#thank god for stamp brushes

[keii]

Stuck in a crowded subway cart with Xavier during the evening rush.

[cumulus-confession]

To grow old with your best friend

[entitled-fangirl]

How to liven a marriage.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

SMUT SMUT SMUT SO MUCH SMUT

Summary: Cregan and the reader's marriage is dull, purely for duty. When the reader finds a book in the Winterfell library depicting just how pleasureful a man and wife's sex life can be, she takes it upon herself to introduce such a thing.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, making out, washing bruises (from a battle), riding, studying the scientific parts of a vagina, foreplay, etc

A/n: based on a reallllly good ask. I think this is my longest fic and I have no regrets. Except that I haven't proofread it yet. That's a later problem.

Masterlist

.......................................................

She felt her stomach drop to her feet when she saw the drawings in the book. Her cheeks became a flushed red, completely embarrassed to have stumbled on something so… private. She shut the book with a thud and cringed at the loud sound that echoed in the library.

She heaved the book back onto the shelf and brushed off her skirt, as if trying to completely brush off the experience itself.

Once she had pulled herself together, she decided she'd had enough of the library. Enough scavenging and prodding at the books. Especially one like that.

Be even so, she felt herself stop halfway to the door.

She was a married woman. The act of sex itself is no crime to a married woman. Nor studying various positions of it. 

It felt dirty to do so. Very wrong. Like her old Septa would appear and scold her ardently over it.

But her Septa wasn't there.

No one was there.

Just her and the book.

…

Cregan was sure to arrive within the fortnight. 

She wished to be happy about all of it. The return of her husband was good. It had been a tough few weeks to rule without him. After all, she was still new to the North.

But she couldn't find it in her.

Cregan was harsh and cold. Never happy, never caring. Duty and honor. How the words were stamped across their foreheads.

They had married out of duty, and that is all they had of one another. They were awkward and lacked the eagerness to spend time with one another. 

She had heard stories of great marriages of love that whisked away all problems and only left a man, a wife, and their love. That was not this marriage.

So the return of Cregan meant the return of a duty that she had started to dislike: Their attempts to conceive. She knew once she gave him a few sons, they would be rid of the need to conceive, but that day was far away.

And Cregan surely drew closer to Winterfell.

…

Perhaps the book- Forget about the book, she told herself. A proud man like him would never agree to look at such a thing.

Her fingers grazed over one of the drawings as she read the contents next to it. It was confusing to try and follow such a strange topic, but still she tried.

Women may experience intense pleasure of their own. It is most easy to start at the clitoris. It is located above the vaginal opening. A gentle circled rubbed at the area w

"What are you reading, my lady?"

She slammed the book shut with a thud and a gasp, her head snapping to the side to see Winterfell's maester standing with a curious expression. She held a hand over her chest. "Do not sneak up on a woman."

"Forgive me, my lady. I thought myself being rather loud in my steps." He gave her a chuckle. "It seems I was wrong."

Her shock was turning to embarrassment as she tried to slide the book further behind her back on the table that she leaned again. "You're forgiven, just go."

"Ah, I've come for a reason," he countered. "News of Lord Stark's return is at hand. He should be here by sunset tomorrow, gods willing."

She nodded, trying desperately to get him back out. "Right. How fortunate. Thank you. You may go."

"My lady, if I may," he continued. "You look rather flushed. Are you feeling ill?"

"NO!" She cringed at her outburst. "No, I'm quite well, thank you."

The maester gave her a strange look. He clearly didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to push it. "Right. If you need anything, only say the word." He dipped his head and hurried off, closing the door behind him.

Her entire body relaxed at his leaving. She ran a hand over her face in an attempt to physically remove the heat from her cheeks.

She had been so close to getting caught with this.

Too close.

When she was sure there weren't footsteps in the corridor, she turned back, opening the book once more and reading further.

It gave her an idea.

She grabbed the book, carrying it to Cregan's desk and setting the heavy thing down. Her fingers sprawled over the page once again, careful to not continue the tear that went down the side. She slowly sat down as she continued to read.

A gentle circled rubbed at the area will increase pleasure during the act of sex.

She looked over her shoulder to check one last time before her hands began to bring her skirt up. The fabric was quickly pooled around her stomach and her legs were exposed. Her right hand shook as it brushed the small piece of fabric still guarding her most intimate parts from the cold air.

But the most important part of a female's genitalia to understand is the vagina. Located between the clitoris and the anus lies the vagina. Though different in looks, all women's perform quite alike.

Her breath caught as she gained her last bit of bravery, and her fingers pushed the fabric to the side. The cold air made her hiss, as did the coldness to her fingertips.

The labia majora protects the vagina from foreign particles, the labia minora after that. 

Her fingers explore the very area, the cold digits skimping past the skin until she knew her middle finger grazed the inside of her vagina. 

She should have known the territory well. It was her own body and still she found herself unsure of where everything laid.

And above all else, she felt filthy for it. This was for her husband, not her own gain. Her own pleasure has nothing to do with making an heir. But she wouldn't stop now.

Her eyes grazed over the page again as she pushed her middle finger deep inside her. It caught once or twice, the lack of moisture causing a small discomfort. But once her second knuckle disappeared into her, she recalled the feeling. 

She remembered this now: the feeling of something inside of her. Though, this was one finger and nowhere near as intruding as her husband's cock. And only then did she begin to understand how a man could fall apart from this feeling. Her walls seemed to not want her finger to part from her. She pumped it in and out a few times before daring to turn the page with her left hand.

…

Cregan returned as promised, with the sun beginning to set behind him- though it was covered with the thick clouds of the North. 

Standing on the stairs to the castle was his wife. He had long awaited to return home. To continue his duties to her? No. But home meant warmth and small comforts and he would take that every day he could.

He dismounted his horse and took slow steps to her. He forced a small smile, more for the sake of everyone else than the two of them. "My lady."

She gave a polite nod of her head when he grew close. "You've returned safely."

"I have." His gaze wandered around the area in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

"I… I've missed you," she muttered.

His eyes looked to her and his brows pulled together. "Have you?"

"Well…" She looked down at her shoes. Was that even true? She didn't miss him. Not really. Well, she did in a way. Waiting to talk about the book. "Well, I found myself wanting to be with you as soon as I could." She swallowed and looked up at him. "Would that be considered missing you?"

" 'Being with me,' " he repeated as he thought it over. He squinted in contemplation before trying to clarify. "As in speaking with me or… other things?"

Her face flushed and her eyes looked right back down to the ground. 

He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. His tongue ran along his teeth before clicking as he came to a conclusion in his mind. "An hour. My chambers."

It was a soft command. He never ordered her around. And if she chose to voice an opinion ever, she knew he'd consider it. He was a forceful man, but not like that. 

But when she made no motion against it, he chuckled. One of his hands came up to her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "An hour. I'll even wash for you first." He pressed an emotionless kiss to her lips and stepped away, grabbing his horse's reins and beginning to speak to one of the other men.

An hour. That felt like too long to sit with her thoughts. But she'd manage. Somehow.

…

An hour later, she opened the door with her heart beating wildly. 

But upon seeing what laid inside, it died down.

Cregan laid in the large copper tub, his head laid back against the rim as he bathed: fast asleep.

She leaned on the door and studied him for a while. How easily the rough man became just as soft as anyone else. He seemed… at peace for once. That large crease that always laid between his brows was gone as he softly snored.

It's hard to make an heir like this. But he'd journeyed so far, and something like sex seemed dumb when he needed rest this badly.

She stepped in and closed the door behind her, careful not to make a heavy sound. Her steps were quiet and careful, quickly guiding her to him and now she kneeled at his side. 

Her fingers dipped into the water. It was beginning to grow cold.

And judging by the light pruning of his fingers, he'd been there for a while.

Cregan often took his baths alone. He always refused the help of servants, even his wife, rather wishing to have this as his alone time.

She grabbed the cloth that lay over the side- unused, judging by its dryness, and dipped it in, beginning to lightly trail it over his chest. 

She took the time to study every scar across him. There were many and she had no doubt that he'd won each battle they belonged to. She had seen him sparring- she knew how formidable she was with a sword in his hand.

The water ran down his chest and dripped into the tub again. The sounds echoed in his room. Each seemed loud compared to the utter silence of the air.

She moved to the other side of the tub and cleaned him, now noticing the deep cut on his shoulder. Deep purple and green bruising laid around it. It looked quite painful. When she ran the cloth over it, he hissed and his eyes finally opened.

He took in the room, a sharp gaze that would make most men fearful. Once they set on her and he completely came to, they softened slightly. She saw the way they flickered from her eyes to the cloth in her hand. She waited for him to inevitably shoo her from the room.

"Has it been an hour?" He quietly asked. "I apologize. How rude of me." He pulled the rag from her hand. "And I've made you feel as if you have to clean me to make up for time lost that I now owe you. Well, sit and I will hurriedly finish, wife."

His words and movements caught her off guard. She was unsure what to say. 

"Go on," he motioned with a hand. "Sit and wait for me. Like you so patiently have."

"No," she finally countered. "Y- your shoulder. It looks painful. Let me."

Her hand grabbed for the rag, brushing his. The two seemingly froze in the moment. Cregan's deep eyes stared up at hers, as if taking her in for the first time. Finally, he shook his head. "It won't take long."

"I know. So, let me," she argued again.

He looked down to their hands, their fingers touching just barely. Slowly, his grip loosened and she was able to slip the cloth from him.

Silently, she took the acceptance and began to wash him again. She took extra care around the bruises now. When the cloth ran over them, the fingers of her other hand followed and paused. "Does it hurt?" She softly asked.

Cregan's eyes were glued to the water now, his fingers dipping in and out and watching the droplets fall back into the tub. "They always do."

"It didn't go well, I take it?"

He held water in his palm, cupped carefully as he studied it. "It went very well."

"This is very well?"

He tilted his hand and let the water escape down his arm with a sigh. His head tilted and he finally looked at her with a firm gaze. "The Wall is harsh. Even on its best days."

Having him stare at her so deeply made her chest flutter and she suddenly imagined how he might look at her while doing things from the book in the library. 

She dared a thought, bringing a hand up to his cheek. He watched her carefully. To think that she did this of affection was a ridiculous one. He must have something on his face.

But when her palm rested there, on his cheek, he began to think differently. It brought a strange feeling to his stomach.

Her hand rested there for a while and the two were unmoving. But when she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, he pulled his head away.

Her fingers pulled to her palm as she accepted the rejection and blinked away all thoughts. "Lean forward," she gently commanded.

He raised no fuss, pulling himself forward with a small groan. No doubt his muscles protested with each movement.

She focused now, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his back flexed and contracted each time he moved. 

The cloth ran across his back and few times, and he eventually sighed at the feeling. Her hand somehow applied just enough pressure to his aching back. And when she noticed and focused just above his shoulder blades, he let out an audible groan.

"Tense, Lord Stark?" She almost teased.

He didn't catch the teasing part though, too relaxed in this state. He only nodded and prayed that she'd continue.

She abandoned the cloth and began to fully massage his shoulders with her hands. It put the powerful man in a relaxed trance, and not one he cared to come out of anytime soon.

"I've been thinking," she spoke. "Well, do you think that… " she hesitated. "That maybe… maybe there's more to conceiving a child than… what we've been doing?"

There was a silence. It was suffocating and she was sure that she'd said the wrong thing. She would have swore he hadn't heard her, but the sudden tension in his back said so.

Finally, his head turned just a bit, revealing half of his face to her and he barely looked over his shoulder. "I think," he drew out, "you've been reading."

Oh. So he knew of the book.

She pulled away, as if burned and began to wring her hands as her nerves took over. "It was there… and… And I only thought… maybe-"

He laid back again the tub again to look at her. "Is that something you want?" He calmly asked.

Her mouth went dry as she tried to speak an answer. 

"Wife," he voiced a little sharper. "I asked you a question."

She forced herself to take a deep breath. "Yes."

The corner of his lips tugged up and leaned his head back against the rim as before, closing his eyes. "So be it."

"W-" she stopped herself before creating any problems she didn't need. He'd agreed, and that was that.

With her confused presence, he opened his eyes and lulled his head to the side. "I'll apologize again for taking our time." His hand came out of the water to her, mimicking the way she had cupped his cheek early. "But after the feast?" His thumb ran over her lips, catching and pulling down her bottom lip. "You are mine to have."

…

She remembered something in the book about this. Foreplay, she recalled. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog and seeing the way it would drool in anticipation. 

Like quick glances, small touches, things that would signal to a partner that you wished to engage in sexual activities. 

Doing such things during a feast felt scandalous. But it filled her heart with a fire that she knew was traveling between her legs as well.

She had started it, brushing her hand with his as they ate. Then wiped at a bit of wine that had dripped down his chin. Then even daring to brush a hand across this thigh.

But that was earlier. Now, across the room from each other, she took other tactics. 

When she wasn't looking at whoever she spoke to, she looked at Cregan. Her eyes would wander from his face to his feet, a long gaze that took its time, and enjoyed every moment of it. And he was quick to notice it. When she was caught and his eyes were on her, she quickly looked away in mock embarrassment.

It worked wonderfully.

The rest of the evening, she felt his eyes on her and when she'd look back, he'd have a look that said he was ready to devore her whole. She felt her core almost drip with the adrenaline rushing through her.

Now, to act on it.

She caught his gaze again, keeping it and taking slow steps to the high table, hoping he'd get the hint to follow her. 

And perceptive he was.

She stood in front of her chair and reached down to her cup when his chest warmed her back. His hand reached over hers and seized her chalice as his voice spoke lowly in her ear. "Bid them goodnight. We are retiring."

She craned her neck to try to look at him. "We are the hosts-"

"-two minutes, and I'll carry you myself if I must."

His warmth disappeared, and he set her cup back down to the table.

A wide grin came to her lips.

…

The moment the door to his chamber closed, he pushed her against the wall. His lips chased her with a heat like she was the air he needed to breathe. His hands pulled at the fabric on her shoulders, so eager to undress and ravish her.

Her hands did the same, pulling at the strings of her doublet. But it was hard to do so through Cregan's heavy hands tugging her this way and that. 

Soon enough, cold air rose goosebumps across her skin. Cregan paused, only for a moment, letting his eyes wander over her. And for the first time, lust was evident in his pupils.

His lips consumed hers once more, his tongue delving past her teeth to hurriedly explore. His hands and hers both pulled at his clothes. 

With his chest bare, he deemed that enough for now. He picked her up and took her to the bed, dropping them both to it and holding himself above her with one hand. His lips moved to her neck now, sucking at the skin. And her small hitch of breath encouraged him.

Soon he pulled away and stood at the foot of the bed, pulling down his trousers and throwing off his boots. His eyes never strayed from her body. How beautiful she was. Now he really noticed.

His hands found her ankles. He pulled her down to the edge of the bed.

She began to notice how he'd began to go back into their routine from before.

He stepped between her legs and propped her hips up a bit, lining his cock with her cunt and beginning to force his way in.

Her jaw clenched and her nose inhaled sharply. She was never used to that first push. 

Her mind wandered to the night before with the book. She had went on to get three fingers in and without pain. She knew it was possible to avoid this if they went slowly. And the pleasure she had felt yesterday was inexplainable.

"Cr-Cregan," she panted out.

His eyes snapped up to hers. They never spoke during this. There was never anything to talk about. 

"I want to… to do it differently," she managed out.

He pulled out from her, holding her legs steady as he gave her a questioning gaze. "What did you read in that thing?" He finally asked.

"I want… I want to be… above," she tried to explain. "You lay down and I… I will do the work."

He was hesitant, understandably so, but he was hard enough now that he didn't quite care how it happened. He just needed a release.

So he laid himself on the bed, his eyes almost bulging out with the way she straddled him so confidently. 

She brushed against his manhood, and he couldn't take it anymore. His hands gripped her hips tightly as he tried to take back control. But her own hands pulled his away. She gave him a look that warned him to let her try it.

She sunk down onto him this time. The pressure was there, but it was different. More bearable this time. And at her own pace, she took her time to adjust to him until his pelvis met hers. 

Cregan's eyes were closed in bliss, and she took that as a sign to continue. She pulled her hips up and sunk back down, and a whine left her mouth without realizing it. It felt… good. Sex with Cregan felt good.

His hands trailed back up to her hips, more gentle this time. He guided her hips in a back and forth motion and a sinful moan escaped from him.

She continued it as he wanted, leaning down to brace herself on his chest. With this new motion, she could find a little pressure to her clit, and it brought a whole new wave of pleasure.

The motions quickened as the two began to explore the idea that maybe… just maybe… they liked this.

If their moans had any indication.

She felt a tightening in her lower stomach, something she remembered from yesterday. She wondered if Cregan could feel it from inside.

And he could. It created a resistance that had him almost drooling with how well it felt. How good she made him feel.

"Let me fill you," he voiced in a beg. It hadn't intended to come out that way, but it did. Cregan was begging.

"I w~" the words caught in her throat. "I want you to fill me," she managed. "Give me a child, Cre~"

The words died altogether on her lips as her orgasm washed over her. The one from her fingers yesterday was nothing compared to this. She felt it throughout her body like spring that had finally snapped. 

Cregan's eyes were open and wide at the feeling of her cunt around him now, spasming with the aftermath of her orgasm. It felt amazing, and he had cursed himself for never discovering it before.

And now that he had, he wouldn't forget it. 

Her cunt milked him for all he had, and he happily gave it to her, releasing himself with a heavy groan.

The two slumped on the bed, Cregan's arms wrapped around his wife's frame. Neither were eager to move from their positions, not even as he softened inside of her or the liquid ran down her thighs.

Before, Cregan had held her up and made her keep it in. 

Now? He didn't care. He could always just fill her again.

He'd do anything to see the way her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over again. 

"Thank you," she breathed against his neck.

There was a comfortable silence from him. Then finally, "I'll have that book read within the fortnight."

..........................................

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[augustinewrites]

the dull throb resonating over your entire body is what eventually rouses you, slowly bringing you back into consciousness. your head feels like a sword’s been driven through it, leaving your mind muddled.

the first thing you see is satoru hunched over your bedside, his hand carefully clutching yours. you call his name, but your voice is hoarse and scratchy and barely above a whisper.

he hears you regardless, eyes wide and alert as he lifts his head. he looks tired, dark circles stamped under his eyes and an unusual stiffness in his movements.

“you’re…okay,” he says, strained. as if he can’t believe it. you hum in response - because it’s all you can manage at the moment - feeling your eyelids begin to droop your will. “get some more rest. i’ll call shoko.” 

the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead is the last thing you feel before drifting back to sleep.

_____

you’re not sure how much time has passed when you come to. now, the room is illuminated by honeyed lamplight and you see shoko and satoru talking quietly at the foot of your bed. 

“glad to see you’re still with us,” your best friend smiles once she notices you’re awake. she moves to your side, leaning over you to pull back the thin blanket. there’s a swathe of bandages wrapped around your shoulder and a sling immobilizing your arm. 

“how do you feel?” satoru asks, that worried look still set in his expression. 

“i‘m fine,” you manage to answer, trying to blink the room into focus.

“you need to be more careful,” shoko tells you, peeling her gloves off and tossing them into the trash. the usual air indifference in her voice is gone, replaced with concern. “take satoru with you next time. not because i think you’re incapable of doing your job, but so he can do the corny, heroic thing and take the hit for you. god knows he could stand to be humbled every once in a while…” 

“thanks, shoko,” your boyfriend scoffs, but the way his hand grips yours tightly tells you he’d be more than willing to be your corny hero. 

you hate the way they look down at your prone form as shoko goes over your treatment plan. it makes you feel small and weak, and you are neither of those things. 

“can you help me sit up?”

“you shouldn’t be moving around–” 

your body burns with protest as you awkwardly push yourself up anyway, exhaling a pained hiss as gojo swears, reaching out to help steady your trembling torso as shoko shoves pillows behind your back. 

“i’m fine,” you argue, trying to ignore the throbbing behind your temples. you don’t remember exactly how you’d ended up in the school’s infirmary, just remember the way pain had exploded across your left side when you’d been hit.  

“you almost weren’t,” he says quietly. a deeply haunted look clouds his face as he recalls what must have happened after you’d been brought in, and you feel guilty for not being able to remember it. 

so you let him squeeze into bed next to you, let him carefully pull you into his chest and hold you until you feel the tension in his body dissipate. you know he needs this a little more than you do, know that the knowledge of you being okay isn’t enough. it won’t stop the fear and anxiety of losing you from gnawing on the edge of his sanity.

“i wanna give the flowers–”

“so you can take all the credit? i’m the one who bought them!”

your pained grimace easily turns to a smile when the door opens to reveal megumi and tsumiki, who are both gripping a bouquet of flowers. nanami follows them in, wearing the tired look of a man that’s never spent more than three hours dealing with moody preteens raised by gojo – until today.

_____

your family spoils you over the next few days. the three of them falling asleep on the little couch in your room, tucked under gojo’s arms every night until you’re cleared to go home. even then, they don’t leave your side. tsumiki snuggles next to you to watch movies and bakes you little treats. megumi reads to you from the book you’d been going through together and listens to your favourite records with you after school. 

satoru posts himself by your side. you like having him around. like the gentle way he handles you when working through the stretches shoko prescribes. like watching the way his hands move he diligently slices wedges of fresh fruit. 

you like being the focus of his single-minded attention, but you know how restless he can get when he doesn’t go off to work. rightfully so, because the jujutsu world would probably fall apart without him.

“you can go if you want,” you say one day, when he gets off a phone call with yaga. “i’ll be okay for a few hours.” 

he doesn’t get up, instead beginning to peel a plump orange (you’d never noticed how nice his hands were until now). “no, nanami’s still covering for me.” 

“satoru,” you sigh, taking an orange slice from him. “there’s a lot going on, you have bigger fish to fry.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” he tells you firmly, looking like he’d physically fight the idea of leaving your side. “you’re my fish.”

[leaawrites]

Flowers

Percy Jackson x Daughter of Apollo reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, jealous Percy, mention of Y/n

Wordcount: 2k (this is a long one)

Summary: To get her attenion Percy would even get into fights just to be healed by her.

Masterlist

Percy has been watching her for some time since he came to Camp Half-Blood. Always finding her in a crowd of people. Always letting his eyes drift over heads he couldn’t care less about until his eyes found her face, or her back, or her hair.

Y/n, daughter of Apollo, savior of people’s life. It wasn’t that dramatic, at least for her. Y/n was never given the damaged, just the hurt. A little cut here, a bruise that had to be cooled there, a kid that had to be cared about because it had gotten sick. Never the deep cuts, the bleeding face, the broken bones. It was never that. Not after she asked to take care of those in need of it a thousand times.

Percy knew that. He saw it. At first, he thought his eyes betrayed him, that it wanted to make her look small in his eyes, so that he could save her. But it wasn’t that. His eyes didn’t betray him. It were the people that betrayed her. They didn’t care about how soft her fingers were and how gentle she would take care of the hurt. They knew she was soft, she was sweet, perfect for the small things in life in their eyes.

• • • • • • • •

All eyes turned to him, as he stepped into the infirmary. There were cuts on his face, his knuckles bruised and split open. Blood dripped down from his lips on his orange shirt. It stained the fabric, leaving a mark of the actions he made for people to believe in her.

The sun was already slowly disappearing, leading to most campers be in their cabins already.

“Oh gods, what happened to you?” Laura, a sister of Y/n, asked him, pulling him by his arm to sit him down on one of the cots.

“Nothing bad, just another fight with Clarisse,” the boy shrugged absentmindedly, his gaze searching for a certain someone.

“This girl really has to get herself together,” the red head scoffs as Percy tells her what happened.

After searching for a little longer, his eyes found her body. He smiled as she smiled. His eyes lit up seeing her this happy, a flower twirling in between her fingers. A pink lovely flower, freshly picked from the boy in front of her. A son of Demeter. Percy’s gaze went sour as he saw that she was smiling at him. The red of her cheeks made him want to paint her face in a different color.

“They’re not dating,” Laura spoke, as she saw Percy watching Y/n. It wasn’t a surprise to her that he liked her. Laura knew her sister, she was amazing.

“I don’t care.” The boy quickly covered his jealous eyes with a nonchalant lie. Still they betrayed him, as his gaze found her again.

“Sure, you don’t.” She chuckled.

A loud whistle was heard from Laura’s mouth, making the whole room look at her. Percy saw her hand call for someone across the room and before he could process what she was doing, a bundle of sunshine appeared in front of him.

“What is it?” Y/n smiled at Laura, the flower steady in her hands.

“Can you take care of Percy here? I’ve got to go, Will just called me over,” Laura explained, pointing to a direction where Will apparently was.

“Sure,” she said back and then Laura was gone. Leaving the two alone, Percy cursed and thanked her at the same time. “What have you done to get in such trouble again?” Y/n was well aware of Percy’s reputation around camp. She knew that he was always on the lookout for danger.

“I haven’t done anything, first of all,” Percy defended himself.

Y/n hummed in sarcastic agreement, before her voice got lower and a sweet tone escaped from her lungs. The feeling of her skin against his made me Percy shiver in his bones. A sweet laugh appeared in between the humming when she felt Percy’s body shake as she brushed her hand against his face.

The cuts were healed, but the dried blood still decorated his face like a stamp of shame. When he was attacked by Clarisse, after he provoked her to do it, he didn’t fight back. When Poseidon wanted to rescue him he told him off. Running from the water, not wanting to be healed by a simple touch of water on his skin. Y/n took a cloth from one of the stacks, wetting it under the water to wash his shame away.

When Y/n approached Percy again, she couldn’t get a good look at his face. His eyes were fixed on his fidgeting hands, one finger tapping against his leg. A small touch and his face shot up to her. Y/n was laying her finger and his chin, softly touching his jaw to keep him in place as she brushed the cloth over his face, like he was her most precious painting that she still had to finish.

The silence between the two laid over them like a blanket over a child that tried to hide from the monster under his bed. The air around them was warm and comforting, they were wrapped in each others presence, but they couldn’t breath normally. It was stuffy, and suppressing them from being able to breath in properly. Her breath was warm against his face.

“That’s a nice flower,” Percy noticed, cutting the tension between them.

“It’s really nice,” the girl agreed with him, smiling at the memory of receiving it. It wasn’t about the boy who gave it to her, but rather about the gesture as it. She liked that someone cared.

“Do you like him?” His questions got bolder, as well as his tone. Percy Jackson would never admit that he was wrong. He would never agree that someone actually had him wrapped around their finger.

“I don’t know. Maybe sometime in the future,” she answered, not wanting to keep talking about it.

But Percy kept going. “Well, he certainly likes you. He cares about your happiness as it seems.”

“Why do you care?” Y/n stopped moving her hand, but held it in place to hold on to the possibility of touching him.

“I don’t.” Percy shrugged it off, his eyes going over to Laura who was watching the pair in anticipation.

Laura knew about Y/n’s slight crush on the son of Poseidon. She knew about how Y/n always wished that she could take care of the troublemaker for once. But she also knew, that the girl started to lose hope of ever being noticed by the demigod. She wanted to move on, so when a boy asked her out and later brought her a flower, she couldn’t deny his offer. Not if it meant that she showed Laura in the process of rejecting him, how she still liked the same guy for too long.

“Okay.” Percy looked back at her when the cloth moved again, a bit harsher this time. She didn’t hurt him. Percy was convinced that she could never hurt anyone. Not even her worst enemy. He saw a glistening shimmer in her eyes and the more focused look in them now that she actually looked at the task at hand and not the boy in front of her.

“What are your favorite flowers?” His question surprised her. His whole presence and interest surprised her.

“Why does it matter?” She asked back, finishing up with cleaning his face.

“What are your favorite flowers?” He asked again, a shimmer of something flickered in her eyes.

“I like Carnations,” the girl answered. She smiled at his question. Nobody asked her before, just if she liked flowers or not, or what flowers she would suggest to get someone on a first date. All these questions. But never what her favorite was.

“But these are roses,” Percy pointed out, motioning to the flower that now laid beside him. When she didn’t answer his statement, unsure of what to answer at all, he continued. “Didn’t that guy ask you about it before getting you one?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. “He only asked if I liked them and I said yes. I guess, it’s just because they aren’t that easy to get around here.”

“If a guy wouldn’t move mountains to get you even only a flower, he won’t move rocks to save your life,” Percy said, making the girl laugh at his quote. She liked the look on his face, like he was actually confused and embarrassed for that guy.

“That’s very sweet,” she said. Percy’s face turned red after he noticed how corny that sounded.

“I’m a very sweet guy,” Percy answered, holding his chin up in pride.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows in amusement of his sudden confidence. “Oh, is that so?” She tried to play his game, but just one look into his green eyes made her swallow back the rest of her words.

“Yeah, you should go out with me instead.”

All of her assumptions about what he would say were thrown out the window after he said that. Her eyes widened a bit, her heart stopped before beating rapidly. Percy saw the color draining from her face and jumped from the cot, ignoring the pain in his ankle as he landed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked concerned, thinking something might took over her body. His hands found her waist to stabilize her body. He didn’t want her to fall to the ground inside the infirmary, like he did something to her.

“Are you playing with me?” She whispered, blinking her surprise away. Her head felt dizzy and patterns started to appear on the walls and everywhere else around her. In fear of blacking out, Y/n put her hands on Percy’s arms, tapping her finger against his skin to keep her mind occupied.

“What? No.” The boy was more worried than shocked at her assumption. Noticing her state, he called Laura over. The red head looked concerned at her friend.

“I will handle her, you should probably go,” she told Percy. He knew better than arguing in this moment, so he nodded and slowly bagged out of the big house.

When Y/n woke up the next day, Laura was already by her side. Waiting with breakfast next to her.

“Oh gods, finally, you’re awake.” Laura threw her arms around the girls body, knocking her back down on the pillow.

The morning was filled with the two girls talking about what happened after she blacked out. Laura was telling her how Percy used to look at her when he came into the infirmary, when a knock on the door sounded. Laura wandered over to the door, opening it. Her eyes lit up when she saw who was stood in the doorway.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said to the person in front of her.

Y/n looked confused at first, not knowing who was at the door. Until a blonde teenage boy with a lanky figure was pushed into the room. Percy stood in front of her for a moment, remembering every little thing in her cabin. Her body found his gaze again and they softened for a second when he saw her messy hair and exhausted posture.

“You brought me flowers?” Y/n asked the boy, noticing the flowers in his hand.

“I did, yeah.” He walked over to her, standing beside her bed, handing the Carnations over to her.

“Thank you.” Tears began to prickle in her eyes again. She mostly hated how easily it was to get her to tear up and cry.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did anything to you or something, I don’t know. If I did, please let me know so I can change that.” Percy stopped talking when Y/n moved up to hug the boy in front of her.

“You did nothing wrong, Percy,” she assured him with her head on his shoulder. When she lifted her head up, she pecked his cheek before pulling him down to sit onto her bed.

They sat beside each other the whole day, talking and becoming closer over time. The flowers shining beside them.

[drgnflyteabox]

Simon x gn!reader. Simon gives you a neck massage<3 some body horror imagery (like just description of pain), migraine, shame about chronic pain / having to take a break, soft, abrupt ending (sry)

Your neck pops, shoulders stiffening, little crackles dancing up your spine and to the base of your skull. Straightening doesn't help, no matter how much you try. You roll your shoulders back, lifting them, breathing deeply to try and relieve the pressure.

Nothing.

You stay unbearably stiff, hearing the inner machinations of your overwrought musculature with each breath, feeling it pulling at your scalp.

God, your skin pulls back while your eyes are pulled forward, pulsing, barely hanging on in your head.

You sit up again, eyes blurring, squinting to see the words on your laptop screen. They jumble together, frying your sensitive eyes, taunting you as your neck pops once again.

They should call you rice krispie, or at least make you one of the mascots. You could be snap or pop. That almost makes you laugh, but the heavier breaths send pulses of pain to your head and you stop yourself.

But your writing.

You know there's gonna be a phone call tomorrow at 11, that it's going to expect words on pape, words you just don't have.

You know you could just... send an email and explain. Offer to attach a doctors note, even though they've given you accommodations. You could delay, and probably nobody would say a thing. They haven't yet at least.

Yet you feel that coil of dread in your stomach at the thought. That poisonous little snake sinking it's longfanged teeth in you.

How many times have you had to delay? It feels like too many - too many to be normal, functional, surely.

That venom tells you you'll be fired, ostracized, that a big red stamp will be stuck onto some permanent database and you'll never be hired again.

You don't know how long you sit there, in pain, despairing your job when Simon walks quietly into your home office and lays heavy hands on your shoulders.

"It's late," he murmurs. His thumbs find your traps, digging in, and you moan softly.

"I gotta finish this," you mumble.

"It's late," he says again, "and you're tense. How's your head?"

He can probably feel how rock hard your muscles are, how the long line of your back is as rigid as a board.

"I just need to take another advil," you murmur, rolling your shoulders against his hands.

"You could," he slips on palm to your front, gliding over your collar, then gently holding your neck right below your jaw, "or you could let me give you a rub and go to sleep."

"I really need to finish this," you try, though you know it's weak. That you'll give in. You aren't accepting it- you're resigned to it.

Simon can tell.

"I'm not asking, honey," his hands move again, gliding, slipping under your armpits to nudge you up and out of your chair.

You stand, dizzy for just a moment before you let yourself lean back into him. He's a good sport about it, always is, half-dragging you to the bathroom.

"Brush your teeth," he puts the toothbrush in your hand, already tooth paste-ed, and leaves you in the bathroom for a moment.

He comes back with your pyjama's. The flannel ones you'd gotten last Christmas, worn in now and comforting. Your eyes tear up at his consideration, and you sniffle while he undresses you.

"Thank you," you mumble around the toothbrush, "my head really hurts."

"I know, honey," he says back. His voice is soft, still gravelly, but purposefully soft. That's enough to make you cry, though you can only let tears fall out of your eyes. Anything else would make your head worse.

"Do you need any advil?" he finishes buttoning your pyjama top as you spit your rinse into the sink.

"Yeah, I think so," he gives you four, which you swallow with water, "can you still rub my neck?"

He hums yes, guiding you by the elbow to the bedroom. You lay flat on your back, trying to relax, feeling his weight shift the mattress as he climbs in behind you.

His hands are perfect for this. Strong, thick, turning the muscles of your neck and shoulders into mash potatoes. You groan, grateful tears soaking into the pillow.

His thumbs find the base of your head, pushing, pushing, until the tension wrapping your skull gradually lessens. You begin to sink into the mattress, breathing deeply, hands twitching.

"Thank you," you sniffle.

"I should'a stopped your earlier," he digs into a tense spot, making you gasp for just a moment before you relax again, "know how you are."

"Mm'workaholic," you mumble.

"Ridiculous is what you are," he says. It's gruff, but it's fond. If you hadn't known him so long you'd have maybe been hurt.

That's how you fall asleep. Thinking of calling your supervisor tomorrow, apologizing, feeling better now that you aren't totally overwhelmed with pain.

Simon stays behind you as you drift, never relenting, moving his hands across your back and unknotting your stubborn muscles one by one.

"Love you," you mumble, half coherent.

"Love you too, honey," Simon murmurs. His lips find the nape of your neck, enveloping you with his body and his warmth, as your energy peters out.

[ddejavvu]

you join the team and hangman gets real shy with you and everyone is like

:O what have you done :O

and you're like

idk

and hes just like heart eyes

bc i LIVE for hangman being whipped and all nervous around his crushy wushy

MY LOVE MY LIGHT MY SAVING GRACE THANK YOU FOR THIS

--

Reassignment is a struggle. It's temporary, or, it's meant to be, but if things go well with your new team, you may be a permanent fixture. So you're a little nervous stepping onto the tarmac, all things considered.

You'd only managed to meet one person from your new squadron so far, a good-natured, kind man named Jake. He had seen you wandering along the hallway, directing you to Admiral Simpson's office when you'd explained your predicament. You don't spot him on the tarmac now, but you're not sure how many people are on the team.

There's a dark-haired woman that you can see, and she notices you, too. You aren't sure whether they've been shown pictures of you, but your last name is patched into your uniform and the helmet under your arm is branded with your callsign. A flash of recognition shows in her eyes, and she starts towards you.

"You're Y/N Y/L/N?" She quirks a brow, and you nod, smiling kindly.

"Nice to meet you," She grins, a brilliant expression on her pretty face, "I'm Natasha. Callsign Phoenix."

"Phoenix," You gush, "I like that. I'm supposed to join you for a hop today?"

"Yeah, we heard about that!" A man steps up beside you, cocky smirk on his face as he holds out a hand, "I'm Coyote. You're supposed to fly with Hangman, right?"

It wasn't ideal, being stuck in someone's backseat. You're used to flying, but this squadron wasn't in need of a new pilot, and you've been trained for both seats.

"Oh god," A man beside you groans, mustache a burnt red, "That's unfortunate. I'm, uh, Rooster. By the way."

You cock your head to the side, shaking his hand, "Rooster. What's wrong with that?"

"He's... difficult." A shorter man pipes up from your left, sticking his hand out, "Fanboy. He's just arrogant, that's all. He thinks he's the best, so it's hard to work with him if he feels like you're working against him. Hopefully he doesn't give you too much of a hard time."

Your heart sinks a little at the prospect of being paired with someone who didn't take kindly to partnership. You're resilient, sure, but there's only so much you can tolerate.

"Don't look now," Phoenix mumbles, leaning in close so no one can hear, "But he's coming out now. Just stand your ground, we can handle him if it gets too much."

You nod near-imperceptibly, waiting until you can hear the thunk of his boots on the asphalt before you spare him a glance. To your delight, the sweet, smiling face of Jake greets you, his cheeks already dusted a rosy hue.

"Y/N," He greets, southern drawl as sweet as sugar, "You're part of my squadron?"

"Your squadron," Rooster scoffs disapprovingly.

""You two know each other?" A tall man inquires, dark skin and pretty eyes, "I thought this was your first time here, Y/N."

"It is," You nod, exchanging a friendly smile with the man and glancing down at his name tag: Fitch, "But I ran into Jake yesterday in the hallway. He helped me to Admiral Simpson's office."

"Oh he did?" Fitch cocks his head to the side, a shit-eating grin thrown at Hangman, "Oh, that's so nice of you, Jake."

"I'm so glad you think that, Payback," Jake sneers, grin more menacing than any glare could be, "Now if you'll excuse us, Y/N and I should get comfortable with our new ride."

Jake crosses the rest of the tarmac until he's beside you, his hand coming to press against the small of your back just as it had yesterday. He's developing a habit of leading you around, and you reach his plane shortly, both of your names stamped on the side.

"I've never flown two-seater before," Jake admits, brushing a hand over his printed callsign, "This'll be interesting."

"Oh, why now?" You frown, fitting your helmet over your head, "What changed?"

"Uh," Hangman's eyes widen, and you think you've asked the wrong question. He answers, though, it's just sheepish.

"Admiral Simpson thinks it would be best if I had someone else with me in the air," He starts, choosing his words carefully, "Because he has observed some, uh- daring maneuvers from me. And he thinks that I might benefit from having someone else's safety to consider."

"You're too reckless," You realize, and you can't help but giggle, "So I'm your babysitter?"

"Let's not call it that!" Jake laughs, blush intensified, "Let's call it partners. Deal?"

"Deal," You grin, eyes twinkling similar to his own, "Partners."

"What the fuck?" Fanboy spits, watching from afar as Jake helps you into the jet, letting you grab his hand and brace your weight on his arm, "Did he get possessed, or something?"

"She hasn't slapped him yet," Rooster ponders, "He must be keeping himself in check."

"Is that Y/N?" Natasha turns where she hears Bob's voice nearing behind her, nodding with a growing smirk on her face.

"Yeah, that's her. And that's Hangman."

She points to Jake, who's leaning into your seat, concern evident on his face as he helps you adjust the position of your harness.

Bob's face falls, scrunching into a frown, "He's... helping her?"

"This is gonna get interesting, boys," Phoenix grins, eyes narrowed at Jake who's still grinning sweetly at you, "Hangman's got a crush."

[etherealhannie]

( oneshot ) ،، lipstick stamp ،، ⌇ 승철

pairing .ᐟ nerdy!seungcheol × mean!fem!reader genre .ᐟ college au , crush word count .ᐟ 0.7k song rec. .ᐟ fall in love alone - stacey ryan

click clack click clack

the sound of clacking heels fills up the bustling hall, as the red chunky heels steps on the marble floor, leaving trace of her present. it belongs to nobody other than her, the infamous chwe y/n.

with her sharp tongue and sharper intellect, she ruled the academic scene. professors admired her brilliance, but peers tread carefully around her acid wit. beneath her icy exterior, a butterfly lives in her snowy garden.

a guy named choi seungcheol has been her main attention. he was everything she wasn't. a quiet, introverted and intensely focused, he excelled in his studies with a passion that burns the desire in y/n to have him. his faded-orange hair, thick glasses, good baggy fashion sense and habit of pouting his lips when scrabbling in his ever-present notebook only added to his nerdy charm.

or when he rests himself on a tree, closing his eyes and listening to music with wired earphones, as wind gently messes his soft hair. only God knows how heaven he looks in your eyes.

you halt your steps when you reach the study booth, where he likes to spend his time. a grins stamps on your lips, as you confidently walked up to him with a cherry flavored lollipop in your mouth. as the distance gets nearer and nearer, you can actually feel the nervousness take over. damn y/n, just do it!

once you're actually in front of the table he studied, you knock on it as he's too focused on his notebook, unaware of the surroundings. as he started to move his head from the book, to your white lacy tights and up to your face.

the urge to not kiss him when his pouty lips and his doe eyes looking straight into your orbs. Lord, have mercy on me. his thick eyebrows frown, puzzled by your presence.

“yes?”

that one word almost makes you squeal like a giddy girl. you keep your posture straight and cross your arms with the lollipop in your hands. you lean your side on the wall.

“i need your notes from our previous lecture.” you declared, though it was more an order than a request.

“why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “you didn't miss a lecture today.”

“just give them to me.” you snapped, rolling your eyes.

with a sigh, seungcheol handed his notebook that he reads previously. as you took it, his fingers brushed briefly against yours, sending a jolt through you. you turned your heel and marched away, leaving a confused seungcheol staring after you.

later that evening, you sat in your dorm room, seungcheol’s notebook open on her desk. you couldn't help but admire his meticulous handwriting and detailed notes. it was then that you noticed a small, doodled heart in the corner of one page, next to a formula that we had discussed in class. the sight made her smile.

mom, your daughter is really in love right now. you close the notebook and laid on your bed, still smiling like crazy.

gosh , what a man you are, choi.

the next day, you returned the notebook. you found seungcheol in his second favorite spot, library, buried in a stack of books. without a word, you dropped it on the table infront of him. he looked up, surprised to see her.

“thanks,” he said awkwardly.

you nodded and turned to leave, but then paused. a sly smirk pasted on your lips as your hands rummaged through your bag and pulled a tube of bright red lipstick. seungcheol watched, bewildered, as you applied it with practiced precision. before he could say anything, you leaned over and pressed your lips firmly on against the cover of his notebook, leaving a bold, red imprint.

“there,” you said, as your voice sounds softer than usual. “a little trace of mine”

seungcheol stared at the notebook, then at her, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “why… why did you do that?” he stammered.

you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “maybe i wanted to leave my mark on what's about to be mine. see you around, cheollie.”

as you walked away, seungcheol was still processing what just happened. the nickname, and the red lips mark on his notebook. he touched the lipstick mark, a smile creep on his face. for the first time, he saw beyond y/n’s harsh exterior to the complex, intriguing person beneath. what have gotten into you, choi seungcheol.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: thank you all for reading this one.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting 'part 2?' is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You grip the container of uneaten French toast as you make the interminable walk across the restaurant. It’s as if you can hear the death knell calling you to the scaffold. Sy follows behind you like a lion at hunt.

He reaches over your shoulder as he comes close and pushes the door open ahead of you. You step outside, stilling a jitter in your hands as your eyes blear in the sunlight. You’re all out of ideas. Your groceries are in his truck and the meal he bought you is in your hands. He’s entrapped you with sustenance.

His hand brushes your lower back as he ushers you towards his truck. You’re too terrified to speak. This is the moment where you give into fate. Your fear of saying no has finally done you in. Well, how long could you survive without a spine?

He pulls open the truck door and you feel his gaze on you. You can’t bring your own above his chest. His broad, muscular chest. He’s so strong and you’re so weak and oh god!

“You okay?” He asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Mhmm,” you hum and balance the container in one hand as you grab onto the door interior and haul yourself up. He puts a hand on your hip to steady you before you quickly swing into the seat.

He shuts the door gently and you shudder. You rest the container in your lap and pull the seat belt across your body. You buckle in as he gets on the driver’s side. You’re in a strange trance, helpless to the world around you as if you just watch it move around you. He says something and you nod again but you’re not sure what he said.

He pulls out, placing his hand on the headrest behind you as he cranes to see behind him. He straightens the wheel and settles into his seat. He flips on the radio, filling the static silence, though the music sounds far away.

As he steers onto the street and comes to the first corner, an epiphany chills you. He didn’t ask where you live. Either he’s not taking you home or he already knows.

You look back and forth, taking in all your surroundings. As he turns away from your building, you make note of streets and landmarks. You want to be able to remember them all as the former fear comes true. You’re not going home.

He is completely unbothered by his daylight abduction. You wonder if he’s done this before. He seems so sure of himself that you think he might have. Is he even really a soldier?

He rolls the wheel with his thumb and swerves into another lot. You look ahead at the marquee with paw prints stamped across it. A groomer?

“You wanna come in and meet her?” Sy’s voice breaks through the ice that’s encased you.

You look at him, still too stunned to really understand what’s going on. Her?

You say yes but it doesn’t feel like your voice is working. As he undoes his seat belt, you do the same. He’s smiling. He’s happy. Surely that means he won’t murder you. Not right away. He definitely wouldn’t bring you to a pet groomer to do so.

Unless it’s some cover-up. A shell of a business used to cover up misdeeds. Like the mafia. Oof, you watch a lot of television.

You get out parallel to him and meet him near the door. Again, he gallantly opens it ahead of you. You enter and he calls above you in greeting to the woman behind the counter.

“She ready?” He asks.

“She is,” she trills back, “and she was so good.”

“Mmm, yeah, good,” he approaches the counter and takes out his wallet, “she can be nippy.”

“She’s a darling.”

The woman calls back through the open doorway behind her before turning her attention to the till. She keys in to the system and Sy pays in bills. She accepts them and he tells her to keep the change. As weird as everything’s been about this morning, this is the most inexplicable part.

“Here she is,” another woman emerges from the back with a leash in her hands. You catch a glimpse of blonde hair before she comes around with a prancing German shepherd. 

“Aika,” Sy squats to greet the dog buoyantly, letting her sniff his beard before he stands again. Both turn to face you. You glance between them nervously. The dog nears you with a wiggle snout. “She likes you,” he assures.

You hold out an open palm and she smells it before scraping her tongue across it. He reaches to pet her roughly, shaking her fresh coat.

“You got the green out,” he says over his shoulder.

“Oh, we did,” the woman scoffs, “she looks amazing.”

“Well,” he wraps the leash around his hand, “we should head out. She’s restless.”

“Okay,” you babble dumbly and head for the door.

It’s your turn to hold it as you emerge and lodge your foot in front of the frame to keep the door open. Sy walks out proudly and Aika dutifully walks at his side to the truck. He opens the back and she hops in. You linger by the bumper before getting in yourself.

As he claims the driver seat, he gives a whistle through his teeth, “Aika, nose to yourself.”

You peek back as the dog retreats from your groceries. You almost forgot. 

“Right, let’s go home,” Sy declares, though you don’t know if he’s talking to you or the dog.

Home? Who’s home? His? 

If you could breathe, you’d be hyperventilating. Your head begins to pulse as he turns at the first lights. You inhale. He’s driving towards your apartment but that’s not any better than the alternative. That’s your home, not his. Perhaps he only means to drop you off before returning to his own.

You manage to eke out each breath, slow but enough to keep you from passing out. The streets grow more familiar and as he rolls onto yours, the tension only heightens. You’re not in the clear yet.

He drives into the lot and parks in a visitor spot. He turns off the engine. Shoot.

“Alright, what d’ya think works best? You grab Aika, I grab the groceries?” He suggests.

You just stare at him. What is happening? He doesn’t wait for a response before he gets out. You can’t give him one.

Numbly, you climb out of the truck and stand frozen on the tarmac with your breakfast in hand. He comes around and takes the end of Aika’s leash as she jumps down. He hands it to you.

“She’ll listen to ‘heel’ or ‘sit’,” he explains, “pretty much anything.”

You accept the looped end and wait as the dog patiently hovers beside you. Sy takes the grocery bags and spins on his heel. Confidently, without any hesitation, he marches towards your building. He has the certain type of staunch gait that assures you of his profession. You don’t think he lied about that.

You follow behind him, much less certain. Aika keeps at a pace, not tugging a single bit. She’s as obedient as he says. As you get to the door, you let the leash slip onto your wrist and fish out your keys. Are you really letting this mad man inside?

Yes, yes you are.

You take the elevator and just stare at the doors until they open. It puts you more on edge that Sy seems to know exactly where to go. Down the hall at the very end. Your key slides in much too easy again and you turn it as your last defense gives way.

You step aside and let him in. You watch him enter and just stare. You drop the leash as he goes into the kitchen to put down the bags. He comes back to you to remove his boots and shuts the door. He frightens you as he flicks the toe of your mary jane flats.

He reaches for Aika and unhooks her leash. You look down as he takes the container from your hands. He is all too quick to welcome himself in.

“I’ll put everything away,” he steps past you again, “you just relax. You got a stream planned tonight?”

You nearly choke on your answer; no. You bend to undo the straps of your shoes and step out of them. You glance over as he opens the fridge.

Aika begins her exploration of your apartment, sniffing along the mat and into the front room. You wring your hands as you near the doorway and stare at Sy. He reaches into the bag, unpacking each purchase and tucks it away in a cupboard or the fridge.

“Um, it was kind of you to drive me home but…”

“This is a nice place,” he interrupts you as he snaps the cupboard shut, folding up the first bag with a crinkle. 

“Yeah, uh, I guess. But what I was saying, I have some work tomorrow–”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way. Let you get your editing done.”

Silence. Frightening realisation. He has no plans to leave.

“Er, do you live around here?” You gulp, your throat painfully tight.

“Nah, actually, I never been here before I found you,” he explains breezily. “It’s not too bad though.”

“What do you… what?”

“Yeah, well, they sent me home but you know, without a home,” he says as he folds the second bag, putting both in the recycling. “It’s hard. You give yourself to the forces but they don’t always give back.” He turns to you, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, “I’ll grab my bag outta the truck later. All that grease made me sleepy.”

He slaps his stomach and nears. You back up to let him past. He strokes your cheek as he crowds you. You’re quaking.

“I waited so long for you, sweetie, hard to believe I’m finally here, huh?” You back up against the door. He tilts his head and squints, “what’s going on? You’re acting strange.”

“I… I just… I think the sugar upset my stomach,” you lie.

“Ah, you should come lay down, we can watch something,” he offers.

“No, I should catch up on chores,” you say breathily.

“Hm, well, you change your mind and you can join me,” he winks and runs his thumb along your cheek.

He strides away as you remain paralysed. How is this happening? How have you let this happen? He’s invaded your life so quickly and you’re certain he has no plans of retreat.

The couch springs squeak as he flops onto it with a sigh. You glance over as he swipes up the remote to your forty-inch and flicks it on. Aika comes up next to him and rests her head on his middle. He lays with his head against one armrest and his feet propped over the other. He pets her as he flips through the menu.

Do you call the police? Would they even believe you? You can barely believe it yourself.

You flit into the kitchen and stir around in your cross-body bag. You pull out your phone and hover your thumb over the emergency call button. You just stare, hovering, uncertain. You don’t want to get in trouble but this is an emergency, isn’t it?

“Sweetie,” Sy calls to you, shaking you out of your stupor. “Can you grab me something to drink? I’m parched.”

You put your phone down. You don’t even know what you would say. ‘Hello, can you send the police? I let a man into my apartment willingly and he’s using my Prime subscription.’ Really? ‘Oh, and he’s a veteran who just returned from combat’. That will go over well.

“Um, water or guava juice?” You cringe as you chime back. You don’t accept this but you don’t know how to reject him. He could break you in half and from the fleeting surges of his temper, you don’t doubt that he would.

“Water’s fine, thanks, sweetie,” he replies.

You focus on the simple task of filling a glass from the faucet filter. You carry it into the front room and place it on one of the clam shell coasters. He sidles up against the armrest and reaches for it. Aika lays dutifully before the couch.

“I don’t mind if ya do make a few videos, I’m not shy,” he offers before he swigs half the glass.

“Um, no, I don’t have anything… to shoot,” you wipe your sweaty palms on your overalls.

“Right, I think I’ll finish this episode then hop in the shower. Been a long day already, y’know?”

You just nod. It has been a long day. A ludicrous one. 

You really hope this is a nightmare. Please, wake up soon.

[spdrvyn]

im begging for miguel x reader where he’s sick/tired/woke up from a nightmare and is in desperate need of shooting. so she takes care of him - pure domestic contentment- grooming him/washing/shaving/brushing hair/towel drying/changing clothes (and socks 🥺)/feeding him - doing everything to relax him and make him feel loved

solace in your sweetness

summary: in the deep trenches of the night, miguel wakes up due to night terrors and you're very deadset on comforting him. no matter how many times he denies you that.

tags: hurt/comfort. very sweet and fluffy. reader isn't a spider-person. fem!reader.

notes: i love this request so so much, i have been ITCHING to do it. thank you so much for requesting, i hope you enjoy reading this one!

Miguel didn't really have nightmares when he was younger. On the occasion that Gabe would bother him to watch a scary movie, there would be instances where he had them, but it wasn't a regular occurence. How naïve was he when he thought that he'd be able to leave those behind in his youth?

It started simple, he would be in the barren, empty streets of Nueva York. Before he would slowly watch every thing dissolve around him, glitch by glitch, pixel by pixel, unable to do anything but to just stand there, before he fell into the abyss and woke up.

The darkest part of his mind had always managed to make the scenario more horrifying, another time it was zombies, another time it was zombies again, but of only Gabriella. There was even a version where he was being chased by the other dead version of himself. He consulted many articles, read and bought a lot of books, and even tried meditating, but none of it worked so he just decided to live with it for a while. It wasn't like they happened every night, no big deal.

Though, it was a big deal to you. Which was his true fear, he didn't want you to fawn over something so trivial. He didn't want you to go out of your way to take care of him, despite how much it would fill the big, gaping hole in his heart.

So when he jolts awake from another night terror, he keeps himself as quiet as possible. He slowly looked over to the side of your bed, relieved to see that you were still in a peaceful sleep. He shifts silently and keeps his footsteps light as he makes his way over to the kitchen for some tea. The calming, minty aroma sweeped his senses, but it'd be better to work right now instead of relax.

He went back to the bedroom, setting the teacup down on the bedside before pulling out a small tablet. He winced as it opened, the brightness of it hurting his eyes even with glasses on. After lowering it, he immediately goes to rifle through his files.

That is until he felt the weight of your head on his shoulders, you looked up at him with a frown. "You're working."

"I am," Miguel spoke like he was caught with a hand in the cookie jar. As embarrassed as he was, it was too late. You should probably be going back to sleep, he remembered that you also had work early tomorrow. "I just got thirsty, go back to sleep, cariño."

A bald-faced lie, would you believe it or would you not? Your brows furrowed and your pout deepened, it made Miguel's palms sweat. Moments like these forced him to think if you really did have superpowers, there were too many instances where it seemed like you read his mind word for word.

"Why are you lying to me, Miguel?" Shock. It was his face, wasn't it? "Did you have any another nightmare? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Miguel's pride had shattered, you were too good at this. A little more and you'd be unmasking every single villain in the city. "You need to be up early, I just didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep." He closed his files and turned off his tablet, this was his fate now.

You all but groaned at his remark, kicking the bedsheets off of your body before stamping out of the bedroom. "Where are you-"

"Stay there, don't move an inch." He didn't want to incur God's wrath, so he obeys. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the pillows, his smell picked up on the scent of food being freshly cooked. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but by the lord, it smelled delicious.

Miguel was left there to wait for a while, this sort of reminded him of his younger days too, granted a lot more blissful. There were times when he was younger where Gabe had nightmares too, he'd come knocking on Miguel's door, asking if he could stay there for a while or if he could play video games with him.

To which Miguel would begrudgingly agree, but he normally tried to keep Gabe as uninterested in whatever they were doing as possible so that he could fall asleep already. This usually resulted in him falling asleep then Miguel having to sleep on the couch, but it was whatever. I mean, he only stopped doing that at the young age of 11.

So now being the one taken care of, it made Miguel feel like there was an outside force tipping the scales. After being a caretaker, one way or another, his whole life, having you step in and take him for a breather was like seeing a fish head on a lion's body.

You came back soon enough with a plate and spoon in hand, it was made clear to Miguel exactly what you were cooking. Tomato sauce with meatballs, you diced a small bit of the beef with the spoon before scooping some soup up, bringing it close to his mouth. "Ahhh,"

"I can eat on my—"

"Ahhhhh."

"For shock's sake—" he quickly took a bite, his eyes lit up as he swallowed. "It's good."

You smiled knowingly, finally allowing him to feed himself as you handed him the plate. "I know," then your expression hardened. "I'd like to talk to you about what you dreamt about, if that's okay with you." Miguel sighed, reaching over to the bedside to take a long sip of his tea.

His heart told him that it was perfectly fine for you to know about what was troubling him for so long now, but his mind, his rationale, told him to shut his trap about anything that could cause you any sort of worry or distress. When he doesn't respond to you after another moment, you lean in closer.

"Miguel, I'm always going to worry about you." You whispered, "That's just how I am, but it's because I love you. I love you so much that I can feel how much you're hurting even when you're trying to hide it from me."

"I love you too," he closed the gap to press a kiss to the crease on your forehead, you released a short breath. "I just- I don't know how to say it, I guess."

You placed a hand on his chest, "I can put the pieces together, I just want you to get this off your chest." He wished he had the ability to deny you, you're his weakness, especially when you bat your eyelashes and look at him so sweetly like you have all the love in the world to give.

He tells you as much as he can about his dream, it's all a mess. There were many parts that he wished he could just go back and erase, he didn't even want to go through with this idea in the first place. But you were so... understanding of him, it felt creepy. Not creepy, that wasn't the right word, but it was unsettling.

Being comforted by someone else always made Miguel feel like the other person had a 'holier than thou' attitude, that or he was horribly pitied to the point where he didn't want to keep opening up anymore. You carried none of those qualities, you simply nodded, listened in pure silence, but you'd chime in with some remarks every now and again. He doesn't know how he got so lucky with you.

You gave him some advice. Miguel's experiences were gut-wrenching which resulted to his night terrors, but you could share the sentiment. To some degree, at least. The advice was to just talk about it, letting that feeling build over time and dreading the next time you fall asleep would result to more casualties in the long run. And that if he had no other people to turn to, you were the first on his roster (granted he'd talk to you first anyway, but that's besides the point).

After putting away his empty plate, you joined him in bed again, it's probably still very late into the night, only three hours until you get up for work, but you didn't mind as long as you got to spend it with Miguel. However he wishes to.

The feeling of yours lips on his forehead, face nuzzled into his hair while your fingers drew shapes into his back.

The way he wrapped his arms around your hips, slotting one of his legs in between yours, and the sound of your heartbeat.

He falls into a blissful sleep, knowing you will protect him from the horrors that lurk in the shadows. For once in his life, Miguel has been taken care of and he's so glad that it's you.

[danosrosegarden]

Edward Nashton mommy kink…? Having a big soft mommy with soft warm titties for him to hold and kiss and suck? Bury his face in while he cries about how much he loves them, how badly he wants to be their good boy, how he holds them just a bit too tight when they call him their sweet bunny, so good for them. Accidentally biting the supple mounds of flesh to stifle his own pretty noises he’s oh so embarrassed about, until they have him fucked so stupid he can barely form a coherent sentence between all the snot and tears.

this is heaven and i'd die for it - edward nashton x fem!reader headcanons (NSFW) ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚♡

kinktober 2024: 1/31

{contents ♡ mommy kink, plus size reader, titty loving, praise}

{word count ♡ ~900}

♡ edward, upon first inspection, was a fog-shrouded mystery. he seemed to materialize in and out of the diner you frequented like a wandering ghost. his cool, quiet presence brushed against your skin and made you insatiably curious. who was this guy? you'd seen him nearly every evening you were there. the eyes cast down and fixed frown were just puzzles to be put into place. some strange voice inside of you was saying he was worth knowing.

♡ he sputtered and turned pink the first time you scooched next to him and asked him who he was. to watch him fumble over recalling his own name, to see his brain scramble and scatter as you smiled at the spattering of blush burning on his skin...it was just cute. he was cute.

♡ and he was a wonderful guy to lavish in attention. so easily flustered by any kind of compliment. at your beck and call to stutter through his sentences as you bat your eyes at him, nodding with interest, humming in agreement. if you hadn't grown so obsessed with him over all the diner dates and late night phone calls, you would've seen it as utterly pathetic. lucky for you both, that's exactly what you liked.

♡ you'd thought about what it might be like, to be with eddie like that. to get to see him stripped raw and bare, to get to brush and dip your fingers into his most vulnerable state. you'd tested the waters and given him a kiss on the cheek as a farewell stamp when leaving his apartment one night, and from the way all the color poured out of his skin, you thought for sure he was going to cry and vomit and maybe explode. there was no possible way you were going to get to have sex without him bursting into flames. and you were perfectly fine with it--it was an honor to love the elusive edward as is. he just wasn't ready for that yet.

♡ so it takes you by surprise one weekend morning when his hands begin to wander. he'd been hesitant to share his space with you, but once you'd crawled into bed with him and he felt the soft plush of your body pressed up against his own, he was hooked. he'd been a koala from every day you spent at his place onward, his hands latched tight onto the curve of your hips.

♡ it was surprising because it was edward, and it took him ample time for him to be up to anything new. it was surprising because it felt safe, the gentle warmth of his touch. it had been branded into your brain by now, this searing notion that the thick and the marks and the rolls and the extra were to be hidden. so when eddie's roaming hands touched them all with such special care and appreciation, it was difficult to know what to say.

♡ maybe that's what was so intimately good about this whole web you'd woven together. there really was no need to say anything at all.

♡ you give him a satisfied hum as his hands brush up and down your sensitive sides, and he nuzzles his face into your shoulder.

♡ thank you, mommy.

♡ huh? hello?

♡ you cock your head to the side and see his cheeks flush like you've never seen them flush before. "fuck, sorry." his hands ungrip themselves from your skin and ghost above you, his fingers trembling wildly. god, he looks as if he's really going to faint.

♡ it takes a moment to convince him that no, he has nothing to apologize for. you liked it. it sounded good dripping from his mouth. say it again, eddie? for me?

♡ okay, he's dying for real this time when you hike up your shirt and guide his hand to your chest.

♡ you let him play for a little while. the stimulation of his thumbs rubbing circles on your nipples feels good, but he's clearly enjoying it even more than you are. he's inching his head closer towards you and it's almost laughable how clear what he wants is.

♡ his quiet, content hums are silenced when you take your thumb and place it on his lower lip, opening his mouth.

♡ "let me see it, love."

♡ his eyes gleam with puppydog obedience as he lets his tongue out and you guide his mouth to you. one hand goes up to pet his head and the other goes down to rub him gently through his pants. there you go, sweetie. that's a good boy. there's my good boy.

♡ he's already circling his hips around as he sucks at you needily, silently begging for more. you feel the vibrations of his groans on your skin. such a sweet boy for me. you like making mommy feel good?

♡ every once in awhile, he'll unlatch from your chest to look at you with his glossy eyes, pupils blossoming with adoration. thank you, mommy. you look so pretty, mommy. so, so good to me.

♡ if only he could see how pretty he looked like this, with his hips bucking and his eyes glazed over and his tongue rolled out. all for you. to capture edward's attention and amazement was something you'd never be able to fully break away from. and in that moment, it felt like heaven.

[pepsiconcoction]

Discounted Cookies | Han Jisung x Reader

pairing: barista!han jisung x gn!reaer

tags: coffee shop au, a little bit of angst, minor language, jisung is a lil flirt, reader doesn't wanna put up with it, fluff, no smut

requested? yes! by anon xox

an: i actually don't know how i feel about this, but it's cute regardless, anon i hope i captured what u meant, i tried my best to get reader to be Annoyed but i love jisung too much, sorry ;-;

wc: 3,890

4 times Jisung flirted with you + 1 time you flirted with him.

The first time you see him.

It’s a few minutes past midnight and you think this might be your end. You’re going to pass out, for sure. You had been studying at the library for the past 7 hours straight for an exam worth 60% of your grade. Studying Law was definitely a choice. Specifically, it was the choice you made two and a half years ago, resulting in you, at this moment, halfway through your third year and on the brink of a breakdown. The breakdown? Partially caused by your ex-boyfriend, who had just broken up with you no more than five days ago. You’re fine. People keep asking. You really wish they would stop.

In the distance, you spot a flood of warm, yellow light flooding out of a shop window. As you get closer, you recognise it’s a coffee shop, you think it may even be the one your friend had told you about, saying it was her favourite place to study as it’s open 24 hours. It seems tonight is the night you’re finally going to check it out.

It’s kind of snowy at your feet, thanks to the early month of the year, but you wish it was more picturesque and not just the grey slush that you think you can feel leaking through your boots. At least it’ll be nice to get some warmth for a few minutes.

You push open the door, a small bell jingling above your head, and the warmth hits you like a wall, suffocating in its intensity. There’s only one other person in here: an old trucker-looking guy, face held over a steaming cup of coffee. 

“I’ll be out in a second!” You hear a man shout from behind the counter, you guess he’s even further in the back than you can see. You hear a small commotion that sounds a bit like someone stamping on a cardboard box. A few seconds later, a guy appears, slightly dishevelled and running his hands through his hair as he exhales. His hair parts in the middle and brushes his eyebrows, slightly longer around the edges, as if gone uncut for a few months. A friendly face with round cheeks looks at you, a grin appearing on his face. He brushes down his apron and makes his way to the counter.

“Sorry about that, what can I get ya?” he asks.

“Just an Americano to go, please,” You smile back at him.

“Can I offer you any discounted sweet treats?” He gestures to an almost empty cake counter. “They’re discounted because it’s so late, not because they’re bad.” He quickly adds on. You spot a singular chocolate cookie looking very lonely.

“Sure, I’ll take the cookie,” you say, gesturing to it. 

“Good choice, madam.” He nods his head, punching it into the register.

“Can I take a name?”

“Do you need it?” You ask, looking around at the empty store.

“Not really, but I’d like it.” He shrugs.

“Y/n,” you sigh. This isn’t what you were looking for at the moment, but you decide to just let it go.

“Not having a good day?” he asks, seemingly concerned.

“Not having a good week,” you say flatly, hoping to communicate your disinterest.

“Well, Y/n, feel free to take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you once it’s done.” He grins again and spins around, getting to work on the coffee machine. God, who even has this much energy this late at night? Crazy people, that’s who.

You sit down at one of the tables, taking out your phone and it reads 12:17am. It feels like it’s mocking you. You scroll through your socials, attempting to keep what small semblance of a social life you think you have together, but a few minutes later, a familiar barista comes into your view. You stand up, accepting the coffee from him and he hands you the cookie which is now in a brown, paper bag.

“One Americano, and one discounted cookie.” He hands you each and you stand up, thanking him. 

“And maybe a little extra something, since you’re having a bad week and all,” he adds quietly, shuffling on his feet slightly. You peek inside the bag and notice a candy bar, something chocolatey. 

“Thank you,” You stutter, not expecting the kind gesture.

“Come back again soon!” He says, already heading back to the counter where he starts to mess with something, in a clear attempt to look busy. You turn and 

leave. Despite the cold air outside, there is an unfamiliar warmth in your body.

The second time you see him.

You wake up the next day, surprisingly on time despite the lack of alarm. It’s only 10am and you mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead of you. The exam is in 5 days. Thankfully you’re studying at home today, not needing the library for today’s subjects. The state of your flat reflects your mind, it’s a mess, dishes in the sink, clothes piling up next to the dryer. After an hour or so of quick chores, it’s in a slightly better state, good enough to study in, you think.

And study, you do. Day turns to night and you find yourself closing the last page of a textbook, letting out a deep breath. You could feel your anxiety beginning to fizzle around your body, not fully convinced you’ve properly ingested all the revision you’ve done. You need some food. The second half of a pizza is sitting untouched from earlier and you kinda feel bad for it, poor thing. Your eyes flicker towards the candy bar sitting on your desk, where it was abandoned last night and you think about the guy from the coffee shop. You throw on a slightly warmer outfit and you definitely don’t spend the walk to the coffee shop thinking about whether he might be working. To your surprise, he is.

You can see him behind the counter from outside, he’s pouring frothed milk into a cup, presumably for the customer standing at the counter. It’s slightly busier at this time, you’re not surprised considering it’s only just coming up to 8pm. You push open the door and the bell jingles like it did the night before. He looks up, looking past the customer in front and his mouth quirks up into a smile, recognising you instantly. You look around him, at the large menu boards, you don’t want to give him an ego. 

The customer in front pays for their drink and leaves, and the man’s smile finally points directly at you.

“Hello again, Y/n, what can I get you today?” He grins at you, eyes crinkling. You’re surprised he remembers your name.

“A latte, please,” you say, glancing up at the menu.

“To go, or sit in?” His eyebrow quirks.

“Oh, uh-”

“You’re sitting in,” he answers for you, already punching it into the register.

“Fine.” Your roll your eyes. 

“Take a seat.” He gestures to the barstool-type seating a little further down the counter. You’re not really sure why you actually sit down.

“Is your week any better?” He looks over his shoulder as he makes your drink.

“Not really, no.” You respond. He pauses in his actions, looking at you expectingly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up?” 

“We don’t know each other,” you said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Okay, so my name is Jisung, Han Jisung, and today, I’m your barista. Tomorrow, maybe more!” He winks as he turns back to the machine which is spewing out your drink. 

“Well, Han Jisung, if you must know, I’m stressed the fuck out for my exam next Monday, I’ve got a practical in two days, and my boyfriend broke up with me a few days ago because I was too much for him. He was just a pathetic, weak little man, I really don’t know how I lasted that long with him.” You found yourself ranting, releasing some of the pent-up frustration you’ve been feeling for the past few days.

“Well,” Jisung starts. “that’s very fair.” He goes quiet for the remainder of the time he is making the drink, leaving a slightly awkward air around you. You focus your eyes on the counter in front of you in an attempt to ignore the stress coming back to you. All of a sudden a drink is slid across the counter.

“Is that a… squirrel?” You look from the cute latte art to the man standing across the counter from you. He looks sheepishly up at you.

“Yeah, looks like me, doesn’t it?” His grin is back, and you can feel a smile creeping onto your face.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Your eyes linger on his for a few moments, until a group of people enter the small cafe and his attention is brought away from you. You discreetly watch him as he works, greeting the customers with a big smile, and using his charisma to get an extra cake sale. You think maybe you fell for the same charisma yesterday, but you don’t really mind because the cookie was pretty good. A few minutes pass, and you sip on your drink, trying to keep the art as intact as possible. Once the last customer had been served he side steps back towards you.

“How is it? Has it fixed your week yet?” He raises his eyebrows, smirking slightly.

“I’m not sure a drink can fix my week,” you respond, letting out a small sigh.

“Nonsense! Of course, it can. Take a sip.” he gestures to you to lift the mug to your lips. You reluctantly take a sip.

“See? It’s working, no?” he chuckles. You put the cup down and try your best not to laugh.

“There’s that pretty smile!” he grins, earning a roll of your eyes. Your phone buzzes with an incoming email from your university, it’s just a random send-to-all type of email but it does remind you of your looming academic responsibilities.

“Thank you, for the squirrel,” you tell him while standing up from the stool. 

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, round eyes looking suddenly lost. 

“I’ve got work to do, I’ll see you around.”

“You better.” His grin is wide as he watches you leave, hoping you do come back soon.

The third time you see him.

“We crushed it!” You celebrate with your best friend, the two of you have just partaken in a mock legal trial as part of an assessment. Your Professor had wanted to challenge the class, setting up fake suspects and witnesses, and had even arranged for a court stenographer to be present. Your group had won the case, despite the opposing team putting up a pretty tough fight.

“Did you see the look on the judged face when you caught out the lying witness? I was trying so hard not to say something.” Your friend gushes, talking faster than you could keep up with.

“I know!” You laugh but break into a yawn as the previous nights studying catches up with you once the excitement is over.

“Coffee?” She asks.

“Absolutely.” 

You’re so engrossed in the conversation as the two of you walk that you don’t even realise you’ve made it all the way to the familiar coffee shop. You stop in your tracks a few feet from the door.

“Not here,” you groan.

“Why not? This place does the best coffee on campus.” She looks confused as she turns back to you.

“I always see the same barista, and he always hits on me, I just can’t be bothered today.” You whine a little, trying to convince her.

“Well, is he working right now?” 

You take a step further, enough to look through the window and see the counter. There is a man, but it’s not Jisung.

“I don’t see him.” You trail off, scanning the rest of the shop as much as you can see.

“Alright then, we’re getting coffee here.” Your friend grabs you by the hand and practically pulls you into the small cafe. There is a surprising queue, so you continue to just make conversation with her until you’re next at the counter. The barista who serves you has curly, black hair and biceps that honestly look like they’re about to burst his sleeves. He greets both of you with a smile and begins to punch your orders into the register.

“Changbin! Catch!” You hear a familiar voice. Your heart sinks to your ass. The barista serving you, Changbin, turns back and looks towards the door into the back. Peeking around the cake stand, you catch a glimpse of Jisung. He’s hanging onto the door with a container of what looks like soya milk. He throws it, and Changbin catches it.

“Sorry about that, our delivery was late this morning and only just arrived, so it’s a bit crazy right now,” Changbin explains, replacing an empty soya milk container.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” You shrug. He finishes taking your order and the two of you move to the side to wait.

“He’s kind of fit,” your friend leans into you to say, once you’re both out of earshot.

“In more ways than one.” you giggle.

Your attention is quickly averted towards the door to the backroom, particularly to Jisung who is rushing out of it and towards the counter, tying his apron at the same time. 

“Sorry Bin, it’s a nightmare back there.” He says, getting to work on coffee orders.

“No worries, we’re not too busy anymore, the rush seems to be over.” You realise that you and your friend were the last in the queue and the cafe has died down a little since you first entered. Jisung also takes a quick glance around, and that’s when he spots you.

“Y/n,” he says. “Back to see me so soon?” His lips turn up into a small smirk.

“You wish.” You roll your eyes. He just laughs and turns back to the coffee machine. You look at your friend and give her a look, the look you get in return translates to 'message received'. 

“He’s kinda cute,” she whispers to you, thankfully you were far away enough for her not to be heard. You sighed. He is kind of cute but that’s not what you’re looking for right now. You’re in a weird enough head space as it is with all the stress of law school and the breakup, not even two weeks ago! You can’t seriously be thinking about dating so soon. Right…?

You’re ripped from your thoughts by the very same man that caused them.

“A white hot chocolate?” Jisung announces to the two of you, but he’s looking at you.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You step up to the counter and begin to take it.

“You’re looking very fancy today, big plans?” he asks, smiling.

“I had a mock trial this morning.” You say and he looks at you with wide eyes, kind of like a deer in headlights.

“You know, like a court trial?” you ask.

“Law! That’s what you’re studying.” He finally realises.

“I didn’t say?” You’re now the one who’s confused.

“No, you never, I’ve been trying to figure it out, trying to guess.” he laughs. Changbin appears next to him and slides an espresso onto the counter, your friend stepping over to take it.

“Bin, they’re a lawyer! Isn’t that cool?” Jisung gushes a little, looking back at you with big eyes. 

“They won their trial this morning.” Your friend interrupts before you can say anything. You shoot her a look.

“Really?” The big, sparkling doe eyes are back as he leans against the counter.

“I, uh, yeah,” you stutter a little.

“Wow, that’s so cool.”

“Sung, I don’t pay you to stand around and flirt with our customers.” Changbin walks back towards the coffee machine and he begins prepping another order. 

“You don’t pay me at all, you’re not even a manager!” Jisung starts whining as he stands up properly. He turns back to you.

“Enjoy your drinks!” He says. You take this as your queue to leave and make a beeline out of the coffee shop, drink in hand. Your friend follows behind you, honestly a little confused.

Once you’re a safe distance from the shop, you finally feel able to breathe again. 

The fourth time you see him.

Beep… beep… beep…

Your alarm. You reach over and turn it off, groaning as you roll back over, the feeling of dread already seeping into your bones. It’s the morning of the exam. The exam you’ve been dreading. The exam that is responsible for 60% of your grade. You groan again.

You feel heavy as you walk around your flat, attempting to get ready for the day ahead of you. It doesn’t help that you broke the fundamental exam rule of getting a good night’s sleep, tossing and turning until eventually passing out. So many textbooks have been haunting your thoughts that you barely noticed you’ve also been thinking about something else. Or rather someone else.

You can’t stop, he keeps popping up in your mind. His round face, and big smile. You feel yourself smiling just thinking about it. But fuck, it feels wrong. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. You don’t have time! You have a big exam, which conveniently starts in just over an hour. 

You need a coffee.

You get to the familiar coffee shop at 11:31am. Your exam starts at noon. It takes 20 minutes to walk to the campus building it’s being held at. You probably don’t have time for this. 

You see him. He’s behind the counter. You think your head hurts.

“Hey,” he greets you with that smile again. You feel sick. “What can I getcha?”

“Just a black coffee, to go.” Your voice croaks a little from its lack of use.

“You’re not staying with me?” He smirks, punching it into the register.

“No.”

You see him falter a little at your cold tone. His eyebrows quirk down a little.

“Are you alright?” he asks as you swipe your phone to pay.

“Stop it, Jisung. Can’t you just leave me alone today, God,” you say exasperated, and step away from the counter. You try to ignore the hurt look in his eye and you really try to ignore the way he shrunk in on himself. A different member of staff you’ve never seen before hands you the drink and you leave the coffee shop without looking back at him. 

The exam goes terribly. At least it feels like it goes terribly. Your head is a mess, the guilt chewing at you the entire time. You do your best, writing everything you recall but by the end of it you have a decent headache and the pit in your gut has grown. You leave the exam and go home, collapsing in your bed and you fall asleep telling yourself you’ll feel better when you wake up.

The fifth time you see him.

You wake up in the afternoon the next day. 

You don’t feel much better. Not after binging on a pizza and your favourite chocolate. Not after watching that movie that makes you cry every time. Not even after you’ve journaled about it. You think that particular journal entry is mostly scrambled nonsense. It probably is.

You decide to go for a walk to clear your head. Maybe the cold, winter air will freshen you up, and make you feel a bit better. With a big coat and a warm scarf wrapped around you, you walk into the evening air, it’s already past 11pm so you mostly see young people out drinking despite the weather. You have no destination but of course, you end up there.

The warm, yellow-toned light pours from the window as usual. The bell above the door is jarring to your fragile little heart. 

He’s there.

He has his back to you, cleaning some sort of container in the sink. 

“Two seconds!” he sing-songs. You don’t respond. A few seconds later he’s done and spins around to you. His eyes widen a little and then drop.

“Hi.” He steps towards the register.

“Hi,” you respond.

“Would you like something to drink?” his tone is passive, despite his words being polite. 

“A hot chocolate, please, to sit in.” You try to smile at him, he focuses on the register. He nudges the card reader towards you as he steps away to get started on your drink. You move towards the bar-stool seating you sat on previously.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you ask. He looks back to you.

“Go ahead,” he glances back at you. You take a seat and look around, and you realise for the first time that you’re the only person in here, apart from Jisung. You look back towards him just as he put the cup down in front of you.

“Thank you,” you smile again, he gives you a small one but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns away and starts fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Jisung, can I talk to you?” you ask.

“I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.” He says without turning around.

“Please.”

 That gets him to turn around at least, even if he is still looking at anything but you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you yesterday. I was just a mess, and that’s not an excuse but I need you to know I didn’t mean it,” you trail off, picking up your drink and taking a sip, appreciating its sweetness. 

“And to be honest, I kind of miss the flirty Jisung. I was beginning to like him.” You take another sip of your hot chocolate, smirking to yourself when you see his head shoot up toward you.

“You do?” His eyes soften a little when you nod.

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay. But it’s okay. To be honest, I probably was coming on weirdly strong, huh?” He scratches the back of his neck while you chuckle.

There is a moment of silence as you look down at your hot chocolate. Until a thought sparks in your head.

“Why do you flirt with me?” 

“What?” His eyes widen and the poor guy looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

“Why do you flirt with me? Or do you just flirt with anyone?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No! I don’t, it’s really just you, and I don’t know why, I just kinda… liked you? I mean, you seemed cool and nice and definitely my type.” He catches himself rambling. 

“I’m your type?” You ask, smirking.

“Well, yeah.” he chuckles. You laugh too.

“Han Jisung, I think we should go on a date.” You say, definitively. 

“Really?!” He stands up from where he was leaning against the back counter and crosses towards you.

“Actually, never mind.” You roll your eyes, chuckling.

“Do not play with my heart like this, I’m sensitive!” he clutches at his chest dramatically, making you laugh louder.

“Fine, but I get to pick where we’re going.”

“Deal! Just tell me a time and I’ll be there.” His grin tells you that he will live up to that. You fall into another silence as you hold each other’s gaze, just smiling.

“Hey, Y/n, you want a discounted cookie?”

“I’d love one.”

taglist - @lethallyprotected

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Ten: One To Bubonic Plague SS: 3 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.2 K Content Warnings: vomiting

Previous Next Masterlist

The coach rattles along the icy road, its tyres crunching against snow-packed asphalt. The heater works overtime, pumping out lukewarm air that barely takes the edge off the chill seeping through the thin glass windows.

Ayame sits slumped in the back with Minho, Hyunjin, and Seungmin, wrapped in her pink sweater that does little to combat the cold. Her black coat is draped over her lap like a makeshift blanket, her Converse sneakers tapping softly against the floor as she shivers.

Minho leans in close, squinting at her like a suspicious mother hen. "Aya, are you sure you're up for this? You look like you've been exorcised. Twice."

Ayame groans, her voice hoarse. "It's a cold, Oppa. I'll survive."

Hyunjin, seated across from her, wrinkles his nose and leans back dramatically, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. "You look like death. Like, literal walking corpse vibes. Are you even human?"

Ayame musters a glare, though it's undermined by her sniffle. "Thanks for that, Hyunjin. So kind. You should do motivational speeches."

Hyunjin smirks, pulling out his phone to snap a picture. "Motivation starts with truth, darling."

Seungmin, ever the practical one, reaches into his backpack and pulls out a water bottle, holding it out wordlessly. His gaze flicks to her Converse, and he grimaces. "Drink. And for fuck's sake, Ayame, why are you wearing canvas shoes in the snow?"

Ayame grabs the bottle, her fingers brushing his in a brief moment of truce, and takes a small sip. "Because I don't own snow boots. Also, I didn't think we'd actually go through with this paintball nonsense."

Minho looks aghast, his arm shooting out to point dramatically at her shoes like they've personally offended him. "What kind of grown woman doesn't own boots? Do you have no sense of survival?"

"The kind of grown woman who doesn't willingly play war games in a blizzard," Ayame snaps back, though her words lack their usual bite.

Minho sighs heavily, scooting closer and draping an arm around her shoulders like she's a fragile little bird. "You're a mess, Maknae. A hot mess. But you're still my favourite disaster."

Ayame leans into him, the weight of his arm and the warmth of his body offering more comfort than she'd ever admit. "You're annoying."

Minho pulls his scarf up over his mouth and nose, as if proximity to her cold is a biohazard. "Can't get sick. My beauty regimen would suffer."

Ayame laughs softly, her voice scratchy. "Dramatic."

"And yet," Minho says smugly, patting her head, "here I am. Your saviour. Your warmth. Your superior Oppa. Now shut up and accept my cuddles."

Hyunjin snaps another picture, grinning as he holds up his phone. "You two look like an ad for cough medicine. 'Sickly, but make it hot.'"

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head. "More like an ad for dysfunction. 'The Disasters of Levanter: A Documentary.'"

Minho throws them both a withering glare. "Jealousy looks ugly on you two. Take notes from Ayame. She knows how to appreciate me properly."

Ayame doesn't even open her eyes as she mutters, "I'd appreciate you more if you'd shut the fuck up."

Hyunjin cackles, leaning back in his seat. "I think she just roasted you, hyung."

Minho ignores him, pulling Ayame closer. "See? My Maknae is delirious. She loves me too much to mean it."

The coach jostles slightly as they hit a bump, the snowy landscape outside blurring into white streaks. The hum of the engine mixes with the chatter of their coworkers further up the aisle, but in their little corner, it feels almost peaceful. Ayame dozes off against Minho's shoulder, her sniffles fading as her breathing evens out.

Hyunjin stares at her for a moment before smirking at Minho. "You're like her hot water bottle with an attitude."

Minho grins. "And don't you forget it."

Seungmin shakes his head, glancing out the window. "God help her when Chan sees her like this. He'll probably turn this paintball match into a metaphor for war and try to 'save' her or some bullshit."

Minho's grin fades slightly as he looks down at Ayame's sleeping face. "He better keep his tactical fantasies away from my Maknae. I'll shoot him in the dick."

"Fair," Hyunjin says, leaning back. "Very fair."

The three of them fall silent as the snowy road stretches ahead, the promise of chaos looming closer with each mile.

The paintball arena buzzes with chaotic energy as people shuffle through the snow, strapping on gear and loudly debating strategies. The sharp, cold air is filled with the clatter of paintball guns being loaded and the whirring of nearby heaters doing their best to fight off the biting chill. Ayame wrestles with the straps of her chest plate, her gloveless fingers trembling as the icy air makes the buckles even harder to manage.

"Fucking straps," she mutters under her breath, pulling at one until it finally clicks into place. She lets out a huff, her breath fogging in the cold air.

From her left, Chan's voice cuts through the noise, smooth and unmistakably amused. "You need help, shortcake?"

Ayame doesn't even look up. "I need you to fuck off, that's what I need."

Chan steps closer anyway, bundled up in a black jacket and a scarf that's probably warmer than it looks. His dark eyes gleam as he leans casually against the equipment rack. "You said everyone hated me, and yet here I am, leading this merry little death match. Funny how life works."

Ayame yanks another strap, glaring at him now. "Leading this corporate shitshow isn't impressive, Bang Chan. It's just proof that you're a masochist."

"Oh, come on," he teases, crossing his arms. "Admit it. You're a little impressed."

"Impressed?" Ayame barks out a laugh, finally snapping the last buckle into place. "I'd be impressed if you came up with a team-building idea that didn't involve people running through snow shooting each other with paintballs like we're in some low-budget action movie."

Chan tilts his head, his smirk widening. "And miss out on all this unresolved tension boiling over into colourful carnage? Where's the fun in that?"

Before Ayame can fire back, Ryujin appears out of nowhere, her hair tucked under a navy beanie, her face set with her usual no-nonsense expression. "Ayame," she says quickly, her words spilling out like rapid gunfire. "My niece needs an internship. Dad's in prison, arson charges, don't ask, so you're the only one who can handle her."

Ayame freezes mid-glare at Chan. "What?"

Ryujin doesn't slow down. "I'll text you her info. Thanks. You're the best!" And with that, she's already striding off, leaving Ayame blinking in disbelief.

"Wait, hold on, Ryujin!" Ayame calls after her, but it's useless.

Chan lets out a low chuckle, watching Ryujin vanish into the crowd. "Guess you've got a new intern."

"Shut up," Ayame snaps, tugging at her face covering. "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit."

Chan holds up his hands in mock surrender, his smirk infuriatingly present. "Just saying, you're like a magnet for everyone's problems. It's kind of impressive, actually."

"Fuck off, Chan," she mutters, her eyes narrowing.

Before their back-and-forth can escalate, Seonghwa stumbles into view, his chest plate slightly askew. "Ayame!" he says brightly, adjusting the straps. "Wanna team up?"

Ayame smiles faintly. "Sure"

"Nope," Chan interrupts smoothly, his tone all business. "Teams are pre-assigned. You're with me, Ayame."

Seonghwa's face falls for a moment, but he recovers quickly, offering her a lopsided grin. "Oh, uh, okay! Catch you out there!" He turns to leave, only to trip on the edge of a wooden pallet, flailing comically before managing to catch himself.

Ayame winces. "You okay?"

"Totally fine!" Seonghwa calls back, his ears visibly pink from embarrassment. He scurries off, leaving Chan shaking his head.

"That guy's a walking disaster," Chan says, his tone flat but tinged with amusement.

Ayame scowls, adjusting her face covering again. "Be nice. It's his last day."

Chan's smirk fades slightly, his gaze sharpening as he studies her more closely. "You don't look great," he says quietly, stepping closer.

Ayame pulls back instinctively. "Gee, thanks."

Chan ignores her sarcasm, stepping into her space and pressing the back of his hand to her forehead before she can react. "You're burning up," he mutters, his voice lower now. "You should sit this one out."

Ayame jerks away, glaring at him. "I'm fine."

"You're not," he says firmly, his eyes locking onto hers. "Ayame-"

"And miss the chance to shoot you in the face?" she cuts him off with a sharp grin. "Not a chance."

Chan lets out a soft laugh, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. "We're on the same team, shortcake."

"Of course we are," Ayame mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes as she fidgets with her face covering again.

Before she can stop him, Chan reaches out, his fingers adjusting the straps with infuriating precision. He tugs one particularly loose piece snug, his touch firm but careful.

"There," he says, stepping back with a satisfied nod. "Now you're battle-ready."

Ayame stares at him for a beat, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Fantastic. Can't wait to see you trip over your own ego out there."

Chan grins, adjusting his scarf as he turns to walk away. "See you on the battlefield, Ayame. Try to keep up."

She watches him go, her fingers tightening around her paintball gun. "Arrogant prick," she mutters under her breath, her pulse still annoyingly quick from his proximity.

The referee's whistle pierces the cold air, signalling the start of the paintball match. The snowy forest explodes into chaos. Paintball guns click, players shout, and neon paint splatters against barriers and trees.

Ayame crouches behind a stack of rusted oil drums alongside Chan, her breath fogging up the inside of her mask. The cold bites into her exposed skin, making her shiver even under layers of clothing.

Chan peeks around the edge of the drum, his paintball gun poised. "Seonghwa's out already," he whispers, nodding toward Seonghwa, who trudges off the field with a bright green splatter on his vest. He looks like a dejected duck as he waves at the team from the sidelines.

"Poor Hwa," Ayame mutters, trying to focus on the game despite the pounding in her head and the queasiness building in her stomach. Her chest plate feels impossibly heavy, and every breath feels like dragging air through syrup.

Chan's gun goes up again. This time, he fires a single shot, hitting Seonghwa squarely in the ass. The pop of the impact echoes against the trees.

"What the actual fuck, Chan?!" Ayame hisses, her jaw dropping in disbelief.

Chan shrugs, his smirk infuriating. "Misfire," he calls out, his voice smooth and unapologetic.

Seonghwa stops mid-trudge, turning to rub his paint-covered ass. "No problem, BC!" he yells, throwing a cheerful thumbs-up that makes Ayame groan.

"You're a fucking menace," she mutters, shaking her head.

"Yeah, but you love it," Chan quips, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Ayame doesn't respond. Her vision starts to blur slightly, her focus slipping as her body feels heavier and heavier. Her stomach churns violently, and she clenches her fists, trying to will the nausea away. The cold air feels like it's closing in on her, every sound around her muffled and distant.

"I need a second," she rasps, yanking her mask off.

Chan turns sharply, his eyes narrowing in alarm. "What the hell are you doing?! Put that back on! You'll get shot in the face."

But Ayame stumbles away from their hiding spot, her breath ragged. She barely hears Chan's protests as her legs give out beneath her, her knees hitting the snow hard. A moment later, her stomach heaves, and she vomits into the pristine white snow, bright and violent.

"Shit," Chan mutters, dropping his gun and rushing to her side. He crouches down beside her, his gloved hand steady as he pulls her hair back from her face. His other hand moves to rub circles on her back, his voice low and firm. "Just breathe, Ayame. Deep breaths. You're okay."

Ayame coughs, her body trembling with the force of it, her throat raw. She hears voices shouting, but it's hard to focus until Jisung's voice cuts through the noise.

"STOP THE FUCKING GAME!" Jisung yells, his arms waving wildly in the air. "EVERYBODY HOLD THE FUCK UP!"

The paintball field goes eerily quiet, the sound of gunfire ceasing almost immediately. Players peek out from their hiding spots, their masks turned toward the commotion.

Chan doesn't bother looking up. His focus is entirely on Ayame, his hand firm on her shoulder as she wipes her mouth with a shaking hand. "You done?" he asks gently, his voice softer than she's ever heard it.

Ayame nods weakly, her head swimming. She leans heavily against him, her legs trembling as he helps her stand. "I'm fine," she mumbles, though her body says otherwise.

"You're not fine," Chan mutters, his arm slipping around her waist to steady her. "Come on, you're done. I'm taking you home."

Minho appears out of nowhere, lifting his face guard to look at Ayame. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"She's sick," Chan says curtly, his arm tightening around Ayame as she sways slightly. "I've got her."

Minho's jaw tightens, his eyes flicking to Ayame. "I'll take her-"

"You can't," Chan interrupts, his tone firm. "This is mandatory. Stay here. She'll be fine with me."

Minho hesitates, his fists clenching before he exhales sharply. "You better fucking text me the second she's home," he says, his voice low with warning.

"Done," Chan says, already guiding Ayame toward the parking lot. She leans into him more than she realizes, her legs struggling to keep up as the snow crunches beneath their feet.

"Min," Ayame calls weakly over her shoulder, her lips curving into a faint smile. "I'll be okay."

"You better be," Minho shouts after her, his voice tight with worry.

As the wind picks up, Chan shifts slightly to shield her from the worst of it, his body a steady presence against the cold chaos. When they reach his car, he helps her into the passenger seat, his touch careful and deliberate, closing the door with a soft click before jogging around to the driver's side.

As the heater kicks on, Chan glances at her, his brows furrowed. "Let's get you home, shortcake."

Ayame manages a weak smirk, her voice barely above a whisper. "Still hate you."

"Sure you do," Chan mutters, shifting the car into drive, but there's the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as the car pulls away from the chaotic paintball field.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

@skzleeknowcore

[64yrsold]

ACHES 1. january

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist

“I’m really, really, really, sorry,” I winced, walking up to him with my hands deep in my coat pockets, “Could I borrow-”

He raised an eyebrow, “It’s not a problem.” 

“Oh,” I frowned, watching him exhale smoke into the emptiness of the night sky, “I thought you might put up more of a fight.”

“You’re not the first drunk girl to ask me for a cigarette,” he shrugged, flicking his burnt-out smoke to the ground, immediately lighting a new one. He hollowed his cheeks as he inhaled, eyes closing for a brief second, face illuminated by the red ember. He held the cigarette out to me, smoke pooling from his mouth as he spoke, voice thick, “Here.” 

“Now I wonder if I want it,” I contemplated, grabbing it before he could pull away, “If you’re such a cigarette whore.”

He coughed, “What?”

“Just giving it out to anyone, aren’t you?” I took a deep drag, exhaling out of the corner of my mouth. His dark eyes flicked over my face, red and stinging from the cold. His lip creased in the corner, pressing wrinkles under his eye. 

“I suppose,” he ground the toe of his slick leather shoe into the snow absently, smiling to himself, “I guess that means you take it from anyone?”

I laughed, “Sure.” I dropped the cigarette on the pavement, letting him put his foot to use.

He shook his head, stamping out the perfectly good cig, “Alright.”

“You like beer?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest, “There’s a bar behind you.”

“Are you asking me to drink with you?” he brushed a hand through his mess of curls, the tips of his ears wind-burnt.

“I’m asking if I can buy you a beer, I think,” I smiled, “If you’d like.”

He closed an eye, “Sure.”

“Great,” I held out a hand for him, which he cautiously took, “Relax. I just want to keep you around in case I need another smoke.” His fingers didn’t quite wrap around mine, stiff and cold, covering rather than caressing.

“That was my last one,” he let go of my hand, but hooked my arm in his, stuffing his hand into his coat pocket.

“Really?”

“No,” he smirked, “Kidding.”

“Thank God,” I teased, pushing open the door to the bar as he trailed beside me, “You like whiskey?”

“I thought we were having beer,” he unlinked his arm from mine as the crowded room squeezed us together, preferring to linger a hand at my lower back. It didn’t make me uncomfortable, just a few fingertips reassuring me that he was following. The gentle pressure bloomed a warmth down to my heels, and I swallowed.

“Now I’m thinking I might want to get you drunk,” I grinned, glancing back at him, “If you’d like, of course.”

He squinted, licking his lower lip, “Should I be worried?”

“Jenna, should he be worried?” I asked the bartender, leaning against the chewed-up bar.

“Who?” Jenna asked, frowning at him while filling a glass with ice.

“Um,” I bit my lip, and he stared back at me, keeping his mouth closed, “Help me out, will you?”

He let a smirk slip, “Matty.”

“Don’t worry, Matt,” Jenna huffed, passing a drink to a red-faced man on the stool beside me, “Men disappear with her all the time.” I watched Jenna with my jaw slack.

“That… That’s a good thing?” he coughed, watching Jenna pour two shots of whiskey. 

“Yeah, ‘cause they come back.” Jenna pushed him a shot glass, “She also tips well.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, passing her a twenty dollar bill.

“See?” Jenna smiled, waving the bill between her fingers, “Have fun, Matt.”

“Sure,” Matty turned the shot glass on the bar, watching me with a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“She’s just teasing,” I rolled my eyes, “I know it sounds bad–”

“I don’t mind.”

I blinked, “She did just imply I was a slut.”

“I did that earlier,” he shrugged, picking up his glass and holding it out to me, “Let’s get drunk.”

I laughed, “Okay.” I collided my drink with his, then poured it down the back of my throat. The liquor warmed something behind my heart, buzzing down my esophagus. 

“Don’t like whiskey,” he cringed, shaking his head as he swallowed. He sucked in air through his teeth, probably making the taste worse, and gripped the edge of the bar with one hand. I chewed my cheek to hide a smirk. There was a shining drop of amber in the corner of his mouth, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. 

“Too bad,” Jenna interrupted, filling the glasses a second time, “She usually makes them have two.”

“Jenna!” I gasped, rubbing my eye in annoyance, “That’s not true.”

“Alright, fine,” she poured two more glasses, “It’s usually three.”

“Oh my God,” I mumbled, throwing back another glass. Matty followed suit, like a true masochist. He shuddered, scratching at the back of his head. “You don’t have to drink that,” I reminded him. 

“That one wasn’t as bad,” he swallowed thickly, fingertips dancing around the edge of his next shot. He closed his eyes, swallowing the liquor in one, shaky gulp. He looked at me with glossy eyes, and I could tell he was trying not to gag. He passed Jenna his credit card, “Please, just two beers.”

“I can pay,” I offered, but Jenna took his card wordlessly. 

“I’m trying to stand out,” he stated, glazed lips smiling slightly, “Apparently I have a lot of competition.”

“No, you don’t,” I sighed, “She’s just joking.”

“Right,” Jenna deadpanned, sliding two beers forward, “I was just joking.”

Matty held up his glass, “Cheers, uh– what’s your name?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I tapped our glasses together, smiling as I sipped.

“Okay,” he frowned, tipping his head back to inhale nearly half his beer. I watched a drop of alcohol roll out of the side of his mouth, slipping down his pulsing throat to his unbuttoned white collar. I rested my chin on my palm, the droplet pooling at his collarbone. My arm reached out to his neck, my thumb slipping over the wet streak for a moment. His skin was smooth, well cared for, and warm, like sunlight. I pulled my hand back quickly, realizing what I was doing when his head turned to the side.

“Sorry,” I whispered, wiping my thumb on my jeans.

“Hm?” he looked back at me, oblivious. His lips were parted slightly, his eyelids a bit heavier than they had been outside. His chest heaved in slow, even breaths. 

I pursed my lips, smiling, “You’re drunk.”

“You wish, darling,” he slurred, then furrowed his eyebrows at the sound of his own voice, “Shit.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” I giggled into my hand, “You don’t look like a lightweight.”

“I was drinking earlier,” he waved his hand in front of me, his knuckles brushing against the inside of my forearm, “I was smoking outside of a bar, remember?” His cheeks were prickling with pink, a heat rising from his neck. 

“So was I,” I tried to ignore the way my arm stung, “I was drunk, asking you for a cigarette, remember?”

“Fuck,” he laughed, “Right.” His hand fell to the bar, his fingertips inching towards my elbow.

“It’s okay,” my face was flushed, and I shifted on my feet, “I’m drunk too.” He smirked at the confession, shaking his head. There was a heat at my elbow, his fingers dipping into the edge of the bone. He traced the point where my skin met the wood of the bar, watching me with amber, hazy eyes. He retreated his hand, grabbing for his glass, which he found to be empty. He sighed, his shoulders lifting and head tilting back at the depth of it. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, then snatched my glass, finishing it off in a few rushed swallows.

“Hey!” I sputtered, wrapping my hand around his wrist. He laughed, the heavy sound vibrating throughout the bar.

“I’ll get you another,” he leaned in, pressing his temple to mine, “Come on.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it. I was curious to see what he would do.

“I want to show you another bar,” he skirted a hand down my shoulder, “Please?”

I nodded, and he clasped my hand tightly. Warm, steady, and completely certain.

-> next (2)

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check Part 16

Who you Bro not What you Bro

Also on Ao3 here and tumblr here

“And what are your goals?”

Steve sighs, hanging his head. “To show Billy that I’m cool- we can’t do this, Robs, he’ll see right through it.”

“No, he won’t. You were bi this whole time and neither of you had the slightest clue. I think he isn’t gonna notice a little slight subterfuge.” Robin leans over, reachs into the backseat and pulls out the stupid white rhinestone cowboy hat and plops it onto his head. “Now, what are your goals, cowboy?”

He closes his eyes. “To show Billy that I’m cool with being touched and it’s no big deal.”

“And?”

“And that I’m just as hot as Jason so he better snap me up while he can.”

“Right. If not hotter. And how do we accomplish that?”

“I’m gonna flirt with him, and with Jason, and with strangers. Maybe kiss someone,” He nods, steeling himself. “Just another night out with the boys. But. Flirty. Oh god.” Steve covered his face with his hands.

“And my goals are to watch your boy like a hawk and see how he reacts.” She reaches back and puts his hat’s twin on her head, checking herself quickly in the mirror. “Stop thinking about the play wrestling. It was fine.”

“I was a mega creep.”

“Why do you always make it sound like a violation of the Geneva convention? It sounded like regular frat guy behavior. I’ve seen you all with your ball taps and bro hugs. If anything it probably gave friend zone vibes. I’ll watch, if he seems actually creeped out I’ll do the signal.” She brushes the brim of her hat.

“Okay. You really think it’s fine?”

“You didn’t like ravish his body or something.” She shrugs. “I mean I’m overthinker number one but I really don’t think it was bad.”

“When it comes time to actually do that I may totally freak out.” Steve mumbles. “I mean if Billy… if we ever… yeah.”

“Just breathe. All you have to do tonight is be your charming self.” She opens her door. “We can also just leave if you need to.”

Steve nods, “Right. Yes. Ok. I’m doing it.”

He follows her out of the car into the chilly night are. A row of scrubby hedges have been planted around the small lot, as if shielding the Cottonmouth from the neighborhood. It’s a squat building with faded barn red paint and a proud neon sign featuring a large snake’s head.

The handful of motorcycles out front might have it mistaken for a biker bar, but inside it’s pretty clear that it isn’t. The older woman who stamps their hands has a harness on over her muscle tee, and she has a tattoo of a pinup girl that Steve struggles not to stare at.

Inside there’s a more than moderate crowd, mostly men. For a split second Steve panics that they have the wrong place. Everyone here just seems so much older.

But then he spies Jason Carver waving them over to the bar, where there’s a cluster of people he vaguely recognizes from around campus. Even the bartender doesn’t look quite old enough to be serving drinks.

Steve is so relieved to see them, he doesn’t even register that Billy is talking to someone, a slim brunette guy with a tattoo crawling out of his tight v-neck shirt.

Steve throws himself into Billy’s arms. “Thank fuck you’re here. I thought we fully had the wrong place.”

Billy pats his back. “Hey, Stevie. This is Connor.”

Steve pulls back, glancing over at the guy. He looks vaguely familiar, but not quite enough for Steve to be able to say for sure.

“Hey, man.” Steve pulls away from Billy and offers his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Steve.”

Connor eyes Steve’s hand disdainfully. “Yeah thanks, bro. Connor.”

Steve frowns and catches Jason rolling his eyes.

“Hi. I’m Robin.” Robin cuts in between them, pushed by the crowd in front of Steve closely.

Connor glances between them. “Nice hats.”

“Thanks.” Steve tips his.

“We got them for Steve’s first experience out at a gay bar.” Robin says weirdly loudly.

Connor furrows his very neat eyebrows, his eyes still darting between them.

“Speaking of.” Jason shoves a drink into Steve’s hand. “Let’s dance. I wanna get lit tonight.”

Steve shrugs, smiling helplessly at Billy and Connor. “Nice to meet you, Dude.”

“Ugh, ignore him. He’s such an asshole.” Carver grumbles, barely loud enough to be heard over Beyoncé’s belting.

“Who?” Steve glances back. Robin hasn’t followed, preferring to get cozy between Billy and Connor at the bar.

“Connor. He’s a pretentious little thing,” Jason says with a sour scoff, pulling Steve out onto the floor and draping Steve’s arm over his shoulder.

Steve’s brain is too confused by everything to take that in for a moment, pinging between Jason’s motions and the heat fron the sea of strangers around them.

He’s doing it, he’s at a gay bar with people who know. He’s dancing when he’s not even drunk enough and men are looking at him and he likes it.

And it’s fucking terrifiying. He glances back at Billy nervously and Billy throws him a wide smile.

“Are they…?” Steve asks way too late, when Jason’s words finally settle in his brain.

Carver snorts. “I fucking hope not. But I also assume not because Billy talks a big game, but he doesn’t seem interested in anyone.”

That’s because he’s too interested in you, Steve thinks as Jason looks down, swirling his hips.

“So… your boyfriend is away?” Steve hates and loves the level of the music. It feels just low enough that they aren’t yelling, but way too quiet for it to feel private.

“Oh yeah, he has a whole thing with his family.”

“Are you going home for break?” Steve shrugs. “My parents scheduled a cruise so I’ll be here the whole time.”

“Nah, I’ll be here. my mom planned a whole like Church trip thing, but I told her I didn’t want to do it, and we got in a whole fight.” Jason rolls his eyes.

“That sucks.”

“No, it’s fine. Plus I’m taking two classes-” Jason starts.

“Hey.” Billy puts his arm over Steve’s shoulder, sending a elecro-shock heat over Steve’s whole body.

“Hey there, sore loser.” Jason says with a giggle.

Billy cackles, the sound pounding in Steve’s bones as deeply as the bass line. Steve’s phone goes off in his pocket several times but he ignores it. He’s frozen with jealousy, staring at Carver.

“You lookin’ for a rematch, Carver?” Billy asks.

“Sure. Who’s gonna stand in for you?” Jason shoots back.

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Steve asks.

“Oh.” Jason rolls his eyes. “I have my picture on the wall for the record for staying on the bull, and Hargrove tried to beat me.”

Steve almost gasps “when” like a jealous girlfriend in a soap opera, but he guesses it doesn’t matter. The jealousy is the same either way.

“How long is your record?” Steve asks.

“A minute and four seconds.”

“Holy shit, Dude. You were on the bull for a minute?” Steve gapes at him.

Jason smiles smugly. “What can I say. I can ride. Hey, Hargrove, maybe the two of you could beat me together. You know. With the power of friendship.”

Billy tugs Steve just a little closer. “Please, of course we could.”

“No fucking way-” Steve gasps it way too breathlessly because Billy’s body grazes his and seemingly reawakens every nerve in his skin at once.

“You’re both going to eat it so hard,” Jason grins.

“Yeah. Yes we will, Billy can last like ten seconds,” Steve shakes his head.

“Excuse me, you don’t know about my moves.” Billy scoffs.

“Well, I can do better than that at least,” Someone says behind them. “What do you say, Billy?”

Jason shifts, pulling Connor into Steve’s like of vision hard by his elbow.”

“Yeah, we can do better, you’re so on, Hargrove.” Jason says quickly.

Connor scowls and opens his mouth again but Carver all but drags him towards the bull.

Steve’s phone is going off like crazy and he fumbles with is, shoving it back in his pocket when he sees that its Robin calling.

“Who’s that?” Billy asks.

Steve can’t even look at Billy, he’s much too nervous. He downs his drink in one go instead, letting the vodka burn.

“I’m not drunk enough, yet.” He says to Billy.

Billy hoots, steering them dowards the bull. “Well, I am. Want another, Pretty Boy?”

Steve doesn’t know what’s going on or how to feel about it. He twists in Billy’s grip and practically melts with relief when he sees Robin approaching.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re riding the bull? I guess?” He says.

She looks positively horrified. “Are you serious?”

“Fuck yeah we are!” Billy tugs Steve closer and he’s distracted from how close they are by the tug of Billy’s warmth. He’s wearing those tight jeans and a stupid white undershirt you can see his nipples through, and he’s so warm, and it’s driving Steve mad.

“For what dark purpose? Remind me?” Steve asks, his voice tight with arousal and nerves.

“We have to crush Carver’s record.”

“What happened to a nice dance? What happened to drinks?” Steve scoffs.

“What happened to hello? How are you? My name is bullridin’ Billy.” Billy replies with a giggle.

Steve makes a nervous squeak of a noise. “I’m about to fall on my face, man.”

“I won’t let anything happen to your pretty face,” Billy pouts. “You know that.”

“This is so not how I pictured our first threesome.” Steve mutters.

Billy trips just a little and so does Steve. That was more like something he would say before all this, when they were just buddies. Is it too weird now?

But Billy’s cut off from whatever he would have replied because one of the bartenders gets up on the side of where the bull is penned with a microphone.

“We have a challenge to our current reigning Bull Champion! Who’s ready to ride with Baby Jay again?” The crowd cheers, a few older guys leering at Carver. “ And his partner Connor? Connor, right?”

Steve looks at an older hairy guy who’s saying something to Jason. “Um, how old is this boyfriend?”

“He’s in a frat, thank god.” Billy whispers into Steve’s ear.

There are several cheers from all around. Steve feels frankly a little sick looking at the bull which is lit in neon greens and blues by the Christmas lights strung through the wood rafters of the bar.

“It’ll be fun,” Billy says, like he can read Steve’s mind. Steve can smell the alcohol on his breath and he wishes he was a little drunker. Or a lot drunker.

Jason whispers something to the bartender and then climbs up onto the bull behind a surly looking Connor. The bartender hops down and steps over to the controls.

Steve only has a second to recognize that Jason doesn’t hold onto Connor before it begins and Connor goes flying almost immediately, flopping onto the mats with a yelp.

Jason looks like he’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell as the bull bucks faster and faster.

And then Carver falls too, luckily far away from Connor into the corner of the mats.

“That can’t have been that long, we could beat that,” Steve laughs.

“Thirty two seconds tonight, not his best.” The bartender announces. “Can uhhh Steve and Bobby beat it?”

Billy chuckles. “I knew you’d be in.”

They both rush to the mats, getting a pat on the back from Carver and a scowl from Connor.

Steve can’t hear the bartender. He can’t hear the music. They climb up onto the bull, and Steve can’t quite figure out where Jason put his hands to hold on so he wraps his hands around Billy’s waist.

It feels far too slow, but it’s hard to understand what’s happening when he clings close to Billy and gets a whiff of Billy’s cigarette-y musk. He catches a glimpse of Robin filming, her mouth open.

Billy’s ass is fitted right next to Steve’s dick, and they’re rocking slow and steady into each other. And the overwhelm of the evening crashes down on him.

The room spins around them and Steve holds on to Billy tightly, his heart in his throat. What are they even doing here when Steve wants to be at home under the covers with Billy watching a movie, rather than trying to figure out out if he’s flirting right or not. Where was the gay club for that?

He suddenly hates the game of it all. He rests his forehead on Billy’s neck. His hat topples off his head into nowhere and before he knows it they are too, landing on the mats in a tangle of limbs.

“Your champions, at thirty eight seconds! Not record beating, but certainly enough for tonight. And isn’t that what we’re all looking for?” The bartender asks right as ‘Here You Come Again,’ by Dolly Parton starts up.

Steve shoves himself upright in Billy’s lap and someone shoves an instant camera in their faces. Steve is scared to know what his face looks like when the flash does off, because he can’t peel his eyes off Billy’s red, laughing face.

Steve’s phone is going off again and his head is still swimming.

“Never let me do that again.” Steve says.

Billy just laughs more, grabbing Steve’s half-crushed cowboy hat and propping it up on his own head.

“Two more drinks, you’ll be climbing up there with Robin.” Billy replies, and his voice feels soft and low and terrific.

Steve wants to kiss him again. He wants to ask why the fuck he’s so hung up on Jason Carver or fucking Connor when Steve feels like he couldn’t be more obvious.

“Can we just dance now?” Steve asks instead, because he’s not sure he can handle the answer. And he doesn’t know if he’s ever wanted anything as much as he wants to dance like all of this doesn’t matter to him.

“Hell yeah, anything the champion wants.”

It’s small just a tiny twitch of Billy’s lip, but they’re so close Steve can see Billy’s every expression.

Before he has a chance to decipher it, Billy’s plucking him up and leading him off the platform into the crowd.

[thepatristictradition]

Orthodoxy is Catholic

Orthodox people (converts especially) often hear, see, and read; even think, say, and believe, that to be Orthodox, you must adopt the clothing, practices, and language of some culture that is foreign to your own.

This is not something a priest will ever tell you, Thanks be to God, but it is an overall impression that people can gather online, at coffee hour, or at Bible study. It always happens the coolest guy there is studying koine Greek.

Evangelists online, with only the best of intentions (probably a recent seminary student) will recommend converts brush up on their Greek or Church Slavonic. Female ortho-personalities will recommend women not just veil, but wear a pavlovo posad. Be sure to use the liturgical calendar to plan all events, religious or otherwise! The more niche evangelists (Antiochians) will make you learn classical Arabic and grow a beard.

All of these things are well and Good. It is good to learn the liturgical languages. Women should veil and the pavlovo posad is as fine a way as any, and I love the Julian calendar as much as the next girl. I too am studying classical Arabic and beards have my stamp of approval. But none of these are necessary to be Orthodox.

No one needs to make themselves into a Russian, Syrian, or Greek to be Orthodox. I find the accusation that you do to be particularly gross because our whole Liturgical theology goes against this-- our whole evangelistic history goes against this. We have our liturgy in the vernacular for a reason! Saint Herman of Alaska evangelized the way he did for a reason!

Our Church is Catholic. It is Universal. You ought to love the people that God allowed you to be born into.