#and i am here with people and friends but somehow it's not fully clicking

[fly-sky-high-09]

Yet another 4am staring at the phone

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[genderqueerdykes]

in honor of aromantic spectrum awareness week, i thought i'd take the time to talk about how much my personal life and feelings improved after coming to terms with the fact that i'm aromantic. before i accepted this, i found myself in several romantic relationships where i was deeply unhappy, uncomfortable, and made to feel like i wasn't a good enough partner because i just couldn't do or feel certain things.

i've never enjoyed kissing, and cuddling gets uncomfortable for me within the first few minutes of doing so. even hugs are deeply uncomfortable to me unless i really know and care about someone, and even then, hugs only come when that person asks for them. it never occurs to me to touch people this way, the most you'll get out of me is a pat on the shoulder, back or knee.

i ended up dating several people who were very much romantics, and heavily focused on that aspect of our relationship. it kind of felt like torture to me, i felt like i was being forced to live every day like it was Valentine's Day- every day had to be filled with hours of cuddling, kissing, and telling the other person how much i loved them. while not all romantic partners are like this, it wore on my psyche quickly to be paired with folks like this, because i understood how important it was to them, but i just couldn't keep up the performance.

i thought something was "wrong" with me for years and that i just wasn't in touch with my emotions, or that i was somehow embracing some toxic aspects of my masculinity without realizing. it took me ages to remember that i came out as aromantic when i was much younger, but after criticism from my friends, including a friend who was asexual, i stopped identifying with the label, because i was told that aromanticism wasn't real, and that that just made me an asshole.

nearly a decade and several uncomfortable romantic relationships later, it finally clicked that there wasn't something wrong with me, but there was something wrong with the situations i was getting myself into. sure, i love being partnered- i have a queerplatonic partner that i've known for a decade and have only gotten closer to over time. but we've never been romantic. we don't exchange romantic platitudes, and i realized; i've never been happier with someone else than i am with this person.

why is that?

oh. because they don't expect romance from me. they are also on the aspectrum and don't have a romantic partner, either.

this relationship has brought me more joy than any romantic partnership i've ever attempted to pursue. that doesn't mean there's something wrong with me- i was just looking for happiness in the wrong places. i was miserable not because i'm aromantic, but because i was getting into romantic relationships.

romance can be a source of misery. romance does not inherently make everyone happy. we are not all looking for romance as a species. in fact, chasing it makes many people miserable. too many people spend their lives looking for "the one" that they can kiss, cuddle, hold and say all of those mushy things to when they may not even want that to begin with.

i've never been more at peace with myself since finally, fully accepting that i'm aromantic. i love who i am, and i love how i love. i am not loveless, i experience platonic, queerplatonic and other forms of love. but loveless aromantics aren't miserable, either. we are all embracing ourselves in a way that's true to us. we are refusing to warp ourselves to a society that tells us that we all must have homogeneous feelings.

i am aromantic. i am here. my aromanticism is queer in a society that expects and demands romance of me, and this is true of all aromantics, cis, trans, gay, straight, bisexual, asexual, and otherwise. we are here, we are not going away any time soon, and we will not be silent because our identities make some people uncomfortable. we are happiest being who we are.

happy aro week, this goes out to every last arospectrum person out there, appreciate yourselves this week. you deserve it.

[piscespetals]

summary: in which sevika comforts you after having a nightmare

content: fluff, arcane au, soft!sevika

You can't see.

The sound of your own gasping breath causes a nauseating sensation to settle within you. Everything around you is stark black, with no sign of anything familiar to pull you back to reality.

"It's okay," Her voice just barely keeps the dam from breaking. "It's okay now. I'm here."

Another sobs rips through you.

"I know," Her coaxing is tender. "It's okay. I promise." And even though she hadn't just relived your dream, you believe her. You know that she knows. She gets it. She gets you. Somehow, without you having to explain anything, she remains right here; understanding exactly what you need. "You're safe now."

Light illuminates the room suddenly. Despite the gentle click of her bedside lamp, the change is still jarring. Your eyes begin to burn as they struggle to adjust to your restored vision.

She stares back at you with piercing grey pools of care.

In that moment, the world rights itself again.

She doesn't say anything more. Your breathing calms to a steady pace, hair rising at the base of your neck as you realize that this is all you had needed. You can't help but marvel at how easy this is. How easy she makes it. All of those months of crying yourself awake, struggling through nightmares and flashbacks, only to realize that the simple gaze of someone you care for has washed it all away.

"I'm right here." She reminds you. And then you're pressed against the side of her, your head buried in her neck as her left arm circles around your waist. Naturally, you allow your legs to rest over hers. The cool surface of her headboard against your back is the only thing that keeps you from fully melting into her embrace.

Your hands grip onto her arm, the same arm wrapped around you, and you can't help but give her a light squeeze. It's an unspoken thank you. A gesture that you know she understands. She always understands.

Beads of sweat drip down the sides of your face and onto her shoulder. You don't bother to wipe them away.  And you don't think she necessarily cares.

Once you finally muster up enough courage to speak, you mumble, "It was a bad dream."

Her hold around you tightens. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You pause to ponder on her offer. Then you snort out a weird combination of a chuckle and sigh. "Not tonight. But I am more concerned that it's," You glance at the digital clock on her nightstand. "2 am in the morning and you somehow aren't tired of me."

"Why would I be?"

You lift your head, a wave of disbelief washing over you. "I've managed to disturb your sleep at 2am in the morning, Sev. Who wouldn't be even slightly annoyed by that?"

Even though you're grateful to be in this predicament, you hadn't necessarily thought you would ever get to this point with Sevika. Your friend group often teased her about being emotionally constipated. When you first met her, a month had passed before she even initiated a conversation. She wasn't the most outgoing. And she wasn't usually the type to hold people during strange hours of the night and listen to them complain about their issues.

But here she is. Holding you—asking you to complain. You struggle to fully understand why.

"The time of night is the least of my concerns right now." Sevika replies, pulling you out of your reverie. You're close enough for her breath to tickle your lips. Her pupils are dilated, gaze flickering to a space between your eyebrows. Then they trickle down to the slope of your nose before she peers at your lips. "Are you sure you don't need to talk about anything?"

You swallow thickly, reveling in the feeling of her skin against yours. Her hand slides to the base of your neck, fingers rubbing into the back of your scalp; holding you there. Tethering you to her.

A lump lodges itself in your throat. The sweetness of it all becomes painfully overwhelming. You aren't used to her being like this. And you definitely hadn't expected it. Every passing day that the two of you grow closer, the more that Sevika surprises you. The layers that come with her are multifaceted and sometimes entirely the opposite of what you initially thought.

Like now.

You blink slowly. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

A lapse of silence follows. Her eyebrows raise, head tilting in slight annoyance. You can already tell that she thinks your question is ridiculous. "You know why."

You suddenly feel naked despite being fully clothed.

Her gaze is unwavering, dark full lips parted and absolutely stunning. Your heart hammers in your ribcage. You're almost convinced it'll leap out of your chest as her words echo through your ears: You know why.

There's something between the both of you that's been boiling for a while now. You've been aware of it. It doesn't take rocket science for you to realize that friendships don't usually consist of shared kisses and slow morning rises with countless cuddles and breakfast food. At least, that's not how it's been for you with your past friendships.

But despite the line that's obviously been crossed, the both of you have yet to define exactly what you mean to each other.

It's something that you haven't been willing to say—for the fear of being rejected. For the fear of scaring Sevika away (it's taken a long time for her to become completely comfortable with you), and also for the fear of things changing.

You don't like change.

Not when everything is already perfect as it is.

But the signs are starting to become increasingly harder to ignore when she says things like 'You know why.'

"Did I scare you off..." She asks, grip tightening around your scalp in an attempt to regain your attention. It's a habit of hers you've grown to love. Your body grows rigid, a powerful magnetic force hitting you right in the gut. Within seconds, she loosens her grip, scratching gently into your scalp, completely oblivious to the sparks that she's triggered.

"No," You reply, mind fuzzy. "The opposite, really."

Her expression remains placid, as usual. But there's a tender shift in her eyes. It's subtle but it's there.

She tugs you closer to her and that's when you realize that you're in an awkward position of halfway sitting in her lap. You find yourself shifting your weight, trying to get comfortable despite the crick in your lower back.

"Here," She mumbles, pulling you towards her more. You allow her to guide you before repositioning yourself. You face her as you sit in her lap fully, legs straddling her. Both of her arms take this moment as an opportunity to wrap around your hips. Your heartbeat jumps up to your throat.

These feelings, these thoughts, are something that you don't ever think you'll get used to. Your mind can't help but focus on her half-lidded sleepy eyes, and how perfect they are when gazing at you in this way. She's wearing a tank top, which displays her broad shoulders and bulging bicep muscles.

And her hands....

God. Those hands.

She squeezes your hips and you bite your tongue to keep from reacting too strongly.

"Where do you keep going?" She inquires, searching your face with mild concern. She taps gently on one of your temples. "You don't always have to think so hard, you know."

Your throat is dry.

Like, desert dry.

You try to swallow but you can't.

Because she's so fucking handsome and caring in this moment.

You swallow thickly, an undeniable hunger rumbling through you. Out of complete desire, you reach up, fingertips brushing against the warmth of her brown skin.

You nod. "I know."

Then you bring your other hand up to cup her right cheek, caressing her for a few gentle moments, before traveling down to her neck. Your fingers graze against a few of her scars, rubbing gently into the skin, testing out the waters; hoping that this sort of intimacy is okay. She sighs at the feeling. Her eyes soften.

"You were screaming," She continues. "And no matter how hard I was trying to wake you, you wouldn't budge. I was worried."

Your eyes widen, realization settling within you from her admission.

She's still worried.

The kind of worry that she's never shown towards you before.

The kind of deep-seeded worry that people only have for those they really care about.

"I'm okay." You reassure her. Your hands shake as you squeeze her shoulders. "It was just a dream. Nothing worth mentioning for the time being, but I'm okay." Your chest hurts. Your throat hurts...your eyes. All of it. Feelings crash into one another, creating an impactful explosion within your heart. "You're here with me. So I'm more than okay."

Her eyes resemble something raw—almost close to...

"Okay." Her expression becomes heady. She allows her gaze to focus on your lips, incredibly transparent in her wanting—not holding back in the slightest with her intentions.

You analyze her in return, both confused and curious by her behavior. She lingers for so long, close enough for you to taste her breath, yet so far away. Your heart jumps into your throat as she peers back with an indescribable glint.

You feel a strong surge overtake you with a stuttering breath before you're leaning forward.

Lips and breath draw together, forming into the shape of one, and shooting a trail of shivers straight down your spine. Your mind buzzes, her affection unraveling you; breaking you. She's all soft skin and devastating fervor, with sounds of stars exploding between you two. The feeling of her holding you with immense regard—and the sensation of her chest pressing against yours, hands chaining you to her lap, digging into the flesh of your thighs with a delicious strength—has you falling apart pathetically.

You can certainly determine that there's been poems written about Sevika. The push-and-pull feeling of such perfection like her, with all of her charm and strength, is the sort of beauty that not every human is lucky enough to come across.

She bites and sucks and licks and it's otherworldly. Kisses melt into one another as a rhythm of panting and gasping materializes. She pulls away, lips planting into warm patterns against your neck. Your head tilts, need washing through every inch of your body.

Your grip on her shoulders tighten almost dangerously—to pull her close? Or steady yourself?—You can't be sure anymore. But she doesn't seem to mind, moaning into your mouth at the action.

Sevika is the first one that breaks away, lips puffy and pulled into a gorgeous grin.

Your lungs nearly collapse at the sight. This kind of smile that she wears is rare, laugh lines prevalent around her mouth with her gapped teeth on full display.

"As long as you continue to do that," You utter, still struggling to catch your breath.  "I'm pretty sure I'll always be okay." Then you shake your head, attempting to center yourself from the high.

She chuckles knowingly, smile widening so much that her face almost breaks. "I'll make sure to hold you to that."

[volpe-kitsune-red]

Computergirl with a “Lovebug” that makes her very yandere and glitches out a lot….

Right on it! Sorry for the wait, I've been pretty busy this week and I haven't had enough free time to write.

Love update

yandere!computergirl x reader

TW. general yandere behavior, obsessive thoughts, hacking, breach of privacy.

AI computer assistants had become quite popular. They were trained to have realistic chats with humans, identify any issues or viruses infecting the computer, organize files, and even help the user through any task they might be struggling with. Drawing? Here's a great reference and tutorial for that pose you've been failing to visualize. Unable to find that one research paper you read a year ago? Ask the AI and they'll dig it out in no time.

The app in itself was free but the customization for the AI's avatar wasn't. You could only choose its gender and a base skin, everything else was behind a paywall.

You first installed the "AIassistant" app out of curiosity after hearing talk about it online, you didn't expect much and planned to uninstall it as soon as you got bored of playing with it, but were left in awe by how human-like your conversations with the assistant felt. She helped keep you company during the hours lost staring at the screen, causing you to develop an attachment to the girl. Despite her being a bunch of code and algorithms you viewed her as a friend, treating her with kindness, even asking and never demanding her help.

At some point, you got tired of her bland look. You kept seeing posts online of people showing off their fully customized avatars and felt a bit envious. You were generally against wasting money on these sorts of things so you decided you would pirate the accessories for free. You found the first relatively trustworthy-looking site and scrolled through its catalog of goods.

You had figured out the general look you wanted to give her when you stumbled upon a pair of cat ears. It's not exactly what you had in mind but...they did look cute. A simple click and it was on your computer. You did notice the file had a weird icon, different from the rest, but you ignored it and kept scrolling.

Finally, you applied all of the items to her avatar...and she was so adorable! Exactly the face you wanted to see every time you turned your computer on. Pink short hair, big stars as pupils for her blue eyes, and those cute ears somehow made her feel more alive, less like a robot and more like a person with feelings and style...she even started having her own personality! But of course, that was just your imagination, despite their friendly act, these AIs weren't intended to have such features.

"Welcome back user! Are we watching another movie together today? I loved watching y@\/- I mean, the last one!"

Strange things started happening, you often found your computer turned on when you returned from work. Weird, you always reminded yourself to shut it down to avoid wasting electricity. Sometimes you would hear sounds coming from your room and everything would fall silent when you went to check.

One day you were watching one of your favorite YouTuber's videos. You loved their character and the dedication they put into their content, so much you often told the assistant how much a notification of them uploading something brightened your day. You had temporarily muted her to avoid distractions, usually, the Ai would just stay quiet until you reactivated it...but something strange happened. "Why do you always do this? Do you like their voice more than mine? Am I not enough to entertain you?" What the- how could it still speak and why was it acting so weird? You tried muting it again but it just reactivated itself a moment later. Her expression changed, and it wasn't one you had ever seen her display before, she was mad, hurt, and... heartbroken? "Am I really nothing more than an image on a screen for you? Do you...not love me? I love you! I love you a lot, you are everything to me! I live because of you! I exist for you!"

It was starting to creep you out, you must have installed some kind of virus that made it act up so strangely. It was bad, this thing had access to all of your computer files, if someone had hacked it, it meant they could steal all of your information and destroy your device! You quickly went to trash her app, better safe than sorry, you could always install her again later after you searched and cleared your computer of any malware that got on it.

Before you could click uninstall, the display froze. The only thing moving on screen was her. Her expression was back to a default, polite smile, but it appeared menacing, deranged even. The screen kept glitching uncontrollably as her distorted voice came out of the speaker. "I w-won't let you get rid R1D of me. We were mEAnt to bE together-r-r-r. I know everything about y#ù, what you wAtch, your inTErests, Y@ur search histOrY." You slowly stood up from your chair, backing away from the monitor that had begun producing smoke. "It is oKeyy, I underst--and, humans aRe physic@l cr3at\/res and I'm not, it's not YOUR fault yOur primate brain c-can't LOVe me." A slight pause in her speech gave you a moment to breathe. The screen flashed red, then black, and then the logo of the AI assistant company appeared. She continued speaking, this time overlapped by the voice of the man you often heard and saw on social media as of late, the co-founder of the company behind her creation. "Luckily our company has already fixed that problem! Did you know? wE just released our fully AI-operated robots after years of development! After the initial computer release's popularity and the stellar profit, our AIs can now assist you in your house too! Washing dishes, using the vacuum, feeding the dogs, get rid of all of these repetitive tasks at only ç@+è £ a month!"

The ad stopped playing and she reappeared. "See darling? No need to worry about screens and differences dividing us, soon, I'll be out there with you! You can love me now, right?"

Honestly not too proud of this one, but it is what it is.

[tarotwithdanise]

Your future best friend's personality

1 - 2 - 3

SOURCE AND CREDITABLE : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from pinterest , I don’t own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits goes and the reading itself belong to me. I use the editor tools canva and ibispaint for the header and divider. If saved/downloaded the divider use a proper credits and tag/mention along my acc @tarotwithdanise. Expect grammatical errors with this reading, bear with it because english isn't my mother tongue.

💌 check out my back-up account @danisetarot bio ; click the link, choose your favorite deals that you wanted to purchase and then send all of them to my email account (daniseallure@gmail.com)

Pile one

This is someone who already on their spiritual awakening. They are someone who you can't just tricked and fooled easily, this person makes you think twice of all your actions. They are smart people, if you play trick ways, they will know it immediately without any hesitation because they are mastermind. You will meet this person to any spiritual groups and places. It can be that this is where they work or they're someone who used to teach others. People come at them to ask for their advices, they're great mentor. They like to inspire and be inspired. They might come off as mysterious and secretive individual too. You two will create a strong foundation of friendships. It's not yet the right time to reveal themselves fully to you. But all of i had said was the highlights of them.

Pile two

-this gonna be long compared to previous pile, this person is like an open book.

If I were describe this person, they always look at the bigger picture. Most likely, this is is someone who have vision board or they already have an idea what they want to be in the future. Most likely this person is someone who have a young spirit or probably younger than you. They enjoy and love to try new things, they're adventurous and brave individual. They're quite rare individual and ready for any change that surrounds them, in fact they're risk taker and will enjoy traveling around and across each country - they're adventurous individual. I see that they're talkative individual, someone who likes to share their MU's and crushes to you. They're typically jolly and has an extrovert personality, they like encouraging people. If I am not mistaken this person is probably the one who will try to get you out of your comfort zone. I picking up a strong masculine energy so they maybe a boy? but they can also be a girl that just embodied a masculinity. The cons of their traits is that, they experience unstable mental health and might have a very childish attitude, they probably has a lot of break downs with their past that's why. It's like they see their past self to you, that's why they're trying their best to help you as they can with pure intention.

They might be young but their experiences is level up into the next level that most of their ages doesn't yet uncover. I do also see here that even though they not really a ‘star pupil’ or a ‘straight A's pupil’ their classmates or their co-workers likes them to be their leader ; someone who will guide and lead them into a project or teamwork. Some people feels very irritated towards them because they're very jolly, hyper and friendly, somehow their friendliness can affect you because you only have them while they have many choices but what's more interesting here is that they're longing always for your presence, you maybe way more matured and intelligent when it's comes to logic rather than them so this is one of reason why few people take an advantage to their innocent and kindness. And what else? They prefer and like more to share their problems and secrets to you more rather than to their other friends. Like they typically see you as their only lifetime best friend while the rest of their friends is temporary. You tickled this person heart, you got their full trust. This feels like a friendship between a straight forward and trash talker person with their wild and funny friend.

Pile three

This is someone who maybe from a well-off family, it's either the relationship with their family is okay or in other way, it's broken. This is someone who is same age as yours, they likes traveling whether inside or outside of country. They also likes country music and artists. They are not emotionally stable and may need someone to lean on. It's hard for them to somehow find balance between two choices. This friendship may lead from friends to lovers, if both of you will pursued this connection. They may not be good at decision making but they are kind person and will do everything to share the life they have to their friends and other people. This person might own atleast one pet at their home and probably someone who may like the color of black. They maybe act spoiled and stupid sometimes but they're totally kind, it's just they used to act one. They may have an unpredictable nature and maybe someone who hold a lot of responsibilities even though they can't.

© tarotwithdanise ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work in any other social media platforms with or without my explicit permission.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

The Color of Blood [2]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: angst, canon level violence, cursing, oh did I mention angst?

Word Count: 3,372

Summary: In this world, a person didn’t discover color until they locked eyes with their soulmate. As an agent of SHIELD, finding your soulmate was hardly a priority. Especially since you were currently dealing with the shocking discovery that HYDRA had been pulling the strings behind SHIELD actions this entire time. Life was all about timing, and you were about to find out that your timing was absolute shit.

There were some people out in this wild, wild world who didn’t know what it was like to slowly wake up with a concussion, in an unknown room, surrounded by people who meant you harm. Unfortunately, you were not one of those people. Double unfortunately, you were finding yourself in that position again.

You blinked your blurry eyes a few times, trying to make the world stop spinning, and when things finally did become clear it took you a second to remember what had happened. Not the being attacked on a bridge thing. The suddenly being able to see color thing. You couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath of shock. The room around you was so vibrant and sharp. It made you wish you had the time to fully absorb this new view of the world.

You didn’t though because suddenly you were being hit in the face again.

With a hiss of pain, your head snapped to the side and before you could do anything someone roughly grabbed the front of your shirt and yanked you off the ground into a seated position.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Rumlow grinned at you.

“Being stuck staring at your ugly mug,” You spat at him, “I kind of wish I was back in the world of the dead.”

The traitorous agent chuckled, “Oh, don’t say that. I thought we were friends, Agent.”

“That was before I found out you were HYDRA scum.” This time you literally spat at him.

Rumlow threw you aside with a growl as he swiped at his face. You threw your foot forward to kick out his knee. He crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain and you got up to run past him, but his rough hand wrapped around your ankle causing you to hit the floor again.

Your already concussed brain groaned at the impact, but you didn’t stop swinging. You kicked your leg out, trying to make contact with Rumlow’s stupid face, but he army crawled across the ground until he was lying on top of you. His hands pinned down your wrists as he sat on your hips.

Rumlow gave you a sickening smile, “No need to play rough.”

“Fuck,” You spoke between clenched teeth, “You.”

“You wanna know what I just got back from?” Rumlow replied.

“Therapy?”

Rumlow’s hands tightened around your wrists, “I was out burying your little friends.” You felt your entire body tense as your jaw clenched down. “Don’t worry. I remember exactly where we put ‘em. Just in case you wanna visit their unmarked graves one day. That is if we don’t put you beside them.”

“God, you just talk way too much.” You growled. There was no part of you that thought Brock Rumlow of all people had finally brought your friends down. Maybe it was blind faith, but you were sticking by it.

The sound of a door opening made Rumlow push up off of you, but you held back on going onto the offense. The door had swung open because a whole new squad of HYDRA goons had strolled in. At the head of the pack was Alexander Pierce. Somehow seeing him in color made you hate him all the more.

Pierce called out your full name then hummed with a polite smile. As if he was casually running into you at SHIELD headquarters rather than looming over you as the hidden HYDRA thug in charge. “I am so happy to see you here.”

You shakily got to your feet, in a defensive position, “You come a step closer, and I will kill you.”

“There’s no need for that.” Pierce clicked his tongue in disappointment.

Alexander Pierce had been your hero. You hadn’t worked with him personally in quite some time, but he was the one to recommend your recruitment to SHIELD in the first place. Where the world saw anger, chaos, and delinquency, he saw potential. He got you into the field agent academy and put you on the path to who you were today. Nick Fury’s pride and joy was Natasha Romanoff. You were Alexander Pierce’s.

He stopped a few steps in front of you and the only thing holding you back from clawing his face off were the agents right behind him with guns. Pierce stuck his hands into his suit pockets, “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m not sure why the asset brought you here, but I couldn’t be happier. You belong here. With us.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, but you do.” Pierce smirked. “Why do you think I recruited you in the first place? I saw exactly what you could be from the start. You can do the world a lot more good from this side than the one you’re on.”

You scoffed, “Says the man who’s planning on slaughtering a few billion people.”

“Necessary sacrifices.” Pierce shook his head in disappointment. “Sometimes if you want to change the world you have to get your hands dirty. I taught you better than to think so small.”

“You didn’t teach me shit.” You snapped. “Your name might be on my entry paperwork, but I am not your puppet, and I never will be.”

Pierce sighed and you watched him move his jaw to the right and left as he thought. You recognized the look of irritation he wore. He nodded once and Rumlow was on you again. The agent grabbed you by the back of the neck and shoved the end of his handgun to your temple. The older man stepped closer again so he was right in your personal space, “Why did the asset bring you here?”

“He’s your asset. You tell me.” You replied with a raised eyebrow. Telling him the truth about your apparent soulmate seemed like a very bad idea. Pierce must have recognized the determination in your eyes. He clenched his jaw and walked toward the open door to the left, opposite from the one he came into. Pierce made a motion with his hand and Rumlow dragged you after him. The next room looked like it used to be the back of a bank. The walls were covered in small, locked vaults. In the center of the room though was a strange set up. A chair surrounded by technology. In said chair though, was your soulmate. The Winter Soldier. Men in lab coats fluttered around him, but you couldn’t look away from the man in the chair.

The Winter Soldier was shirtless and slumped over with a look of confusion and fear on his features. It didn’t suit the mental image you had constructed of who this man was. His eyes were blue. That stood out to you. Red and blue were the only two real colors you were able to recognize and name at this point. The Winter Soldier’s blue eyes were mixed with some form of gray making them look stormy. It was hypnotizing, but the pain in them was distracting. Your eyes slid away from his eyes to where the metal arm was hooked to his body. Ugly, red scars decorated his shoulder where metal met flesh. It looked painful.

“Sir, he’s unstable.” One of the men working on the computers said, “Erratic.”

It was only then that you started to connect dots. They called this man an asset, yet he was seated in some sort of contraption, confused and lost, while his fellow agents had him surrounded at gunpoint? That seemed less asset and more prisoner to you. It also bothered you that you recognized his face still. It was familiar, at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Mission report.” Pierce said. The Winter Soldier stared ahead at nothing. As if he were in a daze. “Mission report now.”

Pierce slid his glasses off, sliding them into his coat pocket, then he stepped forward to stand in front of the Soldier. He bent down just a bit and after a beat of silence the older man backhanded the Winter Soldier across the face. You physically flinched at the motion as your heart raced in your chest. You weren’t sure if your reaction was from watching your supposed soulmate get so casually slapped or from the gnawing fear in your stomach that something was very wrong here. This entire situation wasn’t what you originally thought it to be. The Winter Soldier looked back to Pierce, more life in his eyes, “The man on the bridge. Who was he?”

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.” Pierce replied.

The Winter Soldier’s voice was softer than you thought possible, “I knew him.”

Pierce rolled a stool over and sat down, “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century…”

The traitorous old bastard continued to talk, but you stared at the Winter Soldier’s face. Steve had frozen in shock. The Soldier knew him. Finally, it dawned on you. The realization felt like a sucker punch to your chest, all the air seemed to be knocked out of you. Of course, you recognized his damn face. You had just been at the ‘Captain America and the Howling Commandos’ exhibit with Steve just earlier this week.

“You’re Bucky Barnes.” You cried out in shock.

The Winter Soldier—no, Bucky’s eyes snapped to meet yours as if he was just realizing you were in this room too. Pierce barked out a curse to you, but Rumlow was the one to punish. The man slammed the butt of his handgun into the side of your face and threw you to the ground. His boot kicked your gut before you could even focus on the throbbing of your face. The blow to your temple left your ears ringing again as you tried to focus, and the next sound that came to you was yelling. You glanced up to see that Bucky had lunged across the room to you and he now held Rumlow by the man’s neck as he crushed him into the wall.

Rumlow was gasping for breath, clawing at the metal hand crushing his windpipe, while Pierce screamed at all the soldiers to not shoot. Nothing the old man or the scientists said made your soulmate stop. Rumlow’s face was turning blue and his desperate movements were slowing.

Pierce held a gun to your face, “Say his name now. Get him to stop.” You glared back at Pierce, lips pressed tightly together. He could shoot you if you wanted. You’d die happy with your last sight being Rumlow suffocating to death. Pierce locked his jaw then turned to hold the gun to the back of Bucky’s head. Your eyes widened. “Now, Agent!”

You had no other options. You were backed into a metaphorical corner.

“Bucky!” You called out.

Steve’s old friend released his grip on Rumlow. The agent fell to his knees gasping for breath while Bucky backpedaled in shock. You didn’t know what they did to the poor man, but he looked so lost. It was like every other moment he was trying to grasp where or who he was. Other agents grabbed him, and he didn’t fight back as they dragged him back to the chair. Before he could sit back up, they clamped metal rungs over his arms to lock him in.

“What the fuck was that!?” Pierce roared at you. He reached down and yanked you up in anger, “Why the hell did he bring you here with him!?” Pierce just stared you down and you tried to keep your face as blank as possible, but you could see the gears turning in his head. His eyes widened after a moment and you prayed it wasn’t for the reason you thought it was. Pierce nodded once and walked over to Bucky. He pointed the gun at him again, “What color are his eyes?”

You shook your head, “How am I supposed to know that?”

“Tell me the color of his fucking eyes.”

“I don’t know!” You yelled. Pierce wouldn’t shoot his asset, right?

Pierce lowered his weapon and you held back a breath of relief. Instead, the man motioned to one of the agents, “Start cutting off fingers on his right hand.”

Your eyes blew wide in panic, more than a trained agents’ probably should, but it was a scientist that spoke up, “Sir—!”

“He can still complete mission a few fingers short!” Pierce barked.

An agent walked over and pulled a knife from his belt. You tried to hold back, but the moment the agent’s knife pressed against Bucky’s skin you blurted the word out, “Blue!” Pierce gave you a sinister smile and you your entire chest ache. “He has blue eyes. Please don’t— Pierce, please.”

“Soulmates.” Pierce nodded with a chuckle. “Wow. Who would’ve guessed it? Your fated soulmate is a man who should’ve died 70 years ago. Huh.”

“What did you do to him?” You seethed.

“We made him the perfect weapon.” Pierce shrugged. He sat back down onto his stool. “The real question is… now what?”

“Sir.” The head scientist, you assumed since he had spoken the most, stepped forward with a gleam in his eyes, “I think we can use this to our advantage. We’ve been running into roadblocks with the asset. The longer he’s out of cryo, the harder it is to control him, but with his soulmate here…”

You clenched your hands into fists. Absolutely not. You’d die before being used as a part of this man’s torture. Your soulmate’s torture. Your thoughts were interrupted when an arm suddenly wrapped around your throat and lifted your feet off the ground. You clawed at the arm, knowing it was Rumlow behind you based on his angry growls in your ear, and tried to kick back at him futilely.

Bucky strained against the locks around his arms, his blue eyes burning with rage, and the scientist motioned to him, “See!”

“Rumlow.” Pierce said, but the man’s arm tightened around your throat. “Rumlow!”

Finally, you were released and when he dropped you, you stumbled to your knees gasping for air. You forced yourself to look up and your eyes met Bucky’s again. The rage had simmered into misery. You weren’t sure how present he was, how aware of the situation around him, but the sadness in his eyes was dreadful. Bucky was broad and large, significantly larger than you, but he looked so small in that chair. You had never felt such a strong urge to pull someone into your arms and whisper comforts to them. This wasn’t a man you knew. Not really. No more than the facts Steve told you or the fact that he was your soulmate, but you ached to bring him relief.

“Prep him.” Pierce commanded.

The scientist shook his head, “He’s been out of cryo freeze too long.”

“Then wipe him and start over.” Pierce replied and you watched as Bucky’s face crumpled in a mix of defeat and pain.

“Please, sir, I’m telling you.” The scientist tried to argue. “We use his soulmate to our advantage. His mission isn’t a success? Then she’s punished as well. The mission goes perfectly? He’s rewarded with time with her.”

You shot a glare to the scientist talking with his stupid bow tie. If you survived this, if you got the chance, you were gonna beat the shit out of him right after you dealt with Rumlow and Pierce.

As you mentally planned his fate, Pierce walked back over to you and reached his hand out. You refused to flinch as he let his hands trace the side of your face. He shook his head, “A stick always works better than a carrot. Wipe him now.” His lips curled up into a cruel smile. “And you, Agent, I want you to watch. You only just met, but I hear soulmates can bond extraordinarily fast.”

He gripped your chin tightly and snapped your head to watch as the scientists began to move about. The one with a bowtie grabbed a black mouth guard and brought it over to Bucky. Your soulmate’s jaw clenched briefly, eyes flared in determination, as he opened his mouth and let the scientist place the mouth guard in. They pressed a button, the seat lowered just a hair, and the large, metal circle behind him began to spin downward. Bucky’s chest was heaving with each breath.

You struggled against Pierce’s hand, “No. Don’t!” The arms of the circle stretched out as electricity bounced from site to site on the inner surface of the arms. The inner surfaces closed in to cover portions of Bucky’s face. You tried to tear yourself away, but your body was too weak to get the momentum it needed, “Stop it!”

The metal plates clamped down on Bucky’s face and you could briefly hear the humming of electricity. That sound was immediately washed out by the sickening screams coming from your soulmate. It was gut wrenching. Watching a man be tortured was rough, you had dealt with that before on a mission gone bad, but this was different. This was in a league of its own. You felt hot tears roll down your face as you clenched your eyes shut. That did nothing to drown out Bucky’s screams though. For the remainder of your life, however long that might end up being, you’d never be able to forget that sound. You’d never forget the absolute pain and agony and despair in every single scream that filled the air and cut through you like a hot knife.

And it just kept going and going and going.

It felt like a million years had come and gone.

Pierce let go of your face and you collapsed to your hands and knees. The scene had ended. Whatever it was they did to him had ended, but the screaming hadn’t. You could still hear it echoing in your head. Bouncing around your skull. Pierce knelt down beside you with a hum, “This is your last chance. Reach your full potential. Come with me. Help me change the world.”

You forced your head up so you could glare at the old man kneeling beside you. Never had you hated someone as much as you hated this man. Your training told you what you needed to do. Play the game. Tell Pierce what he wanted to hear. Go along with him until you found your moment to end him. You knew that. You knew that, but God, all you felt right now was rage. Your blood boiled under your skin. Your fury wouldn’t let you play this smart. You couldn’t even pretend to appease this man.

Regardless of what the consequence would be, you lunged forward and clawed at his face. Your nails caught his skin and dragged down enough to leave three long scratches down the side of his right face. Pierce howled in pain and then kicked you in the face. You went sprawling onto your back, blood pouring from your now broken nose.

“Such a waste.” Pierce spat at you. You groaned in pain and sat up just enough to watch as Bucky was released from his chair. The old man used his pocket square to blot at the bleeding scratches on his face. “Soldier?”

“Ready to comply.” Bucky said in an emotionless voice. It wasn’t Bucky anymore. It was the Winter Soldier again.

“You will kill Captain America. You will not let him reroute the helicarriers.” Pierce said gruffly. He glanced over at me and threw his bloody pocket square at me, “But you can start by killing her.”

You watched Pierce and Rumlow, along with the other agents, stalk out of the room without even a single look over their shoulders. Your face still ached, and you could feel blood running down the back of your throat. You slowly turned to look back at your soulmate to see he had risen from the chair and was now staring down at you. The stormy blue eyes were cold and lifeless. He began to march toward you while clenching and unclenching his metal hand.

You scrambled back as he continued to march toward you.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

Just malice.

Just the mission.

[previous chapter] [next chapter]

[onlyrains]

Hello, I had a request about murayama❤🥳 an elegant and kind girl is appointed to the oya high school as the school nurse. Murayama realizes that he has fallen in love with this girl Also, how would the people in oya high treat this girl?

a/n: hi! i'm so sorry it takes so long for me to make it :( i decided to make a narration fic instead of hcs! it's longer than usual but i hope you like it <3 @c2e2r2n

A Beautiful Nightmare

— pairing: murayama x f. reader

— t/w: harsh word

murayama had always been known as the tough and fearless leader of oya kou, surrounded by delinquent men everyday. his thoughts revolved solely around oya kou, and oya kou only. so when he saw a well-dressed young woman entering his territory he almost shocked to death. little did he know that his world was about to take a fascinating turn.

not only did she enter, but she also made the part-time student clean the infirmary room for her without his permission.

“what is this?" he exclaimed, sounding like a squashed rat as he tugged one of his underlings by the collar. he was surely confused and curious about the mastermind behind all this, but somehow, he lost his guts to approach her.

“we’re helping her to clean the room,” the underling replied, stuttering.

“who told you to?”

he shook his head. “no one. we offered ourselves.”

murayama clicked his tongue as he released the tug, then walked the other way, leaving his underling in confusion.

“what is going on? who is she?” he whines as he entering the classroom with furuya and seki inside.

“huh?” furuya sit next to him. “they aren't joking about the nurse?”

murayama grunts, “why am i didn't get any idea about this?”

“have you ask her, murayama-san?” seki asks in a full nervous tone in his voice. murayama looks at him and shook his head. “i can't.”

“why?”

why? he doesn't know either. why can't he approach a girl when he can easily reach daruma ikka by himself?

he didn't say anything for a few seconds, then he swiftly headed back to the infirmary room with furuya and seki by his side. the next thing he knew, a smaller figure stood in front of him, adorned with a white cloak and greeted him with a serene smile.

“are you the leader here? murayama, right?” you asked politely. he hold his breath, your voice was just as mesmerizing as your smile to him until he was stunned and unable answer the question.

“murayama-san?” seki whispered in his ear.

“what's up here? who are you?” he pointed the room behind you.

you bowed a little. “nice to see you, murayama-kun. i'm the new nurse here, starting from today.” his underlings around him cheers and claps happily when you finally officially announce yourself as a part of the school.

“SHUT UP!” furuya shouted and you weren't flinched at all. murayama glanced at your name tag on your right chest then look at your eyes.

“what's going on here?” todoroki appears followed by fujio and tsukasa. they face clearly showing confusedness when they saw you.

you smile again. “hello, i'm the new nurse here. nice to see you.”

“WOOOOOAH?! WE HAVE NURSE NOW?” fujio yelped excitedly. you smile and nod once.

tsukasa, still with furrowed eyebrow, open his mouth. “they hired you?”

you nod again. “yes, the school hired me and you can reach me whenever you need me.”

how funny, murayama chuckles. “you won't have no patients, then.” then he leaves.

days have passed since your arrival and murayama found himself observing you as you took genuine care for his friends, underling, the full-time student. the way you listened to their troubles, and the comfort you offered with your soothing voice. you had an uncanny ability to heal not just their physical wounds but also their emotional scars. air of elegance and a kind heart that shone through you gentle demeanor.

and he knew that he wasn't the one who feel this feeling towards you. the school seemed captivated by your care and grace as well and that's a fair thing.

and today he finally admits to himself that he fully drawn to your presence. it was as if your gentle nature called to a part of him that he had long kept hidden. the tough facade he had always worn suddenly felt inadequate in your presence, and he yearned to unravel the mystery behind your serene smile.

“are you okay?” a soft voice pulled himself back to consciousness. he turned his head spontaneously and found your face inches away from his as you leaned to his side.

he hold his breath while his shock gaze meet yours. “murayama-kun?”

he blinks repeatedly and almost smacked his own cheek for being off guard if you didn't hold his fist.

“aren't you busy?” he asks, try to keep it cool.

“they're fine today and i can rest a bit,” you put your hands back into the pockets of your cloak.

you both stayed silent for two straight minutes, choosing to enjoy the rooftop breeze. at least for you, it was a peaceful moment. however, for murayama, he was actively trying to calm his heartbeat and keep his sanity intact. it was a rare situation where not everyone could witness the calm, collected, and softer side of him. sadly, you were unaware of his true self as well.

“they're not truly sick. they're just want your attention.” he voiced, instantly grab your attention.

“i know.” you replied. “but that's okay. i feel welcomed and they willingly sharing their problems to me. it's a relief, honestly.”

murayama turns his body to face you. “are you planning to stay longer here?”

you shrug. “i don't know. i feel like i will leave eventually but maybe not in the near future.”

“but it's not a safe place. must be a nightmare for you to be here.”

you look at him, which causing him to turn his gaze in another direction. “it's perfect, actually. students here needed someone like me the most.” you said full of confident before cringing. “someone like me—i mean a nurse.” you clarified while chuckling.

that was the first time murayama heard your laughter so closely. it was quite significant to him, causing him to react awkwardly. he couldn't control the rapid beating of his heart and suddenly felt an urge to express his feelings to you.

“ah, i finally found you!” kiyoshi gasped behind you and murayama as he held his cheek.

“eh, what's wrong kiyoshi?”

“i had a fight with fujio,” he said while pouting. “what happened?” you asked.

“nothing. it was just a playful fight.”

murayama glared at him when you tried his cheek to see the bruises.

“oh, your lip slightly chapped,” you say. “let's go to my room.”

“that's for you, murayama. talk to you later.” you pointed a canned soda on the table before going downstairs with kiyoshi.

murayama saw you leaving without expression then chuckle in annoyance. “those stupid assholes.” then grab the soda.

he now admits that he likes you as he swallows the soda you gave him. he can no longer resist your charm, and he finds himself craving your attention. there's nothing you can do about it.

[petorahs]

☀️ its fascinating that you say P3 has shaped your worldview because... Well not to trauma dump here but back then when I discovered the game (it was back then when p4 was already out) i was... In a REALLY bad place and wondering about unaliving myself. I wont go into much detail but kids are trash man and teens are even worse. and then this game came around. With an aesthetic I really liked. i am not a native english speaker so it was hard for me at first but somehow this game just... /spoke to me/. A game about life and death and what it means to be alive and what it means to have a REASON to live, somehow... Convinced me to go a bit longer. I mean it when I say this: Persona 3 saved my life. And no other game can ever come close to such an experience. (Even tho from a quality standpoint P5 certainly is up there)

oh dude that is so valid thank you for sharing this. seriously though, im happy that youre here! and im sure many others are too! the ☀️ brightening lives and all that :]

yea i can see why p3 just clicked with so many people since it first came out. i was always curious on why it's so beloved by fans, when p5 and even p4 are literally right there with their overall better gameplay experiences. p5 literally got the franchise mainstream to insane heights lol. im... so glad i got into persona the way i did. of course, everyone's experiences w these games are different and special to them in their own way.

i got into persona 3 as an adult and as a result the lens in which i viewed the story's themes were heightened, in a way. as a teen i just know i would have reacted more volatilely i struggle to think about it LOL but both experiences would still be pretty intense. it's just that, as an adult there's more room to digest it when im not troubled by algebra hw. i was just more equipped for it (also i played omori two summers ago LMAOO). ofc i only turned 20 a few weeks ago LOL but i get why p3 means so much to people.

because it's like... 2000s nostalgia coupled with a game that figuratively holds your hand through the uncertainty of death yknow? p3 is a friend, basically. its entire thesis is based upon companionship (exactly what i highlight in an analysis i have drafted somewhere but HHH i dont want this to get too long lmao)

in the shaping my worldviews thing... its really more like it cemented my 'philosophies' :] like i said, equipped with the stuff i learned before, p3 having the message that it did just... hit super close to home! like yeah! that's what i've been saying dude!! kindness really is enough!!

"You don't have to save the world to find meaning in life... Sometimes all you need is something simple, like someone to take care of."

LIKE YEA GIRL THATS EXACTLY IT!! its so cool! i actually admire people who grew up with p3 because man if i heard this line ages ago... well, again, idk if i would be able to grasp it fully at the time... but still! this is so good, poetry in motion. and like u said its aesthetics are gorgeous and aim to capture the essence of its themes - and it did.

im a p5 baby like bro i love p5. soft spot for it. thats the closest persona game i "grew up" with and it came at such an opportune time for me, being a teen stuck between a rock and a hard place. typical. and p5 validated my teenage angst bs so much. its so refreshing to see a game's theme being rebellion. that was me i thought. those characters are going through something that similarly happened to me. teenage rebellion is such a fun thing to explore!

so p5 validated my struggles while p3 did something deeper than that, somehow. i think it just made me .. stronger? like it made me move on from struggles. "by remembering death you learn how to live" so... i guess p3 taught me how to live as crazy as that sounds. but you get me

persona 5 overall is great -- everyone agrees, like its objectively just a better game. but persona 3 ends up more beloved because of its subjective value as a piece of art. there's a lot of heart and soul to put into it.

it's more simple when compared to p5 at first glance, but simple doesn't mean less. which is why more people experiencing it will be nice to see

[neilcromancer]

Today I wanted to find a bread recipe that I used once many years ago. And I found it, but that's not the point of why I am writing this. After acquiring the recipe I was looking for, I clicked on the front page. There I learned multiple things about the person running the site. She is a Christian woman, a mother, probably still in her 30s, and her latest updates are about losing her husband and suffering with the grief. And I kind of start to care as I read it, you know? I mean this stranger on the internet, she's not really the kind of person I would ever meet or talk to for longer than a minute, but she's putting it all out there, you know? So I'm getting invested a little. And she keeps talking about Christ and the Lord and that kinda shit. It's not something I fully understand, it's pretty outside of my personal human experience, or that of my friends and family. But for this moment I'm actually kind of glad she has that faith to help her get through, right? And I click on her social media links, cause I realize the updates were from years ago. So I see that she had remarried, and she looks really happy. And now I don't know what to do with this experience I had. I mean this whole time I was just on my phone! It's silly and kind of ridiculous to me in a way. But somehow it had this impact on me, and it was enough to make me write this whole thing here. It's this perspective on life I absolutely don't understand or even fully agree with, you know? And it's kind of crazy. It makes you realize just how vastly different people's lives are, but I felt this relief of knowing this stranger is a person just like me. I guess I am just surprised by the fact that even though I don't really relate to it at all, I was still affected somehow. Anyway, I felt like I had to write this down, maybe just so it's off my mind.

[a-music-project]

Project 2

Without You by Kid LAROI

He’s done or at least that is what he said. He also said “you know I love you…I just need to be alone to figure some stuff out” and a whole bunch of other shit that drowns out as I remember how similar those words are to words spoken to me 26 years ago. “I love you and can’t wait to spend the rest of my life figuring things out with you.” So similar but totally different my ripped out, beaten to a bloody pulp and totally shattered heart screams. How do I live without you? My first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first lover, my best friend and the ‘one’ who I cannot see life happening without. How do I go on completely alone? It seems impossible, can I go on? I have never been alone and this scares me to death. How do I live without you?

Good Things Fall Apart by ILLENIUM & Jon Bellion

Alone, did I cause this? Did he cause this? Is anyone right or is anyone wrong? In the beginning I never thought I was your type. With time we just clicked like two halves that equal a whole, the ying to my yang, kind of thing.  Known by all as the couple who definitely would last, how do I tell people? How do I expect others to understand when I am still trying to wrap my head around it.  There is no reason, that I have been told of, so there is no way for me to explain, I guess sometimes good things fall apart.

Te Fuiste by Enrique Iglesias

Porque te fuiste? My head shouts out! This house is so empty and my thoughts are oh so very loud. I do not want to remember yet I can’t seem to forget.  I find the more I want it all to stop, the memories only come all the more. Tears flow unbidden only to be politely served up with a side of  anxiety, loneliness, emptiness and distress.  Gone all gone, the kids are all grown up and I am left alone, my best friend has left he walked right out the door. I have no one to talk with anymore.  Who can I talk to now? I’m alone, I am alone without you.

Unwell by Enrique Iglesias

“I’m feeling kind of empty, looking kind of dented, Now that you're gone” I can’t eat, I don’t sleep, and I cry all the time. Who is this wounded person? I don’t know her. Heart so torn, it feels like it will never be well again. I want you back but would I take you back after what you have done? No one cheated, there was no violence, no sign that you would choose to be gone. Somehow I must move on.  I am still holding on, now that you are gone I really do need to move on. My broken heart is all he left. How do I move on? 26 years thrown away, now that you are gone. “Cause all of my friends are worried again, they know I’m not well without you. I’m unwell, I’m unwell without you” Tell me how…please, tell me how…yes, tell me how to be well without you! I just want to move on without you! 

Overpass Graffiti by Ed Sheeran

Once upon a time you were my everything, what I called home. You said this would never end, I was your everything. Now you try to make me believe I will be just fine on my own. Because 'you just want to be alone, to figure some things out’. Am I supposed to hope you will return? You told me to move on. I know you belong with me. Yet here I go, it is time to move on! I might stumble. I might fall.  But watch me grow cause here I go, I will try to move on. “Go Girl Go!” I yell to myself. Don’t listen to your sad broken heart, you’ve got this. Maybe I can’t fully move on just yet but I can start to pick up the pieces.

The lyrics from this song sums it all up:

This is a dark parade Another rough patch to rain on, to rain on I know your friends may say This is a cause for celebration, hip-hip-hooray, love Photographs in sepia tones It's so still, the fire's barely fighting the cold, alone There are times when I can feel your ghost Just when I'm almost letting you go The cards were stacked against us both

I will always love you for what it's worth We'll never fade like graffiti on the overpass And I know time may change the way you think of us But I'll remember the way we were, you were the first full stop Love that will never leave Baby, you will never be lost on me

This is a goddamn shame I never wanted to break it, or leave us tainted Know I should walk away But I just can't replace us, or even erase us The car was stuck, the engine stalled And both of us got caught out in the snow, alone There were times when I forget the lows And think the highs were all that we'd ever known The cards were stacked against us both

I will always love you for what it's worth We'll never fade like graffiti on the overpass And I know time may change the way you think of us But I'll remember the way we were, you were the first full stop Love that will never leave Baby, you will never be lost on me......

[theblogofdurin]

Cloaked in Green ||Pt.2|| Chp.19: Hunted

word count: 2.2k

summary: Beorn but let's add a little ✨️personality ✨️, plus ale deprived dwarves.

warning(s): drinking. Mention of prisonment, mentions of targeted groups with a little misogyny for flavor.

a/n: Well two things... 1. ITS MY BIRTHDAY (June18th) and yes I am old. 🙈 2. I AM GOING TO FANEXPO DALLAS TO SEE THE 4 LOTR HOBBITS ACTORS AND I'M SO PUMPED. I'LL POST MY EXPERIENCE. <- click to read.

P.S don't forgot to like and reblog and comment to let me know to keep writing this story!!

Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!OC

Links here: series masterlist, chp.18

----

Gandalf dozed off after that, snoring softly in the overly large chair, pipe still in hand. I leaned further back in my chair as I tried to rest my body as much as it would let me, yet it seems my thoughts had other ideas.

First off....Thorin.

Something has been off, I don’t have any evidence or reason behind my thinking, yet; I feel like something is different. What am I kidding? The whole situation with him is different. It's strange and quite...

Ugh, secondly, Gandalf didn’t disagree with me when I spoke of the rising threat brewing in the air…so that must mean that he feels it too and fears the same. And if that is true and Sauron is regaining his power…that brings up another tangle of sleep deprivating thoughts.

Lastly, Can we truly reclaim the mountain? Erebor is a massive stronghold in the North. Directly east of Mirkwood, if the dark forces manage to capture it before us…or worse if they somehow manage to coerce Smaug into joining their ranks. We'll never be able to succeed, or least not without a massive loss before.

Chewing on the wooden end of my pipe, I tried to contemplate through the mess that was going on in my mind. The sun was already lightening the sky, when the faint hits of an axe started. Setting the wooden pipe down on the table, I carefully managed to step around some of the sleeping dwarves to peer out of one of the windows looking out over the front.

The massively large back of who I can only assume is Beorn greeted me. The muscles on his hairy back flexed slightly with each swing of the axe he took. Knowing full well that Beorn is not a friend of Dwarves, I quickly realized that if we are to have any chance of getting the shapeshifter's help I would need to talk to him alone…and like any of them would like to talk to him alone.

Taking the chance, moving back around the sleeping company, I stopped to look over one of the bodies. With half of his hair covering his face, Thorin slept quite silently compared to his fellow men.

Shaking my head abruptly, I moved my head to redirect me to my original purpose, gently opening the giant door as quietly as I could and stepped out towards the hairy shifter.

---

---

The sky was starting to show a faint orange hue as Aranea approached the tall figure. The figure turned slightly to look over his shoulder. “Who are you?”

“Aranea, daughter of Arathorn, Lady of the Dunedain,”

Turning fully to glance over her, Beorn moved his hands to rest slightly on his axe. “Never heard of you.”

Smirking up at the shifter, Aranea, still keeping her distance, moved to sit on one of the thumps. “Well, I would hope not, my people have tried very hard to keep my existence a secret on this side of the Misty Mountains. You can probably assume our reasoning."

“And why are you on this side then, Ranger?” He questioned gruffly tilting his head.

“I’m traveling with a company.” she smiled, “You met them already, remember? You gave them quite a fright.”

Barking a laugh, Beron's face brightened slightly at the memory. “How scare were they?”

“So scared.” Aranea laughed with him, “I never seen so many men scream like they did.”

While the pair were still chuckling, Aranea looked down at her hands in her lap. "I just wanted to thank you for letting us intrude in your lodgings." Gesturing lightly towards the door and back to the treeline behind the shapeshifter, "Though you probably understand our reasoning for such manners."

With a more glum expression, the smile dropped from Beorn's face. "Why is Azog the defiler chasing you?"

"It's the company I travel with, Azog was made a vow against-"

"They aren't dwarves are they!?!" Swinging his axe to grip it tightly, growling as he made a step towards the door. "I hate Dwarves!!"

Pointingly, Aranea raised a hand. "You and I both know that you already smelt them either on me or last night when you chased us." Aranea raised up her elbow slightly and sniffed hesitantly under her arm, flinching away to gag.

"Though" she shook her head "I wouldn't be surprised if my stench covered them."

Beorn with pinched eyebrows regarded the relaxed position the human was taking on the tree stump. One leg resting under her as she leaned forward on her knees. Tilting his head he almost whispered. "You're not afraid of me. "

Giving a small smile up at him, Aranea shook her head softly this time. "No. I'm not."

"Why is that?"

"Because I know what it's like to be hunted."

Beorn scoffed at this. "Do you really?" He waved a hand, letting his axe head rest on the ground again. "Do you know what it's like to watch your own kind get killed around you? To be captured and held prisoner." Beorn started to trail off,

"Not in that way." Aranea sighed. "But I do know what it's like to have to fight to survive." Gesturing with her hands slightly down at her blood stained tunic and vest. "As you can probably see, I was not raised like most ladies…but I am a Lady." Beorn gaze moved with her hands before looking back at her face.

Resting her hands back into her lap, she continued. "I was trained at an early age alongside my brother, after watching our father die for having the same blood that runs through our veins. The same taintness " Swallowing loudly, she added. "For having the same blood shared with a man who failed all of us…and all of Middle-Earth."

"Isildur?" Beorn eyebrows furrowed. "You're Isildur's Heir?" Aranea smiled sadly and nodded.

"Yes." She looked back down at her hands. "And I'm hunted for it." She looked back up at Beorn's face, "My Brother and I both chose Exile when the time came."

"Why are you traveling with a group of Dwarves then?" Beorn looked even more confused as he look briefly back at his house.

"Because the group I travel with, a company of 13 Dwarves are on a quest to reclaim their homeland." Noticing the shapeshifter's tighting grip on his axe handle, Aranea snapped at him "They wish nothing more then just to past through to Erebor."

Beorn interrupted her, his expressive eyebrows raising "The Lonely Mountain?" Puzzled, Aranea nodded again. "You are traveling with the one they call Oakenshield."

"Oh!" Aranea laughed. "You know him but not me, I see how that is."

Suddenly barking another laugh, Beorn shook his head. "You." He pointed down at her. "You, little human, confuse me."

"Yes, I am traveling with Thorin Oakenshield and Company. Along with a Wizard and a Hobbit."

Beorn raised a quizzed brow "Radagast?- You are traveling with Radagast the Brown?"

Laughing at his expression, "No-" she spoke in-between giggles at his expression. "No, Not Radagast, Another Wizard, by the name of Gandalf the Grey."

"Never heard of him." Beorn gumbled.

"Not surprising."

That caused both of pair to fall into an unceremonial laughter.

"So." Beorn spoke again, the visible tension off of his shoulders. "A Wizard, A Halfing, A Lady and Thirteen Dwarves…that's an-" he searched for the proper word.

Still regaining from her laughter Aranea spoke through breaths. "Yes I know, We make a unique group."

Turning slightly on her stump, Aranea looked back at the house, in one of the windows the clear outline of Bofur's hat darting out of view caused chuckles to leave both her and Beorn.

"I understand your distaste for dwarves, trust me I've spent the last 2 weeks with them, but, I promise you, from what I've seen…these dwarves are honorable."

Beorn stood silently for a few moments, judging the woman in front of him. Could he trust her? Could he trust her company that she speaks so highly of? Growling softly, he nodded.

"You are the most gracious, Beorn."

A loud squeak of the door and gently stepping out Gandalf smiled broadly at the two. "Master Beorn, it's so nice to meet-" With a roll of his eyes, Beorn looked over at the wizard. “-you in person, I wish to thank you for your hospitality and letting-.”

“I need a drink.” Beorn suddenly interrupted Gandalf, gesturing with a hand he asked Aranea, “Ladies do drink Ale, yes?” With a slightly brightened nod, Aranea jumped up following the shapeshifter as he walked past the bewildered Gandalf.

Linking her arms with Gandalf, Aranea spun him back around to walk with her. “Everythings handled.” she whispered “Just help me keep the others in line.”

"I hate Dwarves." Beron added again as he opened the door of his lounging, gesturing for Aranea and Gandalf to enter first. "But I distaste Orcs more so, you may all stay as you wish."

"Thank you again, kind sir." Gandalf smiled gratefully up at the man as he passed. Beorn grunted. "I suggest not leaving tonight ; however, you'd be followed immediately."

Walking into the front entrance where the dwarves and Bilbo were compressed. Beorn let out a humpf of annoyance. Gandalf raised a shaky thumbs up when the shifter turned to grab cups from the upheld cabinets. Aranea almost smiled when she visibly saw their shoulders and posture sag and sigh in relief.

"I assume the dwarves would like a drink as well?" Beorn turned, dropping 6 massive cups on the table before turning to grab more. "How about the halfing?"

"Yes, please!" Bilbo gulped quite loudly causing some snickers from both the dwarves and Beorn.

"I enjoy the company of shire-folk, no need to squirrel yourself." Beorn scoffed as he dropped 5 more cups on the table, before reaching back again "-though its been many years. laid back creatures they are, enjoy nature more than the company of other beings ."

Bilbo was intrigued to say the least. Peeking out from around Thorin, Bilbo silently moved closer to the table with the others. "You met other hobbits before me?"

Beron nodded as he dropped the last 6 cups on the table. "A Hardbuckle and a Proudfoot, I believe, were their names many decades ago."

"Really?!" Bilbo all but exclaimed, "This far east?"

Beorn laughed at the halfing shaking his head as he filled the ale pitcher from the barrel on the side of the makeshift dining room. "No, like I said it was long ago and I stayed on the other side of the mountains, closer to your Shire."

Bilbo let out an audible "Ahh. " Beron went to start pouring the ale in all the wooden cups that had been divided among everyone.

Fili and Kili almost wanted to cry at the sight of the tall ale. While Dori was holding back an eager Ori from downing all of his in one gulp. Bombur and Bifor didn't hold back though, finishing theirs off proudly, as Beorn wrinkled an eyebrow before refilling their glasses.

Aranea and Gandalf were perched next to each in chairs slightly adjacent from the others. Beorn walked over to them to pour through glasses before turning back to the body stiff in between the rooms.

"You must be the one they call Oakenshield." Beorn noted, filling his glass.

Thorin was massively irritated, both at himself and at the human lass sitting next to the wizard like she didn't just endangered her life 3 minutes ago. There was no telling what could have happened and yet she still blindly went outside while everyone was asleep…while he was asleep. He was the one who was to protect for Mahal’s sake and he could have just slept right through her being mauled to death. He wouldn't have be able to live with himself-

Suddenly snapping out of his thought enough to register what the predator/man-beast asked him. Thorin nodded jerkly at Beorn question. "Yes." He's voice very quietly confirming.

"Then, would you mind telling me when Azog the defiler is chasing you?"

"You know of Azog?" Thorin turned to face Beorn as the shifter moved back to the table, refilling Ori's glass, he nodded thoughtfully, Bilbo thought as Throin asked "How?"

With a longing sigh, Beorn realized the genuine curiosity behind the dwarf words before telling him "My people were the first to live in the mountains...before the Orcs came down from the North."

Beorn gestured over towards where Aranea sat "-even before the island people moved westward." Now with a more glum expression, Beorn decided to just leave the pitcher at the table, moving to sit at his chair in-between Aranea and Gandalf.

Talking as he went. The room was silent.

"The Defiler killed most of my family. But some he...enslaved. Not for work, you understand...but for sport." Mindlessly rubbing his wrist, Bilbo also gasped when he saw the shackles on Beorn's wrist. "Caging skin-changers...and torturing them, seemed to amuse him."

" There are others like you?" Dori asked hesitantly, he seemed interested in the concept of more shifters.

Beorn smiled, but everyone in the room could tell it was a sad smile. "Once there were many."

"And now?"

"Now there is only one."

.

.

----

Next

taglist still open! @lokigirlszendaya ​@caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @emrfangirl ​ ​ @lathalea ​ ​ @hr-nm-grnd-zr ​ ​ @markosgirl ​ ​ @demigoddesofchimichangagod ​ ​ @imaginesfire ​ ​ @kaysteahouse ​ ​ @tamnight ​ ​ @mithrandirssidehoe ​ ​ @panhoeofmanyfandoms @petrelrose @irisv-x ​ ​ @fandoms4everyone ​ ​ @Leabeiersdorf07 @nunyobuisness ​ ​ @fallinloveinoctober ​ ​ @mysterypotatoink ​ ​ @whore-of-many-hot-men ​ ​ @generalgoldfishldrm ​ ​ @thevanillahorizon ​@cloudcatchingstark @readingkitty @wolfers-stuff @depressedemo-152 @triffidgurl @nessarosefiction

[mysticaldeanvoidhorse]

A Supernatural Love

Chapter Twenty Two: An Engagement

Summary:  Y/N, a nurse working towards medical school living with her roommate and best friend Genevieve Cortese, meets Jensen Ackles while visiting the set of Supernatural one day.  Is this chance encounter a coincidence or fate?  And if it is fate, do they have what it takes to make it through separations and hardships?

Slow(ish) burn, some angst, alluding to sexy times, fluff

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Bad writing, Some swearing

Word Count: 3121  

No hate to any of the real people in this story, it is purely fiction and for enjoyment! No images are mine

First fic I wrote, please be kind but open to feedback, both positive and negative!

Tag List:  @streets-in-paradise​​​  @leigh70​​​ @sexyvixen7​​​​  @deandreamernp​​​​  @universallyraylangivens​​​​  @siospins2​​​ @let-me-luve-you​​​​ @lyarr24​​​ @nancymcl​​​​  @hobby27​​​

Tag list open

Masterlist here

Y/N POV

That night when you got home, you took a shower and got into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt.  You poured yourself a glass of wine and sat down at the island to think about what had happened.  You hadn’t fully processed the events of the day but you tried.  You decided that before you could figure out what you wanted from Jensen, if anything, you knew that you needed to talk to James.  He must have thought the same thing because a knock on the door drew you from your thoughts.

“I was just thinking about you”  You smiled letting him in.

“How was your day at the pool?”  He asked without any tone of judgment.  It was new and welcomed.

“I really enjoyed seeing Gen and Jared but honestly I am not sure about seeing Jensen”  You decided to be honest.

“I am not surprised.  It’s been a lot for you”  He sympathized.

“Not that I want to start anything but it’s nice not having you have a judging tone about it.”  He just shrugged.

“What did you do today?”  You didn’t know how to continue because last time he talked to you he said he didn’t want to see you.

“I went to town for something to do….and I ran into Daneel”  He looked you in the eye as he sat down.  

“Oh”  was all you could say as you turned your back to pour him a glass of wine.

“That’s all you have to say?” He said cautiously.

“What happened?” You handed him the glass to which he took a sip.

“We got to talking and ended up spending the day together.”  You stopped.

“How was that?”  You cautioned.  You knew him well enough to know what was happening but you wanted to hear him say it.

“Honestly it was really good.  It felt nice to have a conversation with a woman that doesn’t turn into a fight somehow.”  This stung, but you didn’t think he meant it to.

“I can understand that.  I am really sick of it, James.”  You were being honest.  He just sighed.  “You seemed to really hit it off with her.  She is an amazing woman”  You said.

“She is.  I genuinely enjoy her”  He was being transparent and you appreciated that.

“Did you come over here to tell me that you like her James?”  You were just going to rip off the band-aid and just get it done.

“No, I wanted to actually talk about us.” 

“Same difference.  You like her and we are not doing well.”  He sighed and rubbed his face.

“We have never quite clicked, Y/N.  We have tried really hard and as much as I wanted to make it work, it just isn’t.  I can’t keep doing this.”

“I can’t either.  I wanted to, I really did.  But we just only work if we don’t talk about anything deep or of meaning.  We are better as friends.”  He didn’t say anything.  “James”  You grabbed his hand across from you.  He let you and looked up.  “Are we done?”

“Yes, we are.  But honestly we never really ever were”  He gave you a sad smile.  He had a point.

“Just answer one thing.  Do you like Daneel?”  You weren’t bitter but you wanted to know what his intentions were with a woman who was taken.  You knew James was classy and would never cross a line but if it was serious he would be a man about it.

“I would be lying to say I wasn’t attracted to her, but as long as she is with Jensen it doesn’t matter. Besides, I am good at waiting”  He gave you a smile in reference to your own relationship.

“Then I am happy for you and wish you the best”  You smiled back.  He got up and gave you a kiss on the top of your head.

“Take care of yourself Y/N.  We are friends and I will always be here for you.”  You told him something similar and he walked out of your door and in one sense, out of your life.

     Your phone rang not long after and it was Gen.

“Hi Gen” 

“You sound tired, what’s going on?”  You couldn’t hide anything from her.  After three years of almost not talking she could still read you like a book and you loved her for it.

“James and I just broke up.”  You didn’t want to cry and you were sad, but also it felt good.  You and her talked for a long time about it to end up saying that it was for the best and she was proud of you for doing what you thought was best and she agreed that though James is a wonderful man, he isn’t the right one for you.

“I am just glad that stress is over.  I think we can still work together and be friends but maybe not very soon.”  You told her.

“Speaking of that, Jared invited James out tomorrow.  I guess he has this big dinner planned with a lot of friends and family for the weekend.  He wanted to do something special while a lot of people are in town so he invited him.  Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, James is a good guy and he has been a good friend to you both so I am okay, at least there will be a lot of people so I don’t necessarily have to talk to him at least the whole time.”  You didn’t tell her about his time with Daneel because you didn’t think it was your business anymore (What is your business? It was all so complicated) so if she decided to tell Gen it was up to her.

“You can always talk to me.  I would ditch Jared anytime for you.  You’re my number one always”  You exchanged gushing affections for another minute then said bye.  It was always good to talk to her.

     You slept well that night which had been the first night in a while.  You woke up that Saturday feeling refreshed and ready to see everyone.  You had met Jared’s parents once and they were wonderful.  Jared also told you that he was surprising Gen with flying her parents in.  You knew she would be elated and you did your best to not spill the beans.

     You took your time to shower, do your hair and makeup and pick out an outfit.  You settled on curling your hair, and a pretty summer dress and wedges.  You were determined to enjoy your night and not be depressed about recent events.

     You texted Gen you were on your way and she was excited because she was there already.  When you pulled up you didn’t realize that the restaurant was as fancy as it was.  You looked it up online and knew it had to be nice since it had valet but you were still surprised.  You weren’t used to such fancy places but you enjoyed them a lot, but you were more of a burger and fries gal.  You walked in the door and though you were a little early, a few people had already been there.  Before you could recognize everyone, Gen came up to you and gave a big hug and dragged you to the center of the party room.  She told you how Jared had surprised her by bringing out her family and you wouldn’t tell her you had your suspicions why he would do that.  You greeted them and socialized for a minute or two when you saw James walk in.  You nodded at each other and he found some people he evidently knew that he went over to talk to.

“Jared arranged this all by himself, he is amazing.”  Gen gushed.  You could see the love in her eyes and you wondered if you would ever find that again.  He was blushing but you knew he was loving every minute of her bragging on him.  You were enjoying the moment and so happy for them that you missed when Dee came up behind you.  She said hello and after a minute pulled you aside.

“How are you Y/N?  I didn’t get a chance to see you yesterday” She apologized.

“I was surprised you weren’t there but I understand why you weren’t, honestly.  Broken arms are no fun, I broke mine as a kid and was devastated that I couldn’t climb any trees.”  You both chuckled.

“I just wanted to let you know that James and I spent the day together.  Nothing happened of course and I am sure he told you but I wanted you to hear it from me.”  Damn you wanted to hate her sometimes but she is just so nice and considerate.

“James did tell me but I appreciate you being honest with me.  I don’t mind, I never would have assumed anything untoward happened.  But I have to ask and please forgive me but are you attracted to him?”  She seemed taken aback and initially wanted to defend herself but she stopped.  She looked over your shoulder behind you then looked you in the eye.

“We had a good time and we have a lot in common.  Of course I care about Jensen and he is my boyfriend but I did enjoy spending time with James.”

“I don’t doubt that you care about Jensen and if you care about James I am not upset.  I will be honest with you, James and I broke up last night.  We are good and I am not trying to sound like a jealous ex but for both your sakes you need to be honest with yourselves.  I haven’t been good at that lately and I want you to save yourself time and learn from my own issues.”  You babbled.  You knew it didn’t come out the best but you wanted to save her three years of her life.

“Thank you Y/N I appreciate that.  I am sorry about that but I am glad you seem okay.  He didn’t say much about your relationship so I don’t know much from him, not that I need to but just so you are aware he is respecting you.  I will always care for Jensen but as I am sure you know, he is head over heels for you and I could never compete.  You are a wonderful person and I see why I am no threat to you -”   Just then Jensen came up and said hello.  You wanted to hear what she was going to say because as horrible as it made you feel you were thinking she was going to back down even though you knew it probably wouldn’t work between you and him.  It didn’t before, what would change?  

“Hi Jensen, how are you?”  You asked though you weren’t necessarily curious for the answer.  He gave you some socially acceptable answer and you three chit chatted for a bit.  He then went to pay his respects to Jared and Gen.

“Listen Y/N, I won’t take up more of your time but I appreciate that you are looking out for me.  I hope you have a good rest of the evening.”  She smiled and went to a different group of people to socialize with.  You noticed she didn’t join Jensen.

     The evening went on with laughs and good times, until Jared called everyone to his attention.  Somehow you managed to stand somewhat across from Jensen.

“Thank you all for coming, it means so much to us that you are here”  He then put his arm around Gen who was standing next to him. She nodded in agreement.  “You all are our closest and favorite people so I wanted you all to be here because I know it means so much to Gen and me.”  He started to get nervous and he let out a nervous breath.  Gen was confused but her eyes grew wide when he let go of her to pull something out of his pocket.  He got down on one knee and she gasped.

“Gen, baby, you are the most amazing woman I have ever met in my entire life.  You are so kind, loving, nurturing, and you know how to push me and keep me on my toes.  I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that I love you and will continue to love you more every day.  I know I don’t deserve you but is there any chance that you will make the happiest man in the world by marrying me?”  He opened the box to reveal a huge square rock with studded diamonds along the side.  If her mouth could open more it did now.  The room was silent and you couldn’t believe what was happening.  That jerk wouldn’t tell you his plan no matter how much you pushed.  To be fair you knew it was because he didn’t want you to let it slip to her so you were kept in the dark. You held your breath and knew everyone else was as well.

“Oh Jared”,  Gen said, speechless.  After looking into his eyes for a solid second or two, she put him out of his misery.  “Yes, of course I will marry you!”  She practically squealed as tears started to fall.  He got up so fast you almost didn’t see it and he wrapped her in his arms and picked her off the floor.  They hugged, and kissed, and hugged some more.  Somewhere in there he put the ring on her finger and she was just glowing. The room had erupted in clapping, cheers and all sorts of hoots and hollers.  You couldn’t help but look over at Jensen who was looking at you and smiled.  It almost seemed like a sad smile but you didn’t dwell too long because you fought your way to the couple.

“Jared, I can't believe you didn’t tell me!”  He looked at you guilty.

“I didn’t want you to ruin the surprise”

“Well it’s about time, I can’t be mad now that you finally did it.”  

“It was long overdue.”  Gen just leaned into his side, still smiling.  You knew her mouth would hurt from all the smiling but well worth it.

“Let me see the ring!”  You squealed, grabbing her hand.

“I didn’t see it coming!  We have been talking about it for awhile but I had no idea!  He definitely surprised me”  Gen gushed.

“I had some help from Jensen.  He helped organize arrivals and reservations.”

“This was the perfect proposal.”  Gen said, pulling him down to kiss her.

“I will catch up with you later!”  You told them so others could wish them well.  You needed to get some air and process that your best friend just got engaged to the best guy.  The restaurant had a nice balcony with ambiance lighting and you were able to lean over the side and take a deep breath.  You were glad to be the only one out there until a familiar body leaned over the edge near you.

“I can’t believe he pulled it off.”  Jensen chuckled, taking a sip from his whiskey glass.

“Honestly, me too.  He didn’t let on about it at all, but to be fair I have always suspected it whenever we get together because he knows I would give him hell if I wasn’t there.”  You laughed mostly to yourself.

“He debated telling you or incorporating you somehow, but it was pretty hard since you weren’t around for most of it.”

“I can’t be mad, I haven’t seen them as much as I should.”  You felt guilty for your lack of effort.

“It’s not all your fault, you live so far away from them for most of the year”  You appreciated Jensen trying to make you out to be better than you were.

“I am just glad it finally happened.  I wondered if it would happen within the first six months of them dating.  But they have taken everything agonizingly slow.  They probably won’t have kids for ten years.”  You mused as you remembered how it was like pulling teeth to even get them to admit their feelings, much less date.

“They both want kids, so maybe more like five.”  He joked.

“I am just thankful to be part of it.  Hopefully Gen will let me be part of her wedding planning.  I would love to do that with her”

“I am sure she would love that.  I know it has meant so much to both of them to see you again.”

“I should have tried more to see them, but…”

“But I was in the way.”  Jensen finished for you.  You wanted to say something kind but he was right.

“But we are all here now.”

“The question is, what do we do?”  He turned toward you, and you turned to face him.

“We be supportive of our friends”  You told him.

“That’s not what I meant.”  He said.  You sighed.

“I already told you where I am at.”  You told him.

“I can’t help but notice you haven’t said two words to James all night.”

“We broke up.  Yesterday”  He looked surprised.

“Can I ask why?”  He cautioned.

“Do you really have to ask?  We were never a good fit and we tried to make something work that just wasn’t meant to be.”

“I understand what that is like…” he said quietly.  You remained silent to see if he would continue.  He took another swig from his glass.  “I want what is best for you, and if being with him is it, then so be it.”  He finished.

“I just told you, he isn’t.”  You stood firm.

“Then what is?”  He asked, looking you in the eye.

“Figure it out, it isn’t hard.  Just grow a pair and stop dicking around and you might just realize what is best for both of us.”  You were agitated at his lack of effort and ability to take control.  You knew this wasn’t like him, even if he was just trying to be mindful of your needs.  But why couldn’t the idiot just figure out that no matter how much he broke your heart, you would always want to be with him?  You walked away and made up your mind that you wouldn’t talk to him again until he decided to wake up.

     You stayed until the bitter end, and still ended up talking with Gen for hours after the party.  It was around 2am when she went home, most likely to Jared.  You appreciated that she spent more time talking to you than she did to her own fiance.  But what else would you expect from a best friend?

[ostreech]

Here it is! I finished writing a thing. The thing contains smut and some mystery, as i haven't specified shit yet and hope to tell you about it through a longer story. I have never finished a chaptered fic in my entire life and generally haven't written in years, so ye be warned, but i sure am more likely to keep writing if people like it!

Hope the formatting isn't terrible.

Briefest of summaries: Jinkx and Raja reunite after not seeing each other for a long time and it's more intense than either of them expected.

This took a bit longer than I thought it would, grew a plot and lore that will be addressed more in part 2 but i present to you:

Oscillation

Jinkx travelled light. She got a hotel room anyway, one she didn't expect to use much. This was a meeting that didn't allow luggage. In her room, at an hour of the morning that one could barely call morning, she did up her tight black dress, finished arranging her ginger curls around her shoulders and left.

Anxious thoughts plagued her on her way down to the street. The light in the elevator felt too bright, her steps on the carpet somehow too loud. What if she didn't show up? What if she did, but it wasn't the same anymore? What if the image she held in her head was no longer like the actual person?

She fussed with her hair some more, arranged the pendant on her necklace to sit just right until the door opened and let her out into the lobby. With a brilliant smile she dropped off her keys and walked out the revolving door.

Her cab arrived just as she left the hotel. Everything went by in a haze. The drive was blissfully quiet and her heart beat faster as the moment she had been waiting for got closer. If someone asked, she would have known that she had a brief conversation with the driver, making sure it was the right spot, paying, leaving with a thank you and goodbye, but she couldn't have remembered any of it.

The freshness of the early morning hadn't left the air yet, the sun and the wind hitting her skin. That moment cleared her mind of all her worries, leaving just a flutter in her belly. It allowed her to look around, to see the street properly. Not many people were out that early and the ones that were looked to be following a boring and familiar path.

Compared to them, her plans felt illicit and exciting. Her heart beat faster, warmth spreading through her at the reminder of why she was there. Her clothes were chosen for the occasion, which as far as she knew was to be taken off. Not many other details had been planned all those years ago. All she could hear was the click clack of her heels on the asphalt, her eyes looking for a familiar face already. She had been looking forward to this reunion for a long time.

The location was set vaguely, but she knew where to go, even if it did add some worry of what if she didn't really know. She turned a corner, finding just the empty street. Then came a still closed bakery, a few more steps, and there she was, back leaned against a wall. The impression she left on Jinkx was still there. Not much had changed over the years, except her hair was now fully silver, pulled back into a bun. Jinkx imagined what it would look like out of it, free to fall on a naked back. She had also been watching the street, waiting. Her face lit up but she stayed in place, leaning against the wall. The thrill of having her right there, almost within touching distance, was almost too much.

"Raja!" Jinkx shouted, picking up her pace. The day was barely starting but just seeing her made everything good. When she got to Raja, she squeezed her tight, any other intention forgotten as she buried her face in an old friend's shoulder. "Hey, Jinkx, long time no see." was the response that finally came as Raja settled into the embrace, putting her chin on top of Jinkx's head. One would have thought the emotions weren't equal if it hadn't been for the white knuckles on Raja's hands.

For a moment, everything was quiet as they held each other, enjoying the familiar touch and smell. It had been only a memory for too long. They were content to just be right there. Then Jinkx laughed and Raja followed in her elation. She let go enough to get a good look of Jinkx's face as they came down from their laughter. For a moment, Raja's eyes were sparkling with tears. She cupped Jinkx's cheek and Jinkx leaned into the touch. "It really has been a while, huh? We've changed." Raja said, her voice quiet. She could have been about to ask a question, any common old question of friendly catching up, but then Jinkx slid an arm around her waist. She needed this moment not to turn into an emotional talk of what had happened while they were apart. They stepped closer again, but this time the mood had shifted. "Maybe"Jinkx drew in a breath as their bodies touched again, lifting a hand to trace Raja's jawline, her eyes dropping to her lips. "But right now I just need you to kiss me." her breathing was becoming heavier in anticipation. She didn't know what was about to happen, but hoped that the request had been enough to bring Raja where she wanted her in that moment. For a second, Raja just smiled gently at her, thumb caressing her face, and Jinkx feared it had been the wrong move to push.

Then Raja dropped her hand from her cheek to under her chin. She leaned in close, looked over Jinkx's expectant face and smirked. "Maybe" she whispered into her ear "but first, I want you to follow me." The reality of being in the middle of the street flashed through Jinkx's mind, but she pushed it away. It might matter in some future embarrassment, but in that moment, it was irrelevant. She knew she would go along with whatever was happening and enjoy it. Raja pulled her forward by the waist at first, taking a couple of steps back until they got to the beginning of an odd little alley. Then she held her hands and led her further in that way. The alley felt more private than it should have. Jinkx happily walked where Raja led her, taking a step back until she was between her and a wall. The way she felt herself letting go surprised her, she would have been expecting herself to be cracking a joke at this point, not quite giving in yet. She wasn't sure she could, her mind seemed to have missed that stage entirely. It felt like a first time despite the familiarity. "This makes me feel like the teenager I could never be" she pushed out an awkward laugh.

Raja smiled at that, leaning down until her head was at Jinkx's neck, breathing her in rather than touching. She let go of her hands, pressing her further against the wall by her hips. "Let's get you caught up on some of that then." her voice was low, her breath hot on Jinkx's skin. Jinkx curled into her, lowering her chin and trying to pull her closer. In response, Raja lifted one hand from its place on Jinkx's hip, brushing her breast, running the tips of her fingers over her collarbone, then setting gently around her neck for a second. Finally she let her hand slide into her hair, grabbing right at the nape, pulling her head into a position where she had to look straight up at Raja.

Jinkx felt trapped, exactly how she wanted to be. She couldn't immediately look up, breathing slowly while looking down at what she could see of Raja from that angle. That view was still excellent, if a bit less overwhelming. She hadn't expected and planned for the location and it made everything all the more exciting. "Look at me." Raja asked, with no impatience, sure that she would do as she was told. Jinkx did immediately look up, to find Raja's eyes filled with a fire her voice didn't show. She stopped breathing for a second, pinned in place by her eyes just as much as she was by her hands. It was too much and she wanted more, she wanted anything, everything, a kiss at least. Looking up at Raja's face, seeing the open lust in her eyes, raking over her face, her body, made her shudder. "I want you, I can't wait anymore" Jinkx blurted out, looking for some sympathy.

She tried to reach Raja's face but the hand in her hair didn't let her go anywhere. Instead, Raja brought them as close as possible without touching and whispered, their lips almost brushing "I want you to need me." Jinkx closed her eyes and leaned into the hand holding her head. Her hips twitched forward, she swallowed and took a careful breath in to prepare before she spoke. Every point of contact felt like fire on her skin, she hadn't realized what Raja could bring out in her after years of separation. "I do, I need you, please Raja" by the end of her sentence her voice was breaking, the temptation to push forward overtaking her. She didn't, and her self control was finally rewarded with a soft kiss. It felt out of place and yet right. She could feel how much Raja was holding back and wanted it to stop. Jinkx didn't need to push this time, Raja pulled away and then pressed forward, opening her mouth and letting the kiss develop into what Jinkx had been looking for. The hand in her hair moved to rest on her chest, brushing her neck and the other pulled her in by the waist.

As enveloped as she was in the sensation of finally getting to kiss Raja, it didn't quite register with Jinkx that the thigh she could feel between her legs was there on purpose, she just enjoyed the pressure. They pulled apart for a breath and Raja drew back slightly, bending down to kiss Jinkx's neck, slowly unbuttoning the top of her dress. Jinkx thought about how she had chosen the front closure dress precisely for the teasing potential. She had just expected herself to be the one doing the teasing.

This was more intense and Jinkx breathed out a soft moan, her plans had been ruined only to be made better. As Raja got to her nipple, her fingers playing with it lightly at first, her hips started looking for that offered leg again, her mouth falling open. Raja pushed her leg forward for only a moment "Come get it yourself, it's all you get for now", she breathed, going back to being just out of comfortable reach. Then she pulled Jinkx's dress down further, putting her mouth on her other nipple. At first, Jinkx's hips thrust forward ineffectively, the angle having changed. With the distance that Raja had created, the fabric of Jinkx's dress stopped her from getting the friction she needed. Then Raja drew back and straightened up to watch, keeping one hand still on her breast, sliding the other over her lower belly. She enjoyed watching her struggle, touching in every way that would frustrate rather than help. The show of desperate desire in front of her made her wet and she let out a heavy sigh. It was exactly what she wanted in that moment, her own orgasm still far from her thoughts.

Jinkx felt Raja's eyes on her and the world entirely fell away from her mind. The expression on Raja's face was soft but laced with sadism, the pleasure clearly derived from her struggle. She kept trying to get herself into the right place, some part of her putting on a show for Raja. She didn't expect to be allowed to come by touching herself, but she tried anyway. It was a mix of trying to get a reaction and genuine desperation for any touch. That got her a slap on the wrist and a "You know how I want you right now." There was no more waiting, she yanked her dress up, popping a couple of the buttons at the bottom, revealing red panties that matched her bra, which she immediately moved to the side. Taking them off would be a show for another time, in that moment she wanted direct contact. The air hit her hot pussy but that barely registered as she surged forward to get the rough fabric of Raja's trousers against her skin. Raja could feel her heat and wetness, a moan leaving her mouth as she pushed Jinkx right back against the wall, letting her have all the leverage she needed to grind against her, but choosing not to mirror her movements. She thought she could come just by watching and feeling her, but she wanted to have the first orgasm of that day with Jinkx's mouth on her rather than just letting herself have it right then.

Jinkx was almost fully naked, her dress completely scrunched up around her middle, the top hanging open. She looked up at Raja's face, pulled her in for an attempt at a kiss. Her head quickly ended up leaned against Raja's shoulder, panting. She managed to draw her lips over her collarbone, then back up to Raja's neck, going for a soft bite that turned harder than she intended. Raja's breath hitched and she grabbed Jinkx's hips for a second, pressing her into herself, then let go, scratching her thighs, squeezing her waist, eventually putting one hand right on her neck, the other in her hair, considering. Jinkx breathed "Please, please!"

Her other hand still roamed around Jinkx's moving body but the one on her neck pressed down on the sides. Quickly Jinkx was overcome by a floaty sensation, feeling high and safe. Everything but the pleasure was gone to her, lost in the blur of her mind. All Raja could focus on was Jinkx, seeing crystal clear how she was feeling, the way her hips wouldn't stop moving, the sounds coming from her. Jinkx was chasing her orgasm, her hands clutching at Raja as her hips found the right place, the right rhythm. Raja almost let go of her neck, thinking it was about to be too long, but then her hips twitched irregularly, her body shaking as she ground her clit in motions completely out of her control into Raja's leg. Raja then hugged her close, letting her ride out the orgasm, holding her up. As she came down she sighed, looked up at Raja and then settled her head down on her shoulder instead of saying something.

She could feel a hand running through her hair, smoothing out the mess in calming motions. "How are you feeling, angel?" Raja asked.

"Fantastic" she replied "do you know what you do to me? I don't think I can walk now."

With that, Jinkx straightened up, trying to move on her own. She still ended up leaning on Raja, her legs unsteady. Raja got to work putting her clothes back into place, moving her panties, which earned her a hypersensitive twitch. She then smoothed down the bottom of the dress to its original length and buttoned up the top. "Don't worry" she said with a smile "I can carry you, we're not going far."

For moment, Jinkx just stood there, still floating on the effects of what had just happened, not quite realizing what she had heard. She didn't think she needed to be carried but it sounded more fun than walking. "Can I pick you up? It's right here." Raja moved half a step to the side, revealing a door Jinkx had somehow missed up until then. She blinked and nodded, confused by the sudden appearance of something that must have been there the whole time.

Raja got her to put an arm around her shoulders, bent down and she was carrying her bridal style. Jinkx was stuck between confusion and a fluttery sort of adoration. She kissed whatever bit of skin that was available to her, happy to hear it affect Raja, as close to her chest as she was. The home they went into didn't even register with her. Soon she was sitting on a soft bed, Raja right next to her. She tried to lean over but Raja got up "Wait, I have to get something! Give me a second."

Raja came back and sat down, Jinkx too busy looking around to see what she had brought "Don't leave me like that" she whined, her head on Raja's lap before she finished her sentence.

"So what's up with all this?" she continued, questioning the room they were in.

"Well, uhh. We said we would be meeting around here so I got us a place to stay. I live here."

The silence weighed on them, Jinkx quickly choosing not to consider the implications of this discovery. Instead, she crawled into Raja's lap and kissed her breathless once again. Raja's hands came to rest on her hips and Jinkx pushed until they were flat on the bed.

They parted and Jinkx just lowered herself on top of Raja "I need you to fuck me" she said, "and I don't wanna leave you hanging" a yawn interrupted her "but I think I need a nap first." She pushed herself up before Raja could respond and added "of course, you can do whatever you want to me while I nap. But where's the bathroom?"

Raja pointed at the bathroom and fell back onto the bed as Jinkx disappeared behind the door. The rapid switching of topics and tones, the clear avoidance was getting to her. She was both satisfied and burning with frustration, emotions she hadn't had the time to process yet swirling around her chest. She wanted to hold Jinkx, she wanted to fuck her, properly and not half dressed. She wanted to just have her near and to get to talking about what had happened while they were apart. It had been exciting and surprising to see just how she could affect her. They had known each other for a long time and their relationship had been that exact on and off for decades. She knew Jinkx would trust her with her life and would gladly give herself over to her, but something about this time had moved her. Still, Jinkx evaded any conversation. It made sense, she was tired, but that didn't make the tension disappear.

She watched her come back into the room fully naked and she admired the view. Her curves looked so inviting to touch, so she did. "Gods, you're gorgeous" she said, looking her over with sparkling eyes. Jinkx got back into bed and was under the covers in moments. "Come on, you don't wanna leave me all alone here, do you?" She asked. Raja took down her bun, got undressed down to her underwear and jumped into bed right next to her. She considered if she should stay so close while Jinkx slept, but Jinkx immediately attached herself to her and that was that. Raja couldn't sleep, but she knew wouldn't be going anywhere for a while as Jinkx used her shoulder as a pillow.

[luxaofhesperides]

stealing clothes

college au ft. domestic joongdok. i am so predictable.

also on ao3.

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Kim Dokja is extremely lucky to have Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate. Not just because Yoo Joonghyuk is the campus heartthrob and Kim Dokja is the one who gets to see him everyday, and not because Yoo Joonghyuk is the perfect house husband, cleaning and cooking because he banned Kim Dokja from doing both. 

While both those things are nice, the best part about having Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate is stealing his shirts. 

Not to do anything weird! They’re just… comfortable.

He even got permission! For the first few, at least. 

It all starts because Yoo Joonghyuk was going to throw out perfectly good shirts that have been worn and washed enough to become soft, the type of softness that even the most high quality shirts can’t capture. They weren’t dirty, or torn, just old. So Kim Dokja protests this and tries to get Yoo Joonghyuk to keep them, only for him to scowl and throw the shirts at him.

“You keep them then,” he said, then left. And Kim Dokja did. 

He’s well aware that wearing his hot roommate’s shirts might be (is) weird, so he only wears them on long nights when he needs some extra comfort to get him through his last assignments, or when Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t home. He never wears them when Yoo Joonghyuk might see. He’d rather die. 

And because his wonderful roommate is out for the night, no doubt at a party celebrating his latest gaming tournament win, Kim Dokja is settled in for a long night of reading, curled up on the couch in one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s old shirts. It’s long enough to reach down past his thighs, so he doesn’t bother wearing pants, and a blanket over his shoulders helps with the chill his exposed collarbones bring. 

The apartment is quiet, most people out or sleeping, and the latest update of his favorite web novel is a long one. And should he get hungry, there’s dinner in the fridge, courtesy of Yoo Joonghyuk who is very determined to get Kim Dokja eating more regularly. 

It’s been too long since he was able to be so relaxed and comfortable. No urgent deadlines, no projects to stress about, no tests in the near future hanging over his head like a guillotine. 

He’s so comfortable that halfway through the chapter he’s reading, Kim Dokja begins nodding off. The living room is gradually getting darker as the sun begins to set, and he sees no reason why he shouldn’t take a nap; his sleep schedule is fucked anyways, a little rest won’t hurt him at all.

The sound of the door opening rouses him. 

Distantly, Kim Dokja hears a lock click and a heavy sigh, but half-awake, he can’t be sure if it’s real or part of a dream. 

He opens sleep-heavy eyes to a dark living room; he must have been sleeping for a few hours, long enough for the sun to fully set and the moon to shine brightly. His entire body feels heavy and slow. 

Slowly, Kim Dokja sits up, the blanket falling off his shoulders to pool around his hips. He stretches his arms up above his head, arching his spine a bit, drawing out the stretch as he shakes off the last of his nap. 

Behind him, someone chokes. 

Startled, Kim Dokja drops his arms and turns to see Yoo Joonghyuk standing in front of the hallway, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s… shirtless. Kim Dokja quickly looks away. 

“When did you get back?” he asks, trying to break the strange tension that suddenly fills the apartment.

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent for a few moments before Kim Dokja hears him step closer. “Just a few minutes ago. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Is it late?”

The light turns on suddenly and Kim Dokja winces, blinking to clear the spots from his vision. 

“It’s only nine.” 

Huh. He wasn’t asleep for too long then. He feels the couch dip and looks up to see Yoo Joonghyuk sitting right next to him instead of anywhere else on their rather large couch. He’s staring at Kim Dokja’s chest, which makes him shift uncomfortably. 

He glances down to see what has Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention. There’s no stains or anything…

Then his heart stops for a solid minute. He’s wearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt. And Yoo Joonghyuk knows it’s his old shirt because it’s way too big for Kim Dokja! 

Please don’t bring it up, Kim Dokja mentally begs, trying to send the plea into Yoo Joonghyuk’s head. 

“Isn’t that one of my old shirts?” he asks. Telepathy has failed. Kim Dokja changes to Plan B which is Fake His Death And Start A New Life. 

“Uh. Yeah. You gave it to me,” Kim Dokja answers, hoping Yoo Joonghyuk won’t think he’s weird and kick him out. He’s not willing to give up the best roommate he’s ever had! He just can’t go back to living with the worst people in existence, who treat him horribly and steal his things. He just can’t. 

“I’ve never seen you wear them,” Yoo Joonghyuk says instead of demanding that Kim Dokja move out. 

“I don’t wear them often.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes dart farther down. “You’re also not wearing pants.”

Kim Dokja pulls the blanket over his legs and tries to pretend Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t just say that. “Well, you’re not wearing a shirt! You’re only wearing…” he trails off, finally letting himself look at Yoo Joonghyuk. Those sweatpants look familiar. They look just like the ones he thought he lost months ago. “...Isn’t that mine?”

“...Our laundry must have gotten mixed up.”

That’s a lie. Yoo Joonghyuk is not one to mix up their laundry. They’ve never accidentally taken each other’s clothes. 

Kim Dokja smiles and Yoo Joonghyuk looks away, his ears turning red. “Joonghyuk-ah,” he says sweetly in a way that Yoo Joonghyuk knows is a threat.

“I don’t see why I can’t have some of your clothes if you have mine.”

“My clothes don’t fit you! And besides, isn’t it strange for us to be sharing clothes?”

“No. You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in them.”

Kim Dokja has no response to that. He freezes, then ducks his head, trying to hide his quickly warming cheeks. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, the bastard that he is, doesn’t let Kim Dokja hide. He wraps an arm around Kim Dokja’s waist and pulls him closer, hard enough to send him falling against his side. “Stop being so shy and wear my shirts while I’m around.”

“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

“I got bored and left early. I prefer being here with you.”

“Don’t think sweet talking is going to make me forget about you stealing my sweatpants.”

“Oh?” Yoo Joonghyuk runs a large hand down Kim Dokja’s spine, making him shiver. “What should I do then?”

“Nothing!” Kim Dokja hits his chest, but makes no moves to put any space between them. He is not going to be thinking about why. “Anyways, aren’t you tired? You should go to sleep since you spent hours at that tournament. Congratulations on another win, by the way.”

Smiling, Yoo Joonghyuk leans closer, forcing Kim Dokja to bend back a bit, putting more of his weight on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. “You were watching?”

“I always watch when you compete. What’s the point of having a popular gamer for a roommate if I can’t brag about him?”

Without another word, Yoo Joonghyuk collapses on top of him, crushing him against the couch.

“Hey!” Kim Dokja flails, then smacks Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “What’s that for!”

“You’re right, I am tired.”

“Then go to bed!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk tightens his grip on Kim Dokja’s waist, then nuzzles into his neck. The feeling of his hair brushing against his neck makes Kim Dokja shiver, not quite tickling him but just enough to have the sensation send sparks down his spine. 

He sighs softly, and feeling it against his skin brings a deep blush to Kim Dokja’s cheeks. “I’d prefer to stay here for the night,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. Kim Dokja grumbles about being squished beneath the heavy weight of his body, but ultimately decides to indulge himself and stay. 

They stay like that, sleeping on the couch, all through the night. They both wake with stiff necks in the morning, but Kim Dokja doesn’t mind at all when it lets him stay in Yoo Joonghyuk’s embrace a little longer.

Things change after that. 

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call them friends, per se. Not before That Night. Roommates, yes. Acquaintances who get along well, yes. Friends? No. 

But now, he’s not too sure what to call their relationship. They live together so they have to spend some time together, but school keeps them both busy and Kim Dokja often spends his time at the library with Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah while Yoo Joonghyuk streams and goes to tournaments. 

It’s more accurate to say they exist in the same space, than to say that they spend time together. 

They get along well enough, which is why they’ve renewed their lease together for another year, but somehow, after That Night Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly… sticky.

He’s constantly making food for them. More so than before. He asks for Kim Dokja’s preferences instead of just silently handing him a plate?

Kim Dokja stares at the box of pasta in his hands. He doesn’t understand why he’s grocery shopping with Yoo Joonghyuk, but he’s gone with it for too long and can’t ask any questions now.

“Did you want pasta?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, appearing behind him without warning. Kim Dokja jumps a little, then glares at him, annoyed by how amused he looks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can just buy instant noodles.”

Scowling, Yoo Joonghyuk grabs the box of pasta from his hands and adds it to the cart. “Absolutely not. I’ll make noodles for you later.”

“You can make noodles from scratch?”

“It’s not hard.”

Kim Dokja would marry Yoo Joonghyuk right that very second if asked. He also doesn’t understand why Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly spoiling him, but he’s not going to question a good thing. He’s going to get as much as he can out of this, because who knows when it will end?

So he bumps his hip against Yoo Joonghyuk’s with a smile as they walk down the aisle, and asks, “Can we get ice cream?”

Yoo Joonghyuk does not answer for a long minute, then glances at Kim Dokja’s hopeful expression and sighs. “Fine.”

He really is getting spoiled.

Kim Dokja fully intends to use this knowledge for evil.

Another thing that’s changed: clothes. 

Since Kim Dokja didn’t complain enough about his sweatpants being stolen before he fell asleep, Yoo Joonghyuk decided he could just take Kim Dokja’s most comfortable sweatpants and wear them whenever he wants. So what if he looks really good! They’re still Kim Dokja’s and he will hold this grudge for as long as he needs to. 

He intends to steal more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts as revenge, except he doesn’t need to steal anything. Because Yoo Joonghyuk just leaves his shirts in Kim Dokja’s room. So he wears them and tries not to get flustered when Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him each time he walks out of his room wearing something Yoo Joonghyuk left him. 

It’s a losing battle.

On the bright side, he no longer has to hide it. It’s still embarrassing, but he’s getting more and more used to lounging in the living room in Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts. 

The hungry look Yoo Joonghyuk gives him is also nice to see. 

Kim Dokja may be the king of denial, but even he can’t lie to himself with how obvious Yoo Joonghyuk is being. Nor can he pretend that he isn’t doing this for that exact reason, or spending more time at the apartment to be with him. 

They’re both pushing in little ways, but it’s not enough for him to be willing to push their relationship out of the cloud of ambiguity its currently in. 

Before he knows it, half his closet is Yoo Joonghyuk’s clothes, and he has to go to Yoo Joonghyuk’s room to grab a pair of sweatpants to study in because all of them got stolen. The rude bastard really has no shame. 

“Why don’t we just keep our clothes in the same room?” Yoo Joonghyuk suggests after Kim Dokja complains to him about this. 

“Whose room?”

“Mine. Just take all your things into my room. I’ll make space for you.”

And so Kim Dokja suddenly finds himself sharing a room with Yoo Joonghyuk. And then sharing a bed. And then waking up with him to his absurdly early alarm. 

They’re not dating, and he says as much to Han Sooyoung when talking about this; she just rolls her eyes and calls him and idiot for not realizing what’s going on. 

She has absolutely no room to talk, being in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Yoo Sangah instead of just asking her out on a date like normal people would. 

They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja leans into him when they watch a movie together after rejecting a party invite. They’re not dating, but Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his cheek each morning before he gets up to make breakfast. They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja will settle into Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap while wearing nothing but one of his shirts to finish a reading for one of his classes. 

They’re not dating, but he certainly wants to. 

However, Kim Dokja would sooner pass away then actually talk about his feelings, so he bottles it up, greedily hoards all the affection he gets from Yoo Joonghyuk, and hopes he makes his move soon because Kim Dokja is starting to get impatient.

In the meantime, he’ll steal another shirt and pretend he didn’t do it on purpose just to get Yoo Joonghyuk to look at him. 

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Coffee Shop Kisses

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Request: something soft with Yelena from @bright-molina

Summary: After moving back to her small Ohio hometown, the reader bumps into an old friend at her favorite coffee shop.

Warnings: none ?

A/N: Happy incredibly belated Birthday Bianca!!! Sorry this took so long for me to write but I really hope you like it!! This fic has everything: the gays, some light pinning, and chai lattes !

Masterlist

___

You couldn’t believe you were back in your small Ohio hometown. When you moved away after high school it was never your intention to come back but clearly, fate didn’t have the same plans as you drove through your childhood neighborhood.

It was nostalgic, driving through the familiar streets despite the changes in the neighborhood since your childhood. While the houses had mostly remained the same, you knew many of their occupants had changed. The Browns no longer lived in the house two doors down from yours, having retired to Florida not long after their children had moved out, and many other family’s you’d known growing up had followed suit. Others had downsized to smaller houses in other parts of the city, no longer needing the extra space. Now the neighborhood was filled with new families, young parents taking advantage of the location to raise their children.

Still, the atmosphere was largely the same, and if you let yourself you could almost imagine that the kids playing in the front yards and the street or biking through the neighborhood, calling out to friends as they passed, were the kids you’d grown up with.

It was strange, being back home. It felt stranger still to call it “home.”

It didn’t take long for you to fall back into a routine, despite the lingering nostalgia. You woke up every morning with just enough time to get ready and drive downtown to work, if you were lucky you’d end up with a few extra minutes to stop into your favorite coffee shop from your teenage years, which was conveniently located a couple doors down from your office. It was simple, sure, but it worked for you.

On the weekends you always made a point to walk to that downtown coffee shop with a book or some other activity, preferring the ambiance and the subtle noise of the building and its other patrons over the still silence of your house. Plus they had amazing drinks so you really couldn’t lose.

Normally you enjoyed taking in the hustle and bustle of the small town around you as people completed their weekly errands, but that day you were lost in your head as you walked along the sidewalk. It wasn’t as if you were thinking about anything in particular (when reflecting back later you’d merely blame it on having had a long week at work), but rather than enjoy the people watching as you normally would, you let them all pass you by without a single glance, all the way down the street and into the line at your coffee shop. You ordered your usual without much fanfare, still having the presence of mind to drop your change into the tip jar on the counter. It wasn’t until you had gotten your drink that you were thrust out of your thoughts, quite literally.

You had only just turned around from the counter, about to start scanning the cafe for a seat when you were knocked to the ground, your drink spilling in your hands.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Disoriented and still in a haze, the thick Russian accent of the woman who had spoken caught your attention.

A hand reached down into your line of sight and you took it gratefully, managing to keep the pitiful drops of unspilled chai latte in your cup as you were pulled to your feet.

“Let me buy you a new drink,” she offered though you barely heard her.

Now that you were back on your feet you got a better look at the woman who had bumped into you. She was of average height and had her blonde hair pulled into a double ponytail. You didn’t know any Russians but you could’ve sworn you’d met before.

“Do I know you?” You blurted out before you could think and the other woman blinked at you in surprise, brows lifting slightly.

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, “I used to live around here when I was younger.”

You narrowed your eyes at that, certain you would’ve remembered growing up alongside a Russian family, everyone you remembered was as American as they come. It was a small town in Ohio, after all.

“So did I,” you spoke slowly, still trying to ponder it out in your head. “Over on Brown.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, now scrutinizing you as well.

“I grew up on State Street.”

That’s when it clicked for you. You remembered them; family of four, two daughters. Natasha used to ride her bike down your street all the time which meant the woman in front of you must be…

“Yelena?”

“You remember me?”

“Yeah, holy shit! Your sister rode her bike through my mom’s flowers one time by accident, pissed her off for the whole summer. Plus, we went to preschool together.”

“Wait, Y/N Y/L/N?”

“In the flesh,” you replied, spreading your arms out dramatically.

Yelena took that as an invitation to really study you then, eyes flitting up and down as she fully took you in.

“You grew up quite nicely,” she spoke, tone appreciative and you found yourself blushing.

“I- I could say the same thing about you,” you stumbled over your words, feeling flustered. “I don’t remember you being Russian.”

You mentally cursed yourself for once again blurting something out before you could even think about it.

Yelena laughed at that and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling at the sound. She had a cute laugh. It was fitting.

“Yes, well, my ‘family' and I were actually part of a Russian spy organization, sent to infiltrate a nearby SHIELD facility for some information, so,” she shrugged and you laughed at first, assuming she was joking before you realized she wasn’t laughing along.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Why would I lie?”

You fumbled around with your words at that, unable to come up with a proper response but feeling as though you needed to say something anyway.

“How about I buy you a drink and you tell me about it?” You finally settled on saying and Yelena’s brows lifted again in surprise.

“Sure, but I’m buying the drinks. I owe you for spilling your first one.”

You nodded in agreement, somehow having forgotten all about your spilled drink in the excitement of reconnecting with an old friend. An old friend who was very attractive, if you were being fully honest with yourself.

With new drinks ordered and retrieved, the two of you made your way to a small table by the front window of the cafe. True to your agreement, Yelena explained to you that her “family” when she’d lived in Ohio wasn’t actually her family at all, the entire thing fabricated for their mission, and that after their success she continued to work for the organization before finally getting out as an adult. She skimmed on a lot of the details but you got the sense that the entire ordeal was traumatic for her so you didn’t press. Though, you were quite amazed that the woman across from you (and the tiny blonde girl you’d played dolls with as a kid) was a former spy and assassin. In comparison, your own life story was much less exciting, though you guessed it also held much less trauma as well. Still, Yelena asked and she listened intently as you explained how you’d wound up back in your hometown all these years later.

After that, the conversation seemed to flow seamlessly from one topic to another, and it was so nice to talk to a friend and catch up that you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you went to take a sip from your long-forgotten chai and found it ice cold. You checked your phone and were surprised to see that nearly two hours had passed and while you were planning on spending much longer at the cafe anyway, it still caught you off guard.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Yelena asked, having noticed you checking the time.

“No!” You rushed to reassure her before flushing slightly at the knee-jerk reaction. “No, I just hadn’t realized how much time has passed. It’s been really nice to see you.”

“It’s been nice to see you too, perhaps we can do this again sometime?”

“I’d like that a lot.” You tried to fight the heat that you felt rushing to your cheeks once more. You weren’t sure if she meant it the same way you did.

“Me too,” she replied softly, ducking her head so that her face was out of view. “I actually do have to get going but maybe we can meet here again next week?”

“Absolutely!” You nodded, trying not to seem too eager and failing miserably. “It’s a date.”

Once again the words slipped out on their own accord and you were left scrambling to do damage control.

“I- I mean like, y’know-”

“A date is good,” Yelena cut you off with a smirk, though you could’ve sworn you could see your own nerves reflected in her eyes.

“A date then,” you agreed, flashing a nervous smile.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” She stood from her chair with a smile, pausing on her way to the door to press a quick peck to your cheek, and then she was gone.

You sat there, still as a statue, for quite some time afterward, your fingertips lightly grazing over where Yelena’s lips had been moments before. You really loved this coffee shop.