey bottle is waiting with its cap unscrewed.

“Medicate,” Sam says, tossing his seated brother a pill bottle.

Face brooding, Dean swallows a couple of Vicodin with the aid of Jack Daniels. Normally, Sam would lecture his brother on mixing alcohol with opiates, but they both know that, although the wound isn’t that big, this is going to hurt like hell and, without the benefit of a local anesthetic, booze and pills is all they have. While Dean works on his blood alcohol level, Sam searches the small kitchen counter and gets lucky: He finds a pair of scissors that he uses to cut Dean’s t-shirt off him, leaving only a small patch behind where the fabric has adhered to the wound. He soaks it with warm water, and Dean curses.

“Sonovabitch!”

“Sorry.”

Dean grunts and takes another swig from the bottle. They both know there’s much more swearing ahead.

The whiskey is a good quarter empty by the time Sam has managed to peel the cotton patch off Dean’s wound. The burn looks ugly - a mix of oozing blisters and charred, peeling flesh. It’s a partial thickness burn at least and will leave a nasty scar. There are still a few shreds of fabric embedded in the whole mess and, slightly nauseous, Sam reaches for the tweezers.

“Hold on,” he says warningly. “This’ll hurt like hell.”

He’s not wrong. In the next few minutes, Dean turns into a sweating, cussing mess, doing his best to hold still while Sam meticulously debrides his wound. At some point, they use Dean’s belt for him to bite on. And if Sam’s hands shake a little by the time they’re done, Dean is too focused on control-breathing and blinking through tears to notice.

“Okay. Okay, okay.” Sam shucks the tweezers aside and straightens, exhaling deeply. He pats Dean’s leg. “That’s it. You’re good.”

“Sonofa–...” Panting, Dean looks down at his shoulder, lips forming a disgusted rectangle, teeth bared. “That mother–” Shakily, he wipes at his brow with his good arm, smearing blood over his face. The cut on his brow is oozing again, and all the flop sweat isn’t helping.

“Gimme that.” Sam takes the whiskey from his brother and takes a swig of his own. Then he points from the bottle to Dean’s wound. “You ready?”

Dean eyes him warily, then closes his eyes for a moment and takes a fortifying breath, nodding. “Go ahead.”

Without delay, Sam tips the bottle over and douses Dean’s wound.

“Hunghhh…! The veins on Dean’s neck stand out as he bites back the pain. Sam winces in sympathy.

But at least the worst is over now. Sam bandages the wound with non-adherent gauze he finds buried deep in their medical field kit (he’s going to restock and expands its contents, Sam promises himself), then moves on to close the cut on Dean’s forehead with butterfly stitches. The Vicodin and the whiskey have mellowed Dean enough to just sit through it all in exhausted silence, propped up against the headboard, grimacing sluggishly now and then. He doesn’t even protest when Sam wrangles his arm into a sling. It’ll do both the burn and his bum shoulder good, although Sam has little hope that Dean will put up with it for more than a day.

“You good?” Sam asks, stepping back to watch his handiwork.

“Freakin’ fantastic.” Dean toasts to him with the near-empty bottle of Jack.

“Get some sleep, then.”

Sam swipes the bandage wrappers and used gauze up with his hands and goes to discard them in the trash. He’s tired and sore. It’s been a shocking two days that have taught them that, in some cases, humans were worse than monsters. But they’ve come out the other side alive and largely intact. Dean would heal up, albeit with an unwanted souvenir etched into his skin. He’d come looking for Sam and not given up until he’d found him. Had risked his skin - literally - to get him out. It’s a comforting feeling. One that trumps all the ugliness of this latest hunt. That it ended with Sam having to patch up his big brother wasn’t exactly fun, but it’s leaving Sam feeling somehow content.

They’ve got each other’s backs. And for the first time since Dean picked him up at Stanford Sam thinks that maybe he’s not just staying with Dean to find their father. Or to revenge Jess. There’s something else there. A feeling of companionship. Of family. Maybe, if he’s honest, he’s missed his brother more than he’d liked to admit.

“Huh.”

Marveling, Sam opens the freezer and grabs a bottle of beer that he’s definitely earned. Behind him, he hears Dean softly beginning to snore.

Damage Control Masterlist

Read the entire Damage Control series on AO3 here:

[cooyahclothing]

The Jamaica Ethiopia Flag tee from the Cooyah Capsule Collection. Our vintage designs are screen printed on soft 100% ringspun cotton with a printed neck label for added comfort. Available worldwide at cooyah.com

[caveiratimida]

This is for @heroes-fading and their amazing Rockstar AU that gives me so many emotions and the image of Joel being forced to wear a party hat because he wants to ensure Ellie celebrates her 18th. Obviously Tommy won't let him just do something nice without teasing and Ellie is just overcome with a strong feeling (it's called love baby) and is just trying to smile for Maria's photo!! Thank you Sand you star!! Small details I thought of as I sketched this: - Tommy is definitely a fur and denim jacket guy meanwhile Joel obviously has that worn leather jacket he won't get rid of. - Ellie has a dino skull necklace and some accessories such as spiky arm thing plus a very inconspicous lesbian flag armband. Her t-shirt is a graphic one in my mind but I couldn't decide what to put so there you go. - I find it really funny that Joel is glaring daggers at his brother because he has his hand on her shoulder and he is grasping it very hardly (because he wanted to) so his other hand is already on Ellie's other side just to make sure it is clear who's the supposed father figure thank you I had Little V's "Cotton Eyed Joe" on repeat as I heard this and all I could think of is Tommy is the peak younger sibling tomfoolery meanwhile Joel oozes exasperated older sibling energy.

[georgiapeach30513]

old glory sells them.

https://oldglory.com/products/born-and-raised-maryland-state-flag-mens-t-shirt?_pos=29&_sid=31b1486ed&_ss=r

For the anon that was curious! Thank you 😘