#him growing up feeling like there's something Wrong with him and all he wants is to be Good

[okwonyo]

❛ YOU ARE MADE OF ANGEL DUST ❜

FORWORD. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒.

❪ 𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝒾𝖲 ❫ prince!enhypen x princess!reader 12OO royalty au fluff domestic ⎯⎯disc. kissing petnames skinship reblogs ୨୧ feedbacks & daily

지아⠀⦂⠀ for @soov & you’ll like it if you like being called princess hehe

HEESEUNG

it is quite late for you when you hear things falling on your window. it doesn’t take much to understand that those said things are rocks, and it doesn’t take much time to understand who is throwing them either.

you open your window to see your prince under your balcony, well dressed and hair slicked back. from down there he mouths while he opens his arms, “come down,” and of course, “princess!”

you want to shout and tell him that he is ridiculous. that you already saw each other this afternoon and that there was no need to sneak out so late. be heeseung is heeseung, he loves risks almost as much as he loves you.

there is not a long thinking process before you find yourself sitting on your balcony’s barrier— trusting him enough to catch you. but he does.

with his arms around your tight as he holds you high, he greets you, “i missed you, baby,”

JAY

“c’mon,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing the skin under your eyes, wiping your shining tears. “a princess like you is too pretty to cry.”

the lightness in his tone makes smile. it makes the mood lighter, it makes you less sad. but everytime you look at his face, whenever your gaze falls on his lips, on his cheekbones, the bruises break your heart. you can feel his heartbeat underneath your palm as he holds your hand on his chest, “and a prince like you shouldn’t have scars.”

the prince’s sweet smile gets wider, contrasting with the obvious sadness and worry in his eyes. he look apologetic, even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

“princess,” he starts. he cups your face in the most caring way you have ever seen, his keeps on your tears. “i have to fight for my people, for my friends, my family and for you.”

you only look at him in lieu of answering. the admiration in your eyes must be as obvious as your concern for your dear lover. your adoration for him grows even bigger when he adds, “and when it’ll be all over, i’ll always be yours.”

JAKE

his smile is utterly lovely when he declares, “let me help you, your majesty,” while offering is hand to you.

you accept without any hesitation but with much giggles. the prince helps you get on the beautiful brown horse standing in front of you both. his hand is your is delicate— you get up there being carefully observed and pampered.

“hold on tight, princess,” he smirks after settling in front of you. you wrap your arms around his chest with a smile on your lips and rest your head on his broad back.

“where are you taking me?” you question after a while, right after remembering where you were— you often get lost in his scent when he is around, forgetting everything around you.

“somewhere as beautiful as you are,” he responds, his voice vibrating in your heart. butterflies erupts in the pit of your stomach when you arrive at your destination. the sea stares right back at you widened eyes, in pure awe.

SUNGHOON

there isn’t enough words to describe how it makes you feel whenever the prince asks you to dance with him. although, it is never the first time— you dance with him since the day you knew how to walk. he is the one you learned how to dance properly with.

everytime he takes your hand in his, then he holds your lower back, that it pulls you close— you always feel an overwhelming feeling of attraction. as if your soul is being pulled towards him.

he must know, how it makes you feel. you know it. because ever since puberty hit him, he is not afraid— in front of the heavy eye of everyone— to whisper something in your ear. right after making you twirl in your long dress.

“don’t be shy, princess,” he says next to your ear. his breath is always so hot against yours. this added to this public display of affection in public makes you blush.

you close your eyes, well too shy to even look st the people are you. he holds you close as you both dance, “it’s only you and me when we dance.”

SUNOO

“follow me,” is all that he says. although, he takes your wrist in his hand and drags you behind him, not giving you much choice, you do follow him.

you don’t say much, just admiring his back as he brings you to the garden behind the palace. he carefully avoids his maids and yours as well— the place is quite crowded today, especially since you had lunch together.

he loosen his grip on your wrist after arriving at his destination. you miss his touch immediately but the way he smiles at you makes you forget about everything you have ever known.

you are too starstruck to acknowledge him walking to get behind you. the cold material on your exposed skin makes you shiver, earning a gasp out of you. you touch it, you feel the pearls against your fingertips.

“i hope you like it,” he tells you right next to your ear. “this necklace has been in my family for generations.”

JUNGWON

you wipe your head to your room’s door as soon as it opens in a swift movement. your maid seems enthusiastic, red in the face like she ran all the way to your room, “your majesty! prince jungwon has arrived.”

you almost get dizzy with how fast you get up from the couch. your heart beats well too fast for you to even say anything. the only thing you can do is to, with a heavy breath, look at the palace’s portail from your balcony.

you see the horses and the carriage. those are things you recognize far too well, too used to waiting for his return from travels all over the world and his visits to your kingdom.

in a heartbeat, you hold your dress and start ruminating out of your room. then you run down the hallway, get down the stairs at the same speed. you may bump into a few people and your shoes echo in the entire palace as you run to the door.

you are out of breath and your legs hurt but you don’t mind. when you finally get to reach him, when you feel his arms embracing you and his scent all over the place— you forget about it all. his hold you tight, even making your feet leave the floor, “my princess.”

RIKI

a cool breeze washes over your body. it caresses your skin, soothes your soul as well as his fingers in your hair. eyes closed, your head on his laps, laying on the green ground.

“i hope that we can get married soon,” is the first words he pronounces after a while. you think that you must be dreaming— he has never said something like this before. maybe he thought about it, but he never said it.

and it’s not like you are surprised. you are supposed to marry him one day, it has always been a known fact. but he has never told you that he wanted to, that he hoped.

you open your eyes. and it’s like waking up from a dream. the sun shines behind his head, he looks down at you with such love that it makes you want to cry. “what?” is all you manage to say— with a smile making its way to your lips.

he takes your hand in his and brings it to his mouth. his lips are soft as he kisses your knuckles, “i want you to be mine forever.”

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[heavyhitterheaux]

Don't Mess With My Man (Slight NSFW)

See Me Through You Series

If you mess with my man, I'ma be the one to break it to ya

Got my girls, got my man, so find your own and leave mine alone

Don't mess with my man, I'ma be the one to break it to ya

Here's a little advice for you, find your own man

Synopsis: You didn't think of yourself as the jealous type, but when you notice all of the attention that Joe gets from other women, it quickly makes you grow frustrated

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The two of you were walking back to Joe's car to head back to his apartment since you both had finished up your classes for the day, when you suddenly heard what felt like nails on a chalkboard for what felt like the millionth time and instantly winced at the sound.

“Hiii Joe!” Another random girl said and you knew for a fact that the number of women that had come up to him since classes had started back up had to have been at least twenty.

It instantly got an eye roll from you as your boyfriend, being polite as he is, responded back with a smile before taking your hand in his and tugging you along in the direction of where his car was. This had been a thing ever since the beginning of last semester when he made his football debut at LSU, but it honestly didn't bother you then.

It was probably because he hadn't stepped into the role of being your boyfriend, even if a lot of people had thought the two of you were together seeing as you were always around him and vice versa.

You didn't think of yourself as a jealous person by any means, but all the attention that Joe got from women did bother you.

He was yours, not theirs.

And they needed to know their place.

As the two of you were walking, he was rubbing small circles on the back of your hand and glanced over at you periodically. You had been unusually quiet and Joe knew that something had been bothering you. But every time he would ask, you simply brushed him off. And this had been going on all week. Not wanting to push you, he didn't keep asking and his thought was that you would tell him when you were ready.

“Princess, did you hear me?” Joe asked, taking you out of your thoughts and you quickly shook your head no.

“No, sorry. What did you say?” You asked and stopped to look over at him.

“I asked if you wanted to get burritos for dinner.”

“Oh, yeah that's fine.” You answered and took a step in order to continue walking but noticed Joe didn't match your steps and was still standing in the same place, looking at you.

“What? Aren't we going back to your apartment?” You asked as you made your way back over to him.

“We are, but something is wrong and you aren't telling me.”

“I'm fine, nothings wrong.” You told him, but you knew deep down that he wasn't buying it.

“Then why do I feel as if you're acting off?”

“I just… this semester is going to be heavy for me and I'm thinking about all that I'm going to have to be responsible for including gymnastics. That's all.” You said hoping that would be a satisfying enough answer for him.

“That's not it either, but I'm not going to push you. When you're ready to talk, let me know.”

“There isn't even anything to talk about. I said what I said.” You replied with a slight attitude as you had slid in the passenger seat of Joe's car after he had opened the door for you and you responded immediately by closing it yourself instead of waiting for him.

Once he came around to the driver's side and got in, he put his seatbelt on and turned on the car and started driving before saying anything to you.

“Babe, I don't know what the attitude is for when I literally haven't done anything.” Joe said as he was trying to be as patient as possible with you, but it was definitely running out.

“Can you just drive, please?” You asked as you had now crossed your arms and stared out the window.

“No, I can’t just drive when my girlfriend is upset and I know something is bothering her but she refuses to tell me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I'm fine?”

“And how many times do I have to tell you that I know you're lying to me? Why are you lying about that? I can't fix the problem if you don't tell me what it is.”

“Because you are trying to fix a problem that doesn't even exist! You know what? Just take me to my apartment. I want to be by myself.”

“Are you…? Are you serious right now?” Joe asked as he scoffed and you couldn't help but to roll your eyes once more. 

“Did I stutter?”

“Fine, as you wish.” Joe told you as he turned around and started going in the other direction. Once he pulled up to your apartment, you immediately jumped out without saying anything to him while slamming the car door behind you.

“Seriously!?” Joe asked and you could slightly hear him through the closed car door, but you didn't bother looking back at him and continued to walk straight into the building.

“Okay, love you too princess.” Joe said out loud before sighing.

Once you reached your apartment, you threw your bag onto the couch before letting out a frustrated sigh. You did exactly the opposite of what you intended to and now you know for a fact that your boyfriend was mad at you even if he didn't outright say it. 

One thing you appreciated Joe for was being patient with you even when you didn't think you deserved it. All in all, you believed that it all boiled down to what he saw you go through with your ex-boyfriend. You had never really liked talking about your feelings and would bottle everything up until it came boiling to the surface. Simply because any time you tried to talk to him, he would brush you off.

Meanwhile, Joe was at a loss and had no idea how to make it better since he wasn’t quite sure what the problem was to begin with. He noticed that you had been off for basically the entire week and planned to get an answer out of you one way or another.

To get his mind off of it, he decided to head to the gym in order to get rid of some of his frustration. At the end of the day, he knew that he loved and cared about you so the last thing he ever wanted to do was make you feel as if you couldn't talk to him or make it seem that he wasn't approachable or a good listener.

But, he also knew that he had to be patient from what you had been dealt with when you were with Trevor. Plenty of times he would see you upset after an argument that you had with him and every time you would tell him what the argument was about, it would always be (in his opinion) Trevor's fault. 

It had been two whole days.

During those two days,  it only consisted of you reading his text messages and if you responded, they were only one or two word answers.

As bad as Joe wanted to send a text to Ja'Marr, he decided against it seeing as the two of them weren't exactly still at odds after finding out the two of you were together, but still weren't talking to each other as much as they were before. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel as though he was going behind your back, but he was desperate at this point. At least at the end of the day, he wasn't completely ignoring him like he did for two weeks after he found out. 

So, here goes.

Joe- Do you know what's wrong with your sister?

The bubble kept appearing and disappearing and Joe wondered if he was even going to get a response.

Uno- Aren't you her boyfriend? Why are you asking me?

Joe- Because she hasn't talked to me in two days and how long are you going to be mad at me about that?

Uno- I’m staying mad at you until I get my apology for going behind my back. Same goes for her.

Joe- But… You literally WANTED me to date her and said it YOURSELF. So what is this fake outrage for?

Uno- I will throw a weight at your big headed ass the next time we're in the gym 

Joe- So, now you see how stupid this is?

Uno- And that's why you can't throw 

Joe- TAKE IT BACK. TAKE THAT SHIT BACK RIGHT NOW.

Uno- No. Maybe later. But we can call a truce.

Joe- Not calling shit until you take it back

Uno- Fine. You can throw and no, I don't know what's wrong with her because she's still mad at me about how I reacted when she was in the hospital. I mean, I get it. Her safety is more important than knowing you two were swapping spit. She's barely talked to me over winter break.

Joe- Because I have no idea what I did and she won't tell me

Uno- Bribe her with food. Works every time.

Joe- I guess I'll just call her for the millionth time

Uno- No, go to her apartment and bust down the door

Joe- Uh, no. I'll probably have to pay for that

Uno- You know what I mean. Let me know how it goes and meet me at the gym tomorrow morning. Better yet, I'll come to your apartment so we can go together.

Joe- If your sister doesn't kill me and bury me on the football field first

As soon as Joe put his phone on the couch next to him, he heard a knock at the door and was confused about who it could be. Once he opened it, he was met with the sight of his girlfriend staring at him.

“Hi.”

“Surprised to see you. I guess you suddenly remembered that you had a boyfriend.” Joe said as you sighed.

“I deserve that.” You replied as Joe then moved to the side to let you in.

Once you walked in and sat on the couch, Joe sat next to you before taking your hand in his.

“Are you ready to talk now? Not expecting that you would actually come over here since I thought you were still mad at me for a reason that I have yet to figure out.” Joe asked as he pulled you closer to him on the couch.

You weren't expecting that he actually would since you still felt that he was probably mad at you for being mad at him and ignoring him. Might as well get everything out in the open since there was no use in hiding it any longer. 

“Can't fix it if you don't tell me, princess.”

“I… I don't like all the attention that other girls give you. Especially when I'm standing right there and they act like I'm not even there. I guess I didn't really notice how much it happened until we got together. Obviously when we were just friends, it didn't bother me, but it seems like it's happening more often.” You quietly said and he slowly nodded his head before he answered you.

“So, instead of telling me this, you decide to get mad, get an attitude with me and refuse to talk to me about how you're feeling? Is that right? When this could have been over and done with?”

“I'm trying to be better about that. I know I shouldn't have waited, but I needed to get my thoughts together first.” You replied without looking at him.

Joe took a deep sigh before replying, and turning your head so that you would be facing him.

“You never had a problem telling me about how you felt when we were just friends. So what's the difference now? There shouldn't be one. If something bothers you, you need to tell me. I can do a lot of things, but reading your mind isn't one of them.”

“I know. I guess I just keep everything in since it stems from Trevor always telling me that I was too dramatic or making something out of nothing.”

“How many times do we have to go over this? I am not him and will never be him. You mean a lot to me and I don’t know how many more ways that I can show you that. He was an asshole and still is. He should never even be a topic of conversation between us. You're with me, not him.”

“I know, it's just hard to break out of that mentality.”

“Now back to the reason why you were upset. Let me ask you this, am I in a relationship with you or with them?”

“Me.”

“Okay, so what's the problem? I can be nice and speak to them but at the end of the day, you're the only one I want. You got it?”

“Got it.”

“I don't know if this has to do with you being younger than me or it's just that you're used to being treated like shit, but we can't keep doing this. You tell me the minute something upsets you and I'll do my best to make it better.”

“I've only had one boyfriend other than you so I guess I thought the way he was treating me at one point was acceptable but everyone around me including you was trying to tell me the opposite.” You confessed and he nodded showing you that he was in agreement.

“And… I don't like talking about my feelings and I never have. I tend to keep things inside and I know that it’s not good.”

“Because it leads to things like this.” Joe added and you gave him a slow nod as you started to play with your bracelet that had been a Christmas gift from him before he pulled you onto his lap and placed several kisses on your cheek, making you smile.

“Now, are we good? I only have eyes for you and don't you ever forget it.”

“We're good. I guess I just needed reassurance.” 

“And you know how much I love you because you literally hear me say it 50 million times a day. So, me paying attention to another girl who isn't you? Not happening. But deep down, I think you know that already.”

“You're right.”

“Now that we got that out of the way, can we finally have our burritos for dinner? The dinner that we were supposed to have two days ago?”

“Yes, and I want extra guacamole on the side. Oh and a mango jarritos.” You replied as Joe reached over you to get his phone in order to order it. But, you slowly took it from him and he looked at you confused.

“What's the problem? Don't you want me to order it? I don't want it to get too late and they end up closing.”

“I definitely want food, but I'm hungry for something else right now.” You told him and he immediately smirked.

“Let me order this first because I will not be dealing with your hungry ass if they end up closing before we're finished. Then I'm about to have a whole nother problem.”

“You are literally so dramatic. It's Saturday and they don't close until 2 am.”

“Hmm, lies you tell because I believe that you were talking about yourself. And not until 2 am? That means absolutely nothing once I get your clothes off.”

“Because you demand that I cum 85 times.”

“I… are you complaining? Because I can stop at one.”

“No! I'm not complaining!”

“Sounds like you were so we can just sit here for the rest of the night.” Joe told you as he shrugged and you turned up your nose at him.

“You can sit here. I'll be in your bedroom using my vibrator that I left over here.”

“I know that can't feel better than me being inside you.”

“Why does it matter? You wanted to sit here all night. So move so I can get up and go do that.”

“I'm not moving. I haven’t gotten to hold you for two days.”

“Fine.” Was all you said before slowly pulling down your leggings and throwing them to the floor while you placed two fingers in your mouth and slowly began to suck on them.

Before you could slide your fingers inside of you, Joe slid his in instead making you gasp.

“Such a spoiled little brat.” He whispered in your ear as he used his free hand to quickly reach underneath your shirt to undo your bra. 

Once it was undone, you took the bottom of your shirt to pull it above your head and threw it to the side before moving your bra that had already been falling down your shoulders to the left of you leaving you completely bare in your boyfriend's lap.

You could feel his erection growing underneath you as he added another finger while increasing his pace and slowly began placing kisses all along your neck.

“Shiiiit…..” You quietly breathed out.

“Mm, my baby is so wet for me. Look at all that.” Joe whispered as his hand was literally saturated in your juices ever since they started running down his hand and was now all over his sweatpants. He pulled it out so that you would be able to see it and brought it up to his mouth before tasting it and slowly slid his fingers back in making another moan escape from your lips.

“Fuck, babe.”

“Spread your legs wider.” 

You did as you were told and Joe was able to go deeper. He slowly started to rub your clit with his other hand and you knew that you weren't going to last much longer.

“That's it princess. You about to cum all over my hand? I know for a fact that your vibrator doesn't make you feel as good as I do.”

At this point, you were about to slide off of the couch because of the puddle that you had created underneath of you and your only saving grace was Joe having a tight hold on you.

“Baby…..” 

You could barely get the word out before you squirted all over his hand as he was once again placing kisses along your neck as you rode out your high.

“Good girl, that's it, princess. Ride it out.”

When your breathing had finally slowed, you looked down to see the mess that you had made as Joe was licking your juices off his fingers and soon held them up to your mouth for you to do the same.

“See how good you taste?”

Nodding your head, you let out a small laugh as you looked down once more.

“I think I owe you new sweatpants.”

It was seven in the morning when Ja'Marr had knocked on Joe's apartment door and when he didn't get an answer, he decided to call him.

When the call went unanswered, he rolled his eyes and decided to try the doorknob anyway to see if it was open. 

Lucky for him, it was and he quickly slipped into the apartment.

“He has got to stop leaving his door unlocked.”

Ja'Marr then walked to Joe's bedroom and quickly opened the door. 

“Joe! Wake ya ass… AHHHH. WHAT THE HELL!?” 

He was met with the sight of Joe literally throwing himself over you so that your body would be shielded from your brother's eyes.

“Ja’Marr!”

“I knocked but you didn't answer! Your apartment was unlocked. We said that we were going to the gym!” He said as he was now covering his eyes with his hands.

“Well can you get out so we can get dressed!?” You asked as Joe was quietly laughing as his head was on your shoulder.

“I see the two of you have made up and yes I'll be out here. Yall need to send me a schedule or something so that this doesn't happen again. Ew.”

“Don't sit on the couch!” Joe yelled as Ja'Marr turned around to walk away and he did a double take.

“What the? Oh, yall some nasty ass fuckers. What the hell did yall do to the couch!? Never mind. I do NOT want to know.”

“Ja’Marr! Leave!”

“Trust Me, I'm going. You two have scarred me for life. All I saw was Joe's pale ass diving in order to cover you. A sight I NEVER want to see again.”

“JA’MARR!” Both you and Joe yelled at the same time in order to keep him from rambling.

“I'm going! I'm going!”

Once the door was fully closed, Joe picked his head up to look at you before reaching down to kiss you with a laugh escaping from him after.

“I forgot that I told him to come over this morning. Sorry, baby. That was my fault.”

“Glad to see that the two of you made up though. But go ahead and go with him. I'll be waiting for you when you get back.”

“Just like this, right?” He asked as he reached down to take one of your nipples in his mouth and slowly began sucking on it.

“Just like this, promise. So we can finish what we started.”

“Good, because I have a request when I come back.”

“And what's that?”

“Reverse cowgirl.”

“Hmm, I think I can do that for you.”

[scribes-of-valar]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐵𝑜𝑦

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

A/N: I watched maybe two seasons of this show last year and kind of moved past it. I randomly got a Clark Kent fic on my feed last night and suddenly I have a demon in my brain telling me to write. Anyway, there is a horrendous lack of full fledged, non-smut fics for this man, so, here you go.

Summary: Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

“Have any plans?” You pull your English book from your locker, fingers stilling as you wait for Clark to respond. Silence stretches between you, long enough to make your brows furrow in confusion. Peering around the edge of your locker door with narrowed eyes, you let out a sigh. 

You should have seen this coming. As always, Clark is staring at Lana from across the hall, looking like he walked straight out of a sappy romance movie. 

She’s close, so close, but entirely out of his reach. She laughs, tucking a perfect, shiny strand of hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the way Clark pines for her. Always pining. Always looking at her like she’s the only girl in the world. 

You could gag. 

Slamming your locker shut, perhaps harder than necessary, you break Clark out of his trance as he flinches away from the noise. His head snaps toward you, blue eyes narrowed on the irritated scrunch of your face. You smile, forcing the snark out of your expression. 

“Did you say something?” His voice is kind, expression open, as though he’s finally ready to listen. But the bell rings, cutting into the moment. You only have a minute to sprint to the other side of school. 

“No,” you sigh, forcing the stilted smile to stay on your face, “I gotta go.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he offers, falling into step beside you. “That way you can tell me what you actually said,” he teases, giving you that familiar boyish grin that never fails to make you unravel. 

You bite your tongue for a moment, mind unraveling as you struggle with telling him the truth or not. This is stupid. He’s Clark, your best friend. Your stupid, oblivious, beautiful best friend. But the way he looks at you, soft and warm as he slows his stride so he can walk together a little longer. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

No. It will definitely still hurt. 

“Would you want to do something this weekend?” You rush it all out at once and immediately look away from him, terrified by what you might see on his face. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then Clark laughs, light and easy. Your stomach twists and your head shoots up, a disbelieving glare on your face. You’d known it would be unlikely that he’d return your feelings, but laughing seems below him. 

“Why’re you being so weird?” He shakes his head, still grinning. “We’ll just do a movie night like always.” He squeezes your shoulder, casual, friendly, a wholly innocent gesture. Nothing more and nothing different. It’s completely platonic to him, as it always is. It takes you a moment to realize that he took what you were saying the wrong way. Or, maybe this is just the gentlest way he knows how to let you down. 

“Right,” you struggle to keep your voice even but it doesn’t matter, the dejection slips through your tone. His smile falters slightly and he looks like he wants to say something when the shrill ring of the bell interrupts you both.

“I’ll see you later,” he offers but he sounds uncertain. Most of your plans have fallen through lately. Either because he was busy with Lana or off disappearing somewhere. You’re not sure, but you know the divide is growing larger between you both and you’re getting scared you’re going to lose him. 

“Sure,” you give him a flat smile and he hovers beside you for a moment, like he wants to fix this but doesn’t know how. 

“You’re going to be late,” you startle slightly and glance over your shoulder. Blake, a boy you share your English class with offers you a shy smile as he hovers by the door, holding it open for you to walk through.  

“Thanks,” you walk past them both and into class, not wanting to look at Clark any longer. You miss the sharp look Blake shoots Clark and the way your friend lingers by the door for a minute before rushing off to his own class. 

You slide into your seat, lucky to have gotten in before Mrs. Brown, lord knows she would love to make a spectacle of anyone being tardy. Blake follows not far behind you, slipping into the seat beside you as always. He’s nice enough, quiet, unassuming. You’ve never said more than a few words to each other, but right now all of his attention seems to be on you. 

He whispers your name and you give him a brief glance and smile, mind still wrapped up in Clark. “Um, I was going to ask,” he stutters over his words for a moment, swallowing thickly before finally meeting your eye. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you answer absentmindedly. “I have plans with Clark,” you tell him shortly as Mrs. Brown walks in. You don’t have time to explain that you’ll probably just end up waiting around your house all weekend. Just to get a brief and incomprehensible explanation of why you were all alone on Monday. 

He sinks back in his seat with a sigh just as the teacher begins writing the assignment on the board. You shoot him a slightly concerned look before brushing the interaction off as nothing.

Standing in the line at The Talon has become almost a hobby for you. Not just because Clark drags you here constantly, but because he distracts Lana from actually taking any orders. The wait time seems to triple every time he walks into the shop. You hear people grumbling behind you and finally move toward Clark, breaking the unspoken rule of leaving him and Lana alone. 

“There’s a line, Clark,” you sing-song, warning him. The both of them flush, breaking their hushed conversation and shooting you a sheepish look. 

“I’m sorry,” Lana apologizes and you wave her off. “Do you want anything?” 

You’d been considering getting a muffin, but when you look over and see the lovesick smile Clark is giving her, you find your appetite has disappeared. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

Clark turns toward you with a soft frown and he nearly makes you forget just how much you resent him for dragging you along to see this. “I thought you were hungry.”

You glance back at Lana and find her eyes already on him. God, what’s the point of a breakup if you’re still obsessed with each other? “No, it’s alright.”

You move away from the counter to step outside, expecting him to stay there and continue flirting despite the angry customers behind them. You’re surprised when you hear his voice immediately beside you. 

“Hey,” he moves away from the door, a grin on his face. Face wrinkling in confusion, you nod your head in greeting even though you’d just seen him. Your eyes narrow in on the leather of his jacket and your head tilts in confusion. You swear he was wearing a zip up a moment ago. “What’re you doing?” He asks, tone light as he stands beside you closer than he normally would. 

“Uh,” you’re tempted to glance over your shoulder and make sure he isn’t still standing in The Talon. “Did you hit your head?” He flushes slightly and you laugh. “Just our usual friday endeavors, you moon over Lana and I hold back the mob of angry customers who just want a coffee.” Laughing to ease some of your own tension, it trails off when you see the smile drop from his face. 

His eyes narrow and he glances toward the shop, “Idiot,” he mutters. You shoot him an affronted look and he blanches, quickly correcting himself. “Me, not you.” You want to question him further but he slings an arm over your shoulder and redirects you away from the shop. Mind a blank slate, you feel your brain break slightly at the simple touch. 

When you were younger, before Lana, before either of you even knew what crushes were, something like this would mean nothing to you. As it is, though, your friendship seems to have dwindled to nothing but compulsory hangouts and the occasional conversation in the hallway. Something as simple as his arm around you has turned into everything for you. 

“So, what are we doing tonight?” 

“Movies at your place, like usual,” you remind him. He must have slipped and hit his head on the way out of The Talon.  Either that, or he already forgot the plans you made just this morning. Neither would surprise you. 

His face screws up and he shakes his head, “God, that’s lame.” You scoff, shooting him an odd look, not bothering to remind him that it was his idea. “I mean what’s he-” 

Clark cuts himself off, glancing down at you before letting out a short laugh. “How ‘bout the fair?”

You reach up and press the back of your hand to his forehead. He gives you a bewildered laugh, taking your hand in his and grinning. “What are you doing?”

You lean back slightly, breathless at the awestruck way he’s looking at you. You’ve only ever seen him look at…

Lana, you’ve only ever seen a look like this directed at Lana. But now, those deep blue eyes are pulling you in and you feel helpless to fight them. You swallow hard, blinking while you try to remember what you were even going to say. 

“Uh,” licking your lips you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement. “I was seeing if you had a fever. Since when do you want to go out?” 

He laces your fingers together and tugs you forward, “Since now.” 

Usually, you’re not so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth. Months, you’ve been praying he treats you with even a semblance of care he throws toward Lana. Now, you finally get it and you can’t help the sick tightening feeling in your stomach telling you this is all wrong.

The fair is less crowded than you had expected. Though, it is nearly the last day it’s in town, you suppose everyone’s already had their fill of it. You have been trying to get Clark to come with you for nearly a week, maybe this is why he had waited so long to join you. Some of the rides you actually got all to yourself. 

“You know these things are rigged,” you tease, watching as he tries and fails at the bottle toss for the third time. The bored teenage girl behind the booth briefly glances up from her book to glare at you both. You shoot her a sardonic smile and she turns to Clark. 

“You can just buy the stuffed animal, ya know?” She drawls. 

“That’s cheating-”

“Where’s the fun in that-”

You and Clark share a grin as you speak over each other. The girl pales at your joined voices and returns quickly to her book, muttering something about annoying couples. 

Your stomach flutters at the idea of you and Clark as a couple but you push it down. “Alright,” Clark chuckles and holds his arm out for you, “let’s get out of here.”

You slip your arm through his easily, smiling up at him. You’ve long since stopped questioning just how touchy he is. Clearly, he’s in a generous mood tonight and you feel like taking advantage of that as much as possible.

“Where to next?” He asks and your eyes crawl across the fairground, struggling to find something you haven’t already done. 

You toss what must be your third lemonade in the closest bin and shoot him a sheepish smile. “I think I’ll need to go to the bathroom before we do any more rides.”

He’s slow to let you go, hand drifting down to hold yours as he steps back. “I’ll wait by the ferris wheel,” he tells you lowly. 

Your cheeks flush, eyes widening slightly as you slip away from him. The ferris wheel is notorious among Smallville students as the place to make a move. Everyone knows it’s just couples that ride up in those rickety old cars. Still, Clark is slightly oblivious to stuff like that. You don’t want to get your hopes up just for it to ultimately be nothing more than a friendly outing. 

Rushing toward the sad group of Port-a-potties you let out an annoyed sigh when you see the long line awaiting you. Your foot bounces against the dirt impatiently as you peer around the girl in front of you just to see there has to be, at least, ten people before you. 

There’s a vibration in your pocket before you hear the shrill ringing of your Nokia. Digging it out of your jeans you answer without checking the contact. “Hello?” The girl in front of you shoots you a dirty look and you take a step back from her. 

“Hey, where’re you?” You frown at the sound of Clark’s voice, glancing around like you might be able to spot him in the crowd. You’d told him where you were going, why would he be calling?

“You know where I am,” you tell him, chuckling. 

There’s a slight huff on the other end and you frown, he almost sounds disappointed. “What are you talking about? We were supposed to watch movies tonight.”

“Okay, Clark, I’m officially concerned. You’ve been acting weird all day. We’re at the fair,” you say slowly, over-enunciating your words like he’s slow. “You said movies were going to be lame.”

There’s a long pause and he utters your name in a concerningly serious tone. “The person you’re with-”

“Alright, do you mind?” The girl in front of you whips around and snaps at you. Blanching, you lower the phone from your ear and she shoots you an incredibly dirty look. 

“Clark, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” you whisper into the phone. 

“Wait-” 

You cut him off, hanging up and shoving your phone in your back pocket. She turns back around and rolls her eyes. It doesn’t take long for your Nokia to start ringing again but you figure you’ll just meet Clark by the ferris wheel like he said. 

Low groaning drifts through the noises of the crowd and makes you pause. Tilting your head around the corner of a trailer, the sounds only grow louder. Everything inside you says not to investigate, but the person sounds like they’re genuinely in pain. You can’t just walk away. 

“Hey,” you call out softly. “Are you okay?”

There’s no response and you take a hesitant step closer. A scuffed white converse slips from behind the back of the trailer and it looks worryingly similar to Clark’s. “Clark?” You call out, creeping a little further into the dark. 

It’s like a cocoon of silence back here, as though the shadows swallow the voices and loud cheering sounds of the games beyond you. “No,” the small voice croaks out. You see a hand in the dirt and they begin dragging themselves forward. You jump back a step, heart picking up as you watch them get to their feet. 

This was a stupid idea, walking toward a stranger in the dark. Even in Smallville you couldn’t trust everyone. They finally turn and you let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, Blake, hey.”

He gives you a weak grimace, clutching his stomach like he’s in pain. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, taking a step closer to him, trying to get a better look. 

“Fine, fine,” he stutters out, shifting just enough to keep his face half-hidden in the shadows.  Even knowing the person lurking within the shadows, you still feel slightly on edge. Something about the way he moves unsettles you. It’s not as though you know him well, he’s just a classmate. Someone quiet and harmless. Or, you hope he’s harmless, right now there’s something about him that feels wrong.

“Alright, um, if you’re sure,” you take a careful step backward. Your foot’s barely back on the ground when he lunges forward. His hands stretch toward you like he’s about to snatch you into the shadows with him. You’re stuck deciding whether you’re going to scream or bite him when he jerks back like a puppet being yanked on a string.  

“Sorry, sorry,” he blurts out, breathless. ��Clark walked by. He- he told me to tell you he was leaving.”

Your stomach twists with panic. Right now you care more about not getting your throat slit in a dark alley than you do about Clark ditching you. Without a second thought, you turn on your heel and run out from between the trailers. You swear you hear footsteps, quick and light, following your path to the cars. 

Sliding into your car, you lock your doors and peel out of the lot. You leave the fair, and whatever just happened, behind, not looking back. The phone in your pocket vibrates again but you ignore it, too freaked out by what just happened to bother answering.  

Someone calls your name and you peer around the edge of your locker door, grimacing when you see Blake walking toward you. His brown hair is a mess, like he’s been fussing with it all morning, and his thick glasses, normally perched precariously on his nose, are nowhere to be seen. His normal polished clothes look like they’re three sizes too big and you frown.  

“Hey,” you drag the word out, trying to sound polite even if his outburst last night left you feeling incredibly unsettled. “Feeling any better?” You hesitate to meet his eyes, and when you do, your annoyance only deepens. 

He’s watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for something. 

“Did you need anything?” You ask, voice trailing off as you close your locker and take two deliberate steps back. 

Blake’s brows furrow and he almost looks hurt before his expression smooths over into something startling unreadable. “Um, no, I’m sorry,” his gaze drifts past you. The color drains from his face and you barely have a second to process the oddity of this conversation before he turns on his heel and goes barrelling down the hall.

“Hey,” Clark’s familiar voice cuts through your confusion, and you turn to see him striding toward you. Gone is the easy, playful grin he wore last night. He looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him, intent on something. “We need to talk,” he tells you, tone grave. 

“I know,” you snipe, not bothering to hide your irritation at just leaving you alone at the fair last night. You aren’t surprised, he’s been doing that for weeks now. What stings is that, for a little while, you had felt like you were actually friends again, only for him to ruin it. 

His brow furrows and he glances around the empty hallway with a frown. “Look, we can’t talk here, but-”

The warning bell rings, cutting him off. “Shit,” you mutter, shoving your books into your bag and turning away from Clark. He calls your name but you wave him off. “Later, Clark, I can’t be late again.” He watches you go with a frown, running a hand through his hair before turning toward his own class. 

Not even ten minutes later you spot him walking past Mrs. Brown’s room. Though, you swear he was wearing a red shirt not a green one. You could be wrong, it’s not as if you had long to take in his outfit.

You figure he’s just passing by and go back to taking your notes. There’s a light hiss from the door and you frown, looking up to see him hovering in the doorway and waving you forward. You glare toward Mrs. Brown’s back and shake your head. No way, you mouth. 

Clark gives you a pleading look, frowning and motioning you forward again. You know that look, you’ve been on the receiving end of it for years now. He’s clearly not going to let go of whatever  he was badgering you about this morning. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” You call out, not bothering raising your hand. The old bat’s half-blind, you doubt she’d see it anyway. 

She answers without even bothering to turn around and face you. “If you need to use the restroom, you do so before my class,” her shaky voice calls out with a huff. 

You roll your eyes and grab your bag, stuffing your books in it as she turns back to the board. There’s no point in arguing with her, she’s never going to give in. You wait until she drops her eraser. The second she bends over to grab it, you’re bolting toward the door. Clark grabs your arm, dragging you behind him.

He makes a break for the end of the hall, blowing past the geometry class he’s meant to be in. He busts through the school doors and leads you quickly through the courtyard. “Clark,” you hiss, trying to hold back a laugh at the stupid grin on his face. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes alight with mischief, “Come on, you can’t tell me you actually want to listen to her rambling on about Shakespeare for an hour.”

You can’t argue with that, but he hasn’t done a jail bust for you in a while. Especially not during one of the few classes he shares with Lana. “No, I didn’t,” you pause as you realize he’s leading you to your car and not his truck. “Am I driving?”

“Truck didn’t start this morning,” he tells you shortly, not bothering with any further explanation. You swear you saw him drive in this morning but you could be wrong. It’s not like he’s the only kid driving his dad’s old busted truck in this town. “I’ll drive, though, you won’t know where we’re going.”

“Ominous,” you snark as he takes your hand in his, directing you toward the passenger door. Gentle hands push you up against the side of the car and he ducks down, leaning into your space. You crane your neck up, flushing slightly at the proximity. Any closer and you could kiss him. 

“Well?” He questions softly, lips curling up in a half-smile that makes you want to melt. You blink, forgetting what you were doing before you notice his outstretched, open, palm. Swallowing thickly you take your keys out of your bag and place them in his hand. “Thanks,” he ducks down, soft lips pressed against your cheek before rounding the front of the car. 

Your hand drifts toward your cheek, a bewildered smile on your face as you try and regulate your breathing. “What the hell?” You mutter, shaking your head slightly. Turning around, you open the car door and slip into the passenger seat. 

Clark greets you with a grin, scooping your hand up in his as he pulls out of the school parking lot. You don’t want to think about the trouble you’re going to be in tomorrow, all you can focus on is how good Clark’s hand feels in yours. 

“I’m really starting to feel like I’m getting kidnapped,” you joke, head tilting to look out the window. The golden fields stretch endlessly, rolling past in waves as the car gets further from town. Houses become scarce, replaced by sprawling farmland and grazing cattle. The further you go, the more isolated you feel. 

Clark chuckles, but there’s something off about the sound, a slight wheeze, a strain where there wasn’t before. His face crumples and he turns away from you, his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel from his tight grip. 

“Are you okay?” You reach instinctively toward him but he jerks his hand back. You gasp, jumping back when you catch a glimpse of his face. It ripples, the skin shifting unnaturally, as if something beneath it is struggling to break free. 

“Oh no,” Clark groans, voice strained. His entire body spasms and his hands slip from the wheel. The car lurches violently to the side, tires screeching against the pavement. Panic surges through you, hands bracing against the door as you shout his name. 

He curls into himself, muscles seizing, leaving the car veering out of control. The telephone pole ahead rushes toward you, growing larger by the second. You throw yourself forward, grasping at the wheel, desperately trying to steer, but Clark’s foot slams against the gas instead of the brake. 

Everything happens too fast. A blur flashes in front of the windshield. Then, a sudden stop. Your body flies forward, arms bracing against the dashboard as your head whips forward and back, pain rattling through your spine. 

You whine in discomfort, slowly sitting up and trying to take in your surroundings. The passenger door is ripped open. You flinch, recoiling instinctively and sending a shock of pain down your body. Your breath stutters as someone ducks their head inside, a startling familiar pair of blue eyes find yours.  

“Clark?” You whisper, gaze flicking to the seat beside you where Clark still sits, doubled over, his breathing ragged. 

The Clark outside the car reaches in and gently pulls you out. Warm, calloused hands skate carefully over your arms and shoulders. He cups the back of your neck, tilting your head up, thumbs gently smoothing over your jaw as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice is soft, thick with concern. His eyes briefly leave yours to double check you for any injuries he might have missed. 

Your heart pounds. This isn’t possible. You must be concussed. You blink rapidly still struggling to wrap your head around the whole two Clark’s thing when the second one stumbles out of the car. 

He steps are uneven as he rounds the fender, his entire body shaking. Your rescuer moves swiftly, placing himself between you and the other Clark. He shields you, broad shoulders tense, protective to a fault. Must be the real one. Right? You rub your aching head and frown. 

“What were you going to do with her?” The one in front of you barks the question out, his voice sharp and edged with something dangerous.

“I just,” the other one keels over, cutting himself off with a pained groan and shaking his head. “Wanted to get away,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forcing himself straight again. 

“And you had to take her with you?”

“What’s going on?” You jut in, stepping back from both of them. Facing them, you see the same wounded expression reflected on both faces. Whichever is the fake, he’s certainly mastered the puppy dog look. 

Your rescuer tries to take a step forward but you throw your hand up, keeping them both at bay until you know what’s going on. He sighs and glances over at his shoulder at the other one.  “How long have you been able to do this?” 

It's like they start a conversation in the middle and you’re completely lost.  “Last year, I never saw a use for it and it was too much of a pain. But then I realized,” he looks at you, face contorting. “You would never go for a guy like me. You couldn’t. You were too wrapped up in him,” he spits the word out with venom, nodding toward the Clark you know has to be the real one. 

“You love him and that stupid all-American smile.” He chuckles, but it breaks off into a groan as he doubles over in pain, clutching his stomach. He drops to his knees and moans through clenched teeth, clutching at his face as he folds over. The longer black hair shrinks to a dull brown, broad shoulders slimming as the clothes he wears hang loose on him.

The illusion shatters, “Oh, God, Blake?” You gasp out, taking one step toward him. He shakes his head and you stop as Clark grabs your elbow. You glance up at him but he just shoots you a soft look that has you rooted to the spot. 

“I’ve been in love with you since freshman year,” Blake chuckles, still sounding like every word hurts. “If only I figured it out earlier, it’s always going to be him. I never had a chance, did I?” His gaze flickers toward Clark before he collapses to the pavement. 

You both go running toward Blake. Pressing your trembling fingers to his neck, you let out a sigh of relief when you feel his faint heartbeat. 

“We need to get him to a hospital, fast.” You lean back from Blake, looking around for Clark’s truck, confused when you don’t see it. “Dammit, Clark, where's the truck?”

He flushes, shaking his head, “I didn’t bring it.”

You frown, “What’re you talking about?” 

He glances toward Blake, the rise and fall of his chest steadily slowing. When he looks back at you his expression is unreadable, an intensity to it that you’ve never seen before. “I need you to trust me.”

“Always,” you tell him without missing a beat. He gives you a small smile but it lacks the usual warmth. 

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” You glare at him but he just shakes his head. 

“Please,” he looks close to begging and the pulse under your grip is getting weaker. Swallowing down your confusion you close your eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I’ll be back.”

You frown, feeling a rough breeze blow back your hair as your eyes shoot open. But the spot in front of you is empty and the body under your hand has disappeared. Getting to your feet, you spin in one slow circle. There’s nothing out here except golden fields, your totaled car, and you. All alone. 

Clark eventually came back for you. His truck rolling into view after being on your own for half an hour. You hadn’t talked to him the whole ride back to town, too shocked by everything that had happened. 

He carried the conversation for the both of you, offering a brief explanation that only confused you more. Blake had apparently been one of the meteor freaks, somehow being exposed to it when it had left a crater in your town. 

But Clark didn’t tell you how he made it across the highway and to the hospital in under five minutes with no car. He didn’t tell you anything that actually mattered. So, you told him to drop you off at home and you haven’t seen him in a week. 

Chloe had called you once during your self-induced isolation, just to tell you that she’d driven by Blake’s house. Apparently the entire place looked like it had been cleaned out. No sign of him or his parents anywhere. You wish you could say you care, but you don’t. You’re almost grateful he’s gone. Not only did he reveal your long held secret infatuation to Clark, he’d clearly had ill intentions as he tried to take you out of town. 

Your Nokia nearly buzzes itself off your nightstand as you set your book to the side and look at the all-too familiar contact.

Clarkie

The stupid nickname you’d given him in middle school lights up the small screen and you let out a rough sigh, watching as it rings and rings before finally quieting. The screen goes dark before lighting up once more as his ringtone fills the silence of your room. He doesn’t give up easily, you have to give him that. 

You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to face him. Not now that he knows about your feelings for him. There’s no hiding what Blake so plainly laid out for him. You sink into the comforts of the pillows on your bed and wonder if you could just live here forever. 

Something knocks against your window and you ignore it as nothing more than a branch from the tree. It’s not much longer before it happens again and you rip your hands off your face and are forced to sit up. Your phone rings once more and there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that you know exactly who waits outside your window. 

“You can’t hide forever,” comes an annoying cheerful voice from outside. You force yourself off your bed and slink toward your window. Sure enough, Clark waits below it, a boyish grin poised on his face as he looks up at you. As much as you’re avoiding him, it’s plain cruel to just leave him outside. 

Reluctantly, you open your window and he’s quick to climb your tree. You back up as he slots his broad frame through and into your room. He lets out a short huff of breath and straightens up, giving you a sheepish smile. 

Taking a seat on your bed, you find it a tad difficult to look at him. Clark sucks in a deep breath and grabs your desk chair. He straddles it, resting on the back of it and staring at you until you feel like he’s going to burn holes into the side of your face. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You hum and shrug, tucking a loose wave behind your ear. “I’ve been sick,” you lie, briefly looking up. The intense way he’s looking at you leaves you breathless and you have to take in a slow breath so your heart doesn’t kick up too much.  

“I want to tell you something.” Your head shoots up, concern lacing through you at the grave tone of his words. He looks away from you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, actually, I want to ask you something first. Is, uh,” he chuckles a little and licks his lips, a nervous tick he’s never been able to kick. “Is all that stuff that Blake said true?”

Your stomach drops, burying your face in your hands, you let out a low groan. “Oh, god,” you suck in a sharp breath, unable to look at him as heat flushes through you. 

Lying is always an option. It’s a poor option, but it’s there. Maybe, if you just lied straight through your teeth he would drop it and leave you alone. But you’ve been hiding this for so long, tucked so tightly to your chest, it would be a relief to finally be unburdened of the truth. 

“Yes,” you whisper. You don’t want to look at him, don’t want to face the truth of his rejection. Clark has been your best friend since you could walk, losing him over this stupid crush would destroy you. 

The silence drags on for too long and you feel the anxiety calling its way around you. Warmth envelops your hands and calloused palms draw them away from your face. 

You peek one eye open to find Clark kneeling before you, a soft smile on his face. “You better not be laughing at me, Kent.”

A small chuckle slips through his lips and you slap at his shoulder. He catches your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’m not, I promise. I wish you’d told me.”

“Why? So I could ruin our friendship faster?” You snark. 

“No, so I could do this,” he darts forward, soft lips capturing yours. You freeze up, eyes wide as his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. 

There’s a brief moment of shock where you’re completely frozen. But then you feel the way his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand. And you find yourself melting into the feeling of his embrace, eyes closing as you slowly open up to him. Your arms find their way around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the soft waves of his hair. 

The kiss itself is gentle, chaste almost. But it warms you from the inside out, makes you feel like you’re going to be nothing but a puddle of goo the longer he holds you. When he pulls back, he drags it out, lips lingering as long as they can. 

You’re slow to recover, eyes glazed over as you stare at him. He seems just as shocked, like he hadn’t expected to do that. Of course, you say the first thing that comes to mind instead of just shutting up and enjoying the moment. “What about Lana?” You blurt out, wincing the second it leaves your mouth. 

He frowns at you and shrugs, “What about her?”

“You’ve been blowing me off for months for her. We go to her shop every day just so you can stare at her. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly discovered feelings for me. I won’t be your backup, Clark.”

He shakes his head vehemently, looking almost offended by the idea. “What? No. Of course you’re not,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you before sinking back on his heels with a huff. “Look, I wasn’t ditching you for her, I can explain all that,” he pauses and then quickly adds, “later.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and he reaches up, taking your hands in his. “There’s a lot I have to tell you. But the most important thing is that I am completely over Lana.”

“Really?” You question, tone harsh but bordering almost on teasing. “You look at all your friends like that?”

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “just you,” he adds with a cheeky smirk. You roll your eyes and shake your head, looking away from him. “Whatever you thought you saw between us, it was only on her end. I swear, it’s been you for a long time.”  

You look away, but he’s not accepting that, tilting your chin to face him once more. “It’s always been you,” he murmurs, voice steady, certain.

Your breath hitches, heart stuttering in your chest. Maybe this is real. Maybe it’s been you that’s been the oblivious idiot. 

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze head-on. “Then prove it.”

His smile is slow, confident, and this time when he leans in you don’t hesitate to meet him halfway.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[purgatory-is-life]

*crawls out of my blanket nest covered in blood* TRANS FEMME HEADCANONS YOU SAY

I'm here to spread my trans femme Tim stoker and sero hanta agenda

-Tim is absultely entrenched in the queer community but it takes her FOREVER to realize shes a girl especially after Danny's death

-she didnt really struggle with dysphoria until after the Prentiss incident and that was partially due to just Everything Changing and Going Wrong already

-assumed she was non binary at first bc she didn't think she could be a girl and still be comfortable or at least neutral to being called he/him

-Melanie and daisy being around was absolutely what helped crack her egg. Daisy=werewolf=gender i don't make the rules. Melanie is also an angry trans woman who Tim works with and Tim thinks shes so cool but is too depressed and angry at the world to really start up a proper conversation with her

-literally nothing changes abt her i think, she even still goes by Tim probably, she just wears skirts and dresses more and starts using she/her

-used to help Sasha do her makeup so whenever she actually feels like doing makeup hers is always the best in the whole institute

-literally nothing more gender than being doomed by the narrative

Sero!!

-definition of "I'm probably a girl but I have a job so idrc abt that right now"

-I headcanon she was pretty isolated/lonely growing up so she didnt know a whole lot abt the queer community and it isn't until shes with class 1a that she even starts learning more abt it

-Mina, momo, kirishima, and hagakure helped her with her gender crisis. Momo bought her the fanciest dresses and whatever outfits she wanted and kirishima and mina talked to her abt all the different ways to express/experience gender, and hagakure was always there encouraging her to try new things and talk abt her own experience with hrt (everyone in class 1a is queer to me. With one exception but we dont talk abt the grape)

-I am so abnormal abt giving sero a spider motif so I headcanon she changed her name to arachne. She doesnt really mind her birth name, but she likes arachne much better.

-took literally all three years of school at UA to realize shes a trans woman. There was just always something else going on

I need more ppl to see the vision bc theres so few trans femme sero fics and NO TRANSFEMME TIM FICS on ao3 and I'm but one person who's a slow writer PLEASEE

If you see this post you’re legally required to tell me at least one trans woman headcanons you have for a canonically male character, I never get to see transfem headcanons like that, give me them, and for equality of my own please know estrogen could have saved Insector Haga and Dinosaur Ryuzaki I will not elaborate, also Yuya.

[pacofprunes]

DARK / TOXIC SQUID GAME REACTIONS TO YOU TRYING TO LEAVE THEM

CONTAINS — namgyu x reader, thanos x reader, myungi x reader, inho x reader, sangwoo x reader, saebyeok x reader

WARNINGS — toxic relationship, domestic violence, baby trapping, manipulation, guilt trip, prepare yourself for namgyus that’s the worst probably, mentions of suicide (thanos)

masterlist

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI-SUBONG — manipulates you / would let you leave and crawl back to him

doesn’t take it well at all. he’s going to laugh and think you’re joking, but after realizing that you’re not, he’s quickly going to scream at you. telling you that you’ll never find anybody better than him.

“do you really think anybody else will want you? if you leave me you’ll never find anyone else. you’ll never find anybody better!”

he’ll start breaking shit. punching walls, shit, he’ll even break your own phone if it’s in arms reach. if you still insist on leaving he’ll say he’s gonna overdose. he tells you that he’ll kill himself if you step out that door while pressing a blade up to his arm. if all else fails, he’ll totally act like he didn’t just beg you to stay and scream at you to go then and not to come running back.

“fine bitch, go ahead and leave! but don’t come running back to me for nothin’.”

in reality, he’s definitely stalking your socials, making fake accounts you haven’t blocked him on, stalking your friends accounts to see other photos of you, visiting the club every night (not that he didn’t already do that) to try to see if you’d show up. after about a month or so of doing this and going out and fucking other girls to get over you, he can’t do it anymore. he’ll send you some fake heartfelt text that he probably used ai to make and call you while making himself sound like he was crying, trying to make you feel bad and convince you that he’s changed and that he can be a better boyfriend. if you fall for it, you’re doomed. the relationships only going to be a million times worse than before. instead of knocking glass over and breaking shit, he might slap you. in public, he might grip your wrist ten times tighter, scared you’ll run away. when he finally lets go, his fingers will be embedded in your skin. he might even guilt trip you into getting a matching tattoo with him. “if you really loved me and forgave me then you would.”

if you really don’t go back to him though, no matter how many times you block him, you’ll get a new video sent to your phone from some unknown number of him fucking a new girl. he sent you the videos in hopes of making you jealous or something. he’s not going to stop for a long time. if you don’t go back to him, he’s going to harass you for the rest of your life. and if you do go back? you’re in for a world of hell.

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124 — would threaten you, would actually harm you

“you’re one funny bitch. you know how much shit i got on you?”

he finds it admirable, honestly. but still, fucking hilarious, that you, you, think you can leave him. what? when did you grow some balls? yeah, no. you just hurt his ego and that’s about the stupidest thing you could ever do to him. he’s not very empty with his threats. if he says he’s leaving? he’ll leave. (for like a week…) if he says he’s gonna hit you? you’re gonna be bruised for a while. if he says he’s gonna kill you? well, you haven’t gotten to that point yet. but keep this up and you sure will.

he keeps every nude and threatens to release it. sure you’re his and all, but that doesn’t stop him. so what if some other guy sees your body? he could care less. now if another guy touches you? let’s not think about what would happen. threatens to send the pictures to your family and threatens to send every sex tape of you two that he filmed behind your back.

“what the fuck is wrong with you namgyu? when the fuck did you film that?”

don’t raise your voice at him. once he hits you and you fall to the ground, he’ll keep kicking at you with his foot over and over until he thinks you’ve had enough. don’t speak up to him, don’t speak against him, and don’t piss him off. just sit there and be pretty, okay? he’s going to be bolder now. next time you two have sex he’s just going to shove the camera in your face. he’s going to manipulate and force you to take nudes for him since you don’t want to anymore after he threatened to send them out. sometimes he’ll force you to strip and then he’ll just take the pictures himself. all in all, sometimes he might just say no and leave it at that. but if you keep pushing, he’s going to threaten you. and if you still keep pushing, he’s going to go through with those threats. you really are just some whore to him, don’t think he’s above killing you.

MYUNGI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★— would let you leave and crawl back to him (except he’s the one who crawls back), babytrapping

“really? fine, if that’s what you want then leave.”

he acts like he doesn’t care because he thinks his annoyance will make you turn right back around to him. he acts like he doesn’t care because he’s trying to not get so bent out of shape about it and move on quickly. but when he hears your footsteps disappear and the door shut, he immediately balls up his fists. you seriously left? he didn’t expect that, but whatever. he doesn’t need you.

he tries to move on but after barely even a week, he can’t do it. he contacts you, but when you block him, he makes more and more numbers. he thought you’d be running back to him, not the opposite. he sends you pictures of you two together in hopes you’d change your mind, but when you just keep blocking him, he’s knocking on your door demanding you open it up. he tries being nice but when you don’t open it, he starts banging on the door. really? you’d been together for months and you’d already gotten over him? no. no no no. you don’t get to just move on! what the hells wrong with you? when you still don’t open the door, he leaves and goes back to his place and sits on his bed while he ponders his next move. he decides for now just to stalk your page and harass you from more and more numbers. he’s not going to stop until you at least respond. oh, you’re gonna get a restraining order? you’re funny. you think that’ll stop him? don’t go back to him. if for some reason you give in, the next time that you two have sex, he’s going to make sure that you can’t leave. he’s sure that you’ll look so pretty with your stomach swelled up.

INHO / YOUNGIL / PLAYER 001 — straight up says no / baby traps / makes you feel like you’re going crazy

straight up, no. you want to leave? no. he doesn’t even care for an explanation on why, you’re not leaving. completely ignores your words and changes the whole topic. everytime you try to say you’re leaving he just completely overrides you with something different.

“inho, i’m serious. i’m leaving you! i’m packing my shit right now and i’m not coming back, i swear to you.”

“what did you want for dinner again? i have to go back out to get some groceries so there’s not too much…”

maybe it’s on purpose, maybe it’s not. but it makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. then he will deliberately go out of his way to make it seem like you’re crazy.

“i’m leaving because of what you’ve been doing behind my back, inho. it’s fucked up and you’re insane.”

“baby, you could follow me around tomorrow. i’ve got no idea what you mean.”

and he says it all with that stupid small polite smile that he gives everyone. you just want to strangle him. if somehow he can get you in bed with him after you just got so pissed, he’ll be more passionate than ever. he’ll treat you nice, focus on your pleasure before his and then quickly when you’re blissed out, he’ll pull out of you, slip the condom off and slide right back in. you don’t notice at all, but he makes sure to tell you like the cocky fuck he is. but he does it while he’s thrusting and when you can tell he’s about to cum. poor you, it’s too late to stop him :(.

“i’m about to fuck a baby in you — agh, i — i took the condom off. gonna have a beautiful—fuck—fucking baby with you.”

how could you leave now? do you have enough money to take care of a child without him? and would you really deprive your child of their father? you’ll get an abortion? he’ll find a way to keep you locked up in your house. you’re still going to leave? he’s going to guilt trip you to the max. and if that still fails? once again, he’s just going to find a way to keep you locked up in your house. he’ll figure it out as you go on, but for now, have your happy little family with him.

KANG SAE-BYEOK — straight up says no

she’s not going to entertain you at all. she might not even say no, opting to just stay silent instead. if you get in her face about it because she’s ignoring you, she’s just going to push you away. if you keep nagging her about it, she’s going to slap you. if you decide not to drop it, she’ll drag you by your hair and lock you in a room. are you stupid? don’t start this shit first thing in the morning.

“saebyeok, this isn’t working. we should go our separate ways.”

“no. did you hit your head or something?”

you should just drop it and move on with your day. nothing you say is going to convince her and if you piss her off too much, like said before, she’s just going to lock you away until you stop sounding ‘crazy’. she’s very cold, but she’s generally pretty nice to you still though. she’s a good girlfriend to you, just a little possessive, but it’s never gotten out of control. you just didn’t think the relationship was working and that it just wasn’t the right time. all in all, if you don’t push to much, you won’t see the shitty side of her that she never shows you. however, if you keep pushing the idea, she’s going to give you a real reason to break up with her.

SANGWOO — would let you leave and crawl back to him

“you want to break up? fine.”

it leaves you shocked at the sound of him not caring. it was as simple as that. you want to break up? bye then bitch! it hurt. it almost made you want to change your mind and say never mind and just stay with him, and that’s exactly what he wanted. that’s exactly why he said it like that. but that didn’t work and you just walked out the door. that’s fine though, you’d come back to him, he knows it.

he makes sure to post old photos of you two on his Instagram. not ones with your face in it, duh, but he posts the photos that you took of him where you’re behind the camera or ones where your arm or your hand is slightly showing. he knows you still stalk his socials. he’s posting these knowing that it’s going to hurt your little heart and make you crawl right back. he leaves every photo of you two up on every platform, not deleting a single thing. for a little while, he even keeps his pfp the same. you two holding hands. whenever he posts something, he always makes sure to put something in the caption that he knows you love. you liked tulips? he’ll put a tulip emoji in the caption. you loved cats? he’ll put a cat emoji in his bio. all these subtle things where you won’t know he’s doing it on purpose, but it’ll be so much of a coincidence that you’ll think this is a sign to run back to him.

he’ll tell his friends to ask about him to you whenever they talk with you.

“how are you and sangwoo doing?”

“oh he talks about you all the time.”

he tells them to act like they don’t know that the two of you have broken up. he makes sure to get in your head and eventually? you’ll come running back. if for some reason you don’t, he might have to pull some strings. spread some rumors about you so that your friends want nothing to do with you and so all that you have to run to for comfort is him.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 19 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇sighhh…don’t kill me for this chapter…pregnancy happens

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/n stirred awake, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her limbs ached, and a deep nausea curled in her stomach, making her groan softly. She tried shifting to her side, but the moment she did, a sharp wave of dizziness hit her, followed by the unbearable churning in her gut. She barely had time to sit up before she was scrambling out of bed, her feet unsteady as she rushed to the nearest basin. The sickness overtook her in violent heaves, leaving her trembling as she clutched the edges of the table for support. Her throat burned, her body weak, and yet the sensation wouldn’t ease.

Raphael wasn’t in the room—thank the gods—but Adonis stirred in his crib nearby, letting out a soft, sleepy whimper. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing heavily as she tried to steady herself. This wasn’t just exhaustion. It wasn’t stress. Her hands instinctively went to her stomach, her breath catching in her throat.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

Her body had felt different for weeks now, the fatigue, the subtle changes in her appetite, the way certain smells made her stomach turn. But she had been too afraid to acknowledge it, too afraid to put the pieces together. And now, with the sickness gripping her so suddenly, the realization crashed down on her all at once.

She was pregnant.

Her chest tightened, panic creeping into her veins. Her knees buckled, and she barely caught herself against the table, her breaths coming out shallow. This was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This child—it wasn’t supposed to exist.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she swallowed back a sob, her gaze flickering toward Adonis. Her beautiful boy. He was supposed to be Telemachus’s first and only son. He was supposed to be raised in Ithaca, safe and loved. But now—now there was another. A child born of her suffering. A child who would never know peace.

Her hands clutched at her stomach as her body shook, overwhelmed with fear, grief, and something else—something she couldn’t name. Because no matter how much she wanted to reject the thought, no matter how much she despised the man who had done this to her… the life inside her was innocent. A choked sob escaped her lips, her shoulders trembling.

What was she going to do?

She sat on the floor, her back against the bed, knees drawn up as she cradled Adonis tightly to her chest. Her arms trembled as she rocked him, her tears falling silently into his soft curls. The weight of her realization, the horror of what was growing inside her, pressed down on her like an unrelenting storm. “Telemachus…” she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely above a breath.

Adonis cooed sleepily against her, his tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. He didn’t understand—how could he? He was just a baby, innocent and pure, untouched by the cruelty of the world. “Telemachus…” she repeated, the name breaking apart as another sob tore through her.

She wanted him here. She needed him here. If she could just hear his voice, feel his arms around her, everything would be okay. He would fix this. He would take her away from this nightmare. But he wasn’t here. And for all she knew, he never would be.

Her chest tightened, her grip on Adonis desperate as she pressed her cheek against his warm head. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, though she didn’t know if she was apologizing to her son, to herself, or to the husband she might never see again. She squeezed her eyes shut, her whole body trembling. “Telemachus… Telemachus… Telemachus…”

She kept saying his name, like a prayer, like a lifeline, like if she said it enough times, he would hear her. He would come for her. And gods help anyone who stood in his way.

——

Raphael pushed open the door, his body slick with sweat from the rigorous training session, his muscles aching with exertion. His breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling as he stepped into the dimly lit room. But the sight before him made all of that fade into the background. She sat on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around Adonis, her whole body trembling. Her face was buried in the infant’s dark curls, her silent sobs making her shoulders shake.

His jaw tightened.

“What now?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his damp hair. He was exhausted, irritated from training, and the last thing he needed was her sulking over whatever pathetic thing was on her mind. Still, with a sigh, he crossed the room, crouching in front of her. “Y/n,” he said, voice steady but laced with restrained impatience. She didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

His brow twitched in annoyance. He grabbed her arm, not rough, but firm enough to pull her up. She didn’t resist, but she was limp in his grasp, like she had no strength left to fight. That unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down with surprising gentleness. Her arms instinctively curled around herself, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Raphael sat beside her, hands braced on his knees as he studied her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice more level this time. No immediate answer.

His patience frayed. “Y/n,” he said sharply, reaching out and gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Talk.” Nothing. Just those damn glassy, distant eyes.

His fingers twitched, his jaw clenched, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t know why he was holding back, why he wasn’t shaking the answer out of her. Maybe it was because she looked so… broken. More than usual. Finally, he clicked his tongue, exhaling through his nose. “Fine,” he muttered, letting go of her chin and leaning back. “Stay quiet, then.”

His eyes darkened as he studied her trembling form. Whatever this was, she wasn’t going to tell him. And that pissed him off. But he’d let it slide, for now at least.

——

She had become a ghost in her own skin. She moved through the days in silence, her once fiery spirit snuffed out like a candle in the wind. She barely ate, barely spoke. When Adonis cried, she would hold him, but there was no warmth in her touch, no gentle cooing to soothe him. She only existed, her eyes hollow, staring off at nothing. Raphael, for all his cruelty, had grown irritated—no, bored—of her state. At first, he had taken over caring for Adonis out of necessity, but the longer she remained locked in her grief, the more frustrated he became. He would talk to her, taunt her, even grab her chin to force her to look at him, but she would only blink dully and turn away.

He finally snapped when she ignored him for the hundredth time. “Enough of this pathetic act,” he snarled, grabbing her wrist and yanking her to her feet. She barely resisted, just stumbling after him like a ragdoll as he dragged her out of the room. “You’re going to a doctor. You’re going to get yourself fixed.”

She didn’t respond. The visit was short, the doctor clinical as he examined her, asked questions she barely answered. Then the words came, and even in her numbness, she felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

Pregnant.

Raphael was silent at first, processing. Then, slowly, a grin stretched across his face, one of pure delight. “Another child,” he murmured, almost in disbelief. He turned to her, his expression giddy, boyish, excited. “We’re having another child!” He wasted no time, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to his chambers with the energy of a man who had just won a great battle. As soon as they were inside, he spun her toward him, laughing, actually laughing as he placed his hands on her stomach.

“I knew it,” he grinned. “I knew you’d give me another heir. This is fate, my love.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath warm, his hands possessive. “I should throw a feast,” he said, voice dripping with excitement. “Or perhaps just keep you here all to myself.” He trailed kisses down her temple, sighing in contentment. “We’ll be a family, just like I promised.” She stared over his shoulder, her hands limp at her sides. She couldn’t fight him. Couldn’t cry. Couldn’t scream.

She was trapped.

And now, there was no escape.

Raphael sat beside her, his eyes alight with an almost childlike excitement. His fingers traced absentminded patterns over the silk sheets of the lavish chamber he had imprisoned her in. He had been in this mood ever since she told him—or rather, since he had figured it out himself. The signs had been there, her nausea, her exhaustion, the subtle change in her body. And when the healer had confirmed it, he had been nothing short of euphoric.

“Our child, y/n,” he murmured, his voice reverent as if speaking of a divine blessing. “Can you imagine? A perfect little thing, made of us. You’ll be such a beautiful mother.” He leaned forward, placing a hand gently over her stomach, as if he could already feel the life within. His other hand reached up to cup her cheek, his grip just firm enough to remind her of the control he held over her. “A perfect family.”

She stiffened beneath his touch, her body betraying none of the revulsion curling in her stomach. She had endured his delusions for so long, the constant whispers of devotion, the possessiveness disguised as love. But this—this was too much. Something inside her snapped.

She shoved his hand away, her eyes blazing as she finally let her anger spill forth. “This isn’t your family,” she hissed, her voice shaking with the sheer force of her rage. “You’re insane if you think we’ll ever be anything but this—this nightmare you’ve forced me into!” Raphael froze, his expression darkening for the briefest moment. His grip tightened around her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn her. For a second, she thought she had truly angered him, that she had pushed him too far.

But then, as if reining himself in, he let out a soft chuckle. The fire in his eyes dulled into something eerily patient. He reached forward again, this time with a gentler hand, and patted her head like one would soothe a temperamental child. “Oh, my love,” he cooed, tilting his head as if indulging her outburst. “It’s just your pregnancy hormones talking. You’re overwhelmed. That’s all.” His fingers trailed through her hair, his touch sickeningly tender. “You’ll see things differently soon enough.”

Her breath hitched, her body rigid with fury. She wanted to scream, to claw at him, to make him feel even an ounce of the helplessness she had suffered at his hands. But she knew better. He wanted her to fight. He wanted her to resist so he could remind her who held all the power. So she swallowed the fire in her throat, forcing herself to look away. But inside, her rage burned hotter than ever.

One day, she would make him regret ever thinking he could own her.

——

Raphael had always been possessive, but now, with her carrying his child, it had only worsened. He hovered over her constantly, treating her as if she were made of fragile glass. Every time she so much as shifted in her seat, he was there, hands outstretched as if she might break. “You shouldn’t be moving so much, my love,” he murmured as he guided her back onto the plush cushions of the chaise. “It’s not good for the baby.”

She clenched her jaw, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I can walk just fine, Raphael.”

But he only chuckled, his expression softening as if she were saying something endearing rather than snapping at him. “Of course you can, little dove. But you don’t have to. You must be so tired.” He smoothed a hand over her stomach, his touch lingering as he gazed at her with adoration. “You’re carrying something so precious. Our child.” She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat.

He had turned her pregnancy into his obsession. He spoke of it constantly, as if it were some divine miracle rather than a result of his own selfish desires. Every meal was meticulously prepared, every garment tailored for comfort, every moment filled with his doting attention—attention that felt more like a cage than care.

He refused to let her do anything alone. If she even tried to brush her own hair, he would take the comb from her hands with a chiding smile. “Let me,” he would say, as if she were incapable. He delighted in the smallest tasks—adjusting the pillows behind her back, feeding her pieces of fruit with his own fingers, draping warm blankets over her shoulders even when she wasn’t cold. And worst of all, he spoke to her like she was a child.

“My darling, don’t pout,” he cooed one morning when she turned her face away from the breakfast he had personally arranged for her. “You need to eat. The baby needs to eat. Come on, just one bite.”

When she ignored him, he sighed dramatically, picking up a small piece of honey-soaked bread and holding it to her lips. “Y/n,” he hummed in that sickeningly sweet voice, “are we being fussy today?”

Her nails dug into her palms. “I am not a child.”

Raphael only laughed, pressing the bread to her lips until she had no choice but to take it. “No, but you are mine,” he whispered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And that means I take care of you. Even when you’re being stubborn.” She felt suffocated beneath the weight of his affection, beneath the sickly-sweet way he fawned over her. It wasn’t love. It was control, wrapped in velvet and laced with poison.

And she was drowning in it.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo

@galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee

@minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 5

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando woke up feeling like absolute shit.

His head was pounding, his mouth was drier than the desert, and judging by the fact that he’s still half-dressed and tangled in a celebratory McLaren flag, last night must have been good.

He groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. He remembered fragments of the night before - flashes of bright lights, loud music, and way too much drinking.

He had won.

Lando Norris was a Formula 1 Grand Prix Winner.

He had been nearly drowned in champagne by Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

He had won the 2024 Miami Grandprix.

Lando let out a sigh and gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, clutching his head as a sharp pain shot through his temples.

He fumbled for his phone, cringing at the notifications that had piled up overnight. Messages from friends, family, and the racing world congratulating him on his victory.

He blinked blearily at his phone.

Too early. Too bright. Too… too.

But there’s one thing he needs to do before he even considers getting up.

He scrolled through his notifications, heart sinking when he still doesn’t see Lizzie’s name.

But there’s nothing.

His fingers fumble as he types out another message.

Lando: Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? You didn’t answer last night. I was a bit… not in the best state, but I was really hoping to hear from you.

Lando: I’m just worried. Is everything alright? I know I was probably being a bit much last night, but you can always just let me know if you need space or whatever. I just want to make sure you’re good.

Nothing.

Lando stared at his phone, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with each passing second. He didn't understand why Lizzie hadn't responded, and the not knowing was driving him crazy.

He groaned, running a hand down his face.

He tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

His stomach twists.

Lando didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Lizzie was usually pretty good about replying to his messages.

He tried texting again.

Lando: Look, I get it if you need time. I don’t want to come off too strong. I just feel like I should've heard from you by now, and I’m starting to panic a bit. Just a quick text would help me breathe for a second, you know?

Lando stared at his phone, watching the time tick by with agonizing slowness. He'd been awake for nearly an hour now, and Lizzie hadn't responded to any of his messages.

He tried calling again, only to be met with the same response - straight to voicemail...again.

And then his phone pinged.

Lizzie: Hi, this is Lizzie’s father. She’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures. She’s woken up a few times, but she’s not very responsive. I don’t know who you are, but judging by the way she’s saved your contact as ‘Lando Not Dying Yet Norris,’ I assume you’re important enough to be told.

Lando blinks. Stares. His hangover vanishes instantly.

She’s at the Royal Sussex Hospital. Thought I’d tell you in case you want to show up to visit her.

Lando feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

Hospital. Seizures. Not responsive.

He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until he fumbles trying to type back.

Lando: I—fuck. Is she okay? What happened?

Three little dots appear, then vanish. Then appear again.

Lizzie: She’s stable. But it was bad.

Lando pushes back the covers, already moving, already grabbing for his McLaren hoodie like that will somehow help him fix this.

He needs to be there.

Now.

His hands are unsteady as he opens his flight app. The next available flight back to London is in four hours.

Not soon enough.

Lando: I’m coming back to the UK. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

There’s no reply, but Lando doesn’t care. His heart is hammering, his mind racing, and there’s only one thing he knows for sure—

He has to get to Lizzie.

He…

There was a knock at the door.

Lando jumped, his already frayed nerves on edge. "Who is it?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly.

“It’s Oscar.”

Lando sagged with relief as he recognized the Australian accent drifting through the door. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and Oscar Piastri poked his head into the room. His eyes widened when he saw Lando’s harried expression. “Mate, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lando shook his head, feeling the tension in his shoulders tighten even more. "No, not alright. Lizzie’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures."

Oscar’s expression immediately darkened. "What the hell? Multiple seizures? How is she doing now?”

“Not good, apparently. Her dad said she’s stable, but she’s not very responsive. I’m flying back to London to see her.” Lando ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his heart still racing with worry.

“God damn.” Oscar stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. He studied Lando’s face for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a mess, mate. Have you eaten anything?”

Lando shook his head, the thought of food making his stomach churn. "No, I haven't even had a chance to think about food. I’m just freaking out, mate. I’ve never seen her have a seizure, let alone multiple seizures…She had one last week before we had dinner, but she seemed fine, just tired… I have no idea how bad it’s going to be. This is...this is so messed up."

Oscar nodded sympathetically, his expression still grave. "Go," he said simply. "I'll make your apologies to Zac and the team."

Lando nodded numbly, already moving to pack a bag. Oscar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "And mate? Try to keep calm. You won’t do Lizzie any good if you’re a wreck yourself."

Lando huffed out a breath. "I’ll try."

"Can you tell Max..." Lando trailed off. He had no idea what to even…

Oscar's expression softened. “I’ll tell Max. And the others. You just focus on getting to the hospital, alright?”

Lando nods, his throat suddenly feeling thick. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Oscar."

[bvidzsoo]

Minaaaa, my lovely Mina, let me munch on your cheeks, you're literally so sweet my jaw was on the floor reading this...like SHUT UP

Ngl I was surprised when you said you'd be pushing back reading this cuz DAFUQ Hongjoong is literally your man, but priorities first, I guess-ahahaha, luv u don't come for me ok bye.

Anyways, I don’t even know where to start. Whenever I read something new of yours, it feels like you outdo your previous work, which is crazy because I always think, “This is it, this is the story!” But then you go ahead and prove me wrong by creating a new masterpiece that won’t leave my head for an X amount of time.

Man, keep your toes under the blanket tonight because I might just find them...you always say stuff that just makes me go AUDHIFBIIHFNKABSDKGF-

Both the MC and Hongjoong were really interesting characters in this story and for a good chunk into the fic, I didn't know what to think about Hongjoong. He was quite annoying in the beginning with his "know it all" talk and I feel like his attempt at cheering up the MC was so poorly done on his part, like what was he thinking talking sweet to her when another douchebag was already getting on her nerves? 😭 It wasn't even anything remotely nice, he literally talked about her as if she was an object. what is this shitshow of a man? 👹 I also like how you made his appearance give a hint of "I'm a mysterious guy" but he still turned out to be a douche. I feel like in most stories nowadays, the mysterious character is almost always flawless or perfect. They never get to fuck up.

I feel like you somehow always have beef with my male leads and idk if it's funny or if it's starting to make me sad AHAHAHA, Hongjoong was tryna do good but my mans was smoked out and also just...trying to help lmao. I didn't even intend to make him mysterious, but I'm certainly fine with it coming off like that. Our man, Hongjoong, is far from being perfect so it's good mister didn't get away with anything haha.

Oh, this shit got me fucked up. Lord knows I would've lost my job that night if a customer ever talked to me in that way. Matter of fact, I'd be put on a blacklist and be unemployed for the rest of my life because not only would I jump over the counter, but I'd beat the shit out of him until he wouldn't know the simplicity of the alphabet.

Lmao this sent me into a laughing fit cuz honestly...same, bestie, same. That man would've ended up with water tossed in his face minimum, and then would've come the hands throwing.

THE WAY I SCREAMED, LIKE FUUUUUCK!?!?!?!? WE GOT MULLET!JOONG CALLING ME A PRETTY BARISTA?????? THAT's ANOTHER THING — WE GOT MULLET JOONG BACK!!?! He can psycho analyze me all he wants baby- *GUNSHOT*

I guess this is how long your distaste for him lasted HAHA, I'm glad you'd rather have him [redacted] you than hate on him until the end of the drabble...wink wink

It's crazy how they haven't exchanged names until much later into the story :0 That's another thing that makes this story so real, their interactions aren't long enough for them to just stop and ask for each other's names, but they aren't that short to not have grown into some form of acquaintances.

tbh I haven't even thought about this, but them introducing each other later on felt more organic, so yup, you're right...they did grow into acquittances at last.

Is this said best friend perhaps Park Seonghwa? 👀

...maybe? 👀👀

The scene where Hongjoong and MC talk about their "dreams" /goals is so... nice and so real (again). How Hongjoong won't give his art to just anyone mirrors his irl personality too; how they value their works (songs and paintings) and just how much effort is put into it. We can clearly see the moment he "fell" in love with the MC. It wasn't the first night when she served him a Cosmopolitan or when she called him out on his bullshit, no that just caught his attention. The moment he knew MC was the possible one for him was when she saw him through his paintings. The MC subconsciously showed that she could see beyond Hongjoong's exterior and actually understand his soul. It's quite intimate, at least to me it felt like an intimate scene filled with a lot of emotions and to be frank, it's the best type of intimacy I've read in a while.

I hadn't even considered the fact that the Hongjoong in my story resembles the one irl, but I guess my subconscious is stronger since it worked without me even thinking of it ahahaha...but with that said, I'm glad I could make Hongjoong nuanced and true to his character, and he really did feel like he'd caught God's hand when the MC so easily saw through his art, seeing Hongjoong as he was and what he stood for. All in all...these two are a good pairing and I can assure you they have a happy future lined up in front of them ACK.

Thank you Minaa for reading and for possibly being my biggest supporter...? hehe, luv u lots<3

Through your colours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: artist!Kim Hongjoong x barista!reader

੭ Warning: recreational drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, swearing ੭ Word count: 11k ੭ Rating: nc-17 ੭ Genre: fluff, angst-ish, slice of life, strangers to lovers, a hint of simp Joong? post university setting ੭ Summary: A broke barista and a broke artist meet in a student infested dingy pub, what do they have in common? The desire to make something great of themselves, to live a fulfilled life. But first impressions can go wrong, deterring people from each other. You're probably lucky that's not how your story with Hongjoong goes, though.

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! I present you another story that was supposed to be a drabble but instead turned into...a smaller oneshot?? I consider anything that's below 15k a drabble because my oneshots just go over 20k all the time, save me! This idea came on a random whim while my pinterest suggested three photos lol, and it took me some time to write it, but it's here at last. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy it! divider

            Gustav Klimt had once, sometime during the nineteenth century, stated that, “Art is a line around your thoughts”. This could be interpreted many ways, of course, but for an artist it was just as plain and simple as Mr Klimt had said. Whatever was on your mind, you could give it life by putting it on a piece of paper by the brush of ink and feather against the parchment, or by the swift twist of one’s wrist as their brush coloured their canvas. Art comes in many forms, many thoughts, and many interpretations. After all, everyone relates to it based by their own experiences, based on the emotions they feel and have felt before…and overall, their capacity of seeing beyond what’s shoved in front of their eyes. Maybe that’s why Hongjoong would stare at a painting or picture for hours on end without growing tired. He liked to see everything, he wanted to understand every stroke of brush, or why the lightning fell in that specific way on the item in the picture. Hongjoong wanted to feel the same emotions the author of the creation had felt while creating their piece. It helped him draw inspiration, expand his horizons towards new possibilities. Hongjoong liked new challenges as long as they were about his art. In life, he preferred the steady and sure lifestyle, the one that was predictable enough that it wouldn’t send him into an existential crisis over the smallest inconvenience.

Hongjoong needed order in his life since his art was all over the place, judged by many and often misunderstood. He didn’t paint just for the fun of it, sure, there were passion projects he started on a whim without much of a goal in mind, and usually those were well received by his professors, by his colleagues. But whenever Hongjoong wanted to say something through his art, he’d get scrutinized for it. He yet had to find that one person that saw beyond what others called a mess. He’s never thrived for attention or validation, but it had gotten lonely after a while when he realised nobody really understood him. He felt like he was the odd one even in a crowd full of odd people. He’d always been different, more open-minded and receptive to the changes in the world, and he’d always been judged for it. Here, instead of being frowned upon due to his character, he was sometimes ignored because his art was either dull or not good enough. Nobody seemed to understand that art is relative and subjective, that whatever lay on the canvas made by Hongjoong was his and would always be. That he had dipped his brush into a touch of colour from his soul, displaying it for the world to see on the once blank canvas. He became vulnerable for them and yet nobody had appreciated it yet. And so, Hongjoong got used to not being seen for his art, but for who he was.

Quirky with questionable fashion taste to many, bold because he wasn’t afraid to try out new styles—much like with his paintings—and intimidating because no matter how many times he tried out something new, he’d instantly make it his, owning whatever concept he had in mind. Hongjoong knew not everyone was against him out there, but it was easy to fall hostage to such thoughts when he was alone. It would make sense for an artist to have a mind clouded by questions and rarely answers, a mind that worked too fast and yet never good enough. Doubts and fears pulling one down, Hongjoong loved expressing it through his paintings, his hand nothing but a guide to the brush clutched tightly between his fingers, calling out to him even when he chose to step away. Hongjoong was in it for life, and he wondered whether the weeping willow tree by the river bank in his framed painting was a premonition for how his life would look like.

            The bar was busy like every other night in this student-infested town. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore, you should have known better than to wear your boots with high heels. There were no seconds to waste and even less time for breaks between preparing drinks, cleaning the bar, and running around the room to clean the tables too. Nobody wanted their hands sticky because someone had previously spilt their drink, and you were more than ready to clock out for the night. The only problem was, however, that you still had three hours left of your shift. You sighed as you averted your eyes from the clock, realising you hadn’t started preparing the drink the drunk college student had asked for on the other side of the bar. His eyes were glossy and he was swaying in his spot, you debated filling his cup with water rather than Vodka, but you couldn’t risk getting a complaint since your boss was a stinky little fucker. Your hands worked fast, and years spent doing this kind of work were showing as you did a few tricks, hoping you’d get a nice tip. You doubted the college guy would leave a huge tip, if anything at all, but at least you tried. It was all about trying in places like this one. Trying to stay calm when a customer was rude, trying to remain sane when night after night the DJ played the same playlist for the drunken students, trying to smile and hide the fact that you hated when these frat boys flirted with you. And also try and hide the fact that you were fed up with people, and needed at least a month away from civilisation.

But if one wanted to achieve something in life, one had to work for it to happen since it wouldn’t fall from the sky. Going abroad and starting a new life over there wasn’t for free, and it especially wouldn’t happen overnight. You were well aware of that, that’s why you were working day and night, taking up shifts that were probably too long to be healthy. But the dream you had in mind demanded such sacrifices, and if it meant working hard right now for a comfortable life in the future, you were willing to spend your nights sleepless and surrounded by annoying college students. You had been like them once, after all, but that was a few years ago, and since then, the harsh reality has awoken you. What was the purpose of a degree you couldn’t do anything with? Yeah, you could’ve laughed at yourself, but then it would soon turn into hysterical crying and you weren’t strong enough to deal with such emotions. You’ve cried enough, it was time you took action now. You sighed as another rush of bodies crowded the bar, asking for shots and long cocktails. You weren’t a fancy place by any means, but you served the usual sweet cocktails that could be found in every other place. Your hands worked fast as you catered to everyone’s likes, your coworker, Hanni, was somewhere lost between the students as she had gone to clean up the tables. And even in your rush, it seemed like you couldn’t satisfy everyone. It shouldn’t have phased you, but you’ve had a rough day today.

“Hey, babe, think you could work those hands faster, maybe?” You ignored the question and smiled as a group of girls paid for their pink cocktails, leaving a bigger tip than most men would. You felt grateful and felt your smile turn genuine when the tallest in the group winked at you before they became part of the rowdy crowd again. Then, you could face your impatient customer. He didn’t look like a student, way too old to be in a crowd filled with students, but who were you to judge? Some people go to college at a later age, maybe he wanted to get the full student experience. Although, you doubted a thirty-year-old had anything in common with young adults on the brink of maturing, if they managed to mature during their upper-level study days.

“What can I get for you?” Your voice was raised since the music was booming, and unfortunately, you also had to lean over the counter to hear the man better. For some reason, that made the man smirk as he leaned forward as well, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat. You ignored it as your teeth ground together, you’ve seen men like him before, he wasn’t the first to act like this and you knew he wouldn’t be the last one either.

“How about…you, sugar?” Your expression didn’t budge as his smirk became shit eating as if he had accomplished anything by saying that. You waited, without blinking or reacting to what he’s said, hoping he’d catch on that he wasn’t hilarious nor flirty.

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?” That managed to throw you off as your head whipped to the side, eyebrows furrowing as you just now noticed the newcomer. He was…well, something else for sure. He wore no casual or ordinary clothes, nothing you could compare to the annoying frat boys or just the other dudes with a regular fashion sense. His hair was dark but it looked a little fried, as if it had been bleached already one too many times before. His white blouse was loose and tucked in at the waist, his black pants wide and reaching below his ankles. A thick belt was secured around the guy’s petit waist, and if you looked harder, you swore you could see a dark blue bow tied to it. His brown vest seemed to elevate the outfit even more, the pleated brown choker sitting at the base of his throat with a few other silver chains, a ruby pendant hitting his pecks as he was leaning against the counter lazily. His hip was jutted out and his painted nails tapped against the side of his head, cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he watched you. The hat he wore looked something like you’ve only seen in Peaky Blinders, and for a second, you almost chuckled. He looked peculiar but not in a negative sense, it’s just that you haven’t seen someone like him stumble inside the pub before. He didn’t seem to belong with the crowd and that would’ve been something you’d appreciate on any other day than today.

“I don’t think we were talking to you, no?” The cocky man in front of you raised a mocking eyebrow at the other guy, and you rolled your eyes for a second. But before you could answer, the other guy did for you.

“You threatened my game is better than yours?” The artsy-looking guy asked with a chuckle, his tone was more on the higher side, and you found yourself not irked by it too much. But you weren’t here to have men measure their cocks by who can get the barista’s phone number faster, so you interrupted them before they could piss you off even more.

“Listen, fellas, I don’t have all night. What do you want?” Your tone was sharp, straight to the point, and shut down all attempts at flirting as the man in front of you scoffed, shooting a dirty look at the peculiar-looking one. You tilted your head as the older man finally faced you, trying to downplay his irritation as he plastered on a charming smile again. It made your jaw tick again, but you said nothing more.

“Do you have whiskey?” You were already reaching for the bottle of Whiskey before the man was finished talking, your other hand grabbing a glass as Hanni finally returned to the bar, her tray filled with dirty glasses.

“I’ll just wash these and come help.” She said as she passed by you and you nodded, filling the man’s glass with ice and whiskey, not too much but not too little either. Who even drinks Whiskey in a place like this one? But you didn’t care as long as he’d be out of your hair, so you placed the glass on the counter, but before you could tell the guy how much it was, he had already slid a bill on the counter, sauntering away. You grabbed it and pushed it into your fanny pack, taking a step back to take a deep breath. You could do this, Hanni was back and maybe you could ask her to cover for you for five minutes. A bathroom break was allowed at any time, after all. Your small moment, however, was interrupted by a scoff. You blinked your eyes open and looked towards where the sound came from, eyes narrowing when you realised the other guy was still lingering around.

“What a pig, he didn’t even tip you.” You had to agree with his slurred words but instead walked over with an impassive expression. You weren’t here to be nice or to make friends, and you never failed to make it clear to your customers. These entitled dudes thought they could get your number and get in your pants with just a few—fake—nice words, you could confidently say you hated them all and that they made you wish you never again encountered their species. But alas, that wouldn’t happen tonight, so you headed over to the pompous guy, raising an eyebrow. He was intriguing, you couldn’t deny that, but you also knew not to mingle with guys who frequented the pub. So, even if one sparked your interest, at the end of the day, you’d still walk home alone and relish in the quiet of your room.

“What can I get for you?” You tried to keep your tone level as your hip pressed into the counter, feet aching now even more. You were ready to chuck your damn boots at the wall and call it a night, but as Hanni flashed you her typical sweet smile, you knew you couldn’t leave her alone in the wolf's den. She was too sweet and too naïve, smiling and laughing along to the shitty jokes of the frat boys who were eyeing her up with little regard for the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Something sweet like you.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, telling yourself to keep your cool. He wasn’t saying anything offensive, unlike many other men, he just kept calling you sweet and pretty. That could be considered even nice, but not tonight.

“The menu is literally behind me, you can choose anything from it.” You pointed a finger behind yourself, where you knew the menu was hung high on the wall so that everyone could see it. The peculiar guy just gave you a look of confusion before looking past you, blinking his eyes lazily once again. You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for his choice, glad that you could take a breather now that nobody was crowding to get their drinks refilled. Hanni whizzed past you when she noticed a smaller group of girls approaching, her smile reaching her ears and already talking to them, beckoning them closer. Hanni was an excellent barista, she kept her customers entertained and always engaged with them…unlike you, but that’s why your duo worked so well. You were the stoic one and she was the sunshine, but you were both quick on your feet so your boss couldn’t complain.

“Uh, I’ll take a Cosmopolitan.” The guy finally decided and you quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the shaker.

“That’s not sweet.” It was unlike you to make conversation, but the words were on the tip of your tongue so you couldn’t ignore them. The guy chuckled, letting his elbows rest on the counter as he placed his chin in his palms. Your eyes raised for a second to look at him, and you were taken aback by how cute he looked. But as he blinked slowly again, a small smile spreading onto his lips as he watched you, you quickly focused your attention on his Cosmo.

“I know, I was just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed, tracing a manicured finger against the dirty counter. You had to clean that too. As you grabbed some olive to stash on a toothpick, you followed his finger with your eyes and noticed the two silver and shiny rings on his finger, his nail done a neon yellow with a black smiley face painted on top of it.

“What do you even know…” You scoffed to yourself, placing the martini glass on the counter for the guy to take. He was still looking at you, his eyes hazy, and you allowed yourself to take in his features. He had a petite and sharp nose, pretty and well-fitting with his sharp jawline and otherwise intimidating eyes if it wasn’t for the smile in them. His lips were more plump than thin with a pretty Cupid’s bow, slightly pouty as he gave you a small frown.

“Well, I bet you don’t plan on wasting your life away here.” The way he spoke had an airy feel to it, as if he wasn’t really thinking before speaking, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if your degree didn’t take you too far as of now, which is not a big deal, people change their minds all the time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Something in you broke at his last sentence, making you gulp hard. You still hate yourself, the guy had said with the most easy-going expression on his face, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he continued to blink lazily at you. What did he even know when he was clearly wearing designer clothes to a pub where alcohol could be spilt on you, among many other things? Who was he to assume you couldn’t do anything with your degree, rubbing it in your face that he knew people ended up like this when he clearly came from a rich background with all those accessories on him, his tone airy and almost mocking. Your jaw clenched again as you realised you had tears in your eyes, and your hand came down harshly on the counter as the guy slipped a bill towards you, way over the price of his damn Cosmopolitan.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snapped as you threw the change back at him, watching his expression fall, his eyebrows raising comically high. You didn’t sit around to listen to him trying to get your attention again, you brushed past Hanni and leaned down to tell her that you needed five minutes. She gave you a worried look before nodding, letting you head to the bathroom as a few tears spilt down your cheeks. Today was complete shit, you couldn’t wait to get home and ignore all the responsibilities and problems you had. You were doing this for a better future, this was just a small fragment of your life, and it wouldn’t last forever. At least you really hoped so.

            You released a long sigh as the cool air hit your face, eyes stinging from the sudden coldness as the red backdoor slammed shut behind you. Hanni and you kept telling your boss to change the hinges, but he had more important things to take care of, of course. Stepping aside so that the door wouldn’t slam into your back if any staff member decided to come outside at this moment, you leaned against the cold wall, pushing your hands into your pockets. You didn’t bother grabbing your jacket, although you should have given the fact that your skin was now covered in goosebumps, teeth slightly chattering. It was always a whiplash coming outside from that parched pub, having to forcefully push through the bodies too busy to notice your approaching form. It was another busy night, the weekend was approaching so the students were coming in waves that the pub could barely house. You’ve been telling your boss that you should put a capacity limit, but he wouldn’t make as much money like that as he was making now, so of course, he said no. He was a greedy monster and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Just as you closed your eyes, you heard a loud tsk followed by a hiss, and your head jerked to the side, your eyes widening. You hadn’t realised there was someone else here with you, too taken by your own thoughts of wondering what you’d cook for dinner…if you make it home at a decent hour, which was looking less and less likely to be. With your eyes narrowed and head turned, you tried to find the source where the sound had come from, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed someone crouched down right by the door, their head lowered over their knees. It wasn’t your business what anyone was doing, really, but if a client was feeling unwell and would need assistance, you’d feel guilty if you just walked away without a word. So, sighing to yourself, you pushed off the wall and took a few steps to approach the person, eyes taking in the black messy curls on the top of his head. The person had a baby mullet growing out, framing his pale nape. You cleared your throat and reached down, gently poking at the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, you good?” You asked unsure, eyebrows furrowing when the guy grunted only. Tilting your head, you realised he was shielding his left hand, his right thumb trying to roll the sparkwheel of his lighter, but to no avail.

“Yeah, this bloody thing won’t work.” The guy groaned, shaking his lighter as he tilted his head back, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips. Your eyes widened as you realised the face was familiar, having seen him just yesterday. The guy’s eyes looked innocent as they rounded, recognition flashing in his too. You gulped and straightened up, your expression slightly hardening as the guy’s harsh words from yesterday rang through your ears. He seemed pretty fine to you, but before you could step aside and go back inside, he spoke up.

“Hi there, pretty barista.” He then grinned, a lazy pull of his cherry-red lips, his tone easy. You didn’t expect him to be so easy-going after what you had said to him, but it almost looked like the guy wasn’t bothered by you cursing him out…maybe he really wasn’t, “You on a break?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, watching as he struggled to get his lighter to work. You had one in your pocket, but you found a bit of satisfaction in watching him struggle. Maybe if he asked whether you had one, you’d let him use yours. But people who didn’t ask wouldn’t get help, that’s what your father taught you, at least.

“Obviously.” You muttered matter of fact as the guy hummed, grinning wickedly when the lighter finally sparked to life, allowing him to light his cigarette. You watched as the flame danced in front of his face, making his dark eyes appear amber-like, sharper from this angle. You realised, alarmed, that you were appreciating his looks so you quickly stopped, looking away as the guy puffed out a whiff of smoke.

“You want some?” The guy asked, reaching his hand toward you as you eyed the cigarette, its smell hitting you. It was too herbal to be a normal cigarette, you belatedly realised as you watched the guy take another hit of his joint.

“What’s in it?” You decided to ask, just to make sure. If you were wrong and it was a regular cigarette, maybe you’d accept a smoke. You didn’t usually smoke but you were still tired from yesterday’s shift, and something that could loosen your nerves would be highly appreciated.

“Good stuff.” The guy grinned, giggling even a little, and the sound almost put a smile on your lips, but you caught yourself in time and instead shook your head, pushing your hands into your pockets again.

“I’m working, so, no.” The guy just hummed as he looked up at you again, taking a drag of his joint as you gulped and everted your eyes. It felt like he was gazing right through you and into your soul as your eyes had met, and given the fact that you were still butt-hurt over what he had said to you yesterday, you refused to look at him too long…you’d only admire his beauty, either way. He wore a fuzzy yellow and pink sweater today, his brown dress pants looking way too thin for this weather, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His nails stood out with their unique design, and he wore fewer rings today but more earrings than yesterday.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, “My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

A beat of silence passed as the two of you shared an apprehensive look, making you bite your bottom lip. You cleared your throat and at last averted your eyes, kicking a few pebbles towards the guy without meaning to, “Right, I shouldn’t have cursed you out either…I’m sorry too, I guess.”

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

You have no idea what took over you, but your cheeks were suddenly flushing as if you had been noticed by your crush for the first time, your skin prickling. You weren’t one to care about the compliments your clients gave since most of them were only trying to get in your pants, but this guy seemed to be genuine. He didn’t try to hit on you, he was just calling you pretty, and it was getting to you. You hummed and turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob when suddenly the guy spoke again, “Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

There he was again, making your chest feel heavy as you huffed, a sarcastic smile pulling at your lips. Once again, what did he know about you? Maybe you loved this damned job, maybe being a barista in a shitty pub has been your lifelong dream. You almost scoffed at yourself, eyes narrowing as the guy took more drags of his joint, seemingly waiting for an answer that you didn’t exactly want to give. But you didn’t want him to have the last word, much like yesterday, so you plastered on a sarcastic smirk, “There you go again, blabbering your mouth when you’re smoked out.”

You didn’t expect the guy to start laughing loudly, his head falling back as it landed against the wall, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t mean to gape, but he was beautiful and painfully honest, it was refreshing in a world full of fakeness. He was an intriguing person, and you would’ve allowed yourself to become interested in him if only you had met in a different setting. With a hum and lingering eyes, you pushed the door open as the guy nodded at you in goodbye once he realised you were leaving for good. And with a faster beating heart, you willed yourself to focus on the few hours that you still had of your shift.

            It’s been quite a while since you had the chance to wake up at the crack of dawn without feeling tired, or without having to rush in for an early shift. Through hard work, you had earned these two days of break, and while you wished you had been given a full week, you made sure to utilise these two days wisely. You had always been an early bird, wishing to wake with the sun, opening your windows to hear the song of the birds, but it was too cold for them to hunker down in front of your window today. You didn’t mind, you’d take a stroll after your breakfast and check out the new art store that’s opened not too far from your apartment. You’ve heard great things about it, the prices seemed to be reasonable, and it had an adjoint bookstore and a coffee shop as well. A quick check on the internet showed you just how cozy it was, so you thought you could buy a book from your to read list and settle down in the coffee shop. It sounded like a great plan to destress and forget for a bit about work and all the idiots that kept you up at night, quite literally.

Your scarf was thick as you buried your nose into it, trying to keep it warm from the cold chill of the early morning. The city was awake with you, orange sun rising on the horizon and blinding you as you were walking towards it, you couldn’t help but smile. It warmed your cheeks and body, feeling the sun on your skin during cold season always felt like a blessing, you would always relish in it as much as you could because you knew it wouldn’t last for long. You exhaled as your eyes remained squinted, watching the people around you as you walked towards your destination. Kids were rushing to school, parents by their sides guiding them, and traffic was as crazy as ever, impatient drivers honking and disturbing the little peace everyone had. You paid it no mind and felt thankful that you were able to wake up so early instead of just going to bed, all tired and wishing for your boss to fire you. But if he did fire you, you would be in trouble, so you didn’t actually wish for that to happen. And suddenly as you turned the corner, the guy’s words from the bar managed to ring through your ears once again. Working at the pub was just as much of an honest job as it would’ve been working anywhere else.

You sighed, realising you were thinking about him again. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, letting your mind wander to his peculiar fashion sense and even more peculiar way of thinking. He seemed almost raw with his words and thoughts, unafraid to say them to your face. It was refreshing and intriguing, but you couldn’t let yourself be sidetracked right now. You had a purpose, and that was working until you had enough money to move away. If somehow a guy came into the picture right now, you felt like that would mess up all your plans and vision of the future. Under no circumstance would you stay here, but you knew your heart would betray you and try to keep you here for longer, with your lover. You didn’t even want to think of the guy as a potential love interest, you didn’t even know each other, so you shoved these thoughts to the back of your mind as you reached the art store, eyes widening at its exterior.

You haven’t seen anything quite like it before, the windows reached from ceiling to floor, a clear view of what was going on inside. There was a spiral staircase that led to the higher level which was littered with bookcases and low hanging retro chandeliers, bean bags spaced out on the floor as people sat around with books in their hands. To the right was the coffee shop with a separate entrance if you were only here for coffee, but you could also enter through the art store. And the art store was gorgeous as you made your way inside, the double doors opening easily. A sweet scent hit your nostrils as you walked further inside, your eyes wide as you took in the whole place. Paintings were hung on the walls, blank canvas placed underneath as many shelves housed all kinds of art supplies. The clerks were all smiley and they welcomed you warmly once they noticed your arrival. Maybe you could find a nicer workplace, something like this one. The workload seemed less strenuous and the people that came here to shop were less rowdy and rude. As much as you loved admiring the fine arts, you didn’t have the talent for drawing or painting, you could mess up even something as simple as a cloud. It was embarrassing, but arts have never been your forte, so you headed for the staircase to look for the book you had on your mind.

Navigating around the many shelves seemed a bit intimidating at first, but then you noticed they were sectioned on different genres, the tags hanging low from the ceiling with an arrow pointing towards the section to help you out. You smiled to yourself as you unrolled your scarf from around your neck, the warmth of the store helping your frozen fingers as you turned down a corner, two tall bookshelves on your sides. At the end of the row sat a younger girl with a manga in her hand, another one pressed to her lips as she seemed to be giggling. You felt yourself smile as you came near her, looking at the titles of the books. Asking for a clerk to help you find the book you were looking for would’ve helped enormously, but you found yourself wanting to stroll around in the warmth, fingers grazing the spines of the books. The girl giggled just a bit louder and blushed when you glanced her way. This wasn’t a library, so she wasn’t disturbing anyone, but she was still mindful of those around her. You turned the corner once again, finding the High Fantasy section, having made your research beforehand, you knew you were in the right place. It took a bit more cruising down the row to finally find the book you were looking for, and you grinned when you found it, taking it off the shelf.

You thought about strolling around the store more just to discover it further, maybe they had cheap trinkets you could buy. You even thought about paying a visit the coffee shop as well, maybe they had one of your favourite patisserie delicacies. You wouldn’t turn down something sweet right now, you didn’t have a sweet tooth necessarily, but there were days when your cravings got the better of you. With that in mind, you headed back the way you had come, sneaking another glance at the younger girl as she gasped, manga now clutched tightly in both of her hands. You chuckled before you rounded the corner, now back on the main aisle that led to the spiral staircase. You noticed that most people who were inside the store looked to be college students, their outfits mismatched colours and patterns, hair coloured something vibrant as most of them had piercings you never even thought possible before. You really liked their style and found yourself staring at them, blushing when a girl caught you and raised an eyebrow before she smiled. You nodded your head and hurried down the stairs, flustered and a little embarrassed. They oddly reminded you of the guy from the bar, you thought he’d somehow fit right in with the people inside the store. It looked something he’d enjoy, not that you knew anything about him besides that he smoked weed, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and had a nice sense of fashion.

You were looking at the hard cover of your book as you got to the base of the staircase, taken by the pretty illustration and completely unaware that someone was headed straight towards you, just as taken by items in his hands as you were by your book. The collision could’ve been avoided if you both had been paying attention to where you were going, but alas, you gasped loudly as you felt a hard body collide into yours, items spilling loudly onto the floor. Your head shoot up, eyes wide as you looked at the equally startled man and—wait, it was the same guy from the bar! You gulped, suddenly feeling nervous as your cheeks burned, but the guy hadn’t noticed you yet as he had crouched down to collect his items off the floor. You felt bad and hoped the expensive palette on the ground hadn’t been broken, so you crouched down too and reached for it to inspect it. The guy still hadn’t quite noticed that it was you out of all people, but as you reached for the same brush, his head raised sharply. Your smile was apologetic as the guy’s eyes widened, recognition flashing on his face. This was the third time you met this week, the sheer coincidence of meeting outside the pub was a bit jarring…especially since you’ve been just thinking about him.

“Pretty barista from the pub!” He motioned towards you then chuckled, letting you pick up the brush. Your book was placed on the ground next to you so your hands were free to help.

“Hi,” Your voice came out a lot shier than you had intended it to be, and you chewed on your bottom lip awkwardly, “Sorry about this, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” The guy chuckled, scooping up the small canvases, “I wasn’t either. If it makes you feel better, it was both of our faults.”

You hummed and grabbed the last item off the floor, standing at the same time as the guy. His arms were filled with his items, and you wondered if you handed over the four in your hands how he’d be able to carry everything. Despite the cold weather outside, he was underdressed. He wore a simple turtleneck with a brown knitted vest over it, long flowy plants and mismatched tennis shoes. As you both stepped aside from the staircase to make way for others, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes once you realised you were staring again. But you hadn’t seen him wearing glasses before, and with the curly strands falling over his forehead, he didn’t only look handsome but cute as well.

“What brings you here?” The guy made conversation as you tried to figure out how to hand him his items without making him drop them all again, “I say this without meaning to be rude, but you seem like the last person who’d be interested in art.”

You huffed, not bothered by his honesty, “While that statement is incorrect, I’m not here due to the art section of the store. I was looking for a book.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his own chest, “Oh, sorry, you can hand me those, I can carry them!”

“Are you sure?” You asked as he nodded enthusiastically, so you complied. You stepped closer to place the other four items in his arms, watching as he clinched the smaller canvas underneath his chin to keep it from falling. You would’ve laughed and offered to help until he got himself a bag or something, but the guy looked pretty content like this. Like it wasn’t his first time doing this…

“Are you collecting them?” The guy’s incomplete question left you raising a confused eyebrow at him, “Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

You glanced down at the book in your hand and bit your bottom lip, trying to brush off your embarrassment. Why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? It made no sense, but you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the guy…even though his perception of you might already be fucked since this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“I’ve, uh, so, uhm, I have a to read list for books I’ve never read while growing up, so now I have a little tradition that I buy a book from the list each month and read it.” You spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact as the guy listened to your ramble. His intake of breath was sharp and you chanced a glance at his face, finding his eyes wide and his mouth rounded.

“Wait. Are you saying you haven’t read The Hobbit before?!” He sounded incredulous and alarmed, and your cheeks grew hot once again, actually managing to sour your mood a bit. Not having read the book didn’t make you less by any means, but you had a feeling this guy was well-versed in literature, so it felt like a jab and even a subtle scrutinising.

“Yeah, not everyone likes reading while growing up…” Your tone grew cold and voice snappish as you continued to avoid eye contact, looking towards the front desk so that maybe the guy would get the hint that you were done with this conversation. But it didn’t actually surprise you that he continued speaking without noticing you didn’t want to keep conversing anymore.

“That’s totally cool, my brother hated comic books growing up and now he’s obsessed with them.” The guy chuckled, expression innocent and tone genuinely excited, “I think you’ll love the book, it’s filled with adventure and otherworldly creatures. It’s a nice step back from our grim reality, I feel like you need that right now.”

Okay, there he was assuming again that he could just…psychoanalyse you or whatever, “Can you stop doing that? I’m not a painting you can interpret to your liking.”

The guy blinked, face going blank before his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted now from yours, “I…have I been doing it all this time?”

“Ever since we’ve met.” Your answer was sharp and quick and the guy blushed even more.

“Oh, sorry, I just…I’ll stop doing that,” Then he smiled awkwardly and held eye contact with you, “I’m Hongjoong, by the way, I don’t remember introducing myself.”

Because he hadn’t. You repeated his name in your head, finding yourself liking the sound of it, it seemed like a fitting name for him. You hummed, extending your hand.

“I’m Y/N.” But you and Hongjoong glanced down at your extended hand and then his occupied ones at the same time, chuckles leaving your mouths as he seemed flustered.

“I’m shake your hand the next time we see other.”

“If there will be a next time.”

“I quite like the pub you work at, pretty barista.” You cleared your throat and avoided looking at him because as corny as it was, it kind of made your heart flutter. What was happening? The chiming of the doorbell reminded you that it was time you left and took care of other errands you had in your schedule, but before you could say goodbye to Hongjoong, he asked a question that took you off guard, “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?”

Then he turned sideways, nodding towards the adjoined café, and you hesitated for a second. You could actually slip in a little time to have coffee with him, but you felt reluctant. You had met him at the pub, after all, and you still couldn’t decide what type of person he was. Of course, he was handsome, and so far, has showed a good character, but there were little moments when he somehow managed to ruin everything with his words. And he was still a complete stranger, so, listening to your rational mind, you slowly shook your head.

“I don’t like coffee, but thanks!” Your smile was easy, Hongjoong’s face morphed into something knowing as he hummed with a nod.

“Sure, I’m glad I caught you here.” Then, as you were about to take off, he added, “The pretty barista now has a name, I can say my morning was successful.”

You tried to huff and look irked, but the blush betrayed you. You just shook your head before heading for the front desk, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.”

“See ya!” His smile was radiant as he turned around and headed for the café instead, and you realised he was underdressed because he had come from the coffee shop, his things already there. And with Hongjoong on your mind, you followed his distinctive walk as he sauntered over to his table with an elegancy yet swagger you hadn’t seen before.

            Now, a week ago you probably would have said no to a preposition that involved you following home a complete stranger whose name you had known for a maximum of four days, but tonight had been literal shit and you were on the verge of tears when Hongjoong had sauntered over to the bar, his Chesire like smile blinding. You had one more hour left of your shift and you’d be clocking out, not even staying behind to help Hani clean up. Your cramps were terrible and a guy who hit on you for the whole night had spilt his drink on your favourite blouse, calling you a bitch as well for shunning him away, so, when you saw Hongjoong approach the bar with mischief in his eyes, you were ready to scream at him and tell him to get lost. Except that you didn’t do all that because his question completely threw you off guard.

“Y/N, do you like art?” He had a rolled-up joint resting at his ear, his hair pulled to the side and clipped back with colourful hair clips. Your laugh that bubbled past your lips sounded incredulous and tired, but you nodded.

“I do, do you want something to drink?” Hongjoong shook his head, leaning across the bar despite it being wet from spilt alcohol.

“When does your shift end?”

“In an hour.”

“Wanna see some of my art?” Then Hongjoong grinned, looking proud of himself, “I’m a painter.”

Something came over you and didn’t even let you ponder over your decision, “Do you have weed?”

The answer was obvious as you glanced at the joint and Hongjoong laughed, tilting his head in a way that sharpened his features under the neon lights of the pub.

“Obviously, got some on me right now. Want some?” Not while you were working, afterwards, however, you were free to do whatever.

“After my shift, yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the back. See ya.”

And that’s how you ended up at Hongjoong’s apartment, not even ten minutes away from the pub. Your feet ached and your cramps were so bad you felt like doubling over and emptying your already empty stomach, but you tried to hold yourself together in front of Hongjoong. There was a nervous flutter in your chest as you had followed him up the steel staircase, the building old and dodgy. However, the second you walked inside his studio apartment, it felt like you had entered a different realm. He was the true definition of an artist, you came to realise, with canvas strewn around the apartment, most finished but some blank, oil paint tainting the wooden floor and even the walls. The colours were neutral, beige with a slip of sage green here and there, the curtains sheer and pulled to the side as Hongjoong hurried over to the windows to push them open. There was an earthy smell in the air mixed with something sweet like vanilla, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the cosiness of Hongjoong’s studio. You recognised a few prints on the walls, they were the paintings of well-known painters who no longer lived, and the décor Hongjoong had used was rather vintage than modern. His huge wardrobe was open, and he pushed the door closed with little care as he picked up a hoodie off the floor. You were surprised he even owned one of those.

You flinched when it collided against your head, confused as to why he had thrown it at you. Hongjoong chuckled as he shrugged his coat off, trying to tidy his messy bed but quickly giving up when he realised you didn’t look like you cared. Truthfully, your apartment wasn’t in a better shape, the dishes in the sink had been there for three days and your bathroom was in dire need of a deep clean.

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

You hummed, glancing down at it before you stepped out of your shoes, shrugging your jacket off and wearing the hoodie. Its scent was sweet but potent with something musky, and you blushed as your nose buried into its fabric, drinking in its soft material.

“Make yourself feel at home!” Hongjoong grinned, walking over to the small kitchen section to grab two cups, “Do you want tea?”

You shook your head as you walked towards the small bean bag, pushing it with your leg to try and get it more gathered together. And then, just as you were about to sink into the chair, you heard a faint sound come from the kitchen. You turned your head and were met with a small black creature blinking at you in wonder.

“You have a cat?” You asked in surprise, staring back at the little pet. Hongjoong chuckled, looking down at his pet as the electric kettle started whistling.

“Is it so surprising? I found him near a dumpster a few years ago, he’s been by my side ever since.” You couldn’t help but gaze at Hongjoong with admiration as he spoke, pouring hot water into his cup for the tea, “His name is Woo ‘cuz he reminds me of my friend. They are both rascals and really loud.”

As if on cue, the cat meowed loudly and you chuckled, finally easing yourself into the bean bag. Your lower back protested and your spine cracked as you allowed yourself to lean back, arching your back. You could’ve cried at the relief, thankful to finally be off your feet. You couldn’t wait for the weed, it would dull your cramps and help you ease up after the day you’ve had. You were probably in dire need of a shower since you smelled like alcohol, but you didn’t feel comfortable showering at a guy’s place you barely knew. Which, now that you thought more about it, realisation started setting in. You weren’t too smart for following Hongjoong home, but he had never creeped you out, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt tonight. You stared at the cat as Hongjoong mixed honey into his berry-flavoured tea, the warm mist hogging up his glasses. The cat, still at Hongjoong’s side, stared back at you and then slowly walked towards you, its head tilted in wonder. You smiled at it and let it smell your fingers, taking you off guard when it unceremoniously climbed into your lap, starting to make biscuits against your lower abdomen.

“Ah, of course, you’re already in the lap of the pretty barista.” Hongjoong mused with an amused smile on his lips, “You take after Wooyoung more than one would think.”

You had no idea who this Wooyoung guy was, but it sounded like he was a flirt if Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing.

“I like your apartment,” You blurted out as you started petting the cat, smiling down at it when it started purring, “It’s got character, much like you.”

“That’s the first time you said something completely honest to me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at Hongjoong, the joint from his ear now gone as he grabbed some matches to light it up. You didn’t think that was true, but you didn’t say anything as Hongjoong came nearer, sitting down on the floor across from you. You looked at him as he took a long whiff of his joint, then extended his arm for you to take the weed. It’s been quite a while since you smoked any, you knew it would hit you faster, but you hoped it wasn’t too strong or you’d become sick. You took a careful drag of it as Woo settled into a slumber in your lap, and the earthy taste of it made you grimace. But you kept the smoke in your lungs for a bit before exhaling, taking another drag as Hongjoong watched you with a lazy smile. He looked so…handsome. You’ve had a few days to yourself to think about Hongjoong after your encounter in the art store, and you realised you were attracted to him. It was mostly physical since you liked his looks, but his brutally honest character also had you intrigued even if you’d get offended at times by what he was saying.

“I find it hilarious that you decided to come home with me after you declined to have coffee.” Your eyes met Hongjoong’s quickly just as you were about to hand over the joint, “Do you really don’t drink coffee? Or did you just want to get rid of me that day?”

“I…” You licked your lips as Hongjoong took the joint from you, grinning as he took a long drag once again, “Both, actually. I just…I don’t know you well enough and we’ve also met at the pub, I don’t like meddling with clients. Those frat boys are horny and only want to sleep with me.”

“Good thing I’m not a frat boy then, right, Woo?” Hongjoong grinned and ruffled the slumbering cat’s fur, looking back at you with an understanding look, “I’ll be done with my master’s degree in just a few months.”

You hummed, picking at the sleeve of Hongjoong’s hoodie before you saw the joint handed to you again, “And after that? What do you plan on doing?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong had a pensive look on his face as he leaned back on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. You took shorter drags of the joint now but kept the smoke in your lungs until it started burning.

“I want to travel the world, visit art galleries and drink a lot of expensive wine.” That didn’t sound bad at all, Hongjoong continued before you could tell him, “It’s hard breaking into the industry as a painter even though some realtors have already approached me to buy my paintings and put them on display.”

“And? What did you say to them?” You felt genuinely curious, the cat sighed loudly in your lap and Hongjoong looked at you two, reaching out for the joint. Your fingertips brushed together and Hongjoong’s hands felt too cold, but you didn’t comment on it.

“I turned them down,” Hongjoong smiled, but it looked almost sad before he shrugged, taking a drag, “I don’t want just anyone owning my creations. I want someone who understands what’s on that canvas to contact me, I want someone who genuinely loves art and isn’t just doing it for the money. It’s hard to find people like that nowadays, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes…even if that makes me broke.”

Hongjoong scoffed out a chuckle, sounding bitter by the end of his sentence. For someone who was so good at reading others and commenting on their lives, Hongjoong seemed to be having his own demons he had to fight. You hummed, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your muscles ease up, your cramps less torturous. You were glad the weed was slowly kicking in, your cramps would’ve had you crying if not.

“So how do you plan on travelling if you have no money?” Maybe the question was insensitive, but you were curious. Hongjoong didn’t take offence as he smiled, looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“There are art courses all around the world, I might sign up for one and leave, never look back…”

“Do you hate it here?” The question tumbled past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Because I don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t look surprised as he nodded, handing back the joint so you could finish it. Three drags and it would be gone, so you took your time savouring it.

“It’s not the worst, but I don’t see much of a future for myself here.” So, Hongjoong was just like you then, “When are you leaving?”

“How did you know?” You sounded shocked as Hongjoong shrugged, averting his eyes.

“You and I are rather similar, you just fail to see it, Y/N.” Well, maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. You couldn’t read Hongjoong as well as he could read you, you needed more time to feel out his character.

“Six months and I’m out of here, never to come back if life’s kind to me.” Your voice was quiet as you didn’t look at Hongjoong, smoke wafting through your lips as you finished the joint. Hongjoong hummed, a low and warm sound, as he reached for the stud to take it from you. Your fingers brushed together once again, and you looked at Hongjoong when he held your wrist.

“You’re stronger than you think, you’ll make it big out there, Y/N, have more faith in yourself.” You found yourself smiling now, head a little hazy as you nodded, finding it easier to believe whatever Hongjoong told you.

“You’re the artist between the two of us, you’re the one supposed to make it big.” Hongjoong chuckled and stood, headed for the kitchen.

“Can’t we both make it big?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw the stud away, turning around to face you. You hummed, not entirely agreeing with him, but you decided to nod. Then, Hongjoong turned towards where his bed was and grinned, “You’re here to see some art, no?”

“Right, I almost forgot about that.” Hongjoong chuckled, then beckoned you over. You grabbed the cat in your lap and pressed a kiss against its small head, placing it on the bean bag in your spot. Your feet felt light as you headed towards Hongjoong, who had sauntered over to the desk pressed up against the wall underneath the open windows. He turned the small lamp on, and suddenly you were looking at small canvases filled with colour and abstract shapes. Somehow they looked like an organised mess, even in the overflowing swirl of colours, you managed to find a pattern that seemed to never end like a loop. You turned your head to look at Hongjoong, and suddenly you realised his art was a perfect reflection of who he was.

“I can tell you made these.” Perhaps phrasing it like that was offensive, but Hongjoong only looked curious. He hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“How come?” His voice was quiet, curious.

“I can see you in these.” You pointed at the canvas with orange and yellow as the more prominent colours, circling a deep blue that looked almost black, “The blue is you at your core, dark and perhaps scared of the world. And then all that orange and yellow? I think that’s how you see the world, how you wish it treated you, hoping it would lighten all that darkness that looms over you all the time. And this one? I wonder if it was a coincidence you hid so many infinity symbols in the background, this burgundy is gorgeous, by the way. I think everyone is afraid of disappearing without leaving a trace of themselves in this fucked up world, and I actually…I admire you for being so honest and straightforward, very few people are like you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you spoke, but he remained silent as you smiled, looking down at the white canvas, unfinished but with light blue swirls creating the illusion of a clear sky, “I wonder what this will turn into. So far, it reminds me of serenity, of the calm before a storm. Life’s like that too, don’t you think? It’s quiet and gentle, and then it turns into a scary thing that can destroy us if we let it.”

Hongjoong just gulped, his eyes clouded but his heart racing. He was positive no one had been able to interpret his art for what it was before, and he wondered how much of him you could see through his eyes if you could read so well what the trail of his brush had left on a blank canvas. It made him feel seen like never before, not even his biggest supporter, Wooyoung, could see beyond Hongjoong’s intentions when he sat down to paint, to tell the world his pain and rage, yearning for someone to just finally see him.

“You’re…” Hongjoong gulped, his throat feeling dry as you smiled at him, curious if you’d been right, “You are a person I should cherish more from now on.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, your heart skipping a beat once again. What did he mean by saying that? You wanted to ask, but Hongjoong stepped closer, his tone breathy as he spoke up again, “‘Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want’…that’s what Gustav Klimt once said. And so far, you are the only person who’s managed to do that.”

Your mouth gaped open, and you both heard Woo stretch and meow loudly, his soft footsteps loud as he walked towards Hongjoong’s bed, jumping up and finding a new spot to sleep. You didn’t know what to say back to that, but you felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed, shy all of a sudden. Hongjoong was looking at you with a softness no man has looked at you with, it was a bit hard to take it all in without freaking yourself out that this wasn’t real, that it was just the weed, or that maybe Hongjoong wasn’t as genuine as his expression showed.

“Y/N,” You didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around your wrist, his tone still soft, “I think you already know that I find you pretty, and I…I might have gone to that dingy pub for so long just to see you, actually.”

Those words had your heart racing even wilder as you looked up, finding Hongjoong’s face closer to yours as his eyes now bore into yours, “I should’ve been more specific when I asked you to have coffee with me. I meant to ask you out on a date, but I panicked because I knew I had slightly upset you, but…”

He gulped nervously and you felt so curious to hear what more he had to say, perhaps a smile would encourage him, so that’s what you did, offered him a small friendly smile. He released a breath and cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, “Can I kiss you?”

If this was anyone else but Hongjoong, your answer would have been an instant no. But the longer you looked into his eyes, the more excited and giddy you felt, so you just nodded your head and licked your lips, trying to ignore the deep flush of your cheeks. Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly looking shy, but he started leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed just as your lips met. It was careful, it was sweet and it made your heart roar as you stepped just a bit closer, your noses brushing together as your lips moved slowly and carefully, mostly just testing out the waters. Hongjoong’s lips were soft and sweet, and surprisingly didn’t taste like weed but like peaches. You wondered if he used any sort of lip balm to have them taste like that. His hand settled on your cheek and he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, making your heart roar once again. It’s been long since someone had treated you with such gentleness, and you told yourself to remain level-headed, but it would be just so easy to fall in love with Hongjoong. You couldn’t help but smile as you two pulled apart, Hongjoong tried to hide his own grin as he sucked his lips together, but his eyes gave him away. You chuckled and he giggled, and suddenly you felt the urge to pull him into a hug.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he let his arms rest around your torso loosely, “If you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

“Delicious cakes.” You didn’t hesitate to answer and Hongjoong chuckled, patting your head.

“Well then, would you like to go on a delicious cake-hunting date with me?” You closed your eyes to contain your excitement, but the weed had not only eased your muscles but your always worrying mind as well.

“Yes!” You didn’t mean to squeal, but it was hard not to when Hongjoong startled giggling sweetly once again, nodding his head.

“Good, I’ll make sure we find the best spots in the city then.”

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

੭ Masterlist ੭

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❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[bktempted]

You should really head home - the rational part of your brain knows this - but desperation makes us do strange things, and you really need to finish this paper before morning. The University library at midnight is a labyrinth of shadows, rows of books stretching endlessly like the ribs of some ancient beast. You're hunched over your laptop, its harsh glow the only island of light in this sea of darkness.

That's when you feel it again. That crawling sensation up your spine, like someone trailing their finger along each vertebra. You've felt it before, in your room at night, in the campus coffee shop - moments when the world feels slightly off kilter, as if reality has shifted two degrees to the left.

You turn, hoping it's nothing. Instead, you see him.

That boy from your study group. That boy with his soft sweaters and softer smile. That boy who always seems to have a spare charger when your laptop dies. He doesn't seem like just a boy now, as he stands in shadows that cling to him like loving tendrils, his familiar features transformed by the darkness into something beautiful and terrible.

"You shouldn't be here alone so late," he says, and his voice - his voice is different. Lower, richer, dripping with something that makes your chest tight. "It's dangerous for a girl like you."

You clutch your laptop closer, as if it could shield you from the intensity radiating from him. "I had work to do," you manage, hating how your voice trembles. "Plus, what's the worst that could happen?"

Your words hang in the air like a freshly struck match, one that he's going to snuff out. He takes a step closer, the air between you is thick, charged with unspoken intentions. The space shrinks until you're breathing the same air.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, each syllable brushes against your skin like velvet wrapped around steel. "You're so naive. That's why I have to watch over you, make sure you don't get yourself hurt. The things that could happen to you…" His voice trails off, fingers reaching up to catch a strand of your hair, rolling it between his fingers, memorizing its texture. "You didn't give me a choice."

And suddenly, horrifyingly, you realize. All those moments when you felt watched. It wasn't just a feeling. It was him. "What do you want?" you whisper, though something deep in your bones already knows.

"More." He laughs - it's soft, almost tender, but entirely wrong. "I've learned everything about you," he breathes, he's even closer now. "And it's still not enough. It'll never be enough."

His fingers brush your cheek, and you can't tell if you're trembling from fear or something else entirely. The touch is gentle, reverent even, but there's possession in it - ownership in the way his thumb traces your lower lip, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Horror blooms in your chest, but it's tangled with something else, something that makes you hate yourself a little. Because despite everything, there's a part of you that recognizes this for what it is: devotion in its deepest, most absolute form.

The library seems to pulse around you, the shadows growing longer, hungrier. His eyes reflect nothing. They're black holes that need to consume everything you are.

"Don't be scared." he murmurs, as his other hand finds your waist, steady and sure. The heat of his palm bleeds through your clothes, marking you. "Let me show you." He starts to tug at your skirt. "Let me show you just how well I know you."

Your heart is pounding so hard it might burst, but you can't move. It's not fear rooting you to this spot - it's desire. You're disgusted with yourself, but the heat from his body spreads through your veins leaving you dizzy with need. The line between right and wrong blurs, it's irrelevant.

He offers you your final out, one last challenge, "Tell me to stop. Say the word and I'll let you go." You say nothing. He knows you wouldn't. He keeps going. Hands sliding under your shirt, fingers tracing the contours of your stomach, circling your naval, dipping lower. It's familiar, he knows what he's doing - he learned from you.

He guides you backwards, towards a secluded corner between the shelves. He turns you around, and bends you over, pressing your chest to the cool surface of a table. It's all happening so fast; you barely have time to process. His erection is hard against your ass. "I'm going to fuck you the way you've always wanted."

You nod, in stunned silence. He pushes your skirt up and your panties to the side, and then he's inside you, filling you in one smooth thrust. You cry out, overwhelmed by the sudden stretch, and the pleasure behind it.

Fuck. He's a perfect fit.

He sets a brutal pace, and the rational part of your brains screams at you to fight; to do something - anything - but it's drowned out by the overwhelming tide of sensation. By the dark thrill of being taken like this, used like this, by someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

He hits that spot inside you, that secret spot that only you know about, that you reach for with your favorite toys when you're in your room all alone, when no one's watching. "Yes," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. "Yes, yes, yes." A prayer. A plea. An admission of how much you want this, even if it terrifies you.

He leans over you then, his chest pressed against your back, "I told you." His voice is perforated by each thrust "Like you've always wanted." His words are invasive, and they only make you more desperate for him. Because he's right. God, he's so fucking right.

"It's time to cum. You want to cum, don't you?" You don't have a chance to answer because he's hitting that spot again, over and over, while his fingers work magic on your clit. It's too much. Too fucking much. You're cumming, you're shattering, you're breaking for him. The sounds you make are embarrassing, animalistic, but you can't control them. Moans, whines, broken sobs of pleasure all absorbed and recorded by the books that surround you. In that moment, you learned something new about yourself. Something only he could teach you.

[jenanigans1207]

Okay but the thing is that Cas cradled Dean’s soul when he saved it from hell, not his physical body. So while there was a brand on Dean’s shoulder that didn’t end up being permanent, there was a permanent brand of Cas’s grace on Dean’s actual soul. And as they got closer and grew together, it became less of a brand. Dean’s soul fully integrated Cas’s grace and made it a part of his soul instead of a separate thing.

And so Cas confesses and the empty comes and takes him but something is wrong. Because it has Cas, wrapped up nice and tight, but there’s— there’s something missing, something askew. The empty can’t put Cas fully to sleep the way it wants and it’s left with him awake and annoying, just like before. And it tries, god does it try. But because a small piece of Cas’s grace remains outside of the empty, embedded in Dean’s soul, it’s unable to gain full control over him like it wants.

And while it seems like Dean had been unaware of this the last time Cas had made a trip to the empty, he may have figured it out this time. Or he’s just clinging that desperately to his memories of and feelings for Cas, because both Cas and the empty feel continuous tugs on the grace, starting at the part that has made itself a protective shield around Dean’s heart.

And sure, the empty would be thrilled to just swallow Dean and the remaining piece of grace up, too. But it can’t, because Dean’s soul can’t exist in the empty, and Cas’s grace can’t be extracted from Dean’s soul. And with every tug, Cas seems to grow bolder, more confident. Because Dean isn’t letting their bond weaken, despite everything. Dean isn’t giving up hope, they can both feel that, so Cas won’t either.

So at some point the empty has to choose: put up with Cas forever or give up on Cas forever. Because it will never be able to fully own Cas, even after Dean is dead. As long as Dean’s soul continues to cling to Cas, he will never belong to anyone but Dean. So the empty throws in the towel, gives up, and tells Cas to never come near it again. Go the hell away and never come back. And Cas is all too happy to oblige.

The empty doesn’t even bother keeping Cas’s grace and returning him human because that small part inside Dean is more powerful than expected and there’s no saying if Cas would even be truly human anyway.

Dean’s sitting in the war room of the bunker, eyes closed with a hand pressed over his chest, when Cas pops back in. The empty spits him out much in the same way it ate him up and suddenly he’s just standing there, staring at Dean and a wide-eyed Sam.

“Holy shit.” Sam mumbles, staring at Cas as if he’s a ghost.

But Dean doesn’t look surprised at all. “I knew it.” He says, then he repeats it with more feeling. “I fucking knew it! I could feel you.” He taps his chest. “Here. I knew you weren’t gone.”

“I can’t believe you were right.” Sam says, but his disbelief has turned into a smile.

“I told you.” Dean says smugly as he rises from his chair. “I told you that he was going to come back.”

Sam stands too, beating Dean to Cas and wrapping him up in a hug. “He wouldn’t let go of you.” Sam murmurs into Cas’s ear. “He refused to budge even an inch.”

“I could feel it.” Cas answers, and then he taps his own chest as Sam pulls away. “Here.”

“Goddamn right you could.” Dean shoves Sam out of the way unceremoniously before reaching out to grab Cas by the face and pull him into a searing kiss. “Don’t ever pull that shit again.”

Later, after some twenty more kisses, Sam manages to ask what the hell actually happened. He asks how Dean knew, what they could both feel. And Cas explains— talking about his grace and Dean’s soul and how the bond they shared deepened into something entirely different. And he’s warmed from the inside out the whole time because Dean stands firmly at his side, a soft smile on his face as he rubs his chest and if he’s intentionally infusing warmth into Cas’s grace.

[grandline-fics]

For your Valentine's Event: Single Red Rose with Benn Beckman. ❤️

DESCRIPTION: Single Red Rose- When your date goes wrong, they come to your rescue

WARNINGS:  mutual pining but it all works out.

CHARACTERS: Benn Beckman

WORDS: 923

A/N: Thank you @thecrimsonacademic for this request for the Valentine's Event! I hope you like what I came up with for Beck. This is my second time writing for him so I'm still trying to get the hang of getting his personality down

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

————————

When you’d returned to the Red Force, Benn immediately noticed the extra bounce in your step and unshakable smile. His eyes always seemed to find you regardless of what was going on around him but when your mood was this good, it was impossible for him to not notice. You must have encountered something very fun to do on the island they’d stopped at. Still it didn't explain why you were back so soon. He was one of the few on watch duty. You were part of the group out exploring the island. Curious he stepped up beside you as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink. “What’s got you so upbeat? Yasopp get drunk and fall asleep in a flowerbed again?”

“No! It's too early for that, even for him.” You grinned, leaning against the counter while Beck grabbed a drink of his own. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

Not a lot surprised Benn much anymore but that declaration did make him pause and the once delicious mouthful of ale in his mouth seemed to become heavier and harder to swallow. While nothing ever explicit had happened between you both, Benn was very aware of his feelings that had been growing for you to be beyond just crewmates and friends.

You’d both flirted more times than he could count and been affectionate but nothing ever romantic or sexual since Benn believed letting things take the natural course to be the best plan of action. Seemed while he was on the ship and you were out on your own, someone caught your eye. He was a realist to know this wasn’t love for you and this random person. The ship would be setting sail in a couple days, this was just something to pass the time. Regardless of the meaning, the word ‘date’ twisted something unpleasant in him. 

“A date huh?” Beck asked, keeping an air of calm and lightheartedness in his words because the last thing he would ever do was sour your happiness. “Hope they’re able to show you a good time. You deserve it.”

“I hope so too.” You smiled warmly as you finished your drink and sighed with a light shrug. “But if turns into a bad time, I’ll not cry over it. They’re cute, but not that cute. I’m going to get ready.” You stepped away and walked towards the door only to stop and quickly turn to look at Benn warningly but still with a touch of playfulness in your stare. “And if Shanks asks-”

“I know, I know. ” Beckman chuckled, knowing the last thing you'd want on a date was for Shanks to lurk nearby or tease you and disrupt things. “I won’t say a word until we set sail.”

“You’re the best, Beck.” You beamed before disappearing down the hallway to get ready for your night.

It wasn't long after you’d left to go meet your date when Lucky and Hongo returned to allow Benn and the others remaining on board to go out and see the island and have some fun. Beck knew he wouldn’t need to search far to find at least someone in the crew, knowing their lively presences would make themselves known without any effort. He was right because someone in the crew did appear, he was just surprised to see it was you and even stranger still you were on your own and the bounce you had in your step earlier was gone. “Hey you.” Beck greeted, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “What happened?”

“Guy never showed.” You explained with a small shrug. “Left a message that had he known I was a pirate he wouldn’t have asked me out.”

“You’re kidding.” Benn asked with eyebrows raised and a disbelieving shake of his head, some people were so gutless. “I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologise, Beck. Like I said he was cute, but not cute enough to cry over. I just wish I hadn’t wasted my time getting ready for it to go to waste.” You shrugged, smiling softly at Beck’s sympathy. “Have a good night. I’ll see you on the ship.”

As you moved to head in the direction of the ship you were swiftly caught by Benn’s hand and stopped. You looked up at your crewmate and let out a sigh to see him looking at you with a serious look. Truthfully you weren’t in any way hurt by what had happened. You’d mostly agreed to a date with someone else because you thought it would take your mind off of your feelings for the man in front of you. Now you hated that he looked upset on your behalf.“Beck, honestly I’m fine.”

“Fine or not you look too good to let it go to waste. C’mon you wanted a date, you’re getting a date.” Benn instructed, leading you back towards the town. When you opened your mouth to protest he grinned at you. “Don’t worry I’ll make sure you have fun.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” You huffed out with a smile, finally letting him lead you wherever he wanted. “Fine, I’m curious now to see how Benn Beckman operates on a date. Show me what you got Beck.”

“Oh that’s a tall order.” Benn laughed, adjusting his hand to lace his fingers with yours. “Y’see to really get the full experience it’ll take a lot more than a single date. Could take a long while.”

“That so?” You grinned walking side by side with him. “I’ve got the time.”

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya @48daisies , @rosemary-lungs

[thelikesofus]

know it's for the better

9-1-1 on ABC | Buddie | 500 words | Season 8b Spec | eddie moves to texas, goodbyes, emotional hurt no comfort, evan 'buck' buckley needs a hug Buck lets his whole heart disappear across state lines because he knows it's the only right thing to do

Buck holds Eddie tightly against his chest and wills breath into the other man's lungs. He wills the world to keep him safe and watch over him in a place that Buck can’t go. Buck’s composure is hanging by a thread when Eddie pulls away. The way his fingertips drag across Buck’s ribs as he steps back speaks to the reluctance that’s taken up residence in Buck's chest since he first laid eyes on the cursed iPad.

Reluctant to let him go, to watch him leave, knowing that he can’t do anything but that. Buck can’t be that selfish, no matter how much he wants to get on his knees on this wet asphalt and beg Eddie to stay. Because he knows that Eddie’s going for all the right reasons and Buck wants him to stay for all the wrong ones. 

Eddie needs to be with Christopher, Christopher needs to know that his Dad is there, when he’s ready, whenever he needs. God, what Buck wouldn’t have given to see that same unconditional, unwavering love from his own parents growing up. 

Buck fucked it all up. He is once again too late, too slow, too little, too much. Too in love with Eddie to stand to watch him go, too in love with him to force him to stay. Because he knows, this is the only way this was going to end. 

“Call me so I know you’ve arrived safely,” Buck says firmly, his voice as steady as he can make it. 

Eddie watches him with those wide, dark eyes and Buck feels caught. The corner of Eddie’s mouth turns up slightly. “I will.” 

“Okay, okay you better go before the rain gets worse.” Buck forces himself to take another step back. 

“Right.” Eddie’s still watching him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick Buck knows means he’s thinking too hard about something. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and Buck waits with baited breath. Eddie shakes his head and licks his lips. “Okay, I’ll—. Right.”

“Drive safe.” 

Eddie nods and steps back one, two, turn, three, four, truck door, step up, turns the key, starts the engine, five, six, pulls away from the curb.

Buck forces himself to turn his back, he can’t watch the UHaul disappear around the corner. He forces himself to walk back to the Jeep, to heave his wet, ponderous self into the driver's seat and catches the smallest glimpse of tail lights in the review mirror and snaps.

A cry tears its way up his throat, fists, and forearms smashing against the staring wheel as the anguish builds, hitting the horn at random intervals. 

Briefly, he feels bad for Eddie’s neighbors—who aren’t Eddie’s neighbors anymore.

His forehead falls against the wheel as he shakes and wheezes and tastes the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. Sobbing and hiccupping he wraps his arms as tightly as he can around himself and forces breath into his lungs.

[semisgroupie]

SPONTANEOUS — venus + shouta aizawa (@twilightakiishi )

warnings: use of handcuffs, grinding, teasing, handjob, unprotected sex, use of lube, furniture gets broken

this is part of my TOYS, TOYS, and MORE TOYS event , send in a request!

He rests his back against the headboard, only clad in his boxer shorts and he watches you with an amused grin. “You sure you don’t want to try this the other way around?” His eyes roam along your lingerie clad body as you move to straddle him and then his gaze goes to the item you have in your left hand. “I’m sure, this is going to be fun.”

He nods and bites his bottom lip as you lean in. He moves his hands up to your hips and grips the flesh tightly, earning a playful slap on his arm from you. “No touching and remember, once this is on don’t pull too much. Now put your hands up.” His cock twitches as he lifts his arms above his head and he leans in to pepper kisses along your chest as you open then clasp the handcuffs around his wrists.

He groans as you pull back and he gives a test tug to make sure they’re secure. “Now that I’m restrained, what do you have in store for me?” You don’t respond to his question as you reach into the bedside drawer and grab the small bottle of lube. He watches you closely as you pull down his boxers to reveal his half hard cock then open the cap to the lube. He bites back a hiss when you pour a generous amount onto his cock and groans when you wrap your hand around it.

You pump your hand slowly, the slick sounds slowly start to fill the room and he groans. “Fuck, baby go faster please. This is killing me.” He tugs at his handcuffs again, making the metal strain against the headboard. But despite his pleas you keep moving your hand slowly, the squelch of your hand along his cock only adds to his frustrations. He wants — no, needs to feel more.

When he agreed to being restrained with the new handcuffs he bought for you two, he should’ve known you had something up your sleeve. This has to be payback for all the times he teased and toyed with you whenever he got new toys or whenever he needed to relieve some stress.

He bucks his hips up against your hand for more and he throws his head back. “Baby, please. This is gonna drive me insane.” He tugs at the cuffs again, making the wood of your headboard creak once more and you look to see angry red marks form along his wrists. “Okay, okay I’ll give you more.” You pull your hand from his cock and watch as a bead of precum drips from the tip to join the mess of lube along his shaft.

You bite your lip as you pull your panties to the side and adjust your hips so you can line up with him throbbing cock. You move one hand down to grip the base then slowly start to sink down. When he’s about halfway inside of you, you slam your hips down. It rips a gasp out of you and a guttural moan from Shouta. He waits for you to bounce but it doesn’t happen, all you do is place your hands on his chest as you grind against him. Your clit catches against his neatly trimmed patch of black pubic hair.

He groans again and grits his teeth as all you do is grind against him like he’s a fucking pillow. A smile grows on your face as you see how annoyed he’s getting, you move a hand up to brush some of his hair from his face. “What’s wrong, Shouta? I’m giving you more, isn’t this better than my hand?” You coo condescendingly at him, it’s a tone that he’s given you time and time again when you’ve begged him to stop his teasing. He narrows his eyes at you and shakes his head, “you know what’s wrong, stop fucking teasing me.”

You laugh as you lift your hips slightly before sinking them back down to grind against him some more. “But this is so much fun, aren’t you enjoying yourself?” He continues to tug at the handcuffs and then it finally happens when he gives it a particularly hard tug. The creaking wood of the headboard finally cracks and while he’s still restrained, he is more free to do what he wants. Your eyes widen as he pushes you back down against the bed and adjusts himself between your thighs, snapping his hips into yours.

“Now let’s have some real fun.”

[sai-int]

LOW COUNTRY | INTRODUCTIONS

johnny mactavish x reader

[NEXT] [AO3] [MLIST]

mild swearing, lots of plot

The farm isn’t just a home—it’s a responsibility, a burden you never planned on shouldering alone.

You left this place once you were fresh out of high school, eager to escape the quiet, the isolation of the small town you grew up in. The city called to you, and you answered. New York City—the hustle, the noise, the lights. It was everything your small-town heart dreamed of. The world felt wide and full of possibility. You imagined yourself growing into the person you’d always wanted to be. A future in the city, away from the farm, away from the confines of the life that had always been so familiar, so small.

But then, one night after a bar-crawl with your friends marking the end of your Senior year, you got the call.

Your Ma had passed away. Just like that—no warning, no time to prepare.

You dropped everything. That’s what you do when family calls. You go home. The city and all your plans  felt so far away as you packed your bags and made the drive back to the farm. When you drove up the long driveway, the house sat there in the distance, almost looking the same, but so much different all at once. It felt wrong without your Ma's laugh echoing through the halls, her hum in the kitchen, her steady presence.

The funeral came and went in a blur of emotion, family, and loss. It was all a whirlwind, a blur of faces, of handshakes, and hushed condolences. But when the dust settled, the reality set in. Your Pa needed help. There was no denying it. He wasn’t the same man anymore—not without your Ma beside him.

So, you stayed. You told yourself it was temporary—just a few weeks, maybe a month at most. You’d help him get back on his feet, make sure everything was squared away, then go back to the city. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Mere months  turned into two years. One look at your Pa—slow-moving, his back hunched a little more each day, his hands trembled a little more than they used to—and you knew.

You couldn’t leave him.

The farm, with all its heavy tasks and responsibilities, became yours. For a while, your Pa tried to help, tried to keep his old pace. But as time passed and his grief only grew, his strength had faded, and soon, the weight of the work was yours to bear alone. He couldn’t lift the hay bales like he used to, couldn’t herd the sheep the way he had before. And those trips to the farthest corner of the farm on horseback, checking the fences, making sure everything was secure? You reckoned he couldn’t even get on a saddle.

You didn’t mind at first. It was just the two of you now, and you loved this place, loved the land, loved what it represented, It was home. But there were moments—the quiet ones, when everything slowed down—that the weight of it all settled heavily on your shoulders. You weren’t a farmhand. You were a woman who had spent her whole upbringing dreaming of more. A different life. But now, you’re tied to this place. Tied to your Pa. And your Ma's laugh still lingers in the walls, thick and heavy like the humidity that Summer brings each morning. 

You’re exhausted, frustrated—running on fumes. You can’t keep doing it all, but there’s no choice. The farm, the animals, the crops, the house... and Pa. You’re stretched thin, your bones aching under the weight of responsibilities that pile up faster than you can manage. The idea of doing it all alone feels like a cruel joke.

Something’s got to give. 

The help-wanted flyers were your last-ditch effort. You spent the better half of the previous night making them yourself, attempting to make them each as uniform as possible. 

‘FARMHAND WANTED. 

DEPENDABLE WORKERS AND SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY. 

CALL XXX-XXX-XXXX FOR DETAILS.’

If you didn’t find someone soon, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it together. So, as the clock striked 8 AM the next morning, you climbed into Pa’s old pick-up, the engine coughing to life as you made your way into town.

You’d been born and raised here. The downtown—if it can even be called that—of Williston is small, everyone knows everyone, and most folks are working-class, middle-aged. The kind of people who offered a warm smile and a helping hand without a second thought. You’d grown up with their kindness, and now, as you hung those flyers in their storefront windows, you could feel the weight of their stares—half concern, half curiosity.

They all know your story by now. They’d watched you grow up, watched you leave, and then watched you come back after everything fell apart. You could feel the sympathy in their eyes, but they never let it show—there was a quiet understanding between you all. Their hospitality was something you could never take for granted.

But no amount of kind gestures could change the fact that you need help. And fast.

You pull into an empty parking space a block away from Main St, quickly hopping out and make your way through town, handing out flyers to shop owners and sticking them to cork boards. It’s routine. A simple task, but the weight of it all makes it feel heavier than it should. The town’s small enough that you’re familiar with most of the faces, and it feels like you’ve talked to half the town by the time the afternoon rolls around. You’re famished—your stomach growling louder than the engine of Pa’s truck as you finish your rounds.

You head into the local bar/diner/cafe/pawnshop, the comforting smell of fried food and coffee hanging in the air. The place is familiar, cozy—its booths all torn leather, worn but inviting. Al—or Crazy Al, as most call him—the owner, gives you a warm smile when you walk in, his graying hair poking out from beneath his old baseball cap. He’s been here longer than anyone can remember.

“Ya look like ya could use a milkshake,” he says, already putting scoops of vanilla ice cream into the blender.

You nod, grateful for the small kindness. Al gestures toward one of the metal bar stools in front of him, you sit and his eyes narrow a little when he notices the exhaustion written across your face.

“What’s got’ya  all wound up, kid?” he asks, pouring the milkshake in a mug and handing it to you

You eye the mug with momentary confusion before you choose to ignore his choice of cups. You take a deep breath, the weight of the day hitting you all over again. “It’s the farm,” you say, swirling the straw in the thick milkshake, not sure where to start. “Pa’s slowing down. I’m running everything from the crops, to the cows, to the house. I can’t keep up.”

Al nods, his expression softening in sympathy as he leans back against the counter. “That’s a helluva load for one person. Yer doin’ right by yer Pa, though, kid. Ya know that?”

You smile faintly, but it fades quickly. “I’m just doing what needs to be done, but it’s just not enough anymore. So I’m trying to find someone to help—a guy, young and strong, you know? I just can’t do it all by myself.”

You slide one of the flyers across the counter to Al, asking him to keep an eye out. “If you see anyone, just... send them my way? I’m desperate, at this point.”

He takes the flyer, his gaze flickering to the paper before meeting your eyes again. “Funny ya mention that,” Al says, scratching his chin. “There’s a new guy who popped up not a day ago. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but he was askin’ around for work. Thought he looked a little outta place for this town, but...”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘out of place’?”

“Just dun’ seem like he belonged, I guess. Looks like he went to Iraq or wherever they’re fightin’ these days.” He shrugs. “But hey, if ya need someone, ya might want to track ‘em down. If I see ‘em again, I’ll send him yer way.”

You nod, feeling a spark of hope. “You’re a Godsend, Al.”

About a week later, it’s a humid Wednesday morning in the heart of August. The kind of heat that clings to your skin, even when the sun’s hiding behind a blanket of clouds. A slight fog lingers in the air, and the scent of sweet grass drifts through the open windows, carried by a lazy breeze. The sun’s rays begin to break through the mist, casting long fingers of light across the fields and trees in the distance.

You finish cleaning up after breakfast, the dishes clinking softly in the sink. Pa’s moved from the dining table to sit in his ratty old armchair in the corner, eyes half-lidded as the local weatherman drones on about tomorrow’s rainstorm. It’s a quiet, familiar morning—the kind you’ve gotten used to in the last couple of years. Your hair’s tied up, a few loose strands sticking to your sun-kissed skin as you wipe down the counter, sweat beading lightly on your neck.

Then you hear it—boots on the porch.

Your body tenses instinctively, the old reflex kicking in. You consider grabbing the shotgun atop the door frame, but a second later, you shake the thought off. It’s overkill, and you’ve got enough sense to know it.

You open the door, not expecting much, probably some girl scouts, or worse, another annoying sales rep. from out of town.

You grasp the handle, pulling open the door, “Look, whatever you're selling, I ain’t buying. I got enough shit to pay fo-”

Standing there is a man, 6 '2 if you had to guess, built like a damn ox, all sharp angles and hard muscle, hair a cropped mohawk that looks like it belongs on someone ten times tougher than him. His eyes are so blue they nearly blind you, but they seem to hold a storm behind them, like he’s seen some shit.  But what really gets you is that smirk. It makes you want to both slap and kiss him at the same time.

And then he opens his mouth, and…

Definitely not American. Not even close.

You blink, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve stepped into some strange dream. You’ve always been more open-minded than most of the people in town, but hearing that thick accent in the middle of your quiet, rural world makes everything suddenly feel a little too strange. Now you get what Al was talking about when he mentioned, “Not from around here.”

He’s dressed in a dark blue flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal a white wife beater underneath, the fabric stretched tight over his chest. A neat, tiny gold cross between each pec, as if to say ‘Hey! Look at my man-tits!’ His denim jeans are worn, the brown scuffs on the knees looking like he’s been praying in dirt. And those forearms… Thick and muscular, veins running like rivers beneath his skin- stop it.

You force your focus back up to his face, and it’s just as distracting. Soft stubble accented by the sharp slope of his nose. He stands tall, looking at you like he’s waiting for something—oh. He spoke, and now you were supposed to respond. That is how conversations work.

 You’re not the type to generally stare at people, but something about him, something in the way he carries himself. You try not to notice how his broad shoulders fill the doorway like he’s daring you to le- STOP.

He shifts on his feet, a hint of uncertainty behind that cocky grin. You can tell he’s not as sure of himself as he’s trying to appear. Maybe that’s the only thing stopping you from slamming the door in his face.

Still, you don’t trust him. Why would a guy like that want a job on a farm in the middle of nowhere? He looks like he could be doing much more important things—literally anywhere else—but he’s here. Standing on your porch with your flyer slightly crumpled in his big hands. 

“What can I do for you?” You try to sound cool, collected, but your tone comes out a little sharper than you meant.

He tilts his head, the smirk never wavering. “I hear ye're lookin’ for a hand.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That right?”

“Aye,” he answers, his accent thick and heavy, rolling the words in a way that makes the air feel hotter than it already is.

He steps a little closer, just enough to make you take a half step back. “Name’s Johnny-” he stretches his hand out, “Mactavish. I’m lookin’ for work. Could use somethin’ steady.”

You study him for a second, arms crossed, and wonder if you should even entertain this. A man like him could be trouble. Hell, a man like him is trouble. You take his hand in yours, giving it a solid shake.

“Do you know anything about farms?” with crossed arms and raised eyebrows, you don't bother to hide the skepticism in your voice.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’ve done my share o’ heavy liftin’. Hard work don’t scare me.”

“Alright,” you hum, stepping back and letting the door swing open a little wider. “Come on in. I’ll get you something to drink, but don’t think you’re on the job yet. I’m just…” you pause, “Interviewing, I guess.”

He gives you another smirk,more amused than cocky as he steps past you. “Yes ma’am.”

You step aside, letting him in, and the moment he crosses the threshold, he fills the space. It’s not just his size—though, yeah, the man is big—it’s his presence. Something about him shifts the air, like he’s the sun and everything around him are just mere planets, susceptible to his magnetic pull. The house, your home, suddenly feels a little too small.

His smile fades, just slightly, as he takes it all in. Maybe it’s the warmth of the place, the scent of coffee lingering from breakfast, the old family photos lining the walls. Or maybe it’s just the quiet—different from whatever he’s used to.

“The hell is this?”

Pa’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and confused. He’s already halfway up from his chair, eyes narrowed, hands braced on the armrests like he’s about to stand but isn’t quite sure if it’s worth the effort. His gaze flicks between you and the very large, very unfamiliar man now standing in his house.

You sigh, already anticipating the reaction. “Pa, relax,” you say, walking over to him, ready to placate. “I was just looking for some help around the farm.”

Pa squints at the stranger like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s real or just a heat stroke-induced hallucination. “Help? With what?”

“With everything, Pa.” You lower your voice to a whisper-shout, rubbing your temple. “You can’t keep up the way you used to, and neither can I. We need someone else.”

Pa grumbles something under his breath before scoffing. “And how exactly do ya plan to pay ‘em, huh? We can’t afford that.”

You set your jaw firm. “I’ll make it work, I promise”

That makes him pause. He knows that tone. Knows it the same way he knew your mother’s, unyielding and steady, like a tree standing firm against the wind. Your roots bury deep in the ground you walk on, just like her. There’s no use arguing when you get like this, and he’s too tired to fight a battle he knows he’ll lose.

Still, his lips press into a thin line, his weathered hands gripping the armrests of his recliner before he exhales, slow and resigned. “Stubborn like your mother, I tell ya.”

The words land heavier than you’d like. You huff out a breath, shoving it down before it can settle too deep—before your guest gets too curious. You don’t need a stranger poking around and popping stitches.

So instead, you turn away from Pa as he sits back down, still muttering under his breath, and quickly clear the dining table of a few lingering cups from breakfast. The kitchen’s only a few steps away, the open floor plan letting you move freely. You rinse out a glass and fill it with cool, sweet tea, condensation already forming on the outside as the humid air clings to it. It’s an old habit, a simple kindness—making sure guests have something to drink.

When you turn back, you see that Johnny’s wandered toward the wall, where a small collection of family photos are hung in mismatched frames. He’s standing still, his broad shoulders relaxed but his head tilted slightly, studying them. Studying you.

Your stomach twists when you realize which one he’s looking at.

It’s old, a little faded in its frame, but still clear—you, small and bright-eyed, cloaked in your Ma's too-big dress and classy jewelry, drowning in fabric and pearls as you grin at the camera. Your Ma's crouched beside you, laughing, her arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. The slight shadow of your Pa holding the camera, capturing a moment frozen in time.

You clear your throat, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of last night's baseball game replaying from the tv. Dave Winfield hit his 400th home run last night against the Twins. Johnny’s attention was pulled back to you. His blue eyes flicker with something unreadable before he schools his face.

You don’t give him the chance to say anything. Instead, you hold up the glass and gesture toward the dining table. “Sit.”

He does, pulling out one of the side chairs and settling into it with an easy, almost lazy confidence. You set the glass in front of him and take the seat at the head of the table, watching him as he wraps his fingers around the sweating drink.

And for the first time since he showed up, he’s quiet. 

You realize, rather suddenly, that you’re not actually sure what to ask him. You’ve never interviewed anyone before—never had to. The farm’s always been run by family.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your chair, trying not to feel small under his gaze. He’s watching you—not in a way that feels threatening, but in a way that makes you hyper-aware of yourself. Of the way your fingers tap against the tabletop, of the bead of sweat still clinging to your collarbone from the August heat.

You square your shoulders and push past it. “So,” you start, “what kind of experience do you have with hard labor?”

He leans back a little, forearms flexing just enough to be distracting. “Done my fair share,” he says, voice casual, like he’s talking about the weather.

You arch a brow. “Like?”

His lips twitch, just slightly, like he can tell you’re trying to keep up the tough act. “Military.”

That gives you pause. Military. You study him again, looking past his too-relaxed posture. Yeah, you can see it now—in the way he holds himself, in the sharpness of his gaze, in the way he takes in a room like he’s cataloging exits.

“What branch?” you ask.

“UK Special Forces.”

That surprises you, but you keep your face neutral. You wondered what brought him here, of all places. Obviously he wasn’t American, he sounds like Groundskeeper Willie, for Christ's sake. Your fingers tap against the table once before you ask, “What’d you do?”

He hesitates. It’s slight, barely there, but you catch it. His jaw tenses for just a fraction of a second before he exhales through his nose. “Served where I was needed.”

You tilt your head. “Iraq?”

His eyes flicker—not with surprise, but with something else. A shadow. It’s gone just as quickly as it appears, buried under that same easy smirk. “Among other places.”

You don’t push. You just nod, sensing that it’s not something he wants to talk about all that much.

You’re fine with that. Everyone’s got their wounds.

You exhale, shifting slightly in your seat, fingers drumming lightly against the wooden tabletop. “How much can you lift?”

Johnny takes his time answering, reaching for the glass of sweet tea. He swirls it absently, watching the condensation bead and trail down the sides before taking a slow sip. “Depends,” he finally says, setting it down with a soft thud.“What’re we talkin’? Hay bales? Fence posts? You?”

Your lips press together in a flat line. You refuse to bite. “Let’s stick to hay bales.”

His grin is slow and amused, like he enjoys getting under your skin. “Can handle hay bales no problem.”

You roll your eyes and shift topics before he can drag this out. “Ever ridden horses?”

He stretches slightly, rolling his broad shoulders before settling back into the chair. “Aye, a few times,” he says, tipping his head. “No’ often, but I ken how.”

You nod, working through his accent in your head, but ultimately satisfied enough with that. “Ever herded sheep?”

His brow quirks, and he tilts his head just slightly, giving you a look. “Aren’t there dogs for tha’?”

You let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking your head as you lean forward to rest your elbows on the table. “Yeah, there are. But Dixie’s old now and too nice for her own good. Sleeps with the sheep more than she herds them. Think she likes being part of the flock.”

Johnny’s expression shifts just a fraction—nose wrinkling, jaw tensing like he’s biting back a reaction. Then, casually, like it’s nothing, he mutters, “No’ really fond o’ dogs.”

Your fingers tap against the table once before you hum, neither surprised nor bothered. “That’s fine. Dixie’ll leave you alone if you don’t want to interact with her, she’s a sweet girl though.”

Johnny exhales through his nose and nods, shifting in his chair. He leans back, resting one arm over the backrest like he owns the damn thing, settling into an easy, almost lazy posture. You, on the other hand, are still sitting straight, trying to keep some sense of control in this conversation. You move toward the standard questions—his work ethic, reliability, how soon he can start. Hopefully ASAP.

He answers everything with the kind of confidence that makes it clear he’s no stranger to hard labor, though he keeps the details vague, like he doesn’t see the point in spelling things out to you

Eventually, you sit back, rubbing your hands over your thighs before resting them in your lap. “Look,” you start, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be honest with you. I can’t pay much. It’s a lot of work for a little money.” You’re already bracing yourself for rejection.

Johnny’s quiet for a moment, like he’s really thinking it over. His fingers tap lightly against the table’s edge before he shifts, rolling his shoulders once more before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I’ll work withou’ pay,” he says finally. “So long as I get a place tae sleep. An’ meals.”

That throws you a little. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your worn jeans as you study him, searching his face for any flicker of dishonesty. But he doesn’t look like a man trying to con you—just someone who’s already made up his mind.

He watches you right back, head tilted slightly, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll argue.

You think on it. It’d be more cost-effective to add a couple extra eggs or greens to each meal rather than shell out cash on the daily. You don’t particularly like the idea of someone working for free, but if he’s willing, if it helps keep the farm running.

You nod, exhaling through your nose. “That can work.” This time you extend your hand first, across the table and palm up. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Johnny glances down at your hand, then back up at you. Slowly, he reaches out, his grip firm and his hand dwarves yours. Working hands, warm, rough with calluses. The shake lingers just a second longer than necessary before he lets go, settling back into his seat with an easy smile.

“Guess I’m yours then, boss.”

You spend the next few hours showing Johnny around the property, riding side by side on horseback. Before you even get 5 minutes out of the barn, you realize—for all his confidence—he’s not the best at riding. His posture is stiff, his grip on the reins just a little too tight, and when the horse starts to trot, it becomes painfully obvious—he can’t post to save his life.

You bite back a smile, watching as he bounces awkwardly in the saddle, his jaw tight with concentration. Yeah. That’d be a lesson for tomorrow.

For now, though, you make things easier on both of you. You have Johnny dismount the horse and put her back in her stall. He does so with a small huff, rubbing the back of his neck in embarassment, and you gesture for him to get on behind you on Shimmer—your brown beauty with a white patch on her forehead. She’s steady, calm, used to being ridden double.

He hesitates for only a second before swinging himself up behind you, settling in close. Closer than you’d realized he’d be.

It makes sense, he takes up a lot of space compared to you. Granted, Shimmer is a horse for your size, not his. His chest is flush against your back, warm and solid, and suddenly, you’re very aware of just how big he is. His arms rest lightly on either side of you, long enough for his hands gripping the saddle’s pommel as he adjusts. 

You swallow hard, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. Focus.

“You good back there?” Your voice is steady, but barely.

Johnny shifts slightly, just enough that his chest presses firmer against you. “Aye,” he says, low and smooth. “Though, I cannae say I mind the view from back here.”

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on guiding Shimmer forward instead of the warmth of him against your spine.

Tomorrow, you’ll teach him how to properly ride a horse.

You guide Shimmer across the acres, Johnny still seated behind you, his chest a steady presence against your back. You don’t bother overwhelming him with too much about the animals—there’d be time for that later. For now, you focus on the land itself, pointing out the ins and outs of the property. The best routes to take. The spots where the fence needs checking. Where the land dips and swells, where the ground gets soft after rain. What to avoid.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just nod along like he’s only half-listening—he absorbs everything.

You’d expected some level of attention, but Johnny takes it to another level. He’s perceptive, and alarmingly so. He never asks you to repeat yourself, doesn’t need clarification. His responses are short but sharp, repeating directions back to you with precision, like he’s filing everything away for later.

It shocks you a little. Most people take weeks to learn the best ways around the farm, to memorize which fence posts need reinforcing, which pasture belongs to which animal.

Johnny’s picking it up in hours.

You exhale, eyes scanning the land ahead as you consider it. Must be the military. You don’t know much about what exactly the UK has their Army doing, but you imagine remembering terrain was part of the job. Mapping escape routes, tracking paths, knowing where to move and when. James Bond shit.

It’s a little unnerving, if you’re being honest. But at the same time, it’s... reassuring. If he can learn this fast, maybe he’ll actually be useful around here.

By the time the sun starts its slow descent, painting the sky in hazy streaks of orange and pink, you’ve spent the better part of the day word-vomiting everything Johnny needs to know about the property. He took it all in with that same sharp, unnerving focus, barely asking questions, barely missing a beat. You’d expected him to lose interest, to at least seem overwhelmed, but he never did. It’s strange.

It’s late afternoon. You bring him inside, leading him upstairs to the guest bedroom.

The layout of the house is simple. All the bedrooms are on the second floor. Pa’s bedroom is to the left of the stairs, along with a storage room and a couple of closets down the hall. He’s got his own ensuite bathroom, which is a luxury in a house this old. There’s a small common area at the top of the stairs, more of a nook than a real room, where an old desk and a shelf full of worn books sit untouched most days. To the right of the stairs and down the hall is your bedroom, and next to it, the guest room—now Johnny’s room. Directly across the hall is the bathroom, which, as of now, isn’t just your bathroom anymore.

It’s Johnny’s too, now. You just had to pray he would remember to put the seat down. 

You pause outside the guest room, pushing the door open so he can step in. It’s simple—a sturdy bed, a nightstand, a decently sized dresser. Nothing fancy, but clean and comfortable enough.

Johnny steps inside, tossing his bag onto the bed and glancing around. He gives a small nod, like he approves, before shooting a look over his shoulder.

"Cozy," he remarks, that damn accent making the word sound richer than it has any right to.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “My room’s next door,” you tell him, nodding toward it. “And we’ll be sharing the bathroom across the hall.”

Johnny quirks a brow at that, glancing toward the bathroom before his gaze slides back to you. His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, but damn close.

“Hope ye dinnae take long showers, then,” he teases.

You huff, pushing off the doorframe. “I don’t. I won’t be in your way. Hope you won’t be in mine.”

He chuckles, low and amused, before stretching his arms above his head, the hem of his wife beater riding up just enough to reveal a dark tuft of hair, tastefully accented by a vline and the bottom half of some abs. He sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Well, as long as ye don’t mind m’walkin’ around in a towel,  we’ll get along just fine.”

You blink. Once. Twice. He’s messing with you, but you wouldn’t mind a bit. You don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing that. “I’ll let you get settled,” you say, tone flat. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Johnny watches you for a second, then grins—a lazy, wolfish thing that makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not acknowledge.

“Yes ma’am,” he drawls. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You turn on your heel and head back downstairs, exhaling as you step into the kitchen. Dinner. You’ll focus on dinner. For you, Pa—and now, Johnny.

Like it’s normal. Like you’re not dangerously aware of the Greek God now living just a door down from you.

The sun’s nearly set by the time dinner’s on the table, casting a warm orange glow through the kitchen windows. The air is thick with the scent of home-cooked food—something rich, filling, the kind of meal that sticks to your ribs after a long day’s work. You don’t cook fancy, but you cook damn well, and the proof is sitting right across from you.

Johnny practically groans after the first bite, dropping his fork against his plate and leaning back in his chair like he’s just had some religious experience.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he mumbles, chewing through another mouthful, shaking his head in near disbelief. “This is th’ best thing I’ve eaten in—hell, I dunno how long.”

You scoff, stabbing a piece of chicken with your fork. “You act like I just served you the cure for cancer.”

Johnny just points his fork at you, eyes damn serious. “Might as well be.”

Pa huffs out a chuckle, though he’s still regarding Johnny with that wary, fatherly suspicion. He’s been watching him since he sat down, not quite unfriendly, but assessing. The kind of look that says ‘I don’t trust you yet, but I’m willing to tolerate you.’

“So,” Pa starts, setting his glass down, “what’s a young guy like yourself doin’ lookin’ for farm work? Dun’ seem like the kinda thing a soldier would go for.”

Johnny doesn’t falter. He wipes his mouth with a napkin before answering, “Needed a change o’ pace,” he says. “Figured I’d try m’hand at something new.”

Pa isn’t impressed. “Ya ever worked on a farm before, boy?”

“No’ exactly, no.” Johnny pops another bite into his mouth. “But work’s work, aye? Ye put in effort, ye get results. Simple enough.”

Pa hums, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “... And where’d ya say your from, again?”

“Scotland.”

“Huh.” Pa leans back slightly, arms crossed. “Ya don’t say.”

Johnny just grins, sensing the old man’s suspicion and, by all accounts, enjoying it. But then he shifts gears, effortlessly steering the conversation in a different direction. “Caught some of tha’ baseball game ye had on this morning.,” he says, casually, like it’s just an offhand remark. “Did nae get tae see th’ end of it, though. Who won?”

That gets Pa’s attention. His eyebrows lift slightly, suspicion briefly forgotten. “Ya watch baseball?”

Johnny shrugs. “Not often, bu’ I like a good game when I see one. And from what I saw, th’ Angel’s were struggling there for a bit.”

Pa scoffs. “Struggling? Boy, they were getting their asses handed to ‘em. Pitcher was all over the damn place. If I’d been on the field, I’d have-”

And just like that, the two are off, talking baseball, going back and forth like they’ve known each other for years. You groan, pushing your food around on your plate as the conversation carries on, completely hijacked.

You should’ve known this would happen. Give two men a sport to bond over, and suddenly, they’re best friends.

You zone out for a while, chewing absentmindedly, half-listening as they talk about batting averages and pitching speeds. You don’t notice it at first—a gentle nudge against your ankle.

You flinch slightly, assuming Johnny just bumped you on accident. You shift your foot away under the table.

He follows with his own. Your brows furrow slightly, shooting a glance at him. He doesn’t even look at you, still chatting with Pa like nothing’s happening.

A moment later, another nudge—softer this time.

You realize he’s doing it on purpose.

You sit up straighter, stiffening as you move your foot again.

Johnny follows.

Your jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. What is he doing?

You flick your gaze toward him again, and finally, he meets your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough for the ghost of a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at Pa, completely unfazed.

You resist the urge to kick him under the table, opting instead to glare daggers at him, your expression screaming ‘What in the absolute fuck are you doing?’

Johnny, the absolute menace, doesn’t react beyond the occasional brief glance in your direction, his smirk lingering like he’s enjoying this way too much.

Meanwhile, Pa’s none the wiser, still going on about how baseball’s gone soft over the years. And you’re stuck sitting there, silently fuming, trapped in a footsie war like you’re in grade school.

Dinner winds down, the conversation between Johnny and Pa finally tapering off. Johnny, mercifully, lets up with the footsie nonsense, though not before giving one last, slow brush of his ankle against yours—like a final, smug little victory lap. You pointedly ignore it, pretending not to notice, even as heat creeps up the back of your neck.

Eventually, Pa calls it a night. He pushes back from the table with a tired groan, muttering about how he’s “too damn old to be up this late,” before shuffling off toward the stairs.

You listen to his slow, steady footsteps as he heads up to his room, waiting for the familiar click of his door shutting. And then—you’re alone.

Johnny lingers in the kitchen, standing near the island, hovering. He looks out of place for the first time since he showed up, like he’s not sure if he should offer to help or just let you do your thing. Instead, he leans against the counter, arms crossing over his chest, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

It’s awkward—unlike him.

You stack plates, rinsing them under the faucet, letting the warm water fill the quiet. But you can feel him watching you. Not in a weird way—just... observing. Like he’s waiting for something.

And you’re not about to let that something slide.

“So,” you say, voice casual as you scrub a dish, “what was with the footsie?”

Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, amused. “Thought ye’d never ask.”

You scoff, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “Seriously?”

His smirk is pure trouble. “Could nae help myself, lass,” he says, leaning forward slightly, elbows braced on the countertop. “Ye just looked so serious, sittin’ there all quiet, tryin’ not tae react.” His voice drops just a bit lower, teasing. “Was cute.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest, a traitorous little skip that pisses you off.

Because, genuinely, what the hell? Sure he’s probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, and potentially your exact type to a T, but you’ve only known this man for a day. There’s no way you could be that desperate, no way you’re already feeling anything. Right?

The thought alone makes irritation creep up your spine. You shut the faucet off with a little more force than necessary, turning away from the dishes completely so you can fully face him.

“What are you playing at?” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. You fold your arms, leveling him with a look. “Are you actually here to work? Or are you just here to freeload an-”

Johnny pushes himself off the counter, not playing around. He stands up straight, tall, and present. And when he looks at you this time, there’s nothing cheeky about it.

“I’m here tae work,” he says, steady, certain. “Ye need help, and I can handle it. Tha’s why I’m here.”

His smile returns, but it’s softer this time. Honest. He lifts a shoulder in a slow, lazy shrug, his voice dropping. “But you’re gorgeous, and there’s no denyin’ that. Just sayin’.”

Your brain stalls. Stops working entirely. There could very well be steam coming out of your scalp.

He moves beside you, completely unfazed, grabbing a towel like it’s the most natural thing in the world and starting to dry the dishes you had already washed. Meanwhile, you just stand there, staring where he was just standing, still feeling the heat of his gaze on your skin.

You’re in trouble.

[overnightheartbeats]

Maybe he agreed, maybe he didn't. Laurel was trying to be hopeful and positive at the thought of the ship being smart, but realistically? Not quite. There was a saying somewhere, about doing the same things and expecting different results. But, they were different people now, weren't they? Slightly different maybe? Watching his lips turn upward with the mention of small talk made her cheeks glow just a smidge brighter. Was he thinking of their early days in school, skipping class and getting to know each other in his car. Her inability to be casual with small talk begging them to just jump in with direct questions. Something she was lucky he indulged her in. Come to think of it, a lot of their story ended with some version of luck.

"I didn't really want to ask either," she admitted, leaning against him. And, sure, she was the more outspoken one about their feelings, rarely shying away from those conversations. However, the thought of bringing up the topic, after all she had put them through, terrified her. "I just...I'm not really sure. I guess I didn't want to go to this stupid Dan date if you and I...well, if we were dancing around anything. You know the whole, ruining something before it even begins."

"Agreed," she said with a resigned sigh. He was right. Nothing and everything has changed, it was difficult to not feel futile. "I suppose the real question is, if it's worth trying." For her? Who sucked at giving up, yes it was worth it. He was worth it. Always. The need to feel him against her was bursting at the seams, her smile growing as she felt his warm hands on her cheeks.

Resting on his lap was security and comfort she had missed. Laurel's nerves were still at an all-time high, even thinking of having this conversation, but his arm around her waist was a good sign they were headed in a positive direction. "I'd like that, we probably still have a lot to learn about each other." Beyond their physical attraction which was clearly intact, she couldn't ignore the amount of years that had passed between them. How much they had changed or remained the same. It was the latter that frightened her, how much had remained the same.

"Okay, old man," she teased in between laughs, shaking her head at his comment. She supposed he was not entirely wrong. They were no longer the 'kids'. "Yes though, I do believe they call it dating." For someone who had avoided everything remotely related to dating, Laurel felt her heart thumping against her chest just with his mention of the word. A mix of anticipation and hopefulness at the thought of this becoming a reality for them. Perhaps it wasn't commitment she feared, just commitment with someone who wasn't him. One slow nod to seal the deal, "I'm okay if you're okay. Slow and dating, we can work with that." It wasn't official, but it was more than she ever thought was possible. And, truly she couldn't ask for more. As long as he knew that she was all in. "And, that means I can tell Dan to piss off." Laurel was curious about the case he had mentioned, the robbery that had hit the news. If he was already in the loop, they were probably planning something big to catch them. A taskforce or something of the sort, but now she was just letting her mind run free. "The only bummer is not hearing about that case, he lets me read those files early, just to pick my brain or whatever." She was not curious enough to join dinner with the man. "But, I'm sure I'll read about it eventually. Enough Dan talk though. Look at us being productive during dinner."

A light chuckle left his lips as she commented about the ship being smart. He had the thought that maybe the ship was the exact opposite. Maybe it was stupid and naive for wanting to sail back into the same waters, but he didn't dare voice as much, not wanting to ruin the decent moment they had been able to create. Instead, Pat nodded in agreement at her sentiment.

His lips quirked upward again when she mentioned how she'd never been good at small talk. Pat could still remember one of the first times before she'd actually agreed to go out with him, them skipping class, sitting in his car and she'd turned to him with such confidence and questioned "What are you about Pat O'Morhan?" It had been a slice straight through small talk and he'd loved that about her, even then.

He watched as she took a second drink from her glass, and he followed suit, finishing his and pushing it away slightly, to give his hands something to focus on, though he was grateful when she spoke again, and he couldn't stop the slight chuckle that fell from his lips at the clear surprise in her tone. "Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna ask." he admitted with a sheepish grin. Sure, he'd been an outright criminal, hell, still was, put in very dangerous situations over and over again, but when it came to feelings, and vulnerability, Laurel was the brave one of the two of them.

"It does, doesn't it. Probably because nothing and everything has changed." he answered, because that's exactly how it felt to him all at the same time. the joy in the one questioned word was infectious and a smile spread over his features instantly. Though, he didn't have the opportunity to answer as she was up and closing any distance between them, her hands finding his cheeks and her lips meeting his. Pat pushed his chair back slightly, his hands finding her cheeks as he returned her kiss.

Had she not pulled away, he would've happily pulled her right onto his lap, though even as she started speaking, she didn't move away from him, and his smile grew as the speed of her words increased. "You're good." He nodded as she spoke, and after she trailed off, he took her hand in his and did pull her into a sitting position on his lap, his free arm moving to wrap around her waist, as his other hand released hers in favor of moving to cup her cheek. "We can take it slow if you'd like." he agreed, knowing it probably wasn't the smartest idea to jump right back into whatever they'd had, especially when he was holding what might be considered more secrets now than he had been then. Yet, the pull and attraction and love he felt for Laurel meant he was aching to do exactly that.

A light chuckle left the man as he tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "I know I've been out of touch a while, but I think the kids still call it dating." he teased, his smirk returning as he looked up at her. "I uh, I'd be okay with calling it that if you wanted." he offered. That didn't exactly mean they were boyfriend and girlfriend, right? Still sans titles, but at least it was something to ensure they both knew that the other was right there and invested, and god damn it if he wasn't whole heartedly invested.

[wendichester]

I need to ask because I want someone else’s perspective on this, what kind of nicknames do you think dean would say to his significant other? I feel like baby/babe would be more like sam to say to his own significant other—at least to me, I might be wrong, idk—i feel like if they’re alone, maybe dean would call his significant other something cheesy, but if someone else is around, I believe he would keep it “classic”, like sweetheart. Maybe I think that way bc dean’s Impala is named baby, but now I don’t know, rn I’m kind of spiraling about this nonsense and confusing myself lol

okay but this is such a good question! i love you for sending me this 🩷

in my opinion, dean is definitely a nickname kinda guy. from the way he casually calls every single woman he runs into sweetheart, darlin', or doll to the fact that he saves crowley's contact as 666 (or even something as simple as calling sam sammy all the damn time), it's clear that pet names or nicknames are second nature to him. they're a part of his charm, almost a mix of flirtation, habitat and a means of keeping people at arm's length while still making them feel special--at least on the surface.

now, when it comes to someone who actually matters, someone he's built something real with, I feel like the nicknames would evolve.

in the early stages--when you're just friends--dean would probably lean into playful teasing nicknames, especially if there's an inside joke between the two. he'd find something unique, something that sticks. mostly likely something to get under your skin in that smug, shit-eating way of his. i see him as someone who'd use brat a lot. sunshine if dealing with someone chipper (specially in the mornings). names like these. simple, commonly used, but that he'd only use for you and you only. these would be casual, easy to throw out around sam or even strangers, because at this stage, there's no real vulnerability attached to them. sometimes, he'd used them even in a annoyed or slight mocking tone.

but as things progressed--as you became his person--the pet names would grow more intimate, more meaningful. he'd still keep the classics because those would never really leave his vocabulary, but they'd be spoken in a softer and affectionate way. babygirl seems like something he'd often use, something that rolls off his tongue when he pulls you close or murmurs in your ear. i can also see beautiful slipping through his lips when he's feeling completely lost in infatuation, but only in private--never in front of sam, never in a moment where he might get caught being too soft. i feel like, despite everything, dean would continue guarding his emotions around his lil bro. the idea of being vulnerable in front of him still unnerving.

now i definitely agree with you on the baby one. it just feels off-limits. baby belongs to the Impala and we all know how Dean is nothing if not sentimental when it comes to his car. if he'd ever say it, he'd either have to be wasted, dead tired, or caught up in the heat of the moment where the word would just slip. babe on the other hand, i could see it being used when he's frustrated--an exasperated "babe, c'mon!" when he's losing patience or he's trying to reason with you.

overall, i think dean's pet names would reflect your relationship and how close/intimate you are with him. to the rest of the world they would seem like nothing--just another layer of his charm--but to you, they'd be something deeper. something special. a way of saying I see you, you're mine, you matter. without ever having to say those words out loud

p.s. did i get too carried away with this? 100% but I have no friends to discuss supernatural with irl so--please share your thoughts with me and send me more questions ehe 😙