#think he's a somewhat buff/wide but short guy in my head

[pain-is-too-tired]

Based off this-

[angelguk]

jock!jaykay is your favourite boy! yes, this a childhood bestie!au. jaykay is gym rat who likes invading ocs personal space and likes bullying his bestie for being small and weak unlike him. or alternatively the one where jeongguk realises his bestie has giant boobs. listen to best friend by rex orange county. roughly 2k words. this is brain spew. boobie ogling.

You love Jeongguk.

It's a natural thing to say; a platonic affection for him that has steadily grown over the past decade of your intertwined lives. But, you never expected to develop this level of affiliation towards him. It happened by mistake. He’d stumbled into you at the playground in the middle of recess during one lonesome afternoon. Soft brown curls a halo on his round head and his doe eyes sparkling as he mumbled a compliment at the sandcastle you were knee-deep in constructing. You’d taken one glance at the boy, noted how your stature towered over him and then immediately enlisted his assistance in completing the mammoth of the sandcastle you were creating. He’d lit up — bright like the burning sun behind his tiny figure —  jumping in with zero hesitation; small hands quick and sure as he stuffed sand into buckets. He never opposed any of your suggestions, considering them with a timid nod of his head and a tiny sheepish smile that revealed the delightful dips in his cheeks. It was beguiling, how quickly you grew attached to the smart but shy boy who’d wormed his way into your heart. Since then the two of you have been attached at the hip. Everyone knew you in relation to each other. Jeongguk wasn’t Jeongguk unless you were around and the same was for you. You’d spent sleepless nights at his house, huddling under the thick blankets of the fort you’d built in his living room, exchanging horror stories with the aid of a flashlight he’d nicked from his dad’s toolbox. Even his extended families adored you; random aunts and uncles sending cryptic messages via WhatsApp once every blue moon. And he knew yours too —  you’re certain that your mother likes Jeongguk more than she likes you. There was even a designated toothbrush for him perched on your bathroom counter, for days Jeongguk was too lazy to go back to his own home. It was wonderful, having that reassurance in your relationship, a steady rock that you clung to amidst the harsh wild seas of life.

And then puberty hit.

Suddenly, Jeongguk was taller than you. His jaw was more defined, shoulders broadening seemingly overnight. Your sleepovers vanished, Jeongguk preferring to hole himself in his room alone. He wasn’t the only one who felt the effects of your ageing. You never thought Jeongguk had noticed it, the way your body had subtly changed throughout your teenage years, the rapid blossoming of your chest because he always treated you the same. The shit-eating grin and snarky comments that appeared at the beginning of freshman year never subduing. That was until one day, he did notice.

“You stink,” you say. And it’s true. He’s just come from lacrosse practice, your bedroom door kicked wide open and his gym bag dumped on your floor. His smelly socks leak from the opened zipper, wafting through the room with dangerous intent. The smile he shoots in your direction grips your heart, digging deep enough to send a thrill through your system. You swallow hard, gaze ripping from his rosebud lips. It settles on your laptop screen with tangible resignation, the sudden spike in your heart rate not completely lost on you.

“Nice to see you too, bestie,” Jeongguk returns, eagerly padding over to your bed. You hold out a leg to his intruding figure, halting him in his steps. From here you can see the sheen of sweat clinging to his golden skin, the muscles in his arm defined beneath the loose fabric of his practise shirt. There’s a strange heat forming in your gut, and you have to take in a small breath before you can let your gaze falter on his. His honey eyes are warm, the glittering in his gaze drawing you close. Even the damp mussed hair on his head has arranged itself into perfectly defined curls. They tumble into his face, crowning him in an innocence that tugs at your heart. There’s an itch in your fingertips. You wonder whether you're allowed to tuck them aside, away from obscuring his pretty eyes.

“Do not come on my bed smelling like the pits of a sewer, Jeon Jeongguk.” You say that instead, settling your mouth into a firm scowl. He whines in relation, swift hands yanking at the hem of his shirt.

“I showered at school! I don’t smell that much — you’re being over dramatic.” Your mattress dips under the weight of his knee but the foot that smacks into his chest prevents him from crawling any further into your space.

“And yet I can still smell you — not my fault you can’t. You reek, Jeon. Go take another shower before you even think of lying on my sheets.” Your laptop wavers precariously on your lap when Jeongguk clasps his large hands around your calves, gently shoving your foot off his chest. You hadn’t discerned how… Big his hands had gotten.

The corresponding flutter you feel in your tummy the moment that realisation strikes feels like imminent death.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go shower.”  Jeongguk sighs like you’re the one causing him an inconvenience, shifting off your bed. Your mouth is already open, a retort tipping off your tongue. But then he’s hauling his sweat-drenched shirt over his head, the moment so swift and fluid you don’t even note how your heart halts in your chest. It starts a second later before abruptly falling into cardiac arrest because your gaze lands on his chiselled chest. You never truly registered how buff Jeongguk was. You knew he worked out, the insane regime he’d concocted the only thing he could talk about for months on end. Coach had him doing some insane sets at the gym and coupled with his weekly lacrosse practises it rapidly added up. You knew he was somewhat of a brawny guy. But Jeongguk preferred to wear his old baggy sweats around you and didn’t put much effort into his wardrobe for school. If it was black and clean it was going on. The look was effortless, simple and understated like Jeongguk was. So nothing could ever have prepared you for this. Hard lines of muscles forming his abdomen, flexing at the slightest movement as he tosses his shirt to the ground, a tiny ruffle of his curls accompanying the action. He’s glorious, warm skin glowing as if the sun is trapped within it. Perhaps you blink, blinded by the vision before you. An Adonis at the foot of your bed, shorts tugged low enough to reveal the band of his underwear. And, to make matters worse, the sharp-angled lines that direct your gaze right to his crotch.

You don’t think about it. You can’t. Another hard swallow hits your throat as you rise, arm outstretched to whack him hard across the head, the desire spurring in your guts short-circuiting your brain.

“Ow! What the hell was that for.” The pout he hits with you sends a wave of heat to your cheeks. You respond by landing a rough punch to his brawny shoulder.

“Why are you getting naked in my room?” Your voice sounds like an entity outside of your body, head still not comprehending the naked teenage boy in front of you.

“You told me to go shower!” Jeongguk retorts.

“Your house is a five-minute walk away! What made you think I meant in my house?” He catches the next punch you throw at him. There’s a thrill that surges fast when his large hands enclose around your wrists, grip taut. You tumble into his arms with a sharp tug, your chest colliding into his firm one.

“We used to share baths as kids. Why can’t I use your shower?” he murmurs. His voice is soft, wrapping around you promptly, like poison settling in your system. You abhor the tremor sweeps through you.

“Cause that was when we were kids! Look at you now! You’re all — all — all —,” your gaze falters downwards, hitting the rise of his pecs. It doesn’t take much for him to spot the heat that floods your face, a smile tugging the corner of his lips upwards.

“I’m all what?” Jeongguk implores. He flexes one of his pecs for good measure, a tiny laugh floating from his mouth when he spots how fast your eyes flicker from his chest.

“You’re a dickhead,” you retort, ripping your hands from his hold. Jeongguk lets you go, but when you glance up, there's a caution in his eyes that makes your skin prickle. “Go use your bathroom, you dingus. Come back when you don't smell like a garbage can.”

“But why,” Jeongguk whines. “Your bathroom is right there — like right there. It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Get out of my house before I kick you in the balls, Guk.” For some reason, you poke at his chest, fingertip landing right between the dip of his defined pectoral muscles. His hand snatches yours before you can rip them away, head cocking to the side mischievously. You know you’ve fucked up the second that smile hits his lips, the grip on your hand a warning.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Jeon Jeongguk, you stupid bastard, you’ll end up infertile if I hit you the way I want to right now.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.” He tenses his biceps on purpose, feigning a shiver at your empty threat. The quiver in your knees is betraying. “Like I couldn’t body slam you into this bed right now.” It’s like the light clicks in his head the moment the words drift from his tongue. You didn’t even get a chance to protest, a scream lodged in your throat as his arms swiftly enclosing around you, plucking you right off the bed as if you were a feather. He keeps you suspended for a moment, paying no heed to the pounding of your fists on his broad back, his shoulder digging right into your stomach before he flings you right back into the mattress.

“JEONGGUK!” If your laptop is broken you’re going to kill him. It’s as simple as that. He doesn’t give you time for recovery though, brain still whirring when his broad chest smacks into you. “Ow! What is wrong with you? Get off! Get off!”

The bastard giggles, smothering you under the weight of his bulky body, the mattress pressing hard into your back. You prod and pinch and punch until he grows tired of it, snatching up your wild fists with a quick hand. They hit the pillow over your head with a muted thud, arms stretched out as he shuffles over you. The movement has the material of his shorts bunching up at his crotch. You swear you don’t look, gaze shifting to the taut muscles of his stomach. But that’s worse, your thighs clamping together as heat blooms between them. You’re forced to settle on his face, a tiny whine escaping your lip as he traps you beneath him. But then you realise Jeongguk is not staring at your face, his honey eyes locked on the sway of your chest every time you squirm beneath him. You hadn’t thought about the shirt you’d yanked over your head when you’d gotten home today, picking it solely for the sun scorching outside. The heat had leaked into the house, warm enough for you to forgo one of your usual loose sweatshirts. But it’s a low cut, the rounds of your chest on display for all to see. Even when you lurch up, attempting to knee him in the groin, your chest bounces and his eyes follow, rose lips parted in thought. He catches your erratic leg with ease though, pinning you to the sheets effortlessly.

There’s a lot going on in your head, too much to sift through at the moment. But there’s no denying the fast flutter in your cunt, heat rippling through your nerves as you sit in a silence that feels suffocating. When bites his lip, you ignite. It feels like too much, too quick. A crack in the ice barrier between the two of you, the dam of unresolved emotions behind it threatening to break past and down you.

“Jeongguk…” You try, wafting through this sudden tension. He hums, a low sound that echoes deep inside of you. “What are you doing?” It’s innocent enough to allow the situation to dissipate, give the both of you a moment to gather yourself, sweep this under the rug and move on like it never happened.

He cocks his head instead, contemplating with a quick sneak of his tongue along his petal lips, still staring at your chest. “Uh, realising something.” He pauses like he doesn’t want to ask but question floats out like he can’t help himself. “When did your boobs get so huge?”

[firebrands]

acta non verba

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, T, college AU, 2.5k words

fill for stony bingo prompt: gladiator

also onao3

*

There are few things in academia that Tony actively dislikes, and being called to his lab advisor’s office after class is definitely one of them.

 Tony fidgets as he stands in front of his professor’s large oak table.

 “You can sit,” Dr. Pym says, motioning to the couch across his table. Tony doesn’t move, hoping that by standing up, they can keep this discussion short.

 “After the explosion last week—” his professor starts, and Tony immediately opens his mouth to defend himself. Unfortunately, Pym has spent a sufficient amount of time with Tony, and raises a finger to silence him before Tony can make a sound. “—we believe that the best way you can give back to the school is to serve your mandatory hours tutoring,” he finishes.

 A moment passes. 

 “I would rather die,” Tony says emphatically.

 “Spare me the theatrics, Tony,” Pym says, sighing. “Just two hours, twice a week. We have some engineering, math, and physics students who’ll do this as well, so you’ll only have one tutee.”

 “From where?” Tony grinds out. “Can’t I just… make a program to teach math…?” he asks hopefully.

 “While that would be fantastically helpful, I don’t want you spending more time on something that can be solved by just showing up,” Pym says primly. He pushes a piece of paper across his desk. “We’re having the orientation tomorrow morning.”

 Tony wants to throw a tantrum, because morning? Tutoring? Tutoring in the morning? But he also knows that battles with Pym rarely ever end in his favor, so he doesn’t. 

 Instead, he finds satisfaction in slamming Pym’s door as he leaves.

 *

 Tony, after two years in university, has come to realize that a lot of it is about weighing costs. This is what he tells himself as he takes two steps at a time to get to the assigned room Pym had given him. It’ll be even more annoying if I don’t do this, Tony reassures himself, as he pulls open the door.

 “Nice of you to join us,” says Pym coolly. He motions to an empty chair, and Tony sags into it, breathless from his mad dash from his dorm room to the classroom. Tony doesn’t have time to survey the rest, instead focuses on blinking away the spots in his vision. Too early to be this tired , he thinks.

 Pym talks about the importance the school gives on providing support for all students, or something, Tony isn’t really paying attention, even if his condition has stabilized.

 “Since you’re all from different colleges, we’ve partnered you up.” A table flashes on screen with their names. “Let’s go around the room introducing ourselves.”

 Tony rolls his eyes and plays videogames on his phone as people introduce themselves. Eventually, he’s called to stand. “Tony,” he says, then sits back down.

 Eventually, people stand to introduce themselves; again, Tony isn’t really paying attention, until someone hovers beside him awkwardly.

 “Hi,” says the hoverer.

 Tony sighs, and looks up, meaning to say “hi,” in the least friendly way possible just because it’s 9AM and no one should ever be friendly in the morning.

 He meant to say that.

 Now he’s just staring at the beautiful, blonde, buff guy standing beside him. His shirt is a size too small, and Tony wants to write a check to whoever told him that it was the right fit. Good lord, Tony thinks. And then the rational part of his brain, small as it is, finally catches up with him.

 “Hey,” Tony says, doing his best to sound suave.

 “I’m Steve,” he says, offering a hand. Tony shakes it. A good grip. A good hand. Oh, god. His thoughts on Steve’s hand stutter to a halt when Steve tells him what he’s taking.

 “An art student?” Tony scoffs. 

 Said art student raises an eyebrow in response.

 “Why are you even taking a math class?” 

 “It’s part of the curriculum?” Steve’s brows knit together and that’s when Tony realizes: hey, he’s even cuter when he’s annoyed.

 “Okay well I’m only ever free Tuesday and Thursday evening,” Tony says. 

 Steve bites his lip and looks irritated. “Fine. I can move stuff around. You better be fucking great at math,” he huffs.

 “Oh darling, I’m fucking great at a lot more than math,” Tony smirks.

 Steve, god bless him, blushes.

 *

 Steve’s late for their first session. They’d chosen the study hall for their lessons; it was situated right at the midway point between their two colleges, and it was usually only filled up by quiet freshmen (the library, on the other hand, was filled with over caffeinated seniors, which didn’t sound very productive to be around).

 Tony’s scribbling calculations about the battery he’d been trying to figure out when Steve comes rushing in. “Sorry I’m late, but I got you coffee to make it up to you,” Steve says, and Tony hides a smile by taking a sip of coffee.

 Steve’s wearing a dark blue henley that brings out the color in his eyes and Tony thinks that he should probably inform Dr. Pym that he is no longer qualified to tutor as he’s going to lose his damn mind.

 When Steve starts solving the problems on the worksheet Tony prepared,  Tony sends Rhodey a message: Oh no. hes stupid cute.

Rhodey immediately responds: ur so dumb istg

 Steve touches Tony’s arm to get his attention. “Okay, I don’t understand how you got from this,” he motions to his calculations, “to this,” he finishes, pointing at the equation Tony had written out.

 Tony stares at the problem equation, then casts a glance at Steve’s hand on his arm. He wants Steve’s hand everywhere, he thinks, with a hint of mania. 

 Steve follows Tony’s gaze and snatches his hand away. Tony tries not to weep at the loss, and instead writes out step by step how he got to the solution.

 After an hour, Tony stands up to get another cup of coffee, and he’s so distracted by the weight of Steve’s hand on his arm that now he can’t remember where they were sitting. Tony peers around and spots Steve resting his face on his palm, seemingly lost in thought.

 Tony stares, memorizing the slant of his nose, the soft curl of his lips.

 And then he walks straight into the glass door.

 Thankfully, the coffee is safe. Tony’s reputation, not so much: everyone had turned to look, and Steve covers up a laugh with his hand.

 “Don’t laugh, do your worksheet,” Tony hisses, sitting back down beside Steve.

 Steve continues to chuckle as he does his calculations. 

 Now it’s Tony’s turn to cover his mouth with his hand, horrified by how fond his smile is.

 *

 “Earth to Tony!”

 Tony looks up from his laptop, where he was preparing a new worksheet for Steve. “What?”

 Rhodey frowns. “I was asking what you wanted to get for lunch.”

 “Whatever you’re getting, honeybear,” Tony responds absently, still tweaking equations as Rhodey huffs and walks away.

 Tony’s reviewing the worksheet when Rhodey comes back with their meals and gently pushes down the monitor of Tony’s laptop to get his attention.

 “Okay! Okay already!” Tony screeches, snatching his laptop away from Rhodey’s reach and saving the file before folding it shut. “Jeez,” he says.

 “Didn’t think you’d have it this bad,” Rhodey smirks, digging into his mashed potatoes.

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony sniffs, removing the plates of food from his tray and arranging them on the table. “It’s—it’s not that big of a deal,” he says. “Totally harmless, he’ll be out of my hair in a few months.”

 “You guys are a walking thinkpiece about the need to bridge the gap between STEM and humanities,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes.

 *

 Tony spends more and more time with Steve, eventually meeting his friends (and vice versa). It’s nice, mostly because having more friends means more people forcing him out of the lab and forcing him to live a life, which—it’s nice.

 None of these things matter, of course, at 3 in the afternoon on a Saturday, where Tony is sitting on the floor of Rhodey’s dorm room with his head in his hands.

 Thor pats Tony’s head consolingly. “You could try and talk to him?”

 “He doesn’t like me that way, okay?” Tony’s voice is small, muffled by his position.

 Rhodey groans. “Everyone can see it,” he says.

 “That he doesn’t like me?” Tony asks despairingly. 

“No, that he does like you,” Thor says, rubbing Tony’s back. “Like, everyone. Both sides.”

 Tony curls even deeper into himself. “Yeah, but you’re all idiots,” he mewls.

*

The October air is crisp with the onset of autumn, and Steve lets out an exasperated puff of breath as he pulls up the blanket draped over his shoulder. Sam raises an eyebrow in response.

 Behind them, Bucky slams the door to their apartment shut with a triumphant woop, and begins hustling Steve and Sam down the street: “Let’s go! ”

 Steve’s toes are cold in the night air, and he has never hated Halloween more in his life. Yes, even more than that one time his mom and Bucky’s mom had plotted against him and dressed the two of them up as Woody and Buzz, forcing them to go around the neighborhood much to ten year old Steve’s chagrin.

 “I hate costumes so much ,” Steve whines, and it’s likely the fifth time he’s said it this evening alone, but it bears repeating. Sam and Bucky roll their eyes in tandem. 

 *

 Thor’s house is noisy and cramped and Steve bites down hard on any more complaints, instead making a beeline for the kitchen. Sam and Bucky follow after him, carrying a bottle of tequila and vodka each. 

 Of course, the kitchen isn’t any better—in fact, it’s worse. Still, Steve needs a drink, or fifty, to make this night somewhat bearable. The things he did for his friends, really.

 Thor is in the kitchen, dressed as a pirate (wide brimmed hat and eyepatch included). He’s talking to a guy dressed up as a gladiator, wearing a gold chestplate on top of red robes, and as they approach, Steve realizes who it is.

 “Tony!” Bucky grins, draping an arm around the shorter man and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tony smiles up at him and the disentangles himself to give Sam a quick hug. “Elvis and… hot professor?” Tony asks, turning from Bucky to Sam, respectively. 

 Sam is clearly taken aback, but before he can correct Tony, Bucky says, “and obviously you went above and beyond with the costume again.”

 Tony preens, and Steve has to wrench his eyes away from the way muscles in Tony’s arms flex as he wipes nonexistent dust off his chest plate. “What can I say? Not all of us can come in wearing a blanket and look as good as him,” he says as he nods at Steve, who's wearing a toga and a crown made of fake golden laurel leaves. 

 “Ugh,” Steve says, eloquent as ever.

 Tony takes this as an opportunity to keep teasing. 

 “Oh boys,” Tony says as he’s approaching Steve, “did you oil him up?” He traces a finger down Steve’s bicep.

 Steve flinches away. 

 Sam laughs. “That’s just his sweat,” he says. 

 Now it’s Tony’s turn to laugh and Steve fights down a blush as he begins looking around for something to drink. 

 *

 So the party’s pretty fun, and it was a blessing in disguise that Steve was barely wearing anything. It’s so crowded in the house, and everyone is sweating. 

 Steve bends down to pull out a beer from one of the coolers stationed strategically around the house and when he straightens back up, Tony’s standing right in front of him. Steve, momentarily disoriented by how stupidly hot Tony is, hands him his bottle of beer.

 Tony, the unflappable flirt, winks at Steve.

 Steve’s however many drinks in, so it’s not his fault that he’s flustered. It’s awful, how flustered he is. 

 Tony laughs, and blows him a kiss as he’s walking away.

 Steve turns to the cooler and briefly considers just dunking his head into the ice water.

 *

 Natasha passes Steve the joint, angling her head away from him as she blows out a cloud of smoke. 

 She juts her chin forward, motioning at the general area where Tony is currently talking to Bucky. Tony looks regal, which is crazy considering he’s wearing sandals, to match the rest of his costume. Still, Steve lets his eyes wander over the expanse of exposed flesh. Tony’s legs, Tony’s arms—Steve swallows as he checks out Tony’s ass.

 “You two should take a picture. It’s cute,” she says, jolting Steve out of his thoughts. Natasha smirks, fully aware of what Steve was doing.

 Steve does not deign to respond, and scowls at her as he takes a hit.

 “Why are you so huffy?” Natasha asks, rolling her eyes.

 “It’s just like,” Steve says, passing her the joint, “you know! He’s just fucking with me.”

 Natasha’s face crumples with disbelief. “You are so dumb.”

 *

 Steve is leaning back on the couch, watching the strobe lights make patterns on the ceiling. He’s having fun, even if he’s just seated with his legs sprawled out in front of him. This is what a good time is like, for Steve: a little tipsy, a little stoned, and very comfortable. He’s not really into parties, much less costume parties, but Sam and Bucky had forced him to come. But they all shared in the knowledge that Steve only agreed because he knew Tony would probably be at Thor’s party, too.

 After a while, Steve gets bored of the lights and he toys idly with the label of his beer bottle, and startles out of his concentration when Tony flops down beside him.

 “Hey,” he says. “You good?”

 “Yeah.” Steve smiles slowly and nods at him. 

 Tony leans against Steve’s bare arm and Steve has never felt so happy to be in costume in his life, he thinks serenely. He hazards resting his hand on Tony’s leg, reassuring himself that if Tony said anything, Steve would just laugh it off and say he was drunk and high (which is sort of true). 

 Thankfully, Tony doesn’t say anything. Instead, he spreads his legs a bit wider, pressing his thigh against Steve’s. 

 Steve lets out a shaky breath. 

 Tony turns to look up at him, his chin resting on Steve’s shoulder. Their eyes meet, and they stare at each other for a moment; Steve can feel Tony’s shallow breaths, can smell the alcohol on him, along with a hint of tobacco. Where would Tony have a pocket to keep cigarettes? Steve thinks, as he continues to chart the plains and valleys of Tony’s face, from the thick lines of his eyebrows to the soft swell of his lips. Steve bites his lip, and he sees that Tony’s eyes flick down at the movement.

 Tony looks up at him again, and he offers Steve a small, apologetic smile.

 “I want to kiss you,” he whispers.

 Steve smiles and leans forward, finally locking their lips together. 

[ohmygraysonsthighs]

Stick and Poke

A/N: holy beejezus!!! thank you all again for all the support you’ve been showing my writing I love all y'all. if you don’t know what a stick and poke is it’ll be explained in the story type thing idk what to call it lmao. sO like always I hope this isn’t too shitty!!

You and your boyfriend sat on the couch watching some old movie that was on. It was any old Saturday afternoon, but you were both content. As you began to pay less and less attention to the movie, you scanned Grayson’s face, tracing his jawline, poking his cheekbones, etc.

“Whaat are you doing.” Grayson mumbled, eyes trained on the screen as your pointer finger poked the shell of his ear.

“I’m bored.”

“Just watch the movie.” You huffed and snuggled closer to his buff body. He grabbed one of your hands as the other started tracing his thigh tattoo.

“I like this one. Pretty colors. How many tattoos do you have?” You questioned.

“Ah. A good amount.”

“Do you want more?”

“Probably.”

You pondered. “Can I give you one?”

“What?”

“Can I give you a tattoo? Like a stick and poke?”

“A stick and who?”

You rolled your eyes. “A stick and poke. You go through all these procedures to make sure you sterilize and clean a sewing or whatever needle, tie some thread around the base, tape it to a pencil, clean the area of skin you want it on, put a little Vaseline over that, dip your needle in a permanent ink, and bam! Do it yourself tattoo.” You smiled up at him and he gave you a quizzical look.

“How do you know how to do this? What if it’s not safe?”

“It’s pretty safe and I have a few you big goof. You ever seen this little guy,” you pointed to the small Saturn on the side of your pinky “he’s a stick and poke.”

“How bad does it hurt?”

“Worse than a regular tattoo. You’re literally poking the holes repeatedly into your skin with a needle, and you have to go over it a few times for it to show up. But it’s completely bearable!” You said, hoping to convince him. It’d be more interesting than the movie flashing on the television.

“I don’t know. Sounds kinda sketchy.”

“C'mon! It’ll be fun!” You pleaded with your eyes and you knew he’d give in.

“Fine. I’m picking the design though.”

“Aw, Gray, you trust me! Exactly the support needed in a relationship, love it. Now get up big boy, we gotta go to the craft store.” You slapped his thick thigh and he followed you up.

Upon returning from your local craft store, in your bag were sewing needles, thread, wooden pencils (“How on earth do you not keep wooden pencils in your home?”), and ink. The rest of the stuff needed to accomplish the stick and poke was already in the Dolan household. You did everything you had to to create a clean area and prepared the needle. Currently you and Grayson sat on the floor of his living room as you sterilized the spot he wanted (his upper right calf) and drew the design of his choice (a small ‘surfs up’ emoji-looking hand).

“You sure you’re ready?” You asked, blotting the Vaseline over where you were going to puncture his skin.

“Bro you’re the one that convinced me to do this, why are you making me second guess this?”

“Habit I guess,” you chuckled as you slapped the Vaseline-slick area, “alright, let’s do tha thang!” You joked and Grayson rolled his eyes. “Ew.”

Gray watched you as you steadied the needle over where it was going to first pierce. And then you poked an ink filled hole. And again. And again. To get your face closer to the area for better precision, you lay on your stomach across his lap.

“Ow Y/N. Ow Y/N. Ow Y/N.” Grayson complained. “This hurts a lot worse than I was expecting why would you ever want to do this.”

“For the experience I guess. And because there was no way in hell my mom was letting me get a real tattoo.” You said shrugging, all while continuing your work. The first layer was finished and any ink left on the surface of his skin was wiped off. It was pretty splotchy and not opaque at all, of course, so you applied more Vaseline to the section for layer two.

“Stop doing that. It’s making the ink bleed and I can’t see the pattern.” You said, referring to his hand that was stretching the skin, attempting to relieve the pain.

“Well where am I supposed to put my h-.” Grayson stopped mid sentence and brought both hands down on your ass cheeks, making you let out a yelp. “This is a lot better actually.” He said, squeezing and massaging both cheeks.

“Grayson!”

“What? You said not to stretch the skin and I’m not. Well, not my skin anyways. Plus I like touching your butt,” He slapped your ass, “it jiggles very nicely.” You gave him a stern look and he returned a toothy smile. Shaking your head, you returned to the task at hand. About 15 minutes later, you finished and wiped the last layer, revealing to Grayson the masterpiece.

“Wow. That’s actually really good. How do you have the patience to make and repeat all those little dots? You should be a tattoo artist.” He stated.

“I don’t know. You’re welcome by the way. And you said it was sketchy.” You said, shoving him.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, your turn.”

“What?”

“I said, your turn.”

“No I heard you. You think you’re gonna give me one?”

“Yes, definitely. You convinced me to do this so now I have to return the favor. So teach me how to do that little thing with a new needle.” You looked at him as if he had just said the moon was turning purple and contemplated if it was worth fighting against. It wasn’t, and you sagged your shoulders in defeat.

“Fine.” You dragged. He gave another toothy smiled and you mimicked one back as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips.

“I get to pick out the design and where it is, right?” You asked after he’d finished making the makeshift tattoo gun.

“Nope.”

“Garyyyyy why I had a perfect one picked out. I was gonna do a lil 'rock on’ hand.” You pouted.

“We can do that one next. But I have the perfect idea for the first one that I’m giving you.”

“And that is?”

“A little 'G’ on the inside of your left thigh. That way, when I’m eating you out I can always be reminded of who that pussy belongs to.” He smirked as you looked at him with wide eyes. Well shit Gary you didn’t need to do me like that.

“Hm. I uh, I like the way you think.” You said as the goosebumps in your arms settled down.

“You always do.” He gestured you to lay down and he snuck up between your legs, spreading them. You got goosebumps all over again because of how close he was to your most intimate area (nothing new), but that was not the current task at hand. Gray went through the same procedures as you did with him, always checking if he was doing anything wrong (of course he wasn’t, has that boy ever done anything wrong).

“Okee, I’m going in.” He chuckled and his hot breath sent a little something to your core.

“Don’t breathe too heavily. You’re making me wet and the last thing I wanna be as your poking holes into my skin is horny.” He made eye contact with you, his eyes noticeably a little darker. He nodded as you gulped.

He punctured the first hole and repeated. This hurt a lot worse than any of the other stick and pokes you’ve gotten because of how sensitive the area was.

“Grayson. Grayson this really hurts.” You whined.

“It’s ok baby. Be good for daddy.” He mumbled as he was in deep concentration.

“You’re too kinky for this shit.”

“You right.” The first layer was over and he began the second layer.

“Fucking- it’s not hurting any less.” You groaned.

“Grab something.” Your hands traveled down to his head and grabbed his luscious brunette locks. “Mmm I love it when you grab my hair.” He hummed. He rubbed the inside of your other thigh with his thumb as he finished the second, then third, then fourth, then finally sixth layer. Grayson kissed the inside of your thigh and popped his head up.

“Ok, done! You can look now.” You took a peek at the surprisingly opaque and somewhat neat 'G’ that has now made its home on your inner left thigh. It was kinda hot honestly. You looked up at Grayson, pride shinning through his eyes and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Very impressive for your first one.”

“Thank you madame.” He bowed.

“Ya know, I don’t think I can walk much because my thighs will rub together and that’ll hurt like a bitch.” You said matter of factly.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to be keeping your legs wide open a lot more often now.”

A/N: hi again so a couple things I wanted to say. first of all, I intentionally put Gary I thought it’d be funny. second of all, I’m sorry how short it is compared to my other (two lmao) stuff but I DID write a smut part to this I just didn’t add it because idk but if you want to read it or want it to be posted LET ME KNOW!! k thank you for reading ly!!

[roomalthoughts]

counseling (recovered post #10)

“Recovery begins at exactly that moment when you are completely broken to pieces and must surrender to unfamiliar and uncomfortable ways in order to rebuilt into who you were meant to be.” -unknown

“Always focus on how far you’ve come rather than how far you have left to go.” -unknown

“Be brave enough to stand alone, smart enough to know when you need help and brave enough to ask for it.” -unknown

This is going to be the most difficult blog post I’m going to write. I struggle a lot with being open about my struggles with depression and anxiety and it’s something I feel like it makes me a “weak person” (if that makes any sense, probably not). Today’s society, there’s still that stigma that mental health illness carries and it’s still somewhat of a taboo subject, especially with suicide. It kind of sucks seeing that, but I do see a better future for the younger generation.

When I was first diagnosed with anxiety back in 2014, I was surprised because I was doing a test to see if I still needed extra resources for college (I was diagnosed with a learning disability before I entered kindergarten). The lady that tested me was a complete…let’s say, she wasn’t so nice (there was another word I wanted to say, but I’m trying to stay PG as possible). She was rude and she got me nervous because I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing and so of course, my mind went blank. I’m no genius or dumb, but when I saw the results, it literally said: “Cynthia should think twice about going to college because I don’t think she has what it takes to graduate from college.”

Let me tell you, I seriously was pissed off when I read that statement.

With that, the lady told me that I wasn’t mature enough and my math, reading and writing skills were below average for your typical 18 year-old. But what struck me the most was when she said that I had generalized anxiety disorder…she noticed that I got really nervous and anxious for the test to be over. It was 8am and of course, I didn’t have breakfast and I thought it was going to be a easy, peasy, lemon queasy test..but I was so wrong. How she figured it out is still a mystery to me, but she nailed it.

It answered questions that I had when I was in high school. Why would I start shaking when there was a test in class? Why would I feel like I’m about to puke on the pool deck before a swim meet? Why would I start overthinking every little detail? It made sense. I remember my first high school swim meet, one of the coaches said: “Cynthia, your face is green? Are you okay?” Shy me shook my head no, but I was lying because I saw my dad there…and I knew that I had to perform well or I would get the silent treatment or get yelled at on my way home.

My dad was one of the reasons why I would start shaking and get nervous when he was at my swim meets. I knew that if I didn’t drop time or I didn’t beat a certain girl from the other team, I would get yelled at and it would piss me off more. There was a time, when I was a sophomore where he pulled my hair and kicked my back in front of my mother after I came home from practice. I didn’t go to practice the next day because my back was hurting and I was afraid my teammates would see the bruise I had on my back. When I got offered to swim for a college in Ohio, my dad flat out said: “You think you’re good enough to swim for them? They don’t want losers like you.”

That forever stayed in my mind and to this day, I REGRET not taking that chance to swim in college. I beat myself up every time I see someone that I knew of having a great time swimming for their dream college.

Along with my dad being verbally abusive, he also taunted me when it came to my weight. I’m 5’5 and I weigh around 170 at the moment. So I’ve always been a very buff girl with thunder thighs and a wide waist that God blessed me with (haha, oh). He would always say that I was a cow and fat and that he wishes that I was skinner. That did it for me. I forced myself to throw up or even skip lunch on and off from my sophomore year to my freshman year in college. I still struggle with self-image and there are times where I get so caught up with my weight, I literally drive myself mad. I have to control myself so I won’t relapse.

Fast forward to the end of my freshman year. I was going through so much stuff, it’s hard for me to say what really tipped me over the edge. But I will say that I stopped eating for two months and lost close to 30 pounds. I weighed 150 at that time and I went down to 127. My mom caught me throwing away food and she saw how weak and fragile I was. I wouldn’t eat the food she made (which she knew something was wrong because she knows I love her cooking). Doctor looked at me and said, “You have depression sweetheart.”

He immediately saw the pain in my eyes and he wasn’t wrong. All the signs were there. I would sleep for most of the day. I lost appetite and lost interest in the things that I loved the most. Once the school year started, my doctor told me to go to counseling so I wouldn’t relapse again. My first counselor was a sassy lady, who was a lady that I admired so much because she always made me laugh towards the end of my sessions. I remember just being really reserved about my life at first, but she gave me that little nudge to open up and it was great. There were times that I would start crying when I talked about my dad and all the things he did to me.

Most importantly, my first counselor taught me how to love myself. She taught me that it is okay to feel down and depressed but the minute that those thoughts start haunting me, to go outside and look at the skies. I always went to the Winona Lake park close to sunset time and I would just stare at how the skies turned into pretty colors. The pink, orange and purple always made my heart happy. I smiled and admired God’s artwork. It was my escape for most of my school year going into junior year of college.

After my first counselor graduated, I decided to not go back to counseling for my junior year and just went with the flow. I was dating someone at that time, that I thought was good to me, but eventually came out that he was no good for me. The person that he was trying to pretend wasn’t the real him. We were falling apart towards the following year, close to June and broke up in July. Got back together the next day and it just went downhill from there. Found out he had someone already waiting for me to leave and just like that, I was replaced. Did it hurt? Of course it did.

I HATE to admit that breakup did break me once again. I hate to admit it, but it is the truth. I was in despair because I had no idea how it all went wrong. I was blinded by the “love” he said he had for me, when in reality it was just misery. Things happened in that relationship that I’m not proud of, but it is in the past and there’s nothing I can do. I was incredibly naive and I didn’t know he was playing with my feelings. I didn’t know that all he wanted was sex and it was just physical. We would always end up fighting because I was too stubborn for him and he once said that he regretted being with me for a year.

Ouch.

That hurt so much when he said that and it brought tears in my eyes when he said that. He would also say how much he hated my short hair and I tried to grow it out as quickly as I could. I tried to CHANGE for him and that wasn’t love. Never was. To this day, I’m still traumatized when it comes to relationships. I’m still terrified that the next guy will do the same thing and I don’t think I will be able to handle it. This shows that I still got more healing to do.

All that misery ate me alive for two weeks until I decided to swallow my pride and reach out for help once again. I did the usual routine to get into counseling and not even two hours passed, I got an email that I got in and I was supposed to come back to campus around four in the afternoon. I was shocked because how quickly they responded but I would never have guessed that my second counselor would be someone who would push me to become a better person.

My counselor was a guy and I giggled when I saw that it was going to be a guy because I’m like “this will be more fun and relaxing. I got guy friends.”

Wrong.

This second time around was more different. This counselor paid more attention to my body language and the small details. He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but there were times where I thought, “is he flirting or nah?” Joking aside, he’s a man of God and was truly humble and down to earth. He was so helpful and let me talk his mind out every Friday. He always challenged me to do something that I’ve never done before. He got me into reading the Bible once again and showed me the love and grace that God has for me. It was such a fun journey with him because it felt like we were more friends than just strangers. I grew to admire him little by little and show him that I dearly cared about him as well. He would also share small details about his life and his dreams, which was pretty cool. My first counselor was more reserved on those topics, but this man, swear he was like an open book.

He also taught me one very important lesson that I will always carry in my heart. Never give up. Doesn’t matter what life throws at you, you get up and keep going. Along with him being a counselor, he was a motivator and pushed me to get where I’m at right now. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be the same old smiley, joking around, pulling pranks on everyone me. I would still be miserable and bitter about life. Along with that, the first thing he said to me was “Cynthia, you have a lot to offer. Your presence lightens up this room and the way you are blunt is funny and it’s a rare trait to have.”

With that statement, I almost cried when he said that because he was showing me how he saw me and it was an awesome experience. When I decided that I was ready to move on, he told me that he was impressed with my progress and that ever since he first saw me, he prayed to God every night that I would make it through the week. He admitted that I made his Friday mornings better.

It was hard saying goodbye (even though he claims it just a see you around thing). God has blessed me with two fantastic counselors and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. They were the gems that I found during my path and I’m going to keep them close to my heart. It’s hard knowing that they are going down their own paths and I would never cross paths with them ever again.

Counseling is such an awesome experience and it did really help me recover every time I had a downfall. I discover myself once again and just realize that I really do got a lot to offer. I just have to be patient. While I use this time, I’m giving myself time to change and be better. I always think “Take it day by day. Don’t rush anything and just let it be. Go with the flow and be happy.”